Chapter 26: Doom-Guy

Ilya glowered across the cavern at the Dark Blood raider, eyes narrowed into him, willing them into weapons that could slice through the distance, and him. He looked like a monster, his pale skin lavishly adorned in bloody red patterns, scars, and tattoos, but unlike Clay-Crawler's claw markings, he was marked by a variety of fangs. Accessories enwrapped several limbs, arm bands spiked with severed human fingers, anklets with animal claws, a belt studded with eyeballs, and a jawbone biting around the circumference of his neck. His entire body was on display but for scant loincloth and elaborate headdress of a human skull, dipped in red and fashioned with dangling teeth of many sources, like braided hair.

"Shy?" Doom-Guy asked silkily in their silence, a decayed smile plaguing his face. Even from this distance, he was ugly as fuck. "No need for shy. Come out, talk, like leaders."

Dogmeat was standing before him, poised in aggression, hackles flaring, barking his threat. This was Dogmeat's killer. He was already dead to Ilya.

"How about fuck you!" she served out on a blade of hatred. Every thread of her restraint was active in keeping her from dashing out and simply shooting him in the face. Whatever hand he had to play better be good, or she would do just that.

To her response, he barked a laugh. "Impressed again. A woman! With such anger. Women make good leaders, like to talk more, act less on anger. Anger makes good fighter, but good leader? Hmm..." his taunting hum trailed off into amusement, now smug little hums that riled Ilya even more. Her upper lip twitched, fingers crushing into the rock she leaned against, imagining them around his throat.

"You piece of shit. What's stopping me from stepping out right now and shooting your face off!?"

"Mistake, woman," he answered, patronising. The device in his hand was gestured with. "See this? Yes?" He then indicated with another meaty hand toward the cages bordering the cavern, the specimens squealing from within. Half of them had been cooked from the mini-nuke, Ilya realised, but there were still an overwhelming number of them. "See them? Ah. Yes. Will release cherubs. No escape for you." His final sentence was a taunt full of a predator's delight.

So it wasn't for slave collars. She had some room to manoeuvre without having to worry about putting the Ghouls in danger. Good. Because she really, really wanted to rip his throat out. "What's stopping you? Go ahead!" she snarled, seeking his angle. "We'll kill our way through to you and then I'll rip your throat out with my bare hands!"

Hancock was grinning wildly and nodding his head, clearly onside with her tactics, but Deacon slipped down his shades to pass her cautioning eyes.

Doom-Guy gave another laugh, buried within his chest. "What's stopping me? Loss of resource." The shrug of admittance he gave seemed unfitting on his savage form. "Cherubs will be killed, but not enough for you to win. Takes time to breed, feed, grow. Not want to waste precious resource." Again, that patronising tone that vexed Ilya.

"The fuck do you want, then?" she allowed him, hating to give even an inch.

"Simple. Survival."

This time it was Ilya's turn to laugh, and it trickled out in disbelief with such a dark, maniacal quality that it sounded foreign even to her. "You think I'm just gonna let you go? After what you've done down here? Fuck no. I know who you are. I saw you back there, before the cave-in you set up for us. Dogmeat's dead because of you." She let her anger burn up from her core and feasted on it. "You deserve to die."

Clay-Crawler wound his grip tighter on his shotgun and fidgeted with incensed eagerness, but Hancock rested a grounding hand upon his shoulder.

"Dogmeat? Name of your dog?" Doom-Guy enquired with interest, ignoring the threat in Ilya's tone. "Good name. Must have been good dog."

"Fuck you."

The raider nodded his head to that, as if understanding her anger. "Wrong though, woman. I was near no cave-in. No raiders were. We fought off ferals for long time. Long fight. Cave-in drew them in from throughout all mine. We fought in here only."

"Liar. You're a fucking liar!" Ilya yelled out in denial. "I saw you in the dark! Just standing there, watching us, like the sick fuck you are!"

"Sick fuck? Hmm. Yes. But liar? No." Then, his throat rattled off a knowing chuckle, drawing it out. "Mines make some see things, hear things, feel things. Haunted, some said. Soft raiders from the Commonwealth not come this deep down. Afraid. Of ferals. Of the dark. Of ghosts... Have you seen these ghosts?"

Ilya held her tongue, feeling something cold slither down her spine. Darting shadows, looming shapes, fingers in the dark. She caught Deacon's glance but tried to ignore it.

"Ahhh," Doom-Guy concluded with satisfaction, "losing yourself, yes? I see it in many out in the Blood Lands. Minds are soft, damaged, prone to sickness. Most lose will to live. Become food for the strong. Maybe, then, what you saw in the dark was just a ghost..."

Ilya shook off the sinister chill. She wasn't weak. He would know soon, and he would regret his words. He was just playing her, fear mongering her sanity. "Shut your face," her growl quivered despite her attempt. "You're not getting out of this. You were there, and I wasn't the only one to see you. Clay-Crawler chased you back here. You're just a lying, coward scum!"

"Coward!" Clay-Crawler echoed her, unable to contain himself any longer.

"Wrong," Doom-Guy insisted, still with his patronising tone. "And Clay-Crawler," he then diverted, as if suddenly remembering that Clay-Crawler was there. "Calling me coward? Who was it that cried and screamed like little bitch when Slay ordered you punished for refusing her fucks? Ungrateful maggot. Should feel honoured to fuck with Slay. Great woman. Strong, hard. And great tits!" He grew very enthusiastic with those last few words, even animating clutching at a woman's breasts with his hands as if they weighed him down.

"Slay cruel woman!" Clay-Crawler denied. "Once choked!"

Deacon darted a surprised look over at the raider. "What, with her tits?"

Clay-Crawler only shook his head with a frustrated frown, then re-enacted the scene by wrapping his hands around his own throat and pulling a face of choking strain.

"Ah," Deacon nodded, though seeming a little disappointed. "Gotcha. Sorry." Hancock cuffed him around the back of the head and he shrugged out his embarrassment.

Ilya rolled her eyes and ground her jaw, focusing back on Doom-Guy. "I lost a friend because of your sick trick. So now you have to die. Either you drop that thing, and I make it quick, or we do this the hard way, and I make sure you feel everything I do to you!"

"Still wrong, woman," the raider held firm. "I am great fighter, but to cut down all ferals alone to reach you? Unlikely. Did not cause cave-in. And if you make mistake choice, you won't win fight. Cherubs will swarm. Then you will be mine to make you feel everything I do to you." Her flesh crawled in revulsion. Much to her chagrin, she couldn't detect even a sliver of fear in his vocals, or sense any sly deception.

She slid her eyes to Clay-Crawler. "You did actually see the raider in the dark, right?"

He stared, gnawed his lip, then lowered his head and shook it. Stunned, Ilya scowled at him, then felt herself turn cold-blooded.

Then, whose silhouette had she seen in the dark...

Doom-Guy was laughing again, softly, enjoying this revelation far too much. "You see now. Your mind is lost, woman. Seeing ghosts. I hear it in your voice. I know madness. I am madness."

Dogmeat was still snarling so viciously at the raider that Ilya was adamant that he was to blame for the canine's death. Maybe not directly, but he was the source. He had to be. She needed him to be. And he wouldn't get away with it.

She rose above his taunts. "We're here for the prisoners. How about this: you let them go, and we let you go." And then I stab you in the back.

Doom-Guy seemed to consider this, humming to himself. "I like this. Right choice, woman. Deal."

Too easy. "Clay," Ilya called quietly. "Do you know this Doom-Guy?"

The young raider nodded. "Yes. Tortured by him. Also, once cleaned his feet. Smelled bad."

She bypassed that and continued with her goal. "What can you tell me about him?"

Thinking for a moment, Clay-Crawler took the question very seriously. "Deals with the dead. Drains blood from bodies. Mutilates for totems. Kills prisoners, sacrifices for the Dark Blood Sea. Left Blood Lands many moons ago to come here. Is cruel. Good fighter. Bad man."

"You said you're good at reading people's faces, getting things from their expressions. Do you think he's bluffing?"

The raider peeked up over his cover, studied Doom-Guy standing out in the open with his finger poised over the trigger of the device, and frowned thoughtfully.

"I think he's being straight about the cave-in, for one thing," Deacon pitched in. "I never saw anyone in the dark, either."

Ilya scowled at his input. "Not what I was asking." She angled her eyes back on Clay-Crawler, sharpening them expectantly.

He licked his lips. "Think Doom-Guy will betray, release cherubs."

Forced to think tactically, Ilya growled and leaned back from the rock, feeling her chance of killing him slipping away. It was either be reckless and dirty for revenge, or be honourable and walk away from this, but forever with a grating scratch on her skull for never giving Dogmeat his vengeance.

"Come out, woman. Won't bite. I'm waiting," the Dark Blood incited sweetly.

Casting her squad a searching gaze, Ilya asked their opinions. Danse had been watching her intensely to gauge the exchange by her reactions, but when her eyes hit his, a questioning look fell over his dusty face. Right, he was partially deaf, she reminded herself. He had no idea what the hell was going on. Explaining everything would take too long. She wouldn't be getting any advice from him on this.

When she shifted her gaze to Hancock and Deacon, Danse stirred at her dismissal, obviously not appreciating being left in the dark. "What's the situation?" he demanded, and rather loudly, despite himself.

Ilya started at his volume and then brought her finger to her lips. By the look of him, he didn't appreciate that much either, but he relented from speaking out again, almost pouting.

"The guy's a rat," Hancock snarled on turn. "I'm with Clay on this one. Don't trust a word that slips off his wormy tongue. The moment we get those Ghouls and turn our backs to get out of here, he'll set those little nasties loose and that'll be us."

Deacon was nodding his agreement. "Maybe he is wanting to 'preserve his resources,' but I don't think that's the real reason he's holding this negotiation. You heard what he said when he stepped out here. 'Impressed. Good fighters.'" Deacon even imitated the voice, albeit with a mocking quality. "Right? I think the slime wants to catch us off guard, mutate us, ship us off home, strap us up with some pretty slave collars to fit in with the fashion trends, and make us fight in their army. I don't know about you guys, but I have living standards, and being a warrior slave isn't one of them. "

Stomach churning at the weight on her shoulders, Ilya wiped at the sweat on her brow and then slowly swept her hand back through her dust-riddled hair. Shit. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. She evaded Danse's eyes, knowing he was judging her every movement and reaction with keen practice. What would he do in this situation? Actually, she knew exactly what he would do. The paladin favoured a forceful solution over peaceful compromise nearly every time. But hostages were involved, and he wouldn't approve of her endangering them for her vengeance. But, then again, they were Ghouls. Would he even care?

As if on cue, Doom-Guy offered her another incentive. "Woman not trust easily, I see. Hmm. You say your dog dead? What were killing wounds? Missing any organs? Limbs?"

Dogmeat barked more fervently at the raider, and Ilya gritted her teeth at the mere mention of Dogmeat on the savage's tongue. "The fuck do you care?"

"Just answer, woman."

She swallowed her pride, voice flat. "He was crushed by the cave-in."

"Ahhh. Yes. You see, I can fix. Heal your dog. Bring back to life."

"Bullshit."

"No bullshit. Cherub can heal wounds, call back spirit to body. Long process, not always work, but has worked."

Ilya felt a small burst in her heart, a fraction of hope that she didn't want to rely on for fear it would betray her. She turned her gaze once more onto Clay-Crawler. He had been watching her, and nodded his head to her silent question. It was true. It was possible. Dogmeat could be brought back.

Still, the hope frightened her, too tantalizing, keeping her on guard. "What do you want in return?"

His answer was immediate. "I have challenge, hidden treasure I want. None have been successful to reach. You complete challenge, reach treasure, give to me, I will heal your Dogmeat. Simple. Then you take prisoners, let me go free, and we all win. Yes?"

Rolling this around, Ilya denied her companions her eyes, and slowly stepped out from behind the rocks, weapons slung, muscles tense, step cautious.

Doom-Guy smiled.

-Sorry for another delay. Hope you all enjoyed :)