4 weeks ago, continued...
Though Killian had been expecting their appearance for almost an hour now, the dull-eyed slaves materializing from the bushes still took him by surprise. Armed with crude clubs and blades, they showed no emotion as a dozen surrounded him. Killian could pick out the signs of ownership on each one and tried to quell rising panic. Fear was okay, but his feigned desperation had to dominate, had to thoroughly convince the monster of his surrender. Or he would very likely be killed before learning anything of value.
He thought of his precious Hope. Not as the light of his life, the flawless jewel with her father's charm and her mother's will. Not as motivation, comfort, or eponymous hope. But exactly the last thing he would ever consciously wish to think: his daughter, his own, in the arms of a stranger. Wailing for her parents, unable to comprehend what was happening to her. Being… being hurt. Killian's insides churned at the vision, but he forced himself to conjure all of the horrifying details. Hurt, tortured… then killed. He could see her innocent little form, lying unnaturally still and cold, discarded like week-old rubbish and left to rot, with none to care.
Real tears filled Killian's eyes as he held his arms out in surrender. "Please… take me to your Master."
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It looked like a normal village at first glance. One that Hook and his crew might have frequented on their commissioned excursions to the Enchanted Forest. Apart from the gas lamps and old-fashioned electric lines, that is. Wilting flowers lined walkways, early model automobiles sat in front of select houses. But the further the trek toward the village center, the closer one looked, the more signs of unsettling decay. Broken windows… so many broken windows. Rotting, moss-covered shingles on roofs. Trash everywhere. And were those… yes, definitely bodies hunched in gutters, motionless, dressed in the same rags as everyone else. Killian could not tell whether they were dead or alive.
Near the center of the village loomed a worn down cathedral. Its bell tower had lost one wall; Killian half expected it to tilt and then collapse at any second. Most of the church's paint was peeling, and none of its stained-glass windows were entirely intact. A spooky graveyard huddled at the northern edge of the property. And it was to this forbidding building that his escorts were taking him.
Just before passing through the outer doors, the slaves closest Killian inched nearer and took his arms in their shaky grasp. Fearing he would flee? Or perhaps attack their Master? Killian had not come armed; he had even left his hook at home, much as it pained him to do so. But still, compared to the rest of the creatures around him, he posed an undeniable threat, being of such sound mind and body.
Killian allowed the manhandling without a struggle. He wanted to be here, he reminded himself as fear and the natural instinct to fight threatened to overwhelm him. This monster may have Hope. He must confront it. He had to find out what would be required to free his little girl.
They entered through heavy wooden doors, one of which hung just slightly askew and would not close all the way. On the other side, dusty sunlight and the strong odor of mildew. As Killian's eyes adjusted, he noted long pews jumbled along the edges of the sanctuary, leaving a large open space in the middle, the center of which was split by a strip of blood red carpet. The rest was scuffed paving stone. At the top of three stairs, crouching in relaxation before a wooden altar, waited the Vocivore.
The slaves became even more timid and hopeless in their Master's presence, their tremors increasing until Killian's shoulders rattled in their sockets. But they seemed compelled to drag Killian closer, whether or not they would be able to keep to their feet by the end of the journey. They staggered along the carpet, Killian stumbled right along with them… and the monster rose as it spoke, its words accompanied by soft cooing from above.
"What's this?"
The strikingly unremarkable quality of the voice sent a shudder down Killian's spine. So wrong. This… half-crab-half-spider creature ought to have a booming voice, or a watery clicking dialect, or something. Not sound like a middle-aged, white-collar employee exchanging bland pleasantries with a coworker.
Killian's gut was twisted in so many knots he would need an age to smooth them all out. Here was the test. His mettle, acting skills, and Rumple's information versus this unknown being. Call his bluff, reveal the charade, and the creature would end his life now.
Well… why should he care, unless he could get Hope back? Without her, Emma would surely never forgive him, and he may as well die.
Hope, kidnapped. Hope, tortured. Hope, dead.
Killian swallowed with a dry mouth as desperation welled. Anger or pleading?
"Where's my daughter, you bastard!?" He jerked in his captors' grip, pulling one off balance. The slave collapsed to the floor and didn't get up, assuming immediately a position of humble groveling. Killian nearly rolled his eyes, but instead yanked his other arm free and marched toward the monster, who seemed quite nonplussed by the disturbance.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My daughter," hissed Killian again. "Your bloody slaves took her; I want her back."
The monster's set of beady little eyes were cold and calculating as it studied Killian in silence. The pirate could not help a shudder of revulsion; those eyes were enough to give anyone arachnophobia. Finally, the Vocivore spoke.
"I've been watching, you know. I know who you are."
The spike of fear was dangerous now, threatening to betray how much Killian knew of the beast… and how much he didn't. Watching, how? Did it know of the conspiracy? Could it actually read thoughts? Was it toying with him now, feeding off of his panic before ordering his death?
"You've made attempts to come here before. To stop me. You and your friends. Isn't that right? But now you give yourself to me without a fight?"
Hope, kidnapped. Hope, tortured. Hope, dead. "Please… my daughter…" Killian averted his eyes, his voice breaking. Desperation…
"I've never had a willing slave before. I do wonder what it would taste like…" The monster clicked forward on its spiky legs, a fearful scuttling noise accompanying its trip down the stairs. Killian sucked a few quick breaths, took a single step backward, balled his hand at his side.
"A… a trade, then. Myself for her. Set her free, return her to her mother… and you can have me."
The monster loomed, and Killian gave in to another instinctive backwards step. Gods, this thing was huge. Killian's eyeline barely reached the top button of its waistcoat.
"Take off your clothes."
Killian blinked. A massive chill took his limbs. Rumors of other appetites…
"I want to examine what it is I'm purchasing."
REMOVE YOUR GARMENTS.
The silent voice shouted in his head. Sinister, commanding… but not compelling. Not quite. Doubtless, the monster's method of controlling its slaves; Killian might have been grateful that he could hear it, were he allowing such an emotion. Not obeying an order given telepathically would have been a lethal giveaway of his immunity.
Killian lost himself in the gruesome conjured images of his daughter as he stripped. But it was almost unnecessary: terror, helplessness, despair, all a nuance away from genuine. He was dimly aware of the other slaves still in attendance, but their emotionless stares were of little concern. Shuddering uncontrollably, Killian gulped as he stepped out of his last layer of clothing. Less than half of the resulting gooseflesh could be attributed to cold.
The spider-crab ogled him thoughtfully, its collection of eyes roaming his naked form. Killian gritted his teeth and waited. A massive claw came up and indicated a turn in an absurdly human gesture. Killian obediently rotated despite every instinct howling at him not to show his back to the enemy. He heard the scuttle-clatter and stiffened, every muscle going tight with dread.
MOST ACCEPTABLE.
A smooth, cool touch to his shoulder blade. Killian flinched, startled and revolted. He felt as if his heart would hammer free of its cage and burst forth like a liberated songbird. The caress trailed down his arm to the abrupt ending at the wrist, coiling around the stump in a gentle embrace.
"My new slave has only three legs," stated the monster quietly. Not a taunt, merely an observation. With a cautious glance downward, Killian caught a glimpse of a thick, violet tentacle snaked around his wrist. A second unexpectedly poked at his back, tracing an old scar and seeming to almost taste the memory there. "And he carries the evidence of former masters."
"Do we have a deal?" Killian choked out through a throat thick with fear and rage. The tentacle across his skin suddenly extruded a sticky slime, leaving a trail of fire tracing the silvery scar. Drawing in a breath, his back arching in surprise, Killian barely managed to hold his ground.
"You are mine, one way or another," the monster said. The tentacle wormed its way along Killian's ribs, under his arm, and across his chest, raising a burning welt wherever it touched. "We shall see. Please me… and I will tell you what I know about your daughter."
Clever bugger, making it sound as if it would impart information, when really, what it knew amounted to zero. Killian lowered his head and hunched his shoulders in dejected submission. He nodded once, minutely, giving himself up. It's what they wanted, after all.
I DESIRE YOUR SCREAMS.
With a tug on his blunted wrist, the monster directed Killian to face forward again. It released both tentacles and they retracted beneath its waistcoat.
"Now, Tripod, the rules. You will address me as 'Master.' You will obey my every command. In return, I will provide shelter and sustenance, medical care when required. Please me enough, and I may one day reward you. Fail me in any way, and you will regret it."
"And when-"
With startling speed, the creature's pincer whipped sideways and caught him in the mouth. Killian instantly tasted blood as his lower lip was driven against his teeth. He staggered backward, but the unoccupied claw shot forward and clamped around his elbow, pinching painfully without yet breaking the skin.
"I don't need your words, Tripod." The monster produced a gleaming silver ring from the slanted surface of the altar and roughly fastened it around Killian's neck as he closed his eyes in unhappy resignation. "Only your screams."
The collar snapped together with a sharp click, secured with a padlock and uncomfortably snug beneath his Adam's apple. He immediately felt the overwhelming urge to rub his hand along his throat, to push away the obstruction, to pull it off, wrestle with it until the sensation of near-strangulation eased. But a tentacle had hold of his wrist now, preventing any sort of resistance. Killian sought calm.
"Do you understand?"
Killian nodded quietly, eyes still closed. The claw around his arm tightened to an excruciating vise, cutting deep, precisely pinching the nerve running down his forearm and setting alight phantom conflagrations in nonexistent fingers. Struggling did not help; if anything, the grip intensified until blood welled and trickled down the madly tingling stump. Taking a wild guess at the desired response, Killian growled,
"Yes, Master."
Lazily, the claw relaxed; Killian could feel the solid chitin shifting within his flesh. Spurts of blood accompanied its removal, but the pirate slave was not allowed to reach across to staunch the wound. The insulted nerve continued to jangle long after the pressure released. Breathing hard, Killian waited, trying not to think of anything.
The monster cleaned its claw on a handkerchief, saying,
"One of those, I see. Let me just warn you now: prolonged or exaggerated stoicism benefits neither of us. But I do appreciate the honesty, because false screams are just as useless to me." It made an incomprehensible signal to one of the skulking slaves, who jumped to do his Master's bidding. "Don't worry too much, though. Once we get acquainted, I'll know how best to extract the highest-quality shrieks from you."
It had the gall to wink then, half of its soulless black eyes flickering briefly closed, and Killian struggled to restrain himself from flying forward in foolish defiance. That wasn't this Killian. This Killian had only one thought on his mind: his daughter.
Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead.
"The branding never fails to give me a taste of a new slave; there's little doubt it will be the same for you. But it takes a while to be readied."
Killian shuddered. A hot surge of panicked resistance grabbed him by the throat, constricting painfully. He'd had no delusions about being able to escape the process: not one of the bodies lacked the vicious, eye-shaped symbol seared into their palms. He had not allowed himself to dwell on it then, fearing he would lose his nerve. Damage to his only hand was always a terrifying prospect… and one he would have no choice but to face very soon.
Abruptly, he was yanked forward by the tentacle still holding him, and he crashed hard onto his knees. His small grunt of pain echoed around the cavernous chamber.
"While we wait, I always like to take the time to become better acquainted. Test your limits, find out what gets to you. Call it an appetizer. Something to whet my appetite before the main course. Shall we begin?"
Frantically steeling himself for whatever was about to happen, Killian had carelessly tuned out the monster's unremarkable droning. He realized too late that he'd been asked a question. Hastily, he drew a breath to blurt a "Yes, Master," but he was too slow. A powerful claw slammed into the side of his head with enough force to rattle teeth and invert colors. Reeling, Killian thrust out his stump in the expectation of sizzling pain when he caught himself… only to find himself suspended in a crazy tilt, the whole side of his head ablaze. It took several heartbeats to remember which way was up. And in that time, the madly pulsing fire coalesced into one lone curl of agony: his ear. He was being held up by his ear, and the crackle of shifting cartilage sounded like pistol shots, and Killian nearly vomited when he felt further rending of flesh from its attachment point.
With a breathless whimper, Killian scrambled to center his weight, to get his knees under himself and regain his balance. As he struggled, the monster tightened its grip and pulled upward, fierce and fast. Killian's anguished shout was equally short as it was sharp, but the monster shivered with delight, practically purring.
YES.
In his haste to get up, Killian pushed off of a precariously angled foot and ended up with a throbbing sprain of an old injury. He did not care in the slightest: his only focus was relieving the terrible pressure that felt as if it were pulling his ear out by the roots. He raised himself to his tiptoes, standing as tall as possible, but the claw could go higher still. His arms firmly restrained, Killian had no way to fight the torment. He could barely even breathe; the best he could manage were short, quick little puffs through lungs stretched tight with strain. Tears leaked from eyes screwed shut. Hoarsely, Killian whined,
"Master… please…"
The claw shifted slightly, pulling a gasp from the helpless pirate. He felt another violent tearing, lower down this time, then all pressure released. Killian wobbled back on his heels; his head slumped forward as he struggled for breath. Warm blood streamed down the side of his neck, spilled over into striking red rivulets down his chest and back.
Killian could not reach up to assess the damage. His ear felt positively shredded, inside and out. He wasn't certain if he could even hear anymore through that side; the humming throb of inflammation drowned out even the sounds of his raspy panting. The monster stooped casually and trapped what looked like a clot of blood between the tips of its pincer. Dazed, Killian wondered how it managed to be so dexterous with such a massive appendage. Then he wondered what Mr. Krabs - yes, he'd seen Spongebob, with Hope on a Saturday - Hope DEAD - wanted with a solid orb of blood. Then he saw a faint shimmer beneath the muddy red slime, and the functioning fraction of his brain identified it as his earring. Oh.
Still disturbingly agile, the monster tucked the crimson earring into a pocket. It noticed Killian, trembling and white with shock, and pursed its inhuman lips.
"No, no passing out on me now. We have a ways to go yet."
Much more gently this time, it placed a claw on Killian's shoulder and prodded him down to his knees. The pirate's head lolled; he was perilously close to doing just that despite the Master's order. But then too many pointy legs were scuttling closer, the leading pair reaching forward in an unwanted embrace, and adrenaline brought awareness back to his mind. Even though he knew it was useless, Killian tried to shuffle backward on sore knees, but the ever-present tentacles fixed him in place.
"Lie back, my Tripod," commanded the monster even as it guided Killian back.
YOU CAN STILL SCREAM FOR ME FROM DOWN THERE.