A/N: Okay, so you're probably going to need some tissues for this one and be prepared to REALLY HATE Gaston for the bastard that I've turned him into. I fought really hard with this chapter re-writing it before I was even remotely satisfied with it, and I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with it, but it is what it is.

Even my 'Disney' stories tend to take a bit of a darker turn, since I'm just so darn good at writing villains I feel like, as well as sort of trying to match them to the tone of the Twisted books' series and some of those books in the series if you've read them hold nothing back.

Plus, this story already has Claude as the Main Villain of this tale and...well, I don't want to spoil anything, but this was a very difficult chapter for me to write, even though the story is mapped out with an outline and everything and I knew it was coming, but it did not make it any less painful for me lol, but I had to think about how Gaston (in my mind at least!) would react to all of the developments he's learned over the last few weeks.

All I can say is...you might need tissues!

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"So," Gaston growled, his voice dangerously low and quiet as he seethed, "here we are, sweet Belle. You are…unfaithful to me. This is rather embarrassing, for me, little wife, as it is for you," he snarled coldly. Piling reproach after reproach upon his wife, he added adultery to his wife's list of faults. One that he could not let go unpunished.

And this was the beginning of the end. He was more than maddened. He was enraged. Gaston fumed, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he began to grow silent and unresponsive, despite Belle's quiet pleadings that this was nothing. As if he did not hear his wife. She was unfaithful to him, and oh, in such a low way with this…this monster, who was an assault on the senses. Such a shame. His gaze drifted back towards that of his wife and he shuddered, feeling his insides curdle like milk with lemon. This—this bitch, she was the acid in what otherwise would be so heavenly.

What Belle had just done, ripped out his heart straight from the confines of his burly chest—wounded him more than anything else she could have ever done.

"B—but…how?" Belle swallowed nervously past the lump in her throat, her voice coming out as a mere hoarse cry of pain. Her throat felt like it was on fire.

Gaston grinned, his lips tugging upwards into a twisted sneer that chilled both Belle's and the bell ringer's insides and rendered them frozen, rooted to their spots.

"You forget I'm a hunter, sweet Belle. I've been following you, watching you for quite a while now, wife. It was just a matter of…finding the right time to deal with your betrayal," he growled through gritted teeth as he stalked towards Belle.

Belle felt a shudder travel down her spine, and she felt Quasi's grip upon her waist tighten, his fingers coming up to grip almost painfully tight on the material of her gown. "You—th—that's not true!" she cried, tears streaming down her ashen face. Belle could not believe her husband. She would not. This could not be true…

"No?" he shouted, his face reddening in anger. "Then what do you call this?" he growled, gesturing a shaking finger towards the redheaded bell ringer. Gaston knew as his gaze remained fixated on his wife's that he would never whisper words of love to Belle Dupont again. As he thought of his wife's betrayal, his lips curled upwards into a twisted sneer and his nostrils flared, like that of a bull's.

His mind felt as if stone were coursing through it instead of blood. His once pleasant memories of Belle during their courtship prior to their marriage now felt as if they were tarred, disfigured into something truly grotesque that currently had nothing to do with the accursed redheaded wretch that had stepped behind Belle, a gloved hand on her shoulder.

Gaston kept his gaze off of Belle, he could no longer bear to look his wife's way, because he believed if they made eye contact, he thought he might vomit. Disgust. Total disgust at the immense betrayal, the wound she had inflicted upon his tender heart.

"What to do with you, little wife. What to do, what to do…A lesson needs to be taught here. I think you need a little reminder of whom you belong to, precious girl, would you not say this to be the case?" he added in a mock jovial tone, glaring at her.

Belle swallowed nervously past the lump in her throat and let out a pained wince as Gaston's strong hand curled around her wrist and wrenched her to her feet, ignoring the bell ringer's rapidly flushing face as his features paled in anger and misunderstanding. But Belle momentarily shoved aside thoughts of Quasi for the moment and kept her fearful gaze continuously fixated upon that of her husband's.

Gaston's wide open eyes reflected everything and saw nothing. Behind them was something more intense than normal thought and his clenched two-day stubble on his jawline was not a good sign.

Belle had been hoping for, perhaps not outright forgiveness for running off, but the beginnings of a tentative reconciliation, or at least the ability to get the hunter and former war captain to see how he treated her was wrong.

But now, as she clenched her eyes shut and let out a pained muted whimper, Belle simply prayed to get away from him as soon as possible without giving Gaston a reason to hate her all the more. "I—it's not…what it looks like, Gaston. Punish me for this," she begged.

Gaston bristled at her words, his neck stinging with heat at the declaration of his wife's name. When he'd witnessed her in the company of this—this creature, this demon, and then for her to kiss it, how he had wanted to wrench her away right then and there, to satiate himself as he would press his lips against hers, to pour all he was within her as if she were the only wench left in Paris. She was his wife, no one else's.

"At last," he breathed, feeling his eyes widen as the night chill tousled his black ponytail. "I've spent…weeks, months, searching for you, little dove, and now…this…you know that I can't let this go unpunished, sweet little wife."

At hearing her husband's words, she felt her stomach give a painful lurch and the bile creep up her throat. Belle covered her mouth as swells of nausea clawed at her throat, and she tried to force down the bile, but it was too late. Her stomach contracted so violently that she clawed away from the bell ringer's hold as whatever she had had this morning to break her fast spewed out of her coughing, choking mouth. Her stomach kept on contracting violently and forcing everything out.

Her face was white and dripping bile, sweat, and tears. She lurched forward and sunk to her knees. The pungent stench invaded her nostrils and she heaved and gagged again, even though there was nothing left to go. Shaking, she wiped at the back of her mouth with her sleeve, wishing she had a handkerchief, and Belle whimpered as a strong hand cupped at her chin and Gaston forced her to meet his gaze.

Belle exhaled shakily through her nose as she could feel Quasi's strong gloved hands come up to wrap around her waist, one of his hands rubbing comforting circles in the small of her back, the other brushing her dark hair off her shoulders.

"The devil take you," Gaston spat, his strong hand practically crushing Belle's chin in his ironclad grip, sounding thoroughly revolted with his wife. His cerulean blue eyes narrowed as he glanced towards Quasimodo and Belle, and his face paled even further in anger. "It is not enough that I find you in the company of a monster, but now this," he growled, ignoring the fuming look in the redheaded bell ringer's eyes. "You leave me no choice, Belle. This…this is for your own good. I did say it."

Belle blearily blinked and tried to focus her gaze more than a few feet from herself. She had no idea what he was talking about. Gods, she felt so sick. It felt like she was radiating heat like a brick removed right from the coals of a fire. Her entire body ached, cheeks feeling like they were burning with the flush of a sudden fever.

She would have cried for help, to beg Gaston not to do whatever he was about to do, but there was no strength left in his voice, just a faint whisper lost on the autumnal breeze as soon as the pitiful whimper left her lips in the form of a half-choked sob.

Her breath quivered in short, quick gasps every time she inhaled, her lungs having no choice but to take in the chilled air around painfully and rigidly him. Belle couldn't seem to stop shaking either, and she trembled in Quasi's strong hold, who, thankfully, did not seem to be allowing Gaston anywhere near her.

Gaston ignored the demonic creature who was in his wife's company as the redheaded man rose to his feet, and he heard the monster's low threatening growl in his throat, his gloved hands balling and clenching into fists at his sides, though he could not help but to notice that it was enough to quell the demon's rage as Belle let out a muffled squeak and gave a curt shake of her head no, barely noticeable, and Gaston would have more than likely missed it had he not already been hanging onto her every movement. Gaston narrowed his eyes and his grip on his wife's wrist tightened, and she squirmed underneath his touch but did not cry out in pain.

Gaston seethed, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his blue eyes narrowed, as one of his hands came up to grip the back of her hair, finding purchase in her dark strands. The hunter let out a heavy sigh and cupped Belle's chin in his hand.

"I knew I'd find you eventually. You've caused me no small amount of grief, wife, causing me to come all the way into Paris just to find poor little you. And poor old Maurice, he was so disappointed when you left, but he'll be so relieved to have you back, love…" Gaston clucked his tongue in mock disappointment, relishing in the way the girl's face paled, as if hit by blizzard, and her lips were agape as if devoid of words.

His gaze darted back and forth between that of the creature's, whose expression was unreadable, almost impassive, though the war captain and hunter was not fooled. The redhead demonic monster standing next to Belle was just as furious, though he could see it in the surprisingly brilliant cobalt blue orbs of the monster's that he was afraid to act out in anger for fear that Gaston would retaliate against Belle.

Gaston heaved a heavy sigh and pinched at his temples, and then the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger

"I am…sorry that it has to be this way, Belle. I truly am. But I did warn you, little dove, what would happen if you ever left me. And now you are the one who pays the ultimate price. I'd rather not ruin your pretty little face and make you one ugly whore, though it would certainly reflect what you've done, Belle. I like you pretty, my little wife. Still," he sighed, almost sounding bored, like he wanted nothing more than to get this little farce over and done with. "I'll have to get my message across to you some other way, I'm afraid. Not him, not I." Gaston brought his lips together and whistled, his whistle loud, long, and shrill.

He did not have to wait long as LeFou stepped forward from the brush near the edge of the woods, dragging the girl's father, his wrists bound together by a length of corded rope, one of his eyes swollen shut, and he was walking rather lopsided, and she could only determine it was Maurice by the sheen of his thick tuft of white hair as he stepped into the faltering moonlight before the moon drifted behind a cloud and disappeared.

Belle felt her face drain of color and terror seize her heart as bile settled on her tongue.

"NO! No, no, no, Gaston, please don't do this, j—just let him go! Take me instead, punish me but let my father go…" Belle screamed, her heart wrenching cry of agony having escaped the confines of the back of her throat before she could stop herself.

She scrambled, an arm outstretched and extended towards her father, though she was prevented from rushing to Maurice's side as she felt a pair of strong hands grip around her waist. Belle glanced down briefly to recognize that Quasi had brought one of his arms around her middle and was preventing her from rushing to her father's side. Belle parted her lips to scream, feeling unshed tears well in the corners of her eyes, though no sound emerged. "LeFou, please don't do this…."

Gaston's best friend was looking hesitant and unsure of going along with Gaston's plan, but one withering look from the war captain and hunter, and he dipped his head in submission. "I—I'm sorry, Belle," he murmured, ashamed.

No…. Belle bit the wall of her cheek and blinked back briny, salty tears.

In her intense silence, she somehow screamed with her whole body. Her dark eyes wide with horror, her mouth rigid and open, her chalky face gaunt and immobile, her fists clenched with blanched knuckles and the nails digging deeply into the palms of her hand. The cold look reflected on her husband's face gave her the chills, freezing her insides and rendering the blood in her veins to ice.

Gaston's powerful hands were tightly closed around the hilt of his sword. He seemed to have no sense of humanity left. His heart seemed to be made of stone, the way his cold, listless blue eyes were regarding his wife's agonized state with no emotions. Belle swallowed past the lump in her throat, blinking back briny, salty liquid that flowed unchecked from her eyes, as the inventor's daughter blearily lifted her gaze to meet Gaston's. She would never forget the evil glint in the hunter's beady eyes. How her husband smelled of blood. Of danger.

Her gaze flitted back to LeFou and Maurice, and when Maurice first came into view, she did not recognize her aging father. He was too far away and his gait all wrong. He walked lopsided, and as LeFou gave a violent, harsh tug of the length of rope that was restraining his wrists, eliciting a sharp, warbling cry of pain from Maurice, and as he neared the bell ringer and Belle, she felt her heart plummet deep into the pit of her stomach and a wave of nausea wash over her and she felt the acidic stomach bile creep up in her throat and settle on her tongue. She felt her stomach give a painful lurch, and the nausea clawed at her throat.

Her father was more purple than pale. His left eye was swollen, he could not be seeing a thing out of that and he would not for a while yet. Maurice's face still bore traces of congealed blood, and his clothes were an utter mess, torn, tattered, bloodied. Then he tried to say her name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable. Belle's eyes walked from one injury to another, taking in the gore that was her Papa.

The shadows of the beating were on Maurice's skin and on his heart.

The knowledge that her own husband could do such a thing to his father-in-law just broke something inside of Belle, something that would remain long after this wound healed. It was a sadness in his eyes, his one good eye not currently swollen shut, and a heaviness, an unyielding sorrow at what Maurice's son-in-law had done to him, the painful wounds that he had inflicted, but perhaps the worst one of all: the salt in the already tender wound that was his daughter's broken heart at being forced into a loveless marriage with this beast.

Gaston turned towards Belle, and his expression darkened, cobalt blue eyes darkening to almost a cerulean hue in color as the hunter's gaze drifted downward and settled upon the bell ringer's arms wrapped tightly around Belle's waist as she felt the strength in her legs leave her, and he gently lowered her to the ground with such a surprising tenderness, that ignited a primeval, carnal rage within Gaston's heart.

"Please…" Belle sobbed, tears pouring down her face, hating hearing the crack and dip in her voice as Gaston paced restlessly between the gap of space that separated Belle from reaching her father. "Gaston, please don't do this…" She swallowed, tasting bile on her tongue. "I'll…I'll come back with you, I'll do whatever you want, just…don't hurt him!" she screamed, near hysterics at this point.

But Gaston did not seem to be in a mood for talk. He was past the point of no return and such pleasantries were no longer an option. He let out a low growl from the back of his throat. "I warned you, Belle, I tried to tell you what would happen, and you did not listen. Now you've left me no other choice. This? This is on you," Gaston growled, his voice sounding numb and flat, and when he turned to regard her, Belle visibly winced and let out a low whimpering moan.

Deliberation was over. He had judged her already and, in his eyes, she saw only cool hatred. His eyes were a knife in Belle's ribs, the sharp point digging deeper.

Where there had been perhaps love for her once was an emptiness, but not in any vulnerable sense. Uncomfortable with the void, he had filled it with an emotion he was more at ease with - raw anger. The un-moving gaze was accompanied by deliberate slow breathing, like he was fighting something back and loosing.

Gaston's eyes flashed with indignance and anger, much like lightning on a pitch black night. Belle couldn't recognize her husband anymore, the man she used to know was gone, and it was all because of her. Belle inhaled a sharp breath that pained her lungs as Gaston knelt down at her level and cupped his wife's chin in her hands.

"Don't touch her!" snarled the bell ringer, jerking backwards slightly, his grip on her waist tightening, no warmth in his voice. He had let go of his kindness and timidity, for it would do him no good here. Belle swallowed and watched as Gaston's face paled in anger and a muscle behind his left eyelid twitched as her husband brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

Belle heard Quasi inhale the same sharp breath as she, and she felt her dark eyes widen, her breaths growing more ragged and harsher. Her hands trembled at her side and she barely registered the sound as she heard one of Gaston's hounds coming, the poundings of its footfalls, like a threatening whisper almost, an assault on her senses.

It was incredible how light the creature moved. It didn't seem to come from any particular direction, just a sound that encapsulated her inside her cocoon of despair and hopelessness for Maurice. "This is all my fault," she moaned, her eyes fixated on her father, who was fading fast. "Papa? No…don't go, y—you stay with me, Papa, please don't," she whispered, her voice cracking, fresh tears streaming down her face.

She swallowed hard as last Gaston's prize hound came into view, a dark shape of matted fur that smelled of wet dog and blood from a fresh kill. This beast was neither lithe nor graceful. Its fur was matted and tangled, the dog huge and grotesque with clumps of congealed blood stuck to the hound's dark fur and large paws.

The dog hunched on its shoulders, shackles raised, yellow teeth bared and snarling, poised to attack Belle and Quasi. She could hear nothing and then—

"It's a shame that things have to be this way, Belle," again, Gaston sounded as though he were teasing her and immensely enjoying it. "Your father was very brave in my…questioning of your disappearance," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "but I mean…why is everyone seeming to be willing to die for you, wife?"

Gaston whistled again and the hound lurched forward, its hulking limbs shaking with the heat of grotesque excitement seen in the dog's foaming mouth.

The dog paced restlessly back in forth in front of her master's towering form with her tail whipping. Gaston knelt down and affectionately scratched the dog's ear before whispering only two words, "Rip. Him."

Belle's blood turned sour in her veins. The details began to flash and etch on her mind like a horrible vulgar painting, blood, chunks of flesh, scalp flayed apart from her father's skull as the vicious hell hound's razor sharp teeth clamped down on Maurice's neck.

"I've never shown you a body after my dogs have been at it, have I, wife? T'is not so pretty, but this should get my point across well enough, I think. Collect your things at your wretched precious sanctuary, and if you aren't on the front steps by the time that I come for you, wife, well, then… My hounds would have themselves a little snack on your malformed wretch of a friend here…" Gaston as he spoke to his wife merely sounded bored, as he cocked his head to the side and watched.

As if what he were witnessing were the most normal thing in the world, to watch one of his precious hounds tear someone to pieces, limb by limb, flay them alive...

Gaston taunted his wife even further past her point of utter humiliation, before turning back towards Belle and purposefully stepped aside, allowing a few agonizing minutes to pass as Belle violently clenched her eyes shut and buried her head in the crook of Quasi's shoulder, refusing to look, though that did not stop the horrible sounds of flesh and ligaments tearing, and after about two minutes of this, Gaston gave a curt whistle and walked away, the hound trailing at his heels, though not before pausing to spit at Quasi's brown leather boots, and shoot Belle an intense glowering look of hatred that chilled her insides.

Belle scrambled towards what was left of her father, the blood not gushing in a constant flow, but in time with the beating of Maurice's heart. She felt the blood move over her hand as she gingerly pressed her palms to his throat, the thick fluid no warmer or cooler than her own skin. After a few moments more, the blood was still leaving his rapidly paling flesh, but the pulses were slower, weaker.

"Belle…" Maurice hoarsely whispered, and it was a miracle her father could still even speak. Belle swallowed and blinking back wretched, vicious tears.

"Papa…" she croaked hoarsely, her voice a soft susurration. "Don't go."

There was no amount of horror that could ever prepare her for seeing the life force ebb from another, the hopelessness, the tearing at the soul that was the departing of the other. Death came for Maurice with the slow rattling gasps.

His breathing would stop for a time only to reemerge like a drowning victim coming up for one last breath, though in her father's case, he was choking to death on his own blood. But in a few moments, Maurice had passed on, his earthly tether separated, and his soul bound for the Lord. Belle cried like there was too much raw pain inside her to be contained. She cried like her spirit needed to break loose from her skin, desperate to release an elemental rage on the world.

The soothing words of the bell ringer made no difference at all. She was beyond all reason, beyond all natural methods of calming.

"Wh—what do we do with him? I—I can't just leave him here!" she sobbed, tears streaming down her ashen cheeks in unceasing tracts, cradling her father's limp form in her arms, not minding the blood that stained through her green dress.

Gaston's voice rent through her hysterical wails. "Feed him to the hounds, wife. He's good meat."

That did it. Notre Dame's bell ringer felt his head whiplash sharply upward as he felt the last vestiges of his patience snap and break. Quasi did not bother to stifle the low growl that formed in the back of his throat as he realized he did not have time to properly sort through his emotions.

A fiery, burning rage pulsated through his veins as he felt himself stand and rise to his full height of 5'8, admittedly a good head or two shorter than the girl's husband, but he did not care. This man had hurt Belle in the most horrific way possible, and that he could not allow.

By the gods, he was going to kill this man… White knuckled from clenching his fists too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to remain silent, his form exuded an animosity that was like acid—burning, slicing, and potent. The bell ringer's face was white with suppressed rage, and when the man called Gaston even swung back around and set a finger on his shoulder with the intent of shoving him backward to get him out of his path, Quasi felt himself mentally snap as he bit the inside wall of his cheek in one last ditch effort to restrain himself, and the pressure behind his eyelids and his pounding skull just…exploded.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Quasi to even consider this man's words to be genuine considering the words pouring unchecked out of the guy's thin lips came from the same man who had just brutally butchered Belle's father in front of her eyes. This hunter didn't deserve to live, and if Quasi granted him that mercy, then this man could very well come after her again and seek revenge, and that was just simply one thing that he could not allow to happen.

With his own two hands, Quasi grasped the guy's head in his hands and brought his kneecap up to his nose, probably breaking this guy's nose and released his dark-haired head. He screamed and clawed at his nose as crimson leaked from both his nostrils and this time, his nose looked like it was twisted all the way to the right, not left. This man definitely wasn't going down without a fight, though.

It was the rings on the hunter's fingers that really hurt and kept catching the already bruised skin underneath Quasi's eyes. His head jerked backward, and he tasted that familiar coppery tang of sweet blood in his mouth. Didn't need to look at it to know he wasn't going to win this fight. Quasi wouldn't let him win. He was arrogant for one, a pure showoff that flaunted with flurries of punches and good swings, fast yes, but left himself open, and due to his hulking size, he was slower than Quasi was.

Quasi let the dark-haired hunter jab him just to get his blood rushing in heat, though pure adrenaline surged and coursed through his veins. Shaking his head, Quasi stared into the man's eyes. It wasn't like he enjoyed this, using his overwhelming strength, this part which he fought so hard against and tried to repress the beast within its cage. But he saw no other solution to this problem. This rational line of thinking multiplied the reason for Quasi to break this man. And he would.

Second thing about this hunter: he'd never met Quasi, so he didn't know how he operated. True, this guy was fast, but Quasi was way more focused, not staring in his eyes, but at his chest, the center point for all attack, his weakest point, given how his lungs and shoulders were heaving, straining to regain airflow to his lungs.

This man hadn't been in a good quality fistfight like this in a long time. Quasi could see his burly shoulder, thick waist, and wherever he was going to attack, from whenever, Quasi was going to greet him. The guy came with a leg, his dirtied boot soles practically shoved in Quasi's face.

Pulling a face of disgust, Quasi grabbed it and then yanked his dagger out of his sheath and stabbed him with it. Hard.

He screamed, and that was Quasi's opening to lunge and tackle him to the ground. Each blow he made was precise, an exhale of breath with each one. Breathe. Breathe. He could remember Laverne and the other gargoyles telling him to breathe whenever anger like this would course through his veins.

Quasi felt his curled fist land in the hunter's gut, the once hard bones along his body now crumpled like a limp sack with nothing in it. He was starting to get slower. Quasi got faster, which meant he had the upper hand, the advantage. Quasi could feel himself penetrate this guy's defenses before he could so much as blink an eye.

In the middle of their fight, Quasi felt his anger fade and blankness was its replacement, along with a strange humming noise in his ears that rang unceasingly. Pure, unbridled rage is what it was, he was sure of it, he was sure, but still…

Quasi frowned, feeling like he was watching his own body at work here. Quasi could see all of the hunter's soft spots. So, when he finally gagged and then spat blood one last time off to the side, tricklings of it spattering across Quasi's palms and his left cheek, Quasi wasn't surprised an ounce that he fell over, cracked on the muddied ground afterwards. Then nothing but silence. His chest rose a few more times before he finally gave up and gave one last shuddering breath.

Then he died.

Panting heavily, he did not bother to turn from the hunter's lifeless corpse, watching with narrowed eyes as the shorter one, his accomplice, scurried off away from the edge of the River Seine and towards the streets of the marketplace.

The only thing that broke him out of staring at the corpse that lay lifeless at his boots that he had inherently just killed was the sound of a heart wrenching scream.

Belle had always been so self-conscious when she cried but now, she just gave way to the enormity of her grief. She sobbed into her hands and the tears dripped between her fingers, raining down onto the parched soil. Her breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left her legs. She sank to her knees not caring about the grit that dug into her knees. She was noisy, her skin was blotched, but she did not care.

She cried until no more tears came, but still the emptiness and sorrow remained. Dawn came. On the first light of the day her still crouched figure remained unmoved, still clutching onto Maurice's lifeless form.

There was nothing left, nobody left, no reason to move.

And still, she screamed.

A/N: It had been my long obsession to have Q protect his woman and beat the living crap out of Gaston, and it's one less villain for them to deal with, since Claude is still very much in the picture and is not going to be pleased with ah, shall we say 'recent developments'. Lol. I feel like I don't have to justify my decision to kill off Maurice, since real life is full of hurts and pain and sadness, and not everybody get a fairy tale ending with that white picket fence, but that did not make it any more easier for me to write it. It was a hard struggle. Sad they killed off her Father. But, it's like the saying goes on one of my favorite shows, Once Upon a Time goes, "All magic comes with a price." And Belle just paid the price for hers.

Stay Safe, my lovelies! XX