Author's Note: So I lied, this chapter is like 9K
It's a gray, wet morning with a thin, wind blown drizzle blanketing the capital and the whole manor house seems still as Peter makes his way down to the dining room. He's late, not that it mattered. There was nothing saying that he needed to have breakfast or be involved with any of the meals during the day. The whole thing was rude to Rem and whoever else was cooking the meal this morning.
Then as he gets closer to the dinning room he notices that there is no one around. Not only that, there is no smell of food in the air, no dishes waiting to be carried off or any signs that there had been a meal in here at all. Peter closed his eyes, concentrating for a moment to try and see if he felt or heard anything nearby.
Footsteps nearby.
Peter opened his eyes and turned to look down to the nearby corner where the hallway turned. There was something strange in the gait of the steps that were coming. He could almost recognize the one walking. A clear picture of the person came to his mind: Ferris.
Ferris appeared around the corner breathing heavily, his hands clasped together up in front of himself. His facial expression was one of panic, worry.
"Peter Parker, there you are," said Ferris. "They thought that I should go get you, there's been an issue."
"What happened?"
"It's Rem. She sensed something," said Ferris.
On instinct Peter ran for the war room. He knew that was where the others, at least in part were. If anything Crusch and Rem could be counted on to be there, probably with Steve. He didn't want to waste too much time getting up there, so he went through one of the rooms and goes out of the window to make his way up the manor and over the roof. From there he jumped to clear the top of the manor and zip webbed himself toward the side of the house where the war room was.
He dropped onto the awning and crawled down to it to reach the war room's window. Peter could see Rem, Steve, and already by the window as if she was waiting for him was Crusch. She slid the window open to let him inside and stepped back so that he could wiggle himself inside of the room.
Peter walked across the room taking everything in. Steve was standing over near Rem with his arm around her.
"I guess that you were waiting for me this time," Peter said pointing to the window.
"Well, we are becoming more used to your eccentric ways, Mister Parker," Crusch said.
"What's going on? Is this about the Whale?" Peter asked.
"Not exactly," Crusch said.
Steve spoke up. "Something happened this morning to Rem—she woke up suddenly with this kind of bad feeling. She can explain it better."
"The feeling that I felt was something like a presence that I sensed through the emotions that I share with my sister," Rem said, still standing close to Steve. "I wish that she could have used her clairvoyance to get a clearer picture."
"Ram has psychic powers?" Peter asked.
"It's really a connection that manifests itself as a telepathic link and mild Synesthesia," Rem explained.
"Synesthesia? That's like when can see a color and it's strongly associated with a smell or sound," Peter said rambling off the definition. "I guess it could just be any two senses crossed though."
Rem made a small sound. "I use it to mean that there are times when she feels something and I can feel it, but it's not all of the time and it's not always on purpose."
"Wait, did this feel deliberate on her part," Steve asked.
"I don't really know," Rem said.
"The reports aren't all that clear, but there have been sightings of some troubling movement in the vicinity of the Mathers domain," Crusch said.
"What do you mean by troubling movement?" Asked Peter.
"When the Margrave backed Miss Emilia he did not make himself a lot of friends and while the average citizen would fear a half-elf there would be little that they could do to her while she is in the Margrave's care," Crusch said. "The Witch Cult on the other hand…"
"Then why did they leave the capital?" Peter asked, before he really knew what he was doing he had raised his voice perhaps too much. He needed to calm himself down, take time to think about what was going on here. There wasn't any reason for him to be short with Rem, Steve, or Crusch.
"Probably because Margrave Mathers has matters which require his attendance in his own domain," Crusch said.
The door to the room opened and Ferris stepped in side, his hand pressed to his chest as he drank the air in as he held on to the door and the door frame. "Why did you scamper off like that?" Ferris asked.
"Sorry, I just knew that I had to get here quick," Peter said. "Sounds like I was right."
"It would seem that we found our coinciding event for the White Whale attack," Crusch said.
"What do you mean?"
"Around the same time that the reports came in there was another report of a dense fog forming on the route to the Mathers domain, it would seem that Wilhelm's hunch about the whale coinciding with Witch Cult attacks is what's actually going on," she said.
"We can't just stand by and let it happen though," Peter said.
Steve glanced at Rem and then looked to Crusch. "If the White Whale is already out there, we might have missed our window, but there are innocent people back there in the Mathers domain, Rem's sister, and your employee, May Parker," Steve said. "We could at least make our way back there and see that things are okay," Steve said.
"Even if you did go back, the trip would take you nearly two days, with the main road blocked entering the fog from the White Whale to travel through as a trio would almost certainly end in your deaths."
"Then we need to leave now and make our way around. After we deal with things at the manor we could double back to help with the Whale, give us three days—if the Whale is still there we attack it then," Peter said.
One of the odd things about this world is that no one really had the same uncanny ability to tell time wherever they were that he did with his phone. He had reset the clock to more match this world's time and he could really tell exactly what it was and make sure that he was there at the exact time that he was telling someone that he was going to be.
"Three days might mean the White Whale has moved on," Crusch said.
"I made you a promise and promised Emilia that I would help you, but my first promise was with her," Peter said. "Even if I have to escort Rem back alone—I have a duty to protect Emilia."
Crusch sighed, shaking her head.
"Don't think I'm letting you and Rem go back there to face down this threat. We don't even know if they are going to take the Whale straight up to Roswaal's manor," Steve said. "We're in this together."
"If the threat is as bad as it seems, there isn't much of a chance that you could get there in time to help. We need to trust in Lord Roswaal and Miss Emilia and the others out there and their ability to protect themselves. Roswaal is the most accomplished mage in the kingdom and Emilia has the aid of a powerful spirit," Crusch said.
"And what if that's not enough?" Asked Peter.
"Peter, Steve—if you go back to the Mathers domain you can forget about any partnership between our camps. I will not hesitate to see you two and Emilia as enemies."
Peter shook his head. "You told me that I should use the things I care about to drive me forward—if we help you bring down the White Whale, but Aunt May or Emilia is hurt what am I supposed to do?"
"Mew-yu are advocating for an option that weakens the force that we've assembled and puts everything we've worked for in danger," Ferris said his face turning red.
"Ferris, calm down," Crusch said.
"I will not, it needs to be said. If the White Whale is out there on the road where it the fog has been spotted it would appear that more than anything the White Whale is attempting to cut off the quickest route to the Mathers domain. That raises a lot of troubling facts that it doesn't seem you're really prepared to think about, Peter."
Rem spoke again, her voice still small. "It does feel like we're already too late."
"Don't say that," Steve said.
"If they're cut off and no rescue is coming, then we need to be the rescue," said Peter.
Crusch sighed, some of the wind taken out of her sails. She shook her head, her shoulder slumps looking more defeated than Peter had seen her since he knew her. "As a show of good faith," Crusch started finally, "I will allow you the use of a carriage to get home—if only to see that my employee, May Parker, has a ride back," Crusch said with her arms folded.
On some level, even without a way to read wind, Peter knew that she was lying. She could see their reasoning and what they hoped the accomplish by going back. He wanted to press the point and ask her for the use of these forces. They could push the Witch Cult out of the lands for good and nullify their need to even use the Whale so that it could be dealt with later, Peter thought.
The idea quietly passed when Steve nodded his thanks. "Thank you, Miss Crusch."
Rem looked distraught, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. "Thank you for the carriage and in my Master's stead, thank you for all of your kindness in letting us stay," she said.
The carriage ride out of the capital was longer than expected going the way that they had to this time. Wilhelm had been the one see them off, giving them a packed lunch for them to make their way back with. Peter had expected to detect some hint of disdain in him or disappointment, but he seemed to be his completely normal self. The only things he had told them were to be careful and that he wished them safe travels.
He then nodded to Peter knowingly and Peter wasn't sure what the nod was supposed to mean, but he know it was approval and support. At this point, Peter would take what he could get from others. He wondered if Steve was standing by him because he felt responsible for him, he knew that Rem was going back for her sister, as she should.
Steve and Rem were riding up in the front of the carriage together, talking in low tones that Peter could still kind of hear over the sounds of the wagon on the cobblestone and the sounds of the city around them. Peter tuned it all out and tried to think about what they were facing. His experience with the Witch Cult so far had been that Inquisitor with her mass of body puppets writhing around her like a shield of flesh and bone and—that was it.
"Please, let them be okay," Peter said under his breath.
Steve glanced back at him, but said nothing.
The day wore on into the night and there was mana lamp light on the horizon from the next town on the long route to Roswaal's manor. Thinking back to the area geography, Rem knew that this place was Fleur. It wasn't on the route that they typically took to the capital and it was more of a small crossroads town than some place that anyone would ever need to go.
Today it seemed particularly busy, there were merchant carriages and carts all shut up around the street with their dragons held up for the night and resting from a long day's travel. She could tell that the same was happening to their ground dragon now, they needed to stop and rest. At least for a few hours.
"Why are we stopping?" Peter called from the back, he crawled his way to the front leaning out between the two of them.
"Our Ground Dragon is unable to go any further," she explained.
Peter glanced to the creature to see the mouth of its red snout opened as it breathed long, deep breaths and huffed in the cool night air around them. Sometime after they left the city the drizzle had died down, but the thick clouds overhead were still very apparent with the light of the moon behind them.
He seemed to accept that as truth and it wasn't long before they had parked the carriage and bought a pair of rooms. Her heart was racing and at this point Rem could hardly think about what was happening here, what all of this meant.
"Have you felt anything else from Ram?" Asked Steve as they sat at a table in the main dining area of the only inn in the town with stable space for a Ground Dragon.
Rem shook her head. "On some level, she has control over the ability, but this felt different—like she didn't mean for me to feel it."
"Why would she try to hide it?" Peter asked.
Rem wanted to say because she was useless and because her sister was doing the thing that she had always done—trying to keep her little sister safe. Before she opened her mouth Rem was sure that Steve would reprimand her for all of the self doubt. "I don't know," Rem lied.
They ate a quiet meal of salted, dried beef, vegetable soup, and bread. There wasn't much to be had in the way of conversation at this point and the times when Steve and Peter were talking the words passed right through her. She could hear them and if they asked her something she could respond, she did, but her mind was running through all of the things that the Witch Cult being in the Mathers domain could mean.
The Witch Cult had taken everything from her, had they taken the rest of her sister away. Would she be forced to carry on as the last of her clan?
She hated the Witch Cult and to express that hate here, to let that out would be unproductive. She needed to save it and more than anything she needed to hold on to what little she had left. She had to protect those that she loved.
Rem knew what she had to do.
After the meal they turned in for the night with Peter and Steve agreeing that they could get a few hours and be up before first light. It was Steve that asked her, "Would that be enough time for Ground Dragon to rest."
Their rooms were upstairs, separated by another room that had a do not disturb sign hanging on the door.
"We're going to make it in the morning, don't worry, Pete," said Steve.
"Night Rem, night Steve," Peter said his voice low, like he was barely hearing what was going on around him.
Steve and Rem climbed into bed and even with all that was going on it felt odd to her that Peter saw the two of them going into the bed together. Steve kissed her against the pillow, caressing her face.
"Everything is going to be okay," he said. Rem loved the feel of his beard on her skin and how his lips felt against hers. She wanted these kisses and moments to continue forever.
"I hope so," Rem said.
Part of her already felt bad for what she was going to do, but the other part of her wanted him and despite what she told herself she felt like she was walking out to her own death. She had this since the first time that she met him, that was the fact that she had to admit to herself.
Rem wasn't sure how long it had been, but she could tell by the way he was breathing that he was still awake. In the dark, she could feel him laying there and staring off into the murky depths of the room.
When Rem reached her hands down under the covers and hooked her fingers through the waistband of her underwear and began to work them off of her legs she already knew what his answer would be. She knew exactly what Steve would say. She brought her legs up to get the under garment off the rest of the way.
Steve's weight shifted in the bed as he rolled over, probably in response to her movement. Now she could just see his blue eyes in what little light that's left.
"Steven," Rem said, her voice breathy and somehow completely different from how she remembered herself sounding only seconds ago.
"Yes, Rem."
"Make love to me, please," Rem said hoping that he couldn't see the tears in her eyes.
"Rem, are you sure?"
"Yes. I have been for a while," said Rem.
And then before he could move fully to get over to her, she climbed on top of him clumsily. Rem rubbed her eyes dry and steadied herself. The two of them fumbled around in the dark, his hands on her hips and moving to other places. Once they sorted things out, once there was nothing between them Rem began to very slowly drain the mana out of him.
Perhaps it was a cruel thing to do, to make their first time together, their first times with anyone into a ruse. But the feelings there were real and it was the one thing she had wanted with him for so long, so perhaps it would be okay if it was the last thing that they ever did together.
Peter stared up at the ceiling of the room above his bed searching for meaning in the patterns there or some sign there. It was a strange thing to do, Peter was science-minded. That was one of the things that everyone noticed about him and brought up. It was one of the things that he thought defined him, so he didn't know why he was reading the patterns above his head like tea leaves.
The clouds outside were thin enough that the moonlight spread out and blanketed the entirety of the town that they were staying in. Peter had never even learned the name of the place that they had stopped to rest in.
Rest.
He knew that wasn't going to happen. There was no way he could shut his mind off and just go to sleep. Not after all that had happened. The argument with Crusch and Ferris, Rem's feelings that something had bad was going on, and the news that the domain around Roswaal's manor was crawling with Witch Cultists. It was too much for him to hear and then just go to sleep with swimming around his head.
He tried counting sheep and just holding his breath and the other little tricks that people tried to make themselves go to sleep.
There was a light knock at the door and then he Rem's voice muffled through the wood. "Peter, can I come in?"
Peter climbed out of the bed, slipping into his shirt and opened the door for her. "What's the matter, Rem?" He asked.
"I can't sleep. I guess I'm just pretty worried," she said.
"Steve's asleep already?" Peter asked.
Rem nodded. "Can I come in?"
"Um, yeah," Peter stepped aside to let her walk into the room. These rooms weren't designed for anyone to stay long term. They were little more than a desk with a small window looking out toward the fields and a bed. There was a cordoned that served as a kind of closet even though it was more of a cabinet made for luggage to go in.
Rem moved into the space at Peter's back and stood there for a bit with her hands clasped in front of her. She looked frightened, exasperated. Parts of her hair, mostly the bangs on her forehead clung to her pale skin slicked down with sweat. Peter had seen Rem through a fair number of situations, one of them desperately life or death, but the way that she looked right now had him rattled.
"Did you feel anything from, um, Ram?" He asked.
Rem plucked at the shoulder of her night gown, tugging the fabric to get it back into place. She shook her head. "Nothing else, no."
"Okay then, maybe—" Peter cut himself off to swallow. "Maybe it was all a false alarm. Emilia, May, and Roswaal wouldn't want us to worry and it's like maybe they were able to take care of it."
Rem's lips moved, but she said nothing. Then when she actually spoke it wasn't a question he expected to hear. "Have you ever fought a Witch Cultist before?"
"Well, no. I mean I fought this, like, Inquisitor lady with a bunch of people she used as puppets…"
"The Witch Cult is very adept with magic, maybe it's time we practiced some more spells," Rem said. "You're natural affinity is toward wind, isn't it? That's my sister's type, I can offer some general pointers but it may be enough to give us an edge."
Then Rem stepped around in front of him and moved toward his bed. She sat down nearer to the foot of it and then patted the spot next to her.
"Oh, you want me to sit?" Asked Peter nervously.
"Yes, please. We need to work on controlling the flow of energy through your gate," Rem said.
Peter nodded. "Right." He took the seat on the bed next to Rem and she turned so that their knees were touching. The whole thing felt a little bit wrong and just off somehow. Peter didn't get anything from his tingle, he didn't expect to as there was nothing to fear from Rem.
Since he had known her, Rem had been nothing but sweet to him other than the time she had gone into a craze protecting those children he had seen nothing that made him worry and even that time she was doing it for a good cause. Peter hardly thought that anyone would blame the Hulk for wrecking some stuff when aliens attack or whatever and Rem didn't do that much damage.
Rem put her hands up between them with her palms facing Peter. He could tell by how her eyes moved back and forth between his hands resting at his sides and hers that he was meant to reach up and link hands with her. He grasped her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers.
"Please don't wrap your fingers around mine," Rem said.
"Oh, sorry," Peter said as he flattened his palms out against hers.
Rem's hands were damp and trembled a little, though as they sat there the trembling died down and they were just touching hands on the bed for a long time.
"Close your eyes," Rem commanded.
"Okay, sure."
Peter closed his eyes.
"Now visualize your gate," Rem said. "Picture a portal or hole that lets wind and air pass into it. The air can be stored within the body to be released later."
Peter could feel something, a strange power welling up in his hands. There had been past practices with Ram and one with Puck where he managed small wind spells, but they were nothing too impressive or world breaking. He needed practice, but on top of learning to read, spending time with Emilia, and everything else he just couldn't really commit to it like he knew he should.
There was never enough time.
He was so focused on thinking back to earlier times and practicing with magic that he didn't think about the here and now. He forgot about listening to what Rem was saying to him, maybe he was just tired. His head felt foggy. It was as if he had suddenly found the sleep he had so desperately wanted.
Peter yawned. "Rem-Rem?"
"Yes Peter."
"Everything's going to be okay," he assured her. He didn't know why he felt the need to say this now, maybe it was because there was a part of him worried that things might not be okay. Peter was speaking these words more for his own benefit than hers.
How had he become so delirious? The room seemed to pitch and spin. Everything became darker. Moments ago he had been wide away, he had felt suddenly tired before, but never like this. The only thing that had changed about his situation since then was he was talking to Rem.
Rem.
He had seen Reinhard drain the mana out of a person and put them to sleep and now he was experiencing it first hand. What was her game? He felt no threat from her, but by now it was too later for him to cry out or say anything. Peter tried to yank his hands away, but Rem caught them and that was the last sensation he felt before he drifted down into the darkness of a deep slumber.
The whole world rattled and shook with dust coming loose and creaking wood. It was a hammering and intermittent feeling and then it became constant; a kind of vague vibration that permeated everything. But there was no color or sound or taste or light yet. Just a sense of movement and everything around him shaking.
"Peter! Pete!" The words were muffled and distant, but becoming closer. The feeling returned in Peter's body, he felt warm and wet. He was so heavy beneath the sheets and covers of a bed. As he stirred he could tell that he was drenched in sweat.
The room was still shaking, but he couldn't open his eyes. Taste returned next along with smell, the air here smelt cold and tasted different. He struggled against the weight of the bedding.
"Pete!"
The far away voice had grown so close now that he could remember who it was. Steve. That was Steve Rogers. Peter tried to lift the sheet off of himself again, pushing it aside. His strength returned and then a moment later his eyes opened.
A metallic crack ripped through the air. Peter had regained his sight just in time to see the door's knob break away from the wood and drop to the floor. Steve Rogers stepped into the room in his night clothes with his sword and shield worn like he was ready for battle. Slowly the door swung back and hit the wall with a thud as Steve stood surveying the room.
"I thought she might be in here—I thought, she was just so scared and I thought she might have needed to talk to someone," Steve dropped his back against the wall and slid down to the floor.
Then Peter remembered. Rem had put him to sleep. She had come into his room complaining that she was tired and wanting to help him.
"Steve, where's Rem?" Peter asked. "Where is she?"
When Steve didn't answer, Peter climbed out of the bed. His energy surged the more that he moved, which he did by dressing quickly. Then he was down the stairs to the main room of the inn to ask the innkeeper if they had seen the girl that had come in with them the night before. Of course, the inn keeper hadn't been the same person working late the previous night.
When Peter mentioned blue hair, the man perked up and lifted some items that had been left for them at the counter. "You must be Steve," the old man said.
Peter nodded, seeing that there was a note pinned to the side of the package with their names on it. She had even bothered to write their names in English—those were the only words in their language that she had really been taught though.
Upstairs in a pull of web, Peter handed the note to the Steve. He hadn't opened it yet, but he already could guess it's contents. Peter got fully dressed, there was no time to worry about standing out or the norms of the world. He went ahead and put on the full spider suit and swapped out his web cartridges for fresh ones. (Damn, it felt good to be able to do that any time now)
"Dearest Steven and Peter," Steve started out reading very slowly. The language was still hard for them, but being immersed in it made their learning all the more inevitable. "It will be morning by the time you read this and I will be gone. Please, don't follow me…"
Peter dry fired the web shooters to clear them, testing them out.
"…I can't stand to let you be put in danger or to lose anyone else. So I am doing this alone. Stay and I will come back for you when it is safe. Peter, you are a good friend and a sweet person. Steve, I love you—"
Steve Rogers crumpled the letter in his hand, his face twisted in rage or sadness. It was hard for Peter to tell. "Does she think she's protecting us?" Steve asked.
"I'll find us a ride," Peter said. "We can catch up to her—we can catch her."
"I can run the distance if I have to," Steve said.
"Yeah, but we're going into a fight, it'd be best if we didn't use all our energy up." Peter bolted downstairs and out the door looking for anyone he could pay or convince to take him in that direction.
A dark skinned man leaning over a barrel pointed to a carriage that was pulled up beside a half fallen barn. "Ketty might be your man," the man said. "Heard he was headed out that way."
"Thanks, mister," Peter flipped the man a coin and darted off to find this Ketty. The man had dark hair and thick eyebrows. He looked like he could have been older, much older, but it also looked like he could have just been badly aged from a hard life.
When Ketty saw Peter, he regarded him with some confusion. Then again, Peter was wearing a skin tight suit with a little spider on the front. Even this world that wasn't exactly normal behavior.
"Are you Ketty? I heard you might be heading into the Mathers domain," Peter said.
Ketty furrowed his brow. "Now where did you hear that?"
"Like a guy over there, look can you take me or not?" Peter asked.
"'Fraid not," Ketty said. "You might be able to pay the little fellah, what's his name, Otto."
"Otto the merchant?" Peter struggled to remember his name, but he had overheard Anastasia, Rocket, and Kate talking about a merchant named Otto that they were in league with. "Otto Suwen, right? He's here?" Peter asked quickly. It had to be him, it had to be the same person—they could convince Otto to take them to the Mathers Manor.
Ketty nodded and pointed to a tavern. "Saw him right over there earlier drowning his troubles."
"Thanks!" Peter handed him a coin and ran off to find Otto. It was around that same time that Steve emerged from the building where they had been staying carrying their stuff.
"You're Otto, right? Miss Anastasia's business partner," Peter said not bothering to even look for who he might have been talking to and just hoping that they would reveal themselves.
A young looking man with ashen hair and a green cloak glanced up to meet Peter's eyes. "I kind of want to know who's asking."
"My name is Peter Parker and, well, I met with Anastasia, Rocket, and Kate the other day—I really need to ask you a favor. I can't pay too much, but I can pay you all that we have."
"Peter Parker, eh?" Otto said. "Look, I'm already doing a job for Miss Hoshin—I can't really say that I am willing to take on more for that lady, especially not when I still have this stupid oil to unload," Otto said.
Peter slammed the coin pouch down on the counter. "I'll give you all of this, you can even keep the pouch. I just need you to take me to the Roswaal Mather's manor."
Otto stared at the bag, dumbfounded. Then he looked up at Peter and chugged the rest of his drink. "It looks like I just found some space to take on another job, you've got yourself a deal. We're leaving as soon as you're ready."
Steve was standing aimlessly out in the square of the village, a passing carriage headed back the way they had come from almost hit him and the driver yelled out the side as he moved on by. Peter didn't know what to say to Steve and he really didn't know the man through the worst of times to have seen him like this.
The good news was that they found a ride, but Rem had to have hours of a head start on them and it wasn't really clear how much longer there was for them to go. Once they were loaded up and left the next several hours passed both too quickly and much too slowly. Steve barely spoke, sitting with his back against the back door of the carriage and looking forward.
Otto and Peter would chat in small bursts, but only when Otto asked something or spoke to them. It was all inconsequential stuff, Peter could detail to Otto what they were doing or why they were headed back to the Mathers domain.
They had started the trip out there so late, sometime afternoon and despite everything they rode on into the night only stopping for the restroom and then again to attach the lanterns that hung from the sides of the carriage.
"We're at the edge of the Mathers Domain," Otto said as they entered the area that Roswaal controlled.
"Good, then we're close," Peter said. He could feel a kind of dread rising up in his chest, was he sensing danger or was this something else?
The Ground Dragon slowed until the carriage was rolling at a steady pace, but still barely moving. For a moment Peter thought that this was something to do with an obstruction or a rough part of the road, but as he moved closer to the front to look out he could see there was nothing there but the moonlit dirt road.
"Why are we slowing down?" Steve asked.
"I don't—the Ground Dragon is too frightened to continue," Otto said. The night air was still around them and after he spoke there wasn't another sound. Not even the wind. "I'm sorry, there's something wrong. We should turn back."
Steve was already climbing out of the back of the cart, his feet hit the dirt road as he drew his sword and shield. "Can't really do that when we've come this far. You ready, Pete?" He asked.
Peter, following his lead clambered through the front of the carriage with what little he had with him. He left the coin bag at Otto's side. "Thanks for bringing us this far," he said. "We can run the rest of the way."
"You really shouldn't," Otto protested. "If the Ground Dragons won't go in there and-well there's not even any insect noise or animals in the area. Something is very wrong."
Steve walked up alongside the carriage, patting the railing with his hand. "Very wrong is what we do best," Steve said. "You take care of yourself, Otto."
"Uh, you too, Captain Rogers," Otto said.
The carriage with Otto turned moved around in a tight circle in the center of the road for the Ground Dragon to turn around. As he headed back the way that he had brought them from Otto hung off the side of the cart and looked back at them with a solemn look on his face.
It was all going to be okay, Peter thought. They were almost there. May and Emilia would be okay. Rem would be there waiting for them with Ram, Roswaal, Puck, and Betty.
Steve glanced to Peter and then the two of them started running. He and Steve were both fast, much faster than and normal human and the trees here were just long enough for him to swing from if he did it up high.
So soon he was in the air, zip webbing and leaping from web to web. The night wore on and they moved further down the dirt trail. The forests around them began to look more familiar, more like the ones that were around the Roswaal manor. There were similar trees and smells and just the general feel of them was the same.
But there was something wrong about all of this, the whole forest was cloaked in a kind of permanent shadow that covered the spaces where the moon should have reached. The air was too calm in unnatural way. There were nights where Peter had stole Emilia away from her room so that they could walk through the forest together, they didn't stray too far from the manor, but the one thing that he noticed now was how different all of this felt.
It could be his imagination or—
Peter dropped into the road in a crouch just ahead of Steve causing him to skid to a stop. This was different than his normal danger sense, but something prickled the hairs on the back of his neck and called to him, pulling at him. Steve walked around him until the two of them were standing side by side.
"Your tingle going off?" Asked Steve.
"Um, no, this is—this is something else," Peter said.
Steve glanced down at him, his blue eyes trying to read Peter's expression. Even Peter didn't know what to think since he had never felt this particular feeling before. Drenched in stress sweat with his spider suit clinging to him he stood there sucking the night air in through the tight fabric.
A flicker of movement passed through Peter's peripheral vision. Then another. And another. In the blink of an eye he and Steve were surrounded by figures robed in all black with hoods that matched. Instead of holes where the eyes should be they were just red. Peter had to wonder if they were even human anymore under there. They stood too still just watching Peter and Steve, almost like statues.
"I'm guessing these guys are the Witch Cult?" Peter asked.
"That would be them," Steve said as he moved for his weapons.
"What are they doing?" Peter asked.
"Does it matter?" Steve dropped to one knee and flung his shield out so that it hit one of the cultists to his side.
Before the others could react to the attack, Peter webbed the one in front of him and yanked them forward. He jumped and kneed them hard in the chest knocking them to the ground. Two more swung for him and he dodged under them, but they didn't have weapons and seemed to just be trying to grab him with their bare hands.
Peter webbed their feet to the ground and jumped through them to find Steve handling the ones that were further back. There was a rustling in the trees now and more figures were coming.
Blasts of web bombs sent them skittering back into the woods, pinning them to trees and the ground or just netting them up tight. Peter kicked another one who tried to rush him, vaulting up off of the cultists back and flipping to web the person to the ground beneath him.
Steve's shield rang out with impacts from blocked weapons and the sounds of weapons bouncing away and his sword striking out reverberated through the forest. Peter web-yanked one of the cultists back to him and tossed them into some of the others knocking them off balance.
As they fought, Peter realized that despite all of the hits and punches that were thrown the cultists rarely reacted to pain or made any kind of noise other than the subtle sound of their breath. Even that seemed muted. Were they being mind controlled or was this just a part of their doctrine.
"You need to go on ahead," Steve shouted.
"We're going to need to go together," Peter replied.
"Look kid, I can do this all day. Everyone at the manor is counting on you," Steve sad catching the shield and using to bash one of the cultist out of the air. "We're close now, you go and I'll catch up. You got this—and tell Rem, tell her I'll see her soon and I forgive her."
Peter knew that he was right on some level. If there was this much resistance in the middle of nowhere there had to be so much more somewhere else. It seemed like this secret organization that almost no one could answer questions on had vast resources suddenly. Peter webbed the trees and pulled himself out of the fray, though he made sure to fire a few stray web blasts back to help Steve by wrapping some of the cultists up, but then he was swinging up the road again.
Off in the distance he could see a column of smoke darkened against the night sky. He could smell something burnt and oily in the air, though he didn't recognize the chemical that was the source of whatever it was.
Peter swung for what felt like forever and he realized that the light at the edge of the sky he had been seeing for sometime was the rising sun. He and Steve had run most of the night. As Peter entered the clearing where Irlam Village was situated there was a haze all of the town.
Visibility was low, but this early in the morning there should be people going about the streets trying to start their day. But the only thing moving here was smoke.
Then Peter saw one, the first of them anyway, a body slumped over behind the well with a dagger jutting out of it.
It was the same kind of ornate dagger that the Witch Cultists had the night before. Peter panicked, ran to check a house only for it to open into a darkened room with the linger smell of burnt candle wax.
The dull morning light that cut through the crack of the floor revealed blood slathered bodies of a family huddled the corner. He checked a few more of the homes and found people in similar states, at least where there were any people to find. People were cut down, bludgeoned into the wooden floorboards and just generally brutalized.
"How could anyone do this…all of this just because they hate Emilia," Peter spoke to himself.
There was a part of him that wanted to go back for Steve, but then he remembered Petra and the other children. None of them were here, they must have escaped somewhere. While he was looking for the best hiding places or anywhere they might have run he found the source of the smoke nestled between two houses. A huge heap of bodies burned almost beyond recognition piled together.
Peter wretched in his mask so hard that he had to pull it up away from his mouth to vomit in the street. He dropped to all fours, it was a struggle to hold himself up knowing that he had breathed in the burning flesh and muscle of people that he had once laughed and joked with right here in this little village.
He thought of going to the well and drawing the bucket up to wash his face, but then realized that the Witch Cult could have poisoned that. There was no telling what these people had done. And he had to wonder if it was all his fault for not being here to see the signs and help before it was too late.
Peter rubbed his arm across his mouth to clear away some of the sick, but the smell of vomit lingered in the air around him. Whatever, he thought, so long as he didn't have the smell the burning bodies anymore.
Webbing himself to the central building in the town her was able to survey the area. He pulled the mask down over his mouth to speak. "Karen, are there any signs of survivors," Peter asked.
"Negative. The only life sign detected here is you, Peter."
Frantic, he pulled himself to the edge of the village and webbed out to the trees that lined the path back to the manor. Normally he wouldn't have bothered to try swinging from trees this short, he wasn't good at it, not in long stints anyway. Still, now that he tired, now that he had to be somewhere and fast it was starting to come to him. One arm and then the next.
"Due to the short strides and the frequency of your web bursts you risk using much more web in this situation than you would think," Karen explained.
"I don't care," Peter said.
"Adjusting web shooters for efficiency for this sort of travel should take me a few seconds, you can continue to swing. Would you like me to do that?" Karen asked.
"Do what you want—it doesn't matter. If I'm out of webs when I reach the manor I'll still be more than capable of taking care of this."
Peter could feel a shock like ice was running through his veins. He didn't know what he was going to do if he caught up to these people, let alone if they had hurt May or Emilia or Ram or Rem or Beatrice or anyone else.
By the time he landed atop the stonework of the manor fence the sun was just rising above the trees. There was a chill in the air here, enough that small bits of snow were piled up all over the grounds. The snow, he noticed must have fallen fairly recently. Rem's massive ball and chain was half buried in the stuff, the spiked ball end of it was splattered with blood.
"Rem?" Peter said. "Rem!"
Across the lawn there was a tuft of powder blue hair fluttering in the wind. Rem was face down in the snow when he got to her. Her body covered in lacerations. Peter thought back to what Steve had told him last, thought back to what Steve would think. Peter took his mask off and stowed. His eyes was so watery now that he could hardly see as he dug her out of the snow and hefted her limp, broken body into his arms.
"You can't stay out here, Rem. You can't—I can't leave you like this."
There was a Witch Cultist knife jutting out of a nearby shed door. Peter spotted lumps in the snow going toward the shed and he realized that Rem must have been in there or protecting someone in there. It was hard to spot, but there was a tiny, lifeless hand hanging out of the shed just poking up through the snow.
Peter confirmed his worst fears when he peaked through the crack in the door. The children from the village were inside brutalized and battered. He didn't linger to see and instead pushed the hand into the shed to close the door.
"I'll come back for you," Peter said in a small voice as snow began to fall again.
He trudged his way up to the manor and he could see the impacts from Rem fighting them off, the spots where the bloody chain had scraped past the columns and left a trail of brown red on the walls. Peter could almost picture her movements like dance steps as she wove her way between the bastards doing her best to keep them from the manor and everyone inside.
One of the kids was missing though. Little Petra. She had been smart, he hadn't seen her in the town or in the shed, he hoped that somehow there would be good news waiting for himself. Oh God, May. He didn't know what he would do if May had been hurt.
The inside of the manor was colder than outside, with the door left cracked so he hardly had to work to get it open and step through. Here and there were drops of blood, splatters of it on the wall, and ice spikes jammed through the corpse of a cultist. A good sign as far as he was concerned.
Then upstairs he spotted a trail of blood leading further down the hall like someone had been hit and bled while on the move. There was a dagger, the culprit that had caused the wound, laying on the floor near a door at the other end of the hallway. Peter placed Rem in the bedroom of one of the open doors.
It was when he emerged from the room that he noticed the doors were all open in this hall up to the midpoint. He moved down the hall checking to see who had opened them and why, at the same time following the trail of blood toward the dagger. From where he started at the stairs he hadn't been able to see it, but on the floor near the dagger was dried out red flower.
He remembered when Emilia got that from the little girl in the market of the capital. Peter broke into a run, charging the length of the hall until he reached the open door where the dagger had been dropped. Ram was on the floor just inside, her wand still clasped in her hand and her pink eyes vacant. She had been slashed across the throat and there was one of the cult's daggers shoved into her head.
Across the room from her in the corner was May with little Petra curled up against her. A pair of ornate swords, these taken from the wall of this very room, as Peter recognized them from before, pushed through May and Petra skewering them to the wall. For some reason, the cult had taken special attention when it came to Petra and gouged her eyes out as there was blood running from her flattened sockets.
Peter carefully dragged Ram over so that she was next to the two of them. He put his hands to May's face, her skin was cold. Almost immobile. The air in here was so cold now. It was howling past him from somewhere over his shoulder so that even the tears threatened to freeze on his face.
"May, there has to be something. I can make this right. May, I—" Peter grabbed the swords by the blades, cutting into his hands as he gripped them tight to pull them free and toss them aside.
"Please, come on. Come on, just say something. May." Peter pulled her and Petra close, their bodies were stiff and cold. They didn't feel human. Any blood in them had dried and crusted over.
Peter kissed May's forehead. "There has to be something. Emilia. She must know something. Or Beatrice. Right," Peter placed May against Ram and laid Petra over on both the other women's laps.
Looking at them laying like that, almost peaceful made he wretch again. It was difficult for him to breathe and the tears came more freely now as he knelt in front of the three of them.
"I'll be all alone," Peter muttered. "It would have been better if I turned to dust on Titan and stayed that way."
If Steve hadn't showed up yet, if he wasn't there—it could mean that they overwhelmed him somehow. And now Peter was alone in this house where maybe Beatrice was safe and Emilia and Puck were nowhere to be found. He didn't want to think it, this had to be a sign. Emilia must have known something, she must have had some plan to set this straight.
She was smart, that was part of what he loved about her. Peter would put his hope in Emilia. He couldn't be alone, this couldn't be the end. And they could heal May and the others, right.
Peter stumbled to his feet and turned to see the white flower hair ornament that Emilia wore and the trail of blood still snarking through the room to an open bookcase, one that concealed some kind of hidden compartment between the rooms. Peter wondered if they had followed her down there and if those cultists were still in there trying to get at her, still fighting Emilia.
His stumbling gait became more determined, if he caught one them, just one of them alive he knew what her would do. As he approached the door his tingle went off and for the first time in his life he wondered if it wasn't because of impending danger, it was because of how he felt.
He'd kill every last member of the Witch's Cult a dozen times over for what they had done here. If he was left alone there would be no one left to stop him. Not Crusch. Not Bucky or Sam. Not Reinhard.
Peter webbed himself through the opening sticking himself to the wall inside. The room was entombed in ice to the point that it sparkled as Peter crawled along the wall. At some point it became hard to unstick himself from it as the ice was that cold. It burned at his skin through the suit.
The buzz of his tingle was so loud now that it was deafening. Was there danger there? Was he the danger? Was it too cold for him to be in here? Peter could barely turn his head now, could barely think straight as the tingle flooded over his senses. The room ahead lead to a door that Peter hadn't seen before. A kind of panic room at the bottom of some steps behind this bookshelf.
Peter reached out to touch the knob when Karen's voice cut in through his suit. "Wait," she said.
He froze, hand millimeters away from the door handle as it steamed and shimmered with ice.
"It's too cold," Karen proclaimed. "The temperature is dropping so rapidly. It will impede my functions and be fatal to you."
He knew that he needed to get to Emilia, but he also needed to be alive to do so. And he needed to be alive to finish off the Witch Cult if there were any more of them. Peter fired his webs back toward the bend where he had come from at the back of the room, hoping to escape of the stairs.
Then when he went to pull himself through toward the door he heard a loud snap and something flopped against the floor. Peter looked down in horror to see that his hands were gone at the wrists. His arms frozen in the pose he had taken to fire the webbing. He wanted to scream, but the cold was spreading too fast. He couldn't feel the pain of his missing hands, his skin started to crystalize and every part of him started to burn.
It was to the point that his lungs locked up and the inside of his throat iced over. Peter could feel his skin starting to crack, parts of him starting to slip away and though he couldn't feel the full pain of it, his nerve endings were still firing from the extreme cold.
In his ear he heard the circuitry in the suit shut down with an electric popping sound and he knew this was the end. He had died on a distant planet fighting to save half of the life in the universe and he would die here trying to save his Aunt, his friends, and the girl he loved.
And in that final moment as the pain overcame him and caused him to crumble to the floor like a shattered statue he heard Puck's voice, deeper and more solemn than he had ever heard the little cat spirit. It vibrated the whole of the manor when he spoke. "You're too late Peter."
The world changed in the blink of an eye.
They were outside now and the cold was completely replaced with a temperate, breezy day. Emilia was standing before him looking more beautiful than ever, her cheeks furiously red for some reason. Then she spoke so quickly that her words ran together, though he could still understand her.
"Please don't make this more difficult for me than it already is." She reached out and took Peter's in hers, pressing both their hands to his chest. With the other hand she softly caressed his cheek.
Emilia was standing before a carriage. What was happening? Why did he remember this and why were his legs so weak and shaky? Why did it feel like his tingle was going to burn through him? Why was it going off now?
Emilia bent down from her higher position on the steps and pressed her lips to the free cheek. "May the spirits bless and protect you."
Something jerked inside of Peter, twisting at him and he crumpled into Emilia. She had to catch him. Peter was convulsing, his body twitching and jerking against Emilia.
He could hear her screaming something, hear her crying for help. Though it was like his own body was gone, distant. He remembered this, he remembered this exact moment and conversation, but this isn't how it happened.
And over everything he could still feel the piercing, drilling sensation of his tingle burrowing into his mind, threatening to split him in two. What danger was there? Was what he felt before real, was it some kind of premonition.
"I'm here Peter. I'm here," Emilia was touching his face and he could hear May nearby too.
Peter couldn't think straight, couldn't see or fully hear and the pain of what was happening to him echoed through his body. He could remember before, where he had been. All of the bodies and the blood. The dead villagers and children. And May. This was a better world than that one, Peter surmised.
So he gave up content to pass out on Emilia and let the darkness take him.