Author's Note: Finally, another chapter, eh? Woo! -.-

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Part One: Quickstep

2/3

By: The Sadistic Cow

The storm continued to rage outside as Slightly and Pyewacket sat on the floor of the cabin, leaning against the door and listening to the wind howl. Flashes of lightning sent strange shadows to dance across the walls in eerie capers; the windows rattled so wildly the two companions feared they would come unhinged. A few minutes before, Pyewacket had found a candle and lit it; the tiny light gave them some comfort in the chill cottage.

Slightly had his arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He was soaked to the bone, hair plastered in wild tangles on his head and water dripping down his face. A minute shiver raced through him; Pyewacket looked at him gently.

"You cold, boss?"

The blonde shrugged. "Slightly," he replied, shivering again.

"Want me to find you a blanket or something?"

"Sure."

As Pyewacket scampered off, Slightly gazed around the room. It was actually quite comfortable looking, if one paid no mind to the cobwebs, the dust and a pair of slit gray eyes peering out the half-open door of the broom closet.

Slightly blinked. Eyes…?

"Pyewacket?" he whispered harshly. "What's that?"

The brownie dashed back over to him, dragging a tattered blanket behind him. He looked in the direction Slightly pointed, and gasped. "Hey! Who goes there?!" he snapped angrily. "Show yourself!"

He took a few threatening steps toward the closet. A low growl answered him, a rumbling sound that shook the floors and the brownie backed off rather quickly. Slightly got to his feet, his eyes wide. "What is it?" he whispered, moving one hand towards the knob on the door in case the whatever-it-was decided to pounce.

"I don't know, boss," Pyewacket answered grimly. "But I don't think I want to find out, either. Move slowly, no sudden moves."

Slightly nodded, still staring at the eyes as they blinked owlishly at him. The growl came again; a slight shifting of a body in the darkness, and then it appeared. First one leg, and then the other, covered in a light coat of charcoal gray fur with clawed paws for feet. It slid from the shadows, moving up a hip wrapped in shredded brown cloth and tied by a ragged strip of leather. A hand appeared, sharp talons gleaming in the candlelight. Gold bands on the wrists and a red cloth tied around the upper arm; long, waist-length grayish hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Most definitely female.

Werewolf.

Pyewacket hissed something nasty under his breath. "Lady Luck has farted in my general direction again," he muttered.

The wolf growled, tail flicking, hackles raised. Fangs gleamed viciously in the dim light, and eyes that burned like coals stared coldly from an almost human face. Slightly backed himself up against the wall, face white as a sheet.

"Pyewacket…" he murmured. "What…is…that?"

"Werewolf," the brownie hissed back, moving slowly to he stood between Slightly's legs. "There aren't that many left in Never Land, not after the Unseelie took over their territory. Completely wasted the clans; if they weren't tortured to death then they were used as hosts for Otherworld spirits." He glanced up and noted the confused look on the boy's face. He whispered, "Don't ask. It's ugly."

"What are you doing here?" The werewolf's voice was little more than a hoarse snarl, scratchy and underused. The fur on the back of her neck puffed out, her tail twitched spasmodically and Slightly found himself grossly fascinated by the way she flexed her claws.

'So sharp and shiny…could gut a person with only a slight effort.' Slightly shivered again, from fear instead of cold. 'Ooooh, I wish Peter was here.'

Pyewacket bared his teeth at her. "We are here to take shelter from the storm!" he retorted hotly. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business you undersized water rat. Now sod off; you interrupted my sleep." She moved to turn back into the closet, but paused when neither Slightly nor Pyewacket moved. She growled again, more loudly this time. "Didn't you hear me? I said sod off. That means get out. Now."

"But…we slightly can't! Have you looked outside? We'd never make it out there!" Slightly protested. He almost bit off his own tongue when she locked her eyes on him. He gulped.

"Well now," she hissed. "That's not my problem is it? If you two saps are too weak to handle the weather, don't blame me. Blame your parents for birthing such pathetic losers like you."

Pyewacket bristled. "Who do you think you are, you giant mutant hairball!?"

The wolf spun back around. "What did you call me?!"

"You heard me, wench!"

"You slimy little pint-sized booger!" She crouched down, preparing to leap for the brownie who jumped behind Slightly's leg for protection. "You'll pay for that!"

"You and what army?" Pyewacket yelled back. "All we wanted was some bloody shelter and here you come with your pompous attitude and tell us to go out and get killed! You inconsiderate bitch! Get stuffed!"

As the werewolf released her taut muscles to pounce, there was the sound of shattering glass, animalistic shrieks and the wind howling. The curtains over the now-shattered windows billowed and flapped wildly as a vicious breeze ripped through them; anything light enough to be blown over was. The candle was snuffed out as what seemed like hundreds of furry bodies swept into the cabin in a tidal wave; red-rimmed eyes gleaming with insanity.

"Fuck!!!"

Slightly didn't know who said it but he agreed wholeheartedly. When the teeming horde of insane monkeys swarmed him, the boy fell back with a terrified scream. They beat their fists on him, sprouting red marks and bruises, their claws scraping his tender skin and fangs nipping at his face. Slightly howled, kicking his feet and swinging his fists at them; whenever he hit one another would replace it and, once the first recovered, double-team him.

It was no use. They were too many, and he was just one boy. He didn't know where Pyewacket had gone, nor the werewolf, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. All he could do was cover his head, curl into a ball and hope for the best. 'Please, go away!' he thought wildly as one of the monkeys bit into his ankle, taking a big chunk out of it. He screamed.

"Meeee-OW!!!!!!!!"

Something else landed on top of him, adding to the monkey swarm. But instead of trying to eat him alive, it instead bit and clawed at Slightly's attackers. They shrieked and jumped away, only to jump back in a fury. They didn't want to give up their victim that easily. Enraged howls filled the cabin, adding to the already thunderous sound of the storm outside.

Another angry "Meeee-OW!!!!!!" was heard, and the blonde glanced up between bloody and chewed fingers to see a small, gray and black striped cat scuffling wildly with one of the monkeys. They ripped and tore into each other furiously, blood and chunks of fur flying in all directions and splattering on the walls. The cat hissed viciously, ears pinned back and hackles raised to the point it looked like a fat, round fuzz ball. The monkey hissed back and Slightly could almost hear what he thought they would be saying if they could talk. Mostly consisting of cuss words, though he couldn't blame them if they were swearing in animal language.

The two continued to scuffle until the cat got a good jab at the monkey. He sliced into its eyes, leaving a large gouge in its face. The monkey howled in pain and stumbled back, rolling around and wailing. The cat jumped on its head, bouncing savagely on the skull until it thumped painfully against the floor. Blood began to puddle around the space where monkey-boy's head was being bounced; soon, it didn't move and lay still, crimson liquid dripping out of the orifices of its face. The cat looked rather proud of himself.

Another howl echoed, only this time it wasn't Slightly's little saviour. Both boy and cat turned to see the werewolf duking it out with more monkeys, screaming obscenities at them in a language Slightly didn't understand. Not that he cared; the language sounded awful anyway. He didn't want to know the meaning of whatever it was she was saying as he was sure he probably wouldn't like it.

At that point Slightly remembered Pyewacket. Where was he? He had been right between his legs when…

"EEEE-YAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The brownie came tearing out of nowhere, a large, burly ape hot on his heels. Pyewacket scampered and bounced all over the place in an effort to get away from it, his mouth open in an 'O' as a ripping scream droned on from his throat. It dimly occurred to Slightly that for such a little guy, he was awfully loud.

The crazed animal swiped at him with a huge paw and Pyewacket barely managed to leap over it and avoid being tossed into the wall. Noticing Slightly watching him, the brownie cried: "Boss! HELP! ACK!" Again the monkey swung at him, and again he dodged. Only this time he tripped and fell on his face. The beast loomed above him, slobbering and gibbering.

Slightly jumped into action. He took a few running steps, brought his foot back, and then let fly. He kicked the monkey square in the butt and sent it careening across the room to hit the wall with a sickening thwack.

Pyewacket stared up at him gratefully. "Thanks, boss," he said as Slightly knelt down and picked him up, setting the brownie on his shoulder. The cat approached, pacing around Slightly's feet and hissing menacingly. Pyewacket clung to the boy and stared around. "I think it's time we make a run for it," he commented, eyeing the other monkeys as half of them slowly started edging toward them. The cat hissed again, swiping a clawed paw in the beast's general direction.

Slightly took a step back as the monkeys advanced, their anger overcoming their fear of being kicked into the wall like their companion had been. Turning a bit, he saw that the path to the door was blocked by more of them, and he winced. "There's slightly no way out," he replied worriedly. "What do we do?"

"Fight," the brownie said grimly. "And kick some ape ass!"

"With what?"

"Anything!"

Slightly bit his lip and looked around; there was nothing he could use as a weapon, nothing that could defeat the insane animals. Wait, maybe…

Pyewacket nearly fell off the boy's shoulder as he abruptly bolted, snatching up a broken table leg and holding it up threateningly. He glared at the monkeys, brandishing the wooden leg at them. "Go away!" he shouted venomously. "Leave us alone!"

"Whoa…hey! Oh yeah! Get 'em boss!" the brownie yelled.

The monkeys attacked. Slightly swung his weapon, sending five of them flying into the wall. More came, and he hit them over the head as hard as he could, screaming. Blood splattered across the floors and the walls as their brains were crushed beneath the force of the leg as it was brought down upon them. Eyeballs fell from sockets and tongues were severed as sharp fangs slammed down on them. The smell that arose from the corpses had yet to hit Slightly's nose, but he didn't care—they had to die!

Pyewacket joined in the battle with his yells of "Go get 'em, tiger!" and "Beat their ugly mugs in! Woo!" He pumped one fist and hung on to Slightly's hair as tightly as he could with the other. He almost fell off several times when the boy abruptly spun to meet a new attack. The cat was with them all the way, hissing and spitting and clawing with all his might, taking down any psycho monkey that tried to catch the boy unawares.

One more monkey went down, and Slightly spun about to face any new attacks. None came, and he stood crouched among a pile of dead monkey bodies, breathing heavily and eyes alight with battle-passion. The table leg was raised in attack mode, and, for a brief moment, Slightly felt like a great warrior who had won a fierce battle all alone. He was strong. He was bad. He was…

Just a little boy who had fought against a horde if insane animals who were lying in hairy piles all around him in the middle of a cabin. Blood was splattered across the walls, the ceiling and the furniture. He stood in a huge puddle of brains, eyeballs and urine from when the monkey's pissed themselves upon having their skulls crushed.

The smell hit him right about then, and with a swift turn away from the sight, he barfed.

Pyewacket winced. "Ooh, gross." The silence made him look around again and he frowned. There was something missing, though he wasn't sure just what. Then it hit him. He scanned the room again, and blinked in astonishment.

The werewolf was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For as long as he could remember, Billy Jukes hated storms. He was by no means as superstitious as Robert Mullins, but he had his fair share of fears and beliefs, and he believed that raging storms such as the one roaring outside now meant bad things were about to go down. It didn't help that they were in Never Land, and Never Land was a breeding ground for weirdness anyway, so he supposed it wouldn't hurt to be very, very afraid.

Instead of raining as it had been earlier, now there was hail. Huge, fist-sized balls of ice were falling from the sky in thick clusters, shattering anything in their path. There were pockmarks all over the ship from where they had struck, and he kept thinking that at any moment they would come ripping through the ceiling of the crew's quarters to smash their heads in.

Wrapping a blanket around himself, Billy shivered. He didn't like this; it felt wrong. Everything about the storm, about the day, had seemed so utterly wrong that he was loath to dismiss it.

Maybe it was the fact that Slightly had been spotted alone on the beach earlier by Smee, or that the blonde Lost Boy had been missing from the group when Pan made his daily calls on the Jolly Roger. Or maybe it was the suddenness of the storm, and the way the whole island went quiet an hour before it struck. That had been eerie.

The birds, which he usually listened to when he was working on Long Tom, had fallen silent. He remembered looking up and towards the island, wondering why. With all the birds there were in Never Land, even if a few were frightened others would still sing. And the frightened ones would have squawked at any disturbance. But they went silent. Even the water seemed hushed, lapping almost silently against the hull of the ship.

Billy shivered again. He didn't like it. No, sir. He didn't like it at all.

He could hear the other men murmuring to themselves nearby over the roar of the storm; they sounded as nervous as he felt. Mullins was whispering about ghosts and demons and for once, the others seemed to be actually listening to him.

"I'm telling yous, there's bad wind tonight," the Brooklyn pirate growled, casting his eyes nervously about. "Spirits n' demons walk tonight. I can feel 'em in my bones."

"And I can feel myself become sick from the slop Cookson served for dinner!" Starkey quipped. "Really, Robert, what gives you the idea that so-called spirits and demons are walking out in weather like this?"

Mullins' voice dropped a bit more as he leaned forward, and Billy had to strain to hear. "Did yous not hear the silence? Nothin' was movin'. Nothin' at all. The birds, the wind, even the bloody sea went dead for one full hour before the storm broke." He sat back, crossing his arms. "When the dead walk, the animals know. Nature knows. Everything knows, but us." He snorted. "At least, yous don't. I ain't gonna be caught off-guard by some shade wanderin' the night."

Mason rolled his eyes. "Ah, come off it, Mullins. There's nothing walkin' out there on a day like this. No ghosts, no spooks, nothing. And if there is they won't be livin' long, I'm telling you. That wind'll haul yer arse up to the heavens before you can say Hail Mary."

"What's that aboot a virgin lass?" Smee asked, poking his head in. "On a night like this we need virgins, ta be sure."

Mason groaned and Starkey snickered. "Smee, you cockanniny, we're not talking about virgins!" Mullins snarled. "We're talkin about spirits!"

"Ah, the virgin be a great spirit," Smee said solemnly. "I've spent many a night dreamin a her." And with that he walked off, to attend to whatever it was he was going to attend to, leaving the rest of the pirates staring after him in bewilderment.

"I highly doubt I want to know what he meant by that," Starkey said quietly. Mason guffawed. Mullins grumbled something under his breath. Billy grinned.

"Well at least we know that something is normal," he quipped, loudly enough for the others to hear. "If Smee actually started to make sense, then I would be worried!"

Mason boomed a laugh, a brass sound in the stuffy cabin. "Ah, you're right there, lad. If Smee was normal I'd be scared outta my wits."

The pirates shared a laugh over the idiocy of the bo'sun for a few minutes, before a strange thumping sound could be heard coming from outside. They paused in their laughter, brows knitting in confused suspicion. The thumping grew a bit louder, barely discernable over the roar of the storm, but it got louder with every passing moment. Almost like waves slapping against the hull, only…heavier.

Billy twitched. "What's that?" he asked softly, his eyes widening. Mullins frowned deeply, lip curling up into a sneer. He drew his sword.

"Spirits and ghouls," he growled. "I told ye, lads. The dead walk tonight."

"Oh, get off that," Mason grumbled. He shifted nervously. "It ain't spirits or ghouls, it's just the storm and the water. I'm telling you, Mullins, it's nothing."

"Then why don't ya go and see?" the Brooklyn pirate demanded harshly, snapping angry eyes to the other man. Mason squirmed beneath his gaze.

"It's nothing to worry about," he began to say, but was cut off by a high-pitched keen emanating from outside. He froze, every muscle in his body going stiff. "What the hell—"

The keen came again, louder this time. It rose until it seemed to reach the heavens, then dropped again, beautiful in its eerie strangeness. Then again, it rose, louder than ever, forcing the pirates to clamp their hands over their ears and howl in pain.

"Bleedin' Mary!" Mason shouted, wincing. "What sort of thing makes that noise?!" Mullins was pale.

"Mermaids!" he hissed.

And indeed it was. Surrounding the ship, fifty mermaids with gleaming eyes full of insane hate bobbed on the water, their mouths wide open to let forth their keening song. Their tails slapped against the hull in a strange, rhythmic pattern, which reverberated throughout the whole ship.

As the pirates stood gaping over the side, having run out from beneath the deck to see what it was, the fish-ladies stopped their song and glared up at them. They hissed venomously, and Billy found himself shuddering at the sight of them.

'Their eyes…' he thought, frightened. "Oh gods, look at them," he whispered.

Where there was once flawless skin veins now bulged out horribly. A slight green tinge coated their flesh, standing darkly out against their faces. Swollen, baggy lids beneath their eyes made it look like they hadn't slept in a week. Their faces were haggard and horrible, and all the pirates shuddered as one.

"What in the world happened to them?" Starkey wondered aloud.

"Spirits!" Mullins answered hotly. "Didn't I tell yous?"

"I'm not in denial anymore," Mason said. "But I am all for getting the hell out of here!"

"I agree!" Starkey quivered.

The mermaids continued to stare up at them, hungry looks in their eyes. They bared their teeth, keening lowly as they began to sway in the water. White foam sloshed around them as they moved, unblinking eyes unnerving the men on board the ship.

"What the blazes are they doing?" Mullins whispered.

"I don't know," Billy said. "But I really don't like it."

"Begorrah, what be happenin with the fish lassies?" Smee said, coming up behind them and peering over the edge. He adjusted his glasses and said in surprise, "Ach, they're unglier'n a troll's toenail, ta be sure."

The mermaids snarled at him, slapping their tails against the water. Their keens turned into shrieks, and they charged the ship, slamming into it as one and causing it to rock unsteadily.

Starkey scowled, clutching the rail. "Oh wonderful, now you've gone and pissed them off!" he shouted.

The wind decided to pick up at that point, and Billy found that he had to cling to the rail alongside Starkey to keep from being blown away. The other pirates began shouting curses, stumbling in different directions to get hold of something. The sail flapped wildly and thunder rumbled in the sky, and it was then that Hook made his appearance.

"Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs! What cozening is this?" he shouted, opening the door to his room and staring out at the storm with angered eyes.

"Cap'n sir! Cap'n, the mermaids are attacking the ship, sir!" Smee shouted.

"WHAT?!"

"I said—"

"I heard you, Smee, you dolt!"

"Cap'n—"

The ship surged violently to the side as a simultaneous gust of wind and the mermaids shoved it hard, causing everyone aboard to stumble. Billy hit the deck with a thud, rolling painfully to the other side and unable to stop. He let out a yell that was barely heard over the howling gales as he hit the rail and a barrel fell on top of him. Mullins' eyes widened.

"Billy!"

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, striking just in front of Billy and shattering the wooden floors. Flames rose as the deck beneath the boy began to crumble and crack, and he screamed again as the railing gave way. The last thing he saw was his comrade's shocked faces as he went over the edge and into the churning waters below, where fanged fish women waited eagerly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something was wrong.

The air, the sea, the blood of the beast she had just killed. The way the land was silent, and her nerves tingling with a strange fear.

It was all wrong.

She left the corpse of the deer behind, lumbering back into the water with a growl and a flick of her powerful tail.

The Croc was an animal, and so had some access to senses humans didn't. She could feel that somehow, somewhere, something was seriously wrong.

And she didn't like it.

The blood of the deer had been foul. She didn't know why, or what it was that made it that way. But it was not how a deer ought to have tasted. And she should have known; she'd eaten many in her time.

She slipped below the waves easily, now in her element. In the cove she could see the Jolly Roger, surrounded by mermaids. Had she been capable of human thought, she would have wondered what they were doing there.

Instead, all she knew was that the scent they carried through the water was reminiscent of the deer's blood. Foul. Unnatural.

The Croc didn't like it. It was threatening. She was in danger from this wrong-ness. The instinct to survive was strong within her, and in order to survive…

She gnashed her jaws and swam toward the ship.

…all threats must be eliminated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Billy choked, desperately trying to stay above the water. He splashed wildly as waves washed over him, fighting their intent to drown him. He could hear Mullins screaming for him, and Hook howling to lower a rope, but the voices were almost drowned out by the wind. And the low, almost seductive keening of the mermaids as they swam closer to him.

The gunner choked a scream as one mermaid made a grab for him. He kicked at her, eyes bulging enough to show the whites. "Get—" he swallowed more water and coughed. "—away!"

She only smirked at him, baring her fangs. Billy suddenly felt very, very cold, and it wasn't due to the water being like ice.

Her teeth were stained with blood.

A low wail of terror escaped him as he tried to doggy-paddle away. Another mermaid swam in and smacked at him with her tail, and he found, to his horror, he was surrounded.

"Billy! Billy-boy! Swim, lad, swim!" Mullins' hands gripped what was left of the rail until his knuckles turned white. No! He couldn't lose Billy this way! Not to mermaids gone insane!

They surged toward him, eyes gleaming. Billy screamed.

Then the water erupted. A great wave washed over him and he went under, but not before he caught sight of the Croc rearing her head from beneath the foam. Terror overcame him at the thought he would die by her jaws, but instead she spun, clamping her great maw around the belly of the mermaid closest to him. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as the mermaid seemed to break in half, long strings of entrails dangling from her chewed flesh. Dropping what was left of her into the water, the Croc turned and snapped up another with a roaring grunt.

Billy knew he only had seconds. This was his chance to get away. He rose up above the water again, flailing his arms. Miraculously, he caught hold of a barrel that was still intact. He clung to it, kicking his feet in a desperate attempt to get as far away as possible from the blood-thirty croc and the mermaids who were engaged in battle.

The pirates screamed and cheered him on; he knew they would come for him later. Or at the very least, Mullins would. With all his strength the gunner paddled toward shore, the sound of thrashing water, screams and meaty chomps accompanying him.

'Please don't let them see me,' he thought. 'I am invisible. I am invisible. Dear Lord Neptune, I'm invisible!'

To be continued…