Hunted and Hated
An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own X-Men.
Chapter 4: Storm on the Horizon
Vatican City, Rome, 1573
Two pairs of footsteps echoed eerily in the vastness of St. Peter's Basilica. Its soaring arches and towering spires reached for the sky, and frescoes of archangels and Biblical tales decorated its lavish walls. The Basilica was illuminated by the light of a thousand candles, and the atmosphere of the famous cathedral was one of ancient history and holy piety.
A pity, then, that the peacefulness was disturbed by the two men who plotted and schemed beneath the Basilica's hallowed dome.
One was outfitted in a metal helmet and shining cuirass, and the wickedly pointed rapier clanked at his side in time with his footfalls. In keeping with the styles of the time, the soldier wore a poufy-sleeved shirt and breeches, and his dark eyes were burning with a frightening mixture of avarice, ambition, and fanaticism. He was massive, over six feet tall and all muscle, and a thin pencil moustache was perched above his fat lips. The man's nose was missing a conspicuous piece, and a long, ropy scar ran down the left side of his face from ear to chin. These menacing features made him very unnerving.
But when one noticed that the soldier wore the emblem of the Inquisition on his breastplate, he became downright terrifying.
The man's name was Captain Pedro Sanchez, and he was charged by the Inquisition to root out heretics in the far-flung realms of the Church's domain. Sanchez was widely feared for his cruelty and malice to all those he captured: men, women, and even children had been dragged from their homes by the hundreds to torture or execution at his blood-stained hands. For his part, the Captain felt no remorse for his legions of victims. In his mind, heretics and nonbelievers, no matter their age or sex, deserved to die. End of discussion. This religious zealotry, coupled with Pedro's absentee conscience, made him very good at his job. So good, in fact, that the Church often turned a blind eye to his brutal excesses.
The man walking next to Sanchez was no better, despite the fact that he was garbed in a Cardinal's robes. He was short, and wiry, and his quick, darting eyes gave him a shifty countenance. A long, narrow nose jutted from his face like a bird's beak, his mouth was permanently turned down in a perpetual grimace, and his many layers of scowling wrinkles made him look as if he had drunk a glass of spoiled milk. All in all, this Cardinal bore a striking resemblance to a vulture, but the carrion bird happened to be much more noble than he. Vittorio was his given name, and he was almost universally disliked by his peers. Cold, hypercritical, foul-tempered and utterly self-serving, Vittorio was someone who wouldn't hesitate to stab you in the back if he thought he could benefit from it.
It shouldn't have been surprising, therefore, that two men such as these had agreed to work together to further their nefarious ends. One of these ends was increasing support for the Inquisition by apprehending a so-called "demon" that was rumored to be somewhere in Spain. The very thought of it made Sanchez nauseous. How DARE that eldritch creature invade one of the greatest nations in Christendom? How DARE he soil the land of his home with his unholy presence? Only that morning, Sanchez had flown into a killing rage when a dispatch had arrived detailing the failure of his troops to apprehend the beast.
This was not an exaggeration. The Captain had quite literally shot the messenger.
The Cardinal's reedy voice brought his twisted mind back to reality. "I am disappointed in you, Captain," Vittorio said. "You have never failed the Church before, and yet you are outsmarted by an agent of Lucifer."
"It is not that simple," Sanchez said through gritted teeth. "This demon appears to be quite crafty. It is not the first time he has escaped my men, but it WILL be the last. I will journey to Spain myself on the morrow so we can finally expunge the demon's foulness from the land."
"See that you do," Vittorio replied. "Support for the Inquisition is waning, Captain, due in large part to your over-exuberance in carrying out your duties. We need to sway the people's opinion, and the best way to do that is to apprehend the demon and kill it."
"Those heretics got what they deserved," Sanchez noted without a trace of remorse. "Just as the demon will. Even if it escaped, it won't remain hidden for long; The Church is spread far and wide, and sooner or later, someone will lead us to it."
"And when it IS caught," the Cardinal said gleefully. "I will be a shoo-in for the papacy!" And His Holiness might fall victim to a series of tragic accidents, Vittorio finished silently.
"Your ambition does not concern me," Sanchez told him coldly. "I just want the pleasure of seeing that foul creature burn."
"Then we are on the same side," Vittorio whispered.
"Yes," Sanchez agreed. For now…
Kitty's house, Zaragoza, Spain.
Kurt couldn't conceal his delight as he tore into the meat of a juicy chicken leg. He ate with a voracity that would have made a piranha proud, and a small mountain of bones and used plates surrounded his end of the table. Kitty was momentarily taken aback at his noticeable lack of table manners, but then she reminded herself that it had probably been a while since Kurt's last decent meal.
"I am glad you find my cooking enjoyable, Kurt," she said, failing to hide her amusement.
"Kitty, if every cook in the world were like you, no one would ever go hungry," Kurt replied cheerfully as he discarded the now-barren drumstick.
"Would you like more?" Kitty asked for what seemed like the millionth time. Normally she would have grown exasperated with so much cooking for a single guest, but the simple pleasure of Kurt's company was, in Kitty's opinion, more than worth the trouble.
"No," Kurt said, patting his now-swollen belly. "I couldn't eat another bite."
His friend secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Kitty was starting to run out of chickens.
"Do you need help with the dishes?" Kurt asked suddenly, twitching is tail. "I know I've made quite a mess, but I'm more than willing to lend a hand."
Kitty stared at the extra appendage, which twitched as if it had a mind of its own. "Your tail…"
"Yep," Kurt answered the unspoken question. "I can use it to grab and hold things. And it's come in handy more than once, let me tell you."
Kitty glanced at the mess of dirty plates. "Some help would be much appreciated," she admitted. "There is a bucket of water by the stove we can use."
Kurt gathered up the remnants of his meal. "And the scraps?"
"You can give those to the pigs," Kitty said. "You'll find them outside in a large pen."
Her friend left without another word, and he used his tail to close the doorknob behind him.
Kitty shook her head at the sight. "Amazing," she muttered with a smile.
Kurt returned from his errand with a speed that seemed almost unnatural. Then again, Kitty admitted to herself, everything about Kurt was unnatural. Her dress rumpled around her ankles as Kitty took a seat by the bucket of lukewarm water, and Kurt handed her an exceptionally filthy platter.
"You wash, I'll dry?" he suggested.
Kitty nodded as she reached for a bar of homemade soap. "That seems agreeable."
The two friends soon fell into a rhythmic pattern, and the sudsy water slopped onto the floor as they set to their task with a will. And it was rather uneventful, until…
Kurt finished wiping yet another dish and set it down on the floor beside him, reaching out for another without even turning his head. Kitty, meanwhile, was absorbed in an epic battle with an extraordinarily stubborn grease stain, and she absentmindedly handed him another plate to dry.
It was inevitable, then, that they grabbed each others' hands instead of the plate.
Kitty froze, and the sight of Kurt's velvety fingers around her own made her feel lightheaded and quivery, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Kurt, too, found himself captivated by the feel of her slender hand in his own, and the two blushed with an embarrassment worthy of the soppiest romances.
Kurt's senses belatedly returned, and he disentangled himself with deep, but hidden, reluctance. "Sorry," he muttered.
"It's all right," Kitty said as her face turned a lovely shade of vermillion. "I…um…wasn't paying attention…"
"Yeah…" Kurt finished awkwardly.
"Our task is almost finished," Kitty mentioned, desperate for a change of topic. "Will you need my bed again?"
"No, thank you," her friend replied kindly. "It was not fair for you to sleep on the floor last night, Kitty. I'm used to dozing in obscure places, so it's only right for me to give your bed back." Kurt's voice turned playful. "Besides, I fear that if I slept in it again, I would never want to leave."
"Then I will bid you a good night," Kitty said as she stood up, her eyes matching the warmth in his. "I am not expecting any visitors for a while," she added as she closed the door behind her. "You will be safe here, Kurt."
It's amazing just how wrong one person can be.
A/N: Uh, oh! I think there's trouble ahead for Kitty and Kurt! Will the vile Captain succeed in his mission? Will Kitty and Kurt ever admit their feelings to each other? And what diabolical plan is the Cardinal forming? Find out in coming chapters!
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque