Hunted and Hated
An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own X-Men.
Chapter 11: A Demon's Tears
Vatican City, Rome, two days ago…
Cardinal Vittorio held a silk handkerchief to his nose as he carefully descended the stone steps. He was no longer young, and the hems of his robes threatened to trip up his balance at every turn on his nefarious mission.
It was a descent into Hell.
The dungeons of the Inquisition were almost universally feared by European Christendom. The barbarity and sadism that took place within these reeking catacombs was almost beyond belief, and Vittorio sniffed in disdain at the scenes around him.
Within the wretched, dank cells, men and women wasted away in their chains, reduced to cringing, emaciated wretches from neglect and abuse. Whips cracked in the confined spaces, and the callous laughter of the Inquisition's guards contrasted jarringly with the screams of their victims. The moans of the dying, the clanking of blood-encrusted chains, and the sweet, sickly smell of death all combined to create an unholy orchestra of pain and suffering.
Cardinal Vittorio couldn't care less. These people were heretics, and therefore inhuman, and they were also a means to his end. Their fates did not matter as long as he achieved his goal. And, to be frank, the Cardinal enjoyed seeing other people in pain, so visiting the dungeons was the sort of hobby he enjoyed.
There are many reasons why a man might murder, he reflected. Love, revenge, and money were all motives at one time or another. But the evil old man had only one reason to commit this particular murder.
The Cardinal would be a Pope.
Vittorio craved power and status more than anything else in life, and he really didn't care who had to suffer as long as his plans came to fruition. And succeed they would, when that foolish Captain came back with the demon in tow.
The scenario would play out like clockwork. His Holiness Pope Gregory XIII, being the soft hearted fool that he was, would of course visit the demon in person to decide whether it was supernatural or earthly in origin. Before he did, his loyal servant Vittorio would give him a warm cup of his favorite tea to soothe his nerves. After all, His Holiness was no longer young, and could tire very easily without a caffeine boost now and then.
But that weakling would have no idea that the cup's rim would be smeared with a deadly poison!
Vittorio would, of course, be horrified to discover the Holy Father's body in the Demon's cage. The death of His Holiness would serve to confirm the creature's evil nature, and the beast would be treated to an especially painful death to avenge the tragedy. And as the hero who tried vainly to save the Pope, Vittorio would be a shoo-in for the papacy once the next papal conclave was held. He would live out his days in the lap of luxury, the most powerful man in Europe, and no one would be the wiser.
Captain Pedro would know, Vittorio reminded himself silently, but that was easily taken care of.
After all, tragic riding accidents were so commonplace these days…
Somewhere in the Spanish countryside…
Pedro Sanchez was in an especially dark mood today. Over a week had passed since the demon had slipped through his fingers, and yet he still hadn't picked up the creature's trail or found any hint as to where it was headed. He blamed his men for this, of course, and his eyes widened insanely as he berated his hapless troops, who stood in silent ranks before him. Every man was scared to even breathe for fear of drawing down the Captain's wrath.
"I was told that I would embark on this journey with the finest soldiers in all of Christendom," Pedro said in his increasing temper. "Yet I am served by fools, knaves and idlers! Trackers who are so blind and incompetent that they lost the demon's trail! Cowards who call themselves warriors, whose bungling allowed the demon to escape and wreak havoc on God's children! My homeland is tormented by evil, by a wench and a servant of Satan! Where are the bodies of the demon and his collaborator?" Pedro began to move down the ranks, prodding men with his finger as he did so. "Where? Where? WHERE?"
The Captain stopped at the last soldier in line, and his voice took on a light, conversational tone. "Gone. Escaped. What should have happened to them?"
The hapless man's voice trembled in fear when he spoke. "They..sh-should have been..s-slain…"
Pedro suddenly exploded, and his face contorted with fury. "SLAIN!"
With a devastating thrust of his sword, he killed the unfortunate soldier on the spot. "Si, slain, just like this one!" Waving his dripping blade, Pedro saw the fear in the men's eyes and exulted in it. "Hear me now! More of you will follow him if you fail to complete our mission! Break camp and ready the horses! Leave everything save your weapons! It ends today!"
Meanwhile…
Kurt Wagner bit his lip in concentration as he slowly brought his musket to bear. The weapon was heavy and slow to reload; if he missed this shot, then he and Kitty could kiss dinner goodbye.
After all, a red-breasted robin is not usually inclined to wait thirty seconds for a hunter to reload.
The mutant closed one eye tightly shut as he took aim and pulled the trigger. But in a spectacular instance of bad luck, the stupid bird chose that exact moment to hop a few inches to one side. The robin and every other bird in the vicinity took to the skies in a flurry of wings.
Kurt cursed his bad luck.
Some distance away, Pedro thanked his.
Later…
Kurt grumbled viciously under his breath as he returned to the campsite. Kitty smiled at him, but her face fell as she noticed the distinct lack of supper he'd brought along.
"You didn't bring back anything?"
"No. It was just pure bad luck," Kurt grumped, unsheathing his sword and stabbing the ground viciously. "We'll just have to see what we can forage for supper tonight, Kitty. I've probably scared off all the game for miles."
"It's okay, Kurt," she said, trying to be consoling. Kitty stood, intent on sitting next to him-
-And the lead musket ball buzzed viciously as it went by her ear. Kurt jumped to his feet, and a voice shouted hoarsely. "GET THEM! NOW!"
Armored soldiers poured out of the trees, yelling war cries, and Kitty couldn't help but cry out in terror. She couldn't move, couldn't run, and couldn't fight, for her body seemed to have broken down from the shock of the attack. Kurt, meanwhile, stood alone against the onslaught with his sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Like a rock facing a tidal wave, he waited until his foes were almost upon him before he struck.
The mutant twisted to one side to avoid a halberd's slash, shooting his attacker point-blank in the face and cleaving the pole-arm's wooden shaft like a link of sausage. His curved blade clashed with a rapier's point, and Kurt used the brass cap of his firearm to break the man's jaw before running him through. The mutant seemed to be everywhere, his bloody blade whirling like a scythe and reaping a harvest of death. Two wild-eyed soldiers rushed Kurt from behind, but he picked up a fallen man's blade; reversing his grip on the weapons so that they pointed backward, he killed both of his assailants without even turning around.
But all too soon, numbers began to tell. A musket ball embedded itself in Kurt's leg, and a longsword slashed cruelly along his arm. He staggered but regained his focus, and Kurt killed the shooter with a single swipe.
Pedro eyed the carnage with boredom and disdain. It was to be expected that the demon would put up such a fierce fight. Indeed, twelve of his best men now lay bloodied and broken upon the soil of Spain. There was a loud, sickening, crack, and Pedro grimace. Make it thirteen, he thought. I believe this has gone on long enough.
He gripped the handle of his sword resolutely and waded into the midst of the carnage.
Kurt, meanwhile, was too absorbed with fighting for his life to notice the gigantic Inquisitor sneaking up behind him. He was too involved with killing the man in front that he didn't watch his back.
Thus, he never knew it when Pedro brought the hardened pommel of his sword down on the back of his head.
Stars exploded in Kurt's vision, lances of pain arced across his skull, and he felt the world begin to slip away as his knees buckled beneath him.
Kurt glanced over at his only friend. A solitary tear trickled down his face, a beacon of sorrow for what could have been, and his heart sank with a bone-weary despair. The blackness began to claim him, and Kurt glanced one last time at his only friend.
He spoke with his last conscious breath."Run."
And then he knew no more.
At the same time…
Kitty felt her heart shatter as the huge man knocked her friend to the ground. Anguish of an intensity she'd never known twisted her heartstrings, and she was reaching for a sword when she realized the futility of it all. If a seasoned fighter like Kurt could be brought down by these men, Kitty wouldn't stand a chance.
Then Kurt's golden eyes met hers, and his voice was laden with regret and sorrow.
"Run," her friend said, before he crumpled like a broken doll. The sight was burned into Kitty's memory with a hot iron, and her breath caught in her throat as Kurt's assailant glanced over at her.
Run, Kurt had said.
And so she did.
A/N: Just in case you're confused: Kurt is NOT dead, just unconscious. But what will become of our hapless hero? Will Kitty find a way to save her friend? And will Vittorio succeed in his diabolical plot? Find out in coming chapters!
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque