Thanks for the reviews! Climax, we're here. This will be a multi-chapter climax too. Sorry for the lack of Adam in this chapter, but there's a lot going on with the Daaes, so I had to split the "POV"s.
Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein
"Frederik's rounded up his dogs," Gustave cried, scrambling blindly in the snow, the wind making a mess of his hair and blowing piles of snow into their faces. Erik forced himself to move faster.
In the haze that his mind was slowly sinking into, he could hear the sound of barks and howls, wild noises he had thought long gone from his memory. The distant blurb of lanterns shone ahead, no doubt from Frederik and his friends. You're being led on, monsieur. He shuddered.
"M. Daae, Jorgen, where is Jorgen!?"
Gustave's head had not stopped bleeding. The violinist took a moment to register the question before shaking his head, mouth slightly agape.
"I- I don't know."
Now it all made sense. Jorgen was why Kristine was chosen, because he knew her, he knew her. Erik's eyes threatened to close, his legs going numb, the sound of Gustave's shouting in his ears and his own vicious coughs. Kristine! Kristine! The sky was starless overhead, a complete void of black that wanted to consume them. Consume. Consume.
Drums.
He heard them. A soft, slow beating towards their left, so distant he almost failed to detect it. He narrowed his eyes.
"M. Daae," he whispered, hoping the other man could hear, "follow me."
Erik took one step forward, a bout of agony shooting up his chest, and felt himself steadied by Gustave's desperate grip. It would be a long, painful walk.
Nothing lay ahead. Her head throbbed. She was frozen in place, the trees staring eerily down at her bound form. Kristine's mind was groggy, the shapes in the dark nothing but blurs.
Her limbs were frozen in place, the binds cutting into her skin. This isn't right. Hands on her stomach, tracing the curve of her swell. Her body bucked against the ground, the snow burning her back. No!
"Gustave!"
Rough hands pinned her back down, the eyes only bits of white behind crude burlap. Kristine shouted, screamed, called until her mouth was filled with snow. Dom. Dom.
Her legs were parted, the ropes around her ankles binding them to burnt stakes. Dom.
Drums- no! The rhythm increased. The sound multiplied. She shrieked as her ears were filled with whispers, as cold as the air. Her dress ripped. Her captors tugged at her clothing, ripping, tearing, exposing her to their gazes. She tried to turn from their covered faces, away from the rough burlap so crudely stitched and dyed. Like corpses, like the face of a corpse-
Death was upon her. Upon the child. No! No!
She felt a hand snake down her torso. She shut her eyes, the steely surface of a blade touching her breast. She waited for the pain, screaming the whole while, pleading for help.
"Stop! Please!"
"The last," a voice said. "The last," another joined. "The last." "The last." "The last." Their voices mingled, a twisted blend against the drum beats.
"The last." "The last." "The last."
Pleading for Gustave, for any name she knew. "Frederik!" "Hilda!" "Gustave!" "Jorgen!" "Agda!" "Brita!" "Anja!" "Gustave!"
"One mother for one." Beat. "The last." Beat. "One mother for one." Beat. "The last." Beat. "One mother for one."
Her body thrashed as she felt the figures fall on her, heads digging between her parted legs- Please no! No!
"Erik!"
"One-" "The-" "Mother-" "La-" "For-" "-st" "-one."
The land seemed to slope around him, the world horridly off balance, and threatening to throw him into the abyss. Erik coughed until his chest was nothing but a vault of fire. But the sounds-
The drum beats were louder. Gustave could hear them by then, if the wild look on his face was to be believed. They crept past the trees, the man in front swaying with every step. He couldn't give in yet. They were almost at the source. Erik was sure of it. His head ached terribly. Almost there. Gustave's shoulders were covered in blood. Closer. Erik felt as if his side was ripping apart, the broken bones scraping his insides.
A scream.
"Kristine," the violinist gasped, darting past Erik and deeper into the shadowed woods.
Erik limped after him, a faint chanting growing louder as they neared the screams. "The last one." There was a short burst of orange before he tumbled to the ground, Gustave landing inches beside him.
"One mother for one."
The voices were in unison, a circle of fire peeking from behind several trees. The woman's screams pricked at his ears as Erik gathered himself, watching Gustave charge toward the flames, his wife's name echoing in the dark.
"Erik!"
The masked man stood, startled by the abrupt call of his name. From her lips nonetheless. It only meant desperation. Memories of the shah's torture chamber flashed in his mind. The screams, the blood, the cries.
He struggled to stay awake- daroga, Erik made her laugh! Erik made her laugh- running blindly forward, forgetting the cold and pain- daroga, the sultana will be pleased! Daroga, don't look at me like that- and almost froze at what he saw.
At least nine figures stood around the bucking body of Kristine Daae, her arms spread, a rope on each limb tying her to wooden stakes, her legs parted, the rope cutting into her ankles. She was naked in the snow, the bulge in her belly turning pink, a man bent before her hips-
"Only the most exquisite torture, magician!" Daroga, Erik is scared. Don't make him go back, daroga, don't.
There was a shallow cut on her collarbone, illuminated by the fire from the haystacks beside her. The man was wearing-
Adam's face.
The stitched yellow visage was stark under the firelight, mocking, unnatural, a near mirror of Erik's own. A caricature- an effigy.
"Kristine!"
Gustave burst into the scene, throwing himself on the man's back, both falling to the snow, rolling and punching with a violence that stopped the women at the drums. Stupid man! Without a second thought, Erik rushed forward, hands pulling out the punjab.
Gustave fell back, accosted by another of the disguised figures, one that held a glint of silver. The lasso wrapped around the man's wrist and pulled him back with a crack. A cry of pain followed.
"Get her!" Erik shouted. Gustave nodded and scurried away.
Don't make him go back, daroga!
An attack of coughing returned. Erik loosened his grip, enough time for his victim to deliver a hard blow to his ribs. Searing agony sent him stumbling backwards, the world momentarily going out of focus. The released man clutched his broken wrist, a look of pure determination in his eyes, a look that troubled Erik.
"The stubborn ones are the hardest to extinguish, are those not your words, magician?"
From the corner of his eye, he saw the rest approach the Daaes, determined not to let the last one escape. He picked up the discarded knife just as the man before him tackled- "Promise me, Erik, that there will be no more killing-"- and stuck the blade into the man's knee.
The cultist fell with a moan, spurts of blood coloring the snow. Erik crawled away, forcing himself to his feet and tugging at the punjab. He couldn't tell how many were approaching Gustave or himself. Five? Four?
The lasso wound around another neck. He tightened, releasing just in time to avoid the snap. Daroga, Erik does not know. Another. He tightened, feeling his muscles weaken. The man thrashed in his grasp, kicking at the air. He dropped.
Three? Two? A brief burst of pain hit him in the head. He was on his knees, a stream of red dripping into his eyes. He avoided another blow, falling into the snow, staring up at giants with swords- no, men with knives. He winced, jumping back up and rounding the lasso on another attacker. He was too slow. The man elbowed his rib, ripping a yell of pain from his mouth. Erik stepped back, his grip faltering on the punjab, as a sharp pain tore into his side.
He saw his own blood splash against the man's hand as the knife came out, slathered in red.
Desperately, he threw the punjab again, with all the speed he could muster, and tightened, hands itching to pull the snap. No, no, the daroga would not like that. Panting and gasping in turn, he held up an arm to defend himself against the second man. Third man?
The dulling blade sliced him in the arm. He dropped the punjab.
He moved, too slow to avoid the next cut, a loud slice against his battered chest. Erik coughed, the world spinning again, spots of scarlet landing on the snow beneath his feet. Another burst of pain, a slash to his back. He felt himself sink, hands pulling at his mask.
It slipped off.
No!
His arms reached out, the adrenaline pushing the pain back, as he tackled the one who tore it off, hands on the throat. The body stopped flailing- Erik promises, daroga- and he let go, coughing violently. He left the unconscious man, suddenly aware that the others had disappeared.
Surely he hadn't imagined-
No, the pain was all too real. And his face- shaking, he retrieved the lasso, tucking it back into his jacket, ignoring the wetness growing against it- his face had been revealed. Perhaps that was what sent them running.
He gasped for air, clumsily tying the mask back to his face, and proceeded to stumble toward the couple in the snow. The wind pulled at him, pelting him with savage piles of snow and burning his wounds.
Gustave held his wife in his arms, trying to calm her stammers. Kristine clutched at him, half frozen from cold and petrified with fear. All that mattered was that he was with her- that she was for the moment, out of harm's way. He looked past her, at Erik's limping form, and the various bodies scattered around them.
His eyes widened at the realization of what that could imply. And to his guilt, he realized that he did not care if they died. He hoped they were dead. No, no such thoughts- such horrible thoughts. He shivered.
"Are- are they dead?"
Erik stood over them and shook his head, his hat gone, revealing a scalp covered with thin wisps of hair, and what appeared to be a large bleeding gash. Gustave turned guiltily back to Kristine.
"We- we should go back- Frederik can help-"
The masked man's cloak fell at a heap next to him. "Cover her in this." Gustave grabbed the article, nodding gratefully, and went on to do just that. "Thank-"
But one look at Erik by the firelight was all it took to drain the remnants of color from his face. The man's clothes were covered in rips and blood, the worst of it from his side, plops of blood leaving it for the piling snow.
"You're hurt!" he gasped.
"I'll be fine," the other replied tiredly. Gustave knew otherwise- that was the phrase the masked man always used.
"But-"
"We should go." Erik bit back a grunt of pain. "Now."
Gustave gathered Kristine in his arms and stood up, her eyes locked on the blood in the snow. She was shaking against him. He felt lightheaded as they turned back, away from the fire. But he was still afraid, terrified of what was to come further in the dark.
The wind howled.
Thanks for reading! And I really have no idea if this is living up to the horror genre, or the drama genre, so please review and let me know? With cherries on top?
And no, things are not going to look up for Erik. Or Gustave. Or Adam. It's gonna be a long, long night.