Slowly, darkness wafted throughout the area, the fog hadn't gone away, adding to the looming darkness as day becomes night, and the only light casting was inside the castle.
Gallico hadn't turned up, though Paul suspects he isn't far behind, bidding his time, and the impending events to come started bothering Paul that he began pacing around the castle, deep in thoughts.
Taylor helped collect things for Prospero, at one point he wanted to greedily hold onto them, but well, he couldn't expect to keep them in his possession forever.
Since these creatures were a highly kept secret, that turning over his family's book to the museum carried the risk of it either stolen or destroyed, Prospero asked for the translated version to spread far and wide throughout the world, alongside the untranslated text, so that nobody could censored it, and there be proof.
The book, he didn't know where it should go that it couldn't be destroyed by nefarious individuals, so he entrusted it with Taylor.
Looking up at the darkness above, the moon masked by the fog and the blackened clouds, Prospero muses, "As darkness overtook the land, I still see the shining beauty obscured by it."
Cheesy, he knows, but it's something that came to mind as he glanced up to the skies while looking through his window.
"I'm sorry it's come to this," Taylor frowns as she apologises to him, but he waved his hand as he proceeded to tell her that it wasn't her fault.
He knew that if they could, they could have stopped this, but it's evident that they risked far worse things happening if they interfered.
"They won't hurt you, will they?" Prospero inquired if her and Paul were at risk of getting killed by the Drekker.
Shaking her head, Taylor explains that so long that her and Paul kept their heads down when they appear, make no apparent threats towards them, they shouldn't be dangerous.
"Not sick, are you?" Prospero raised his brow.
Shaking her head, Taylor assures him that they're safe.
The TARDIS wouldn't let them go on an adventure with so much as a cough, out of fear for their well-being, and with the Drekker, especially.
"Suppose this means the next time we meet…" Prospero trails as his eyes dropped to the floor.
A slow nod, Taylor summed, "You will attack us the moment you smell so much as a cold. We won't hold it against you, Prospero."
Since Drekker are more animalistic in nature, Prospero would become beholden to those instincts, that even if he held some shred of memory of them, he wouldn't be able to stop himself.
Be it he perceived them a threat or food, he will attack.
"Sorry," Prospero gave an apology nevertheless.
They heard footsteps coming towards them, when they turned their head, they saw Paul standing there, pale-faced as he warns that something gotten into the castle.
An open window and that deathly smell.
"Shouldn't you go, then?" Prospero urged him and Taylor to flee while they can, on the chance that this Drekker would attack them, anyhow, but Paul insisted they stay, see it through.
Explaining to Prospero, Paul said that while it's unseemly for him, no one had an opportunity of experiencing something like this.
To tell the tell, he sums.
"I suppose I should thank you for your honesty, Doctor," Prospero sighs.
Taylor's startled by the sound of the wall clock setting off, it's nine, and that deathly smell started becoming stronger.
It's coming for Prospero.
Urging them, Prospero had them get away to a safe distance from him, while that foul smell hit his nose.
Paul described the natural musk in great detail, even Prospero had to cut it down to size in his final book.
To sum, it smelled of death.
Understandably, Prospero felt the nervousness rattle him, but briefly, and calmness took its place.
Not something one expected when faced with a fate worse than death.
Maybe there was more to his family history than he gave credit.
During the time he was writing and glancing at the translated texts of the book, Prospero never once saw a text about anyone in his family trying to fight against their fate.
Quite the opposite.
One of his earliest ancestors saw it as an honour.
Took it upon themselves to keep the land clean for their families, their descendants, so on.
The only thing he found within the translations that sounded like fear's them never seeing their families again.
It's sad, honestly, Prospero should be fighting against fate, screaming, crying, begging, but he wasn't doing anything like that.
Not threatening Paul or Taylor's lives, either.
Certainly, was sober, that much he knew.
Not much of a drugs user, so there's that.
"Those chosen shall not fear, they see only duty," Prospero muttered one of the lines of texts.
Throughout the quiet library, there's only the crackling fire, no one made a sound, and the three started hearing a thudding noise from somewhere in the castle.
Standing safely away from Prospero, Paul glances up at the window overlooking the library, only darkness greets him.
Feeling her hand squeezing his, Paul held Taylor close, as they're forced to witness something they could not change if they tried.
"There was nothing we can do, Grace," Paul reminds her as he held her close.
Both nearly leapt through the air when they heard the thudding getting closer and the foul smell worsening.
Rattling at the door, Prospero stood quietly as he sees something opening the door from behind, and it opens inward.
Standing in the doorway, he sees a looming shadow peering in, faint chittering noises coming from it, and as it enters, Prospero sees just how unnatural these creatures were.
Looked like an oily plague doctor on the first glance, but then he saw the large bird-like feet, the long beak, and those eyes.
Paul mentioned how they always bothered him.
Something so monstrous and foul looking, but yet still human, somehow.
"Which one are you?" Prospero took the last time he would be able to communicate with ease, wanting to know which person this creature once was, and because he wanted some answers.
He's stunned when he heard the Drekker chitter, "War… ren…"
As Paul told him, they still have comprehension despite their transformation.
"Warren… how…?" Prospero found it impossible that a beastly creature that once was Warren Nice somehow survived that long.
He heard back a chittering, "Bright… light…"
Seeing this beast standing in front of him, the foul smell emitting from it, calmly looking down on him as if he were an infant.
The more chance he got to look at his ancestor, Prospero noticed that among the oily blackness, there's white stripes, wear in those blue eyes, the pained raspy breathing.
Wherever his ancestor was all this time when he was taken, he wasn't a reanimated skeleton demon or some other, he'd come to Prospero as the equivalent of an old man, passing the torch.
It made Prospero wonder how long Warren been waiting for him and how he knew he'd come to the castle, one way or another.
"We… just… knew…" Warren let out in raspy breathes.
Bursting through the window, a flock of ravens dove into the library, sending black feathers everywhere, their deafening squawks ringing out into the library.
Protectively, Paul pulled Taylor close to him, dropping to the ground as he closed his eyes, feeling the feathers hitting his face, and the familiar smells hitting his nose.
Prospero did not let out a scared scream, anything at all, if he did, Paul didn't hear it amid the sharp squawks.
As quickly as the ravens crashed through the library in droves, there's sudden silence in the library, only when he felt the last feather drop from his face, Paul opens his eyes as Taylor stretched out her neck to look for Prospero.
Outside, there's booming thunder, the harsh smell of rain, and bright lighting.
The fire in the fireplace gone out, leaving the couple in darkness.
Slowly moving around, Paul stepped forward first, he sees piles of feathers left behind, but neither Prospero or the Drekker.
"Paul!" he heard Taylor calling for him.
Turning his head sharply, he sees her pointing to the ground towards where the Drekker stood, something laying there.
Making his way through, he found the dead Gallico.
Joining his side, Taylor glimpses at the dead raven, before Paul said, "He has taken rank as the new patriarch. In time, he will choose his successor. And there will be nothing we can do about it, either."
Rubbing her eyes, Taylor wondered, "Is that why the TARDIS wouldn't tell us?"
His angel eyes dropping to the corpse of the raven, Paul suspects that it's the case.
Motioning with his hand, Paul prods Taylor, they promised Prospero to follow his last wishes.
So, they did.
His last work was published without prejudice from his publisher, the castle turned over to the hamlet for their own purposes, his copies uploaded to the TARDIS's memory as well as his family's book and its translations entering the digital world unimpeded.
Paul opted to keep the book with him, since he didn't know anyone else who had similar run-ins with the tarry fiends.
While this adventure didn't result in bloodshed or the usual suspects, Paul felt unsatisfied, and Taylor comforted him as they lounged under a large apple tree somewhere else.
"Why didn't he…?" Paul found it difficult understanding why Prospero didn't put up any resistance to becoming the next patriarch.
Fine, he knew it was foolish to fight, but suppose Paul was expecting threats of violence, kidnapping, something or another.
Gently stroking his chestnut hair as he laid his head on her lap, Taylor mustered, "Maybe he just knew?"
Deep down inside, Prospero, formerly Warwick Beckett, knew, even if he didn't outwardly understand, why else would he become obsessive in learning his father's side, if not the natural inclinations that had been in his family for generations.
"Suppose you're right," Paul felt her soft fingers running through his hair.
Don't know if they'll encounter the turned-Prospero in another adventure, but if they do, as said before, it's a toss-up what he'll do, only what he can.
"Oh!" Taylor stops stroking Paul when an apple hit her on her head, rolling down her face, landing on Paul's chest.
Rubbing the top of her head, Taylor glances up as Paul took the apple in his hand, rubbed it against his dress shirt, before promptly taking the first bite, lost in his thoughts.
THE END
