AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey everyone and welcome to my new experimental story! *cheers* Now I'm not sure what you lot will think of about this story but honestly, I don't mind cause this is fiction and there's no rules on fiction needing to be real in a way. For anyone who leaves a guest review PLEASE DO NOT SUMMARIZE THE ENTIRE CHAPTER! Reviews are for the authors' to hear critiques (not in a mean or harsh manner) for we can improve our stories to make them more amazing!

When it comes to reviewing, PLEASE do not say anything mean or hurtful for those words upset us, making us think that we aren't good enough to post our stories when honestly, everyone has the right to write what they want. And if you don't like the ships people made for their stories, don't gon on ranting how you hate this ship for everyone has the right to love the ships they see fits right with the characters.

There will be gay/lesbian ships in this story just like all of my other stories

DISCLAIMER: Mattle owns Thomas and Friends, I own the idea and my descriptions of the characters' human forms

"Monster fuckers!"

"Freaks!"

"Traitors!"

"Demon lovers!"

Curses and shouts filled the night air as a mob crowded the town square of a massive kingdom.

Their torches illuminated the buildings in brilliant, vibrant, haunting hues of orange, red, and gold.

In the center of the square, where the mob was gathered, were three men, all staring at the mob with emotionless faces.

The one on the left was tied to a wooden beam, with branches and hay surrounding his feet. His long blue hair was greasy and unkempt, but his blue eyes were glittering with intelligence.

He stared down at the people he had known all his life. Friends, neighbors, family.

All turned their back on him.

He was attired in a pair of worn brown leather pants and a dirty white shirt, decorated with holes. On his neck was a small patch of green, red, and blue scales resembling those of a snake. The way they shimmered resembled a leaf covered in the morning dew.

The male in the middle was tied to a trellis above a pool of water. He looked no older than 15, with tousled chocolate hair and cold blue eyes.

He glared at the people who he had once trusted; hatred now burning in his sapphire pools. He wore similar clothing to the first male, and a small patch of scales on his neck. In the fiery light, ruby, sapphire, and amethyst-colored scales shimmered brilliantly like stars in the night sky.

The third male was tied to an iron stake, a magic circle drawn around him. His dirty blonde hair, once clean and neat, was now itchy, full of knots and strands going everywhere.

Bruises and cuts covered his face, but not even his black eyes could dull jewel-blue irises, dazzling the beholder.

He was also attired in a similar fashion to the other two; only, his shirt was so ragged and torn, it was hanging on by only one shoulder, and ugly red scars scattered his body.

Despite his woeful state, he held his head high, showing no fear or regret. The small patch of aquamarine and teal scales shimmered and twinkled like water on a bright sunny day.

…

The mob continued their shouts, jeers, and boos; with some even starting to throw stones and rotten food at the bound trio.

A male wearing a hooded cloak, strands of jet-black hair tumbled out of the hood, stood in front of the three prisoners, his face emotionless but his eyes full of sadness. A small brown satchel was tied around his waist.

He opened his mouth to say something but instantly closed it as the king stepped toward the three.

"Darragh Hill, Gilligan Angel, Caelan Hudson. You three are sentenced to trial due to betraying your people to pursue those vile demons that torment our island. Do you deny it?" The king asked in a stern, loud voice.

"We do not deny anything, 'your majesty'." Darragh, the male tied to the wooden beam, spat in distaste. "And this island isn't yours. It belongs to the Nagas, the true guardians of Sodor!"

The people shouted again, even more riled now that Darragh's words were spoken in support of the monsters.

"SILENCE!" The king boomed, glowering at the three prisoners. "They are nothing but demons sent by the devil himself to kill us. And yet you would betray your own people to have… have relations with them?!"

He spat those last three words in disgust, as though he had consumed a mouthful of pure salt.

"The Nagas were here before us, protecting this island, but you are the ones who keep destroying it!" Gilligan declared, before gazing at the king. "And you led them to this!"

"TREASON!" The crowd screamed.

"You have destroyed the morals of our people and have decided to have relations with these monsters." The king spat.

Caelan stared defiantly at the king. "At least with the Nagas, we could be our true selves. If we could be our true selves around them, why would we ever deny what we have done?"

The crowd was whipped into a bloodthirsty frenzy; the screams and curses grew louder and more violent.

"Kill these impure traitors." The King ordered.

Two of his knights walked up to the three, hatred and disgust burning in their eyes.

Darragh and Gilligan stared them down, their eyes showing no fear - but determination and pride.

The King's magician stood where he was, sadly looking at the three.

"Whitford!" The King yelled angrily. "Do as you are commanded by your King!"

"Y-Yes, your majesty." Whitfield said softly, before walking up to Caelan.

Looking up at the male's teal eyes, he felt his heart ache. "I'm sorry, my friends." He whispered quietly as he raised his hand. "I… I wish I didn't have to do this…"

"We know." Caelan whispered. "We're just happy that you were the only one who didn't judge us."

Nodding sadly, Whitford closed his eyes, and chanted under his breath.

The magic circle around Caelan glowed brilliantly, just as purple lightning rose, striking Caelan right in the chest, killing him instantly; just as one knight set the branches at Darragh's feet alight, and the second knight plunged Gilligan under the water.

Neither male struggled, nor screamed, as their execution started. The fire greedily consumed Darragh's flesh, and what was left of Caelan's body was going stiff and started to smell, the putrid smell quickly filling the air.

Whitford looked away, guilt eating away at his heart.

His only friends in this god-forsaken kingdom, never mentioned his name, saving him from the same fate.

And how had he repaid their loyalty?

He fucking killed them.

…

Hearing the cheers of the people celebrating the 'impures' deaths sickened Whitford to his stomach, and he ran off to bring up the contents of his stomach, unable to take the full horror anymore.

As he was doing that, he felt a breeze slowly brush his face, the smell of salt water entering his nose. Staring in the direction of the breeze, he blinked in confusion. Never had the smell of the ocean reached the kingdom. Well, not quite so strongly anyway.

Hearing the cries of the kingdom's farm animals, he watched how their anxiety flared, wanting to flee instantly.

Blocking out the noises of the people, Whitford listened carefully to the world around him. A low rumble seemed to come from deep under the ground, the crackling of branches too great to be from a small animal.

His eyes widened as he slowly turned around to look at the mob, seeing the dead bodies of his friends. The smell of the saltwater grew stronger, the sounds of branches cracking grew louder, and the rumbling of the earth grew rapidly.

They arrived.

…

The mob grew silent as they felt the earth shake violently. The only sound in the square was the crackling of the flames lighting their torches.

Then, the rumbling and quaking suddenly stopped.

People looked around in confusion.

Suddenly, citizens fell to the ground as the earth shook violently - a long, deep crack forming in the ground as fire shot out of it like a volcano erupting. The mob screamed in fear as they all scattered, some falling to their deaths in the crater.

Vines suddenly exploded out of the ground, slithering around legs, entwining round waists, encircling heads…

… before poisonous thorns began stabbing through their flesh. Blood - red, now tainted with black - gushed out of wounds. Some victims even began crying tears of blood, leading many to go blind from the poisoning.

Others had blood pouring out of their ears, and were rendered deaf by the poison.

But, the outcome was grim for those who were attacked by the vines, irrespective of their worst injuries; once the deadly poison reached their heart, they were in for a quick but agonizing death.

…

Those who hadn't fallen victim to the vines tried to flee to their homes in fear, but, to their horror, their bodies shriveled, like grapes after being crushed for producing wine.

As their skeletal forms collapsed to the ground, hidden amongst the chaos, Whitford quickly ran towards the three, saying a chant to stop the purple lightning on Caelan's body.

"STAND YOUR GROUND, MEN!" A knight yelled as he drew his sword. "Protect the King and the kingdom from these monsters!" He proclaimed, before seeing Whitford untying Caelan's body from the iron pole. "You traitor." He growled before shoving Whitford away.

Whitford grunted as he fell to the ground, his hood falling off to reveal his messy black hair. Looking up, he scooted backward just as the knight pointed his sword at his neck. His heartbeat quickened.

"I always knew you were a sneaky weakling, hiding behind your witchcraft." The knight growled as he pressed the tip of his sword against Whitford's neck. "You are in league with those demons, and helped them corrupt these men!"

"You fools are the cause of this." Whitford growled angrily, his body trembling in fear despite his defiance. "You brought this destruction to this kingdom by killing their mates!"

"You lying rat!" The knight yelled as he raised his sword. "I shall send you to meet your maker!

"A' crith-thalmhainn!" Whiff commanded, a hand now aloft.

A strong gust of wind shot out of Whitford's hand, blasting the knight away from him.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran over to the bodies of his friends, and untied Darragh's burnt corpse before pulling Gilligan's drenched body out of the pool.

"I'm sorry…" Whitford wept as he looked at their remains. "I wish I could've saved you…"

"Forgive me…"

Whitford had never felt so cowardly in his entire life. His friends, his dear, brave friends, had died because they were true to their hearts, and he only lived as he had hidden his own for so long.

Well, no more - even if his friends were past saving, he could still live up to their legacy by staying true to himself.

"Kill him!"

Well, if he survived this, obviously.

Turning around, Whitford's eyes widened in horror as he saw a group of knights approach him. Shakily standing up, he held his hands up and trembled in fear.

As the knights yelled while charging at him, Whitford started to chant a spell when something rather large slammed down onto the group of knights.

Whitford stared in disbelief and shock as he stared at the scene in front of him. It looked like a giant tree had fallen in front of him… but it wasn't. It was tan and just as long as any tree he had ever seen.

A clear, sharp object stuck out at the end, the tip of it slightly curved and digging deep into the ground. Burning ruby and black scales decorated the lower side of the object, the glare of the fires nearby reflecting off them ominously.

Whitford's eyes widened as he stumbled backward, body trembling as he fell to the ground. He stared at the object in fear as he realized what the object in front of him was.

A hand.

A giant, monstrous, scaled hand.

The magician stared at the hand, watching as it slowly rose into the air. The crushed bodies of the knights lay on the ground in a pile of flesh, drenched in a puddle of blood, along with the armor they wore.

He watched as the hand was placed on the ground, the crater it came out of growing wider as something seemed to slowly rise out of it.

Crash

Boom

The screams of the people caught Whitford's attention as he looked to his right, watching as buildings collapsed, crushing people under piles of rubble.

The large tip of a scaled tail disappearing in the darkened forest, the green and red scales glistening from the fire's burning glow.

Boom

Crash

Rumble

Looking in the direction of the castle, Whitford watched as another giant hand easily swiped through the symbol of the kingdom, a thin layer of skin connecting between each clawed finger like frog's feet. Blue and darker blue scales glistened in the moon's silver light and the faint fire's glow, looking like a lake at sunset.

Three distinguished, high pitch roars shook the earth. Whitford covered his ears. He shut his eyes tightly as his body shook from the loud roars.

When the roars died down, Whitford slowly lowered his hands and opened his eyes.

The crackling of small patches of fire was the only sound he could hear - no sounds of animals or humans were heard.

Slowly, he looked around the destroyed kingdom. The crushed, bloodied bodies of the people he had lived with for so long were scattered everywhere; some were crushed under the rubble, some were flattened to the ground, some withered away, and some poisoned.

As Whitford caught sight of birds, cats, dogs, goats, sheep, cows, and bulls, he realized that even the animals weren't spared from this vengeful attack. He felt a little sad, as they hadn't harmed anyone.

As he looked around, he saw the remains of the King - a lone, severed arm, still adorned with jeweled rings, and next to it, a glistening golden crown, dented out of shape - the King's.

His shaking went up from trembling to tremors as he continued to stare at the ruined kingdom, both mesmerized and shaken from experiencing the Nagas' true powers.

Loud hissing and low rumblings came from behind him, causing him to turn around and freeze. Taking a shaky step backward, he reluctantly looked up.

Three massive bodies, taller than the tallest mountain on Sodor towered over him. He gulped when he saw the muscular bodies of the Nagas.

The one to his left had the human part of its body blended into a massive snake tail of apple-green and bright red scales, it's underbelly a light green similar to that of grass growing in a meadow.

The one on the right was similar in size and appearance, but it had blue and dark blue scales with a light blue underbelly, which to Whiff reminded him of a cheery blue sky rowing a boat on a lake.

The third one, in the middle, was slightly smaller than the two, but just as muscular. His scales of red and black resembled that of burning coal, his underbelly a yellowish-orange that reminded Whitford of a fire's glow.

Strangely, that reminded Whitford of a comforting, cosy fire at home, not the hot and fiery end that poor Darragh met.

Whitford blinked back tears at the memory, and turned his attention back to the Nagas.

Scales decorated the sides of their torsos, up towards their necks. Each finger had long claws that Whitford knew could slice down a mountain with ease. (He'd read it somewhere).

Despite the fact it was getting dark, and he had limited light at present, he could see their mouths were open; forked, snake-like tongues flickering as venom dropped from their two long fangs.

He noticed blood staining their sharp teeth, gulping as he realized that some of the people were eaten by the guardians before him; and realized he could be next.

Looking up at their eyes, he couldn't see their pupils or irises, only the burning, glowing colors of green, blue, and red, respectively.

He could feel them staring back down at him, hissing loudly as they clenched their fingers in a fighting stance.

Looking up at them, Whitford slowly looked down as he stepped away from the bodies of his friends. Silently, he got onto his knees before pressing his forehead against the ground in the most respectful bow he had ever mustered.

If he was going to die, he wanted to show that he would quietly accept his fate.

…

After a few minutes, confused as to why he was still alive, Whitford slowly looked up at the three Naga guardians, only to see them no longer looking at him, but at the bodies of their mates.

Their glowing eyes held only sadness.

Whitford watched as they delicately lowered their hands toward their mates' bodies. He was amazed to see how they only needed one of their long claws to gently scoop up the bodies. As Whitford marveled at the size difference, he felt his heart ache in guilt, regret, and sadness. His friends were the only ones who saw them as they were and loved them just the same.

He watched the blue one cradle Caelan's burnt remains, looking sorrowful; the green one was stroking Darragh's face, mercifully one of the few parts of his body that suffered very little from the fire; and the red one had a claw resting tenderly over where Gilligan's heart should be beating.

He watched as they brought the bodies close to faces, before looking back down at Whitford. Silence passed between all four, before the Nagas slowly left the destroyed kingdom. The one with blue scales slithered silently toward the ocean that lay behind the destroyed kingdom.

The green one slithered deep into the dark forest, trees and branches alike breaking under the weight of his long snake tail.

The red one slithered back down into the crater he came from, the ground closing behind him once his long, muscular tail disappeared within the crater.

…

'...That was the last time I saw my friends' bodies. The first and only time the Nagas had made their presence known on Sodor was that fateful day….

Whitford slowly stood up, looking around at the destroyed kingdom he once called home. Tears burned in his eyes. He would miss this place, but, he couldn't save it. He was too late.

"...The kingdom of Harwick had fallen due to the ignorance and stupidity of the people and their closed-minded king…"

Whitford slowly pulled his hood over his head before silently leaving the ruins of the kingdom, lost in thought.

Walking through the forest, he noticed how quiet it sounded. The animals that usually were out at this time seemed to have disappeared, knowing that a dark deed had been done to the Nagas.

Looking behind him, Whitford slowly turned around and stared at the destroyed and burning kingdom, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see his home.

Raising both his hands to the sky, he closed his eyes and started to chant.

"Tha mi a 'tilgeil geasa an ròin. Cha tèid duine sam bith a-steach don àite seo fo bhròn mòr. Is e dìreach fìor luchd-gleidhidh an eilein a thig a-steach agus a-mach às an àite seo."

Whitford's hands glowed a brilliant white, and a giant sphere surrounded the entire kingdom before disappearing. When his hands stopped glowing, he slowly lowered them and turned around once more. He put one foot forward, and another, already vowing not to look back;

"...I cast a spell on the kingdom, making sure no human ever sets foot on the grounds where a great evil was performed…"

Many days passed as Whitford traveled through dense forests and over large meadows. Dirt and old blood caked his hands and robes. He ate very little, surviving on berries, stream water, and the kindness of an odd stranger.

He acquired a rabbit along the way, too. He didn't know how, but he had. It kept following him. He called it Herb, as it kept eating random herbs, like basil, mint, and parsley.

Herb was useful though, as it turned out the herbs were useful for cooking with, or he sometimes traded excess for things he couldn't find so easily whenever he met people. He wrote faithfully in his journal, and often confided in Herb as well. Herb was a funny creature, but a huge comfort, and Whitford quickly grew fond of him.

"...I walked many days till I came across the newly formed Kingdom of Ulfstead. They were wary of me (as they are with strangers, it seems) but their king was very kind towards me. It took some time, but I told the king about what I experienced and he vowed secrecy; in his desire to protect his heir, Olaf, and his people from any ills. He made sure no one in his kingdom traveled so far north; promising banishment, else, execution for treason, if he caught anyone attempting to go there.

Few have expressed interest, fortunately.

After I finish writing this, I will cast a spell on this journal for no one can ever learn about the nagas' existence or the events of everything my friends had gone through with their Nagas."

Closing the leather journal, Whitford gently pets Herb's head before casting an enchantment onto the journal. Picking the book up, he walked over to a small wooden chest and placed the book inside it.

Herb silently hopped over to him, jumped onto the table, and looked up at his human.

"Hopefully one day the Nagas can find happiness, Herb." Whitford said softly as he gently rubbed the rabbit's ears. "Until then, this journal shall remain sealed, and only a true Lavon can access it if that day ever comes." He said softly before closing the wooden chest.

Grabbing his dagger, he sliced the tip of his finger before smearing his blood over the lock. "Air m' fhuil, tha mi a' tilgeadh seula nach nochd ach mo fhìor neach-leantainn an fhìrinn." He whispered softly.

A small red, glowing circle appeared on the lock before disappearing. Picking the box up, Whitford walked over to the window in his bedroom within the castle's walls, overlooking the kingdom that is his new home.

"There's only one thing left to do, Herb." Whitford said softly as he looked up at the sky.

Herb's nose twitched as he looked at him, his head tilting to the side.

"To erase the knowledge of the Nagas from everyone within this kingdom, including myself." He said softly as he placed the wooden chest on the floor.

Standing straight, he raised his hands up to the sky and started to chant.

"Tha an t-àm ann dìochuimhneachadh dè a chaidh a dhèanamh. Leis a 'ghrian, a' ghealach, na reultan, tha mi a 'tilgeil geasa Forgetness, gus na Nagas a dhìon bho olc san àm ri teachd..."