Fan Fiction ❯ Frailty ❯ Darkest night, eternal blight ( Chapter 16 )

 

“Frailty”

 

 

Chapter sixteen- “Darkest night, eternal blight”

 

 

The path was straight, and narrow, and possessed no such grace of light. Ideally, it was little more than a narrow band of poorly collaborated stone running down the middle of a valley that, proportionally, didn't exceed a width of twenty feet. Dense wood-lines flanked both sides, making a move in the direction of anywhere other than forward impossible. Normally, this would not have bothered Raven, but at the present, forward seemed daftly unsavory.

Overhead, dark foliage loomed, several branches that commandeered them dangling into her walking space. Swiping one such obstacle to the side, Raven struggled through the path, till she came to what, a more focused gaze revealed to be, an abrupt break in the path. Subsequently, the sound of rushing water penetrated her earshot.

 

 

Although her speed begun to double at this, it did not prove to endure. As more distance was gained, the expanse of land ahead came to an end, dropping into a small channel. Where the stone trail ended, a concrete bridge begun, allowing access across.

However, another discovery presented itself in company to this, achieving such a shock-appearance, that Raven stopped mid-movement.

Without proper illumination, it was difficult to tell just what she was staring at, although a massive, round outline donated indications. Due to a lack of advance on it's part, she quickly assumed that whatever it may have been wasn't facing her.

Any further observations were aborted when a thick, southern accent rang out across the otherwise still night air, “Foul, mindless Hell-spawns! I'll burn you ALL!”

A moment later, a glass bottle flew across the channel, colliding directly into colossal silhouette's torso. Responsively, it burst into a torrid spectacle of flame, identifying the projectile as a moltov cocktail.

 

 

The creature that once stood placidly still proceeded to flail short, stocky arms about for a brief moment before toppling over, sending a low rumble across the ground from the sheer girth of its gigantic form. Raven stared in a shocked sort of awe, till it was once more peaceful, and the only sound that proved to endure was the occasional crackle of the organism-comprised bonfire.

Warily, the mystic approached it, not wanting to acquire a closer look, but unable to stop herself.

Although she had to keep her distance from the blaze, which seemed to grow larger by the second, the details were no longer a virtual impossibility to take in. That, however, was far from a favorable condition.

 

 

Essentially, it was an abominated mass of lard. A gut hung over not only its waistline, but also the crotch, and was seered with deep gashes. Raven nearly threw up for the second occasion of the night when she looked toward the collar, and noticed that it had been crudely dissected; the wide incision that trailed down the entire torso held together only by an occasional rusted staple.

Although it wasn't difficult to note that its head was completely devoid of hair whatsoever, a chain-linked mask that fitted the sides of its head with small spikes completely veiled its face. A large morning star lay a few feet away from it, apparently dropped during the cocktail assault.

 

 

Upon spotting an intestine dangling from the incision, Raven decided she had seen enough, and picked herself up to continue across the bridge, however one last feature brought her to pause.

Cuffs were fitted on its wrists and ankles. Although the chains that linked them together at the wrists had been snapped, the ankles were still there, making potential movement a labor.

Studying further, she noted that they looked like cuffs a slave would be forced to wear.

Is this some sort of manifestation? Her mind wondered as she walked away, Are they `all' just manifestations? What could have happened here?

 

 

A noise from behind made her stop just a few feet shy of the bridge. A crack, followed by a sickly splat. Raven slowly gazed over her shoulder, back toward the fallen creature.

Although difficult to focus without turning completely around, she didn't entirely need it.

It was plain to see that the staples which held its gut together had broken. It now lay on the ground, the contents of its anatomy bore before the world.

Raven winced the sight behind her away, and opted to continue, but did not receive the opportunity to move before a high-pitched cry emanated from the laid open abdomen.

 

 

Her brow creased in perturbed intrigue as the whine grew perceptively louder, and she soon thereafter found herself backtracking.

Nestled in a pile of entrails that simply seemed to wind about were a litter of hairless rats that, for being in the presumed infantile stage, were inordinately large. Feeling her gut begin to turn, Raven backed away and staggered toward the bridge; she had seen enough details.

 

 

The channel, in short, seemed only to have been a break in the uniform pace. Raven had qued into this when she crossed the bridge, and found herself in a scene strikingly to that of when she left the asylum. Again, there was only one passage way, bordered to the left and right by thickets of trees.

Although she begun to approach with a slightly renewed pace, feeling the effects of time assuage a most unsettled stomach, a low, dragging growl that permeated from behind did a fair job of turning the tables.

The mystic would turn in time to see a small covey of machete beasts descend from the depths of the channel. Arming her rifle in quick, jaded response, Raven fell back and prepared to open fire, but was not allowed time to pull the trigger before the ground behind her burst outward, allowing leeway for more resistance; a duo of gunners, to be precise.

 

 

Going wide-eyed, she begun to retreat towards the ledge.

“Too much!”

Her voice barely prevailed a whisper amongst the slithering growls of her bladed pursuers. Regardless, she raised the M-16 and proceeded to fire blindly into the frontline.

Such a measure proved to be effective, right up until a single nine millimeter round, fired courtesy of one of the brutes, nailed her in the thigh, causing her to quickly go down in a heap.

The machete beasts wasted no time converging to the point that their pray had fallen at, but were surprised by not only a still existent, but still ample, amount of resistance. Struggling a retreat with one arm, Raven held the rifle steady against the ground and fired anew, blasting one particular foe's legs out from underneath it.

Two more rounds were fired, which held them off for only a second more, before all that arose from the barrel was a sharp, audible click.

Raven stared plaintively at the rifle; its clip had finally gone empty, and at the most inopportune of times.

“This can't be happening!”

 

 

One more effort to escape that elicited from completely discarding the M-16 was made, which managed to bring her to a ledge that dropped into the channel. Although she prepared to slide gently down, another alternative was quick to present itself, as the distinct southern voice projected out once more amongst the battle at hand, “…And at the conclusion of my slumber, I awoke to a world of fire and darkness, and everything good had been dispersed from the land, and the merciless attacked me without cause!”

 

 

Raven would come to plummet in the shallow waters of the channel a mere fraction of a second before the entirety of the space she once occupied erupted into a swirling inferno. Those whom once stalked without mercy quickly found themselves in the middle of the fire, their respite accompanying the smoke's ascension into the sky.

Only one gun brute managed to withstand the blaze upon its flesh, just long enough to cast a gaze out amongst its dead cohorts. With wide, labored steps, it staggered toward the edge, but could not hold strong. It set loose amid the fire a final hopeless bellow before toppling over.

 

 

Raven watched from the depths of the channel as that which she almost lost her life to was snuffed out.

In cautious reluctance, she climbed back up to the surface and recovered the rifle, despite it being rendered useless. At one far end of the clearing was a narrow gap that led beyond the blaze, creating a possibility to continue. Returning the M-16 to her back, she proceeded on, winding her way around the blaze till a safe distance was attained.

With its wear and tear leading further inward, the path stretched directly forward, possessing no features till a rough two hundred yards down, where it was flanked by trees.

Although for the path's entire duration there was nothing more than a restricting wood-line to the immediate left, a large clearing took place all along the right side, and slumped downward several feet.

 

 

To the furthest end a thin stream cascaded over the tall, slate colored congregations of rock that bordered the area off, and landed in a wide pit that accounted for much of the ground.

Opposite this was a break in the wall of stone that led into a separate clearing.

Approaching the path's edge with caution, Raven put one foot on the slope of ground and slid downward. There was nothing that held any particular interest in the open space that greeted her, but something caught her eye in the clearing towards the very back- -something roughly resembling the outline of a house.

 

 

Crouching by the foot of the opening, Raven squinted through the darkness that prevailed in much of the opening, and saw a cottage. Or at least, what could once have been considered a cottage. Now a dark, smoldered skeleton of support structure was all that remained. The roof, stripped of its predominant composition, was left with only beams, most of which had collapsed and fallen into the center of the floor. Her brow creasing, Raven recovered to her feet and wandered in, inwardly deeming the newfound area safe.

 

 

Before the burnt down house was a shoddy stone well. Its existence, though registered, was given no attention and passed by- -Till it made itself apparent.

From the pitch black depths, a buzzing sound emanated, brief in duration at first. As the seconds wore on, however, it begun to elongate. The pitch and frequency of the racket rose till Raven's attention was gained.

 

 

Reluctantly approaching, she placed both hands on the edge of the well and gazed down. What she saw was not darkness, but rather a film of bright light that was occasionally streaked with a bolt of electricity.

In due time, Horace's voice came to accompany the well's occupants.

 

 

I like you, kid. I like you a lot, you got something here that no one else has ever had.

But have ya' ever been in love? Fallen head over heels for someone? How far do you think you'd go to make sure they stayed yours? It'll do so many weird things to you. When you get mad, or jealous, you feel like you could kill a man, rip `em apart with your bare hands…ya' ever get that way?

Raven opened her mouth to answer, but the words did not emerge. When there came no reply, he continued,

I dunno, maybe you're not like me, it's hard to say. Don't let this island do to you what it did to me, don't let it manipulate what you feel. You gotta' rail against it.

Just as the volts of electricity seemed to hit their highest point of intensity, they flashed a vividly bright radiance, causing the mystic to shield her eyes, then vanished.

When she looked back down, darkness once more veiled the well's bottom.

 

 

Rubbing her eyes, Raven turned toward the cottage, which all the while had sat in eerie silence.

Toward the very end of the charred skeleton was a blackened brick fireplace, in front of which there lay several sets of boxes- -odd, as they were the only objects within the locale that weren't burnt up.

Crouching as to slip underneath one of the beams, Raven crept into the remnant's confines, taking subtle steps toward the cartons. She was only halfway across the floor when something went terribly wrong.

Upon taking what must have been the thirteenth step inside, a hellish migraine spawned.

Immediately, a hand clasped to the side of her head, as the pain birthed in a small corner on the left side of her head, and quickly spread across, enveloping the entirety of her mind in a pressured sort of agony.

Before long, her eyes begun to ache. But something about this begged to open them.

Something implied to see the world in a certain kind of suffering.

 

 

Lifting her eyelids with labor, Raven brought her gaze forward, to the fireplace. The world was slowed, and distorted. The edges of her sight were blanked by what could only be described as fuzz.

The cottage, in an entirely new light, was restored to its former glory. The walls, home to a number of portraits, were a thick, light beige, and the single room was furnished with a set of couches and tables, upon which there lay potted plants. The ceiling, assuming a steeple to sorts, was half consumed in a torrid blaze, which threatened to burn the entire house down. However, the fire did not move.

Nothing moved.

 

 

Directly before Raven stood three girls; triplets from what her flawed vision could decipher.

Just as the cringe on her face grew worse from the pain, one spoke in a soft, but violent voice,

“You shouldn't play with fire…it's dangerous.”

In abrupt sequence the headache tripled, almost as if her mind could not withstand what it was perceiving. And just as quickly as it appeared, the vision vanished, and Carnate island returned to normal.

 

 

Raven had to fight the urge to drop to her knees as the pressure begun to lift. Her relief, however, was short-lived. Just as she begun to feel the full effects of recovery, the half collapsed ceiling exploded into a blaze once more, bathing the clearing into an orange glow.

Staggering forward with an abrupt burst of speed, she swiped up two of the boxes, then escaped into the surrounding yard.

Dropping the recovered loot, she fell to her knees and drew in several large bouts of breath before looking down to see just what she had salvaged from the structural fire.

Upon the front, there was the brand name “Wolfe”, and the heft suggested that it was ammunition of some sort, but there occupy nothing on the labels to reveal just what it was ammunition to.

It wasn't till she look back into the cottage, catching sight of a completely disregarded shotgun toward the back corner of the sole chamber, did there arrive a telling indication.

 

 

Slumping onto her back, Raven slid her forearms behind her and lay still. She would go back for the gun, in the long run she couldn't afford not to, but for the time being, she needed rest.

 

 

-Harvey-

 

 

“I'll be god damned if a blown fuse is gonna' be what comes between me and getting the Hell outta' here…” Harvey's voice did not rise above a dull murmur as he prodded the innards of the light-house generator. He was no genius when it came to trouble-shooting, but it wasn't difficult to reach such a conclusion in this particular scenario.

Almost as quickly as he swung down the maintenance hatch, he was greeted by what looked like a massive yarn ball of wires.

Fortunately enough, there was a handful of bright yellow wire-caps placed toward one corner of the large appliance, apparently insurance for just such a predicament. Almost as quickly as he had found these, Harvey begun work, sorting through the jumbled mess for a source to the problem.

 

 

“That oughta' do it…” He muttered as a duo of wires were tucked into one of the caps, rerouting the generator's electric current.

Closing the hatch with a sharp snap, Harvey flipped the machine's power switch to `on', and was welcomed by a low hum of operation.

With his task finished, the corrections officer climbed to his feet and turned toward the trail that would return him to the light-house.

Although he raised a foot to initiate his venture back, a low, resonant voice from behind stopped him in his tracks.

“Well, if it ain't Alding…”

 

 

Harvey froze in his place, hearing the speaker in a less than pleasant sort of recognition.

Slowly, he gazed over his shoulder to realize that the neighboring building had gone completely disregarded. Now his negligence came to reveal itself.

Leant in the doorway was a man of massive proportions, easily achieving six foot five. He donned the standard orange inmate's uniform, but had crudely ripped the sleeves away, exposing defined, tattoo-laden arms.

Despite being shaved bald, a pair of thick chops begun just above his ears and outlined his face, leading downward into mass of nappy, reddish-blonde facial hair.

 

 

The man made no advance, but proceeded to cross his arms as Harvey turned completely to face him.

“You were the last guy I figured I'd see alive `round here.” His lips, barely visible past the beard, jerked back into a grin, exposing yellowed teeth.

Harvey held no such reaction but regardlessly answered in a collected tone, “Hortense Mchail. Here, I was hoping you'd have been cut down by now.”

“Likewise, but you should've known I could get through this…” The inmate's arms disengaged and he hefted himself onto his feet. “I always said there was nothin' but abuncha' slap-jawed faggots in T-Block.”

Harvey nodded, his brow creased in thought, “Yeah, I suppose so. You are, after all, the world's most dangerous man.”

To this, Hortense snorted loudly, “You're too kind, but I think Chuck Manson'd beg to differ.”

“I think not.” Came a stern reply, “Manson was a psychopath, but at least he wasn't a fuckin' baby-raper. The feds shoulda' slapped the cuffs on you coming right outta' your mom's cunt.”

The prisoner's grin only broadened.

“You wanna' be the one that tries it, Alding?” His gaze came to rest on the broken arm.

“I don't think you're in the best fightin' shape.”

“Even on my worst day, I could beat you down.”

 

 

Hortense snickered and shook his head, then proceeded to walk past Harvey as if he weren't there.

“I ain't got the time to prove it.” He sneered, then added, “But I can tell ya' what I do have the time for…”

The officer's eyebrow arched, “What would that be?”

“I saw your little gal pal you were runnin' around with in the D-block hangars.” His tongue snaked out from his mouth and proceeded to sweep over his lips.

“She looks yummy. Just like my daughter did before I was done with her…”

Harvey's teeth bared in response. “Mchail, you sorry sack o' shit!” He barked, “You lay a hand on her and I'll put a bullet through your skull as quick as she runs you into the ground!”

A discerning cackle was his only reply from Hortense as he continued to casually stroll down the path.

 

 

Although a pursuit quickly elicited, it was aborted prematurely when the ground begun to tremble violently.

“Oh, what the fuck now?!?”

 

 

As if to answer Harvey's question, a gun brute burst from the ground, shortly followed by two accomplices.

Going wide-eyed, the officer raised his gun and fell back.

“God damn it!” he snapped, “I don't need this now!”

 

 

-End Chapter 16-

 

 

*Rambling*

 

Well, the rewrite of fourteen won't be up with this particular update. I could have posted a lot earlier, however I spent about a day and a half writing Raven's venture in the valleys, then trashed half of it to add this Hortense concept I came up with on a whim (I'm all about crap like that) Let me know particularly what you think of that, as it is an enterprise entirely of my own.

-JackoMegane