***
He was close now, so close–he was no longer moving his feet, the world was moving around him, turning beneath him, driving him closer to his destiny. He was in the thicket, in the woods around the mansion, so quiet, and then, a howl and a bark–his pets had found a mark. Was Tristan awake? Making an escape? He moved quicker, but in the woods the sounds echoed and bounced in strange directions, Erikson moving with greater haste as the snarls of his pet’s rage turned to sudden pain, then terror, and then were silenced, replaced by a horrendous sounds, something like what might only be heard in the early morning hours of a butch shop, done before the customers arrived, so as not to terrify them. Erikson drove onward, and he smelled the fresh blood before he saw the red, before he saw the carcass. Alpha, his beautiful Alpha–dead. Something–someone–had taken a hold of it’s jaws and…and ripped it apart, right down the middle, flaying open its carcass in a spray of blood Erikson would have admired had it not been such a personal injury.
Anger and rage clouded through him, the adrenaline triggering a further stimulus from the stimpatch, forcing Erikson’s vision into a tight tunnel. He could see…footprints, but not just any footprints, massive feet, a giant’s feet. Could it be Scuzz? Could the true Alpha been set loose inside him? Fear coursed through Erikson next–whatever had down this, he did not–he had not counted on another variable, he hadn’t anticipated this. He had to go back, he had to analyze, he had to think and study and research and–
He had a strange moment of lucidity. The world around him was no longer making sense. The trees were walking, the snow melting, a flood washing the world away beneath his feet, leaving him in a void. Were his eyes closed? When had he closed them? Was he standing, sitting, kneeling, lying down with his head in the cold snow? Was any of this a dream? Any of it? And then he was gone, swept into the sleep he’d denied himself too long.
From behind the tree where he’d hid, Beta watched this, watched Master collapse to the ground, exhaustion, fear and anger finally overwhelming and shutting down his system. He and Alpha had found the Trespasser, and Alpha had attacked him. Beta had seen him ripped apart–the Trespasser was in the house now, Beta could smell him, that overwhelming musk, the stench of his Alpha’s blood, and he was afraid. And yet…
He was free. He could run, he could leave. He sniffed the air, and caught something else on the wind, an old scent, a scent he’d slept with long ago. It was not here…however, he could follow it. It was Prey–the Prey that Master had sent them after, but the trail would not be there for long, and yet this Prey…was it not also a Master? Had it not been a Master…before? It was torn, there, between loyalties and fear and the taste of freedom it had no idea to do with. Still, this Master would die of cold, if Beta did nothing for him. Still, this Master was cruel, why should Beta care? No, he would find the old Master, or Prey–Beta did not know what he would be when he found him, but that is where he would go, and he broke off into a run, off campus and into the city, chasing Tristan.
Erikson was already shivering in his sleep, his lips and eyes beginning to frost over when footsteps came close by again and stopped. James, covered in blood, had not found what he was looking for, what God had told him to seek, in his dream, but this man, this man shivering in the cold, there was a light of God about him, a shimmer of something, or perhaps it was his own curiosity. In any case, the man would die there if he did nothing, and he had caused enough death, to last his entire life. He trod over and hefted Erikson up, carrying him as he might a cub, out of the woods and down into sewers beneath the city, slumbering, soon though–soon to wake. James could hear them stirring, the same way he could hear the distant rumble of a cataclysm approaching. An armageddon, perhaps. He had souls to save–he told himself–for God’s judgement would be harsh, swift, and terrible–and none but those close to God would escape it.
Chapter 5
Tristan ran. He hated running, but he was still too tired, and the pendant too far strapped of power to risk teleportation. He could end up who knew where, or not even materialize at all, if something went wrong. He had hoped that the pendant would regain some of its power while he slept, and it had gained some, but considering the events currently roaring their way across campus and across the city, how could he sleep? He’d always known that Erikson, when given a chance, would use Frank against him. That was why he’d given Frank so little information to begin with about himself, especially once he’d started snooping and prying. Still, he hadn’t known for sure until Frank had got up and sleepwalked out of the residence soon after they’d begun hibernation, and it was then that Tristan realized that this would not be a restful winter. Erikson was awake–awake and working and planning and plotting, and Tristan had been so focused on expanding his power to the city, he’d neglected to gather much information of his own.
He had underestimated him. He had underestimated all of them. When he had scoped this dimension, these men, they had seemed like such easy targets. Easily suggestible, forms malleable, with no resistance to his clan’s magic at all. He had rushed into his invasion, expecting to have consolidated power within a large region by now, but these human’s malleability had a dimension he hadn’t anticipated, which thwarted him at every turn–a startling commitment to agency. It seemed, that if there was one thing a human didn’t want to do, it was anything that someone else told that human to do. They were fundamentally opposed to authority, and as easy as it was to warp their bodies, their minds twisted and changed of their own volition into something Tristan could neither anticipate, nor appreciate. And as he sat in the house, alone, he realized that his plan had crumbled to pieces. He didn’t have the power to reassert control. He didn’t have the information to beat these humans at their own games. It was so much simpler in the clan–control was established by one thing–power. But here, ever the weak could become powerful if they banded together, like that cursed resistance of students which he’d still been unable to fully eradicate, even with erikson’s assistance.
He’d been watching the doors of Erikson’s labs, waiting for the Professor to make his move for weeks now, dozing and sleeping as much as he could, but the light sleep wasn’t enough for him, or the pendant, to recharge, and when Erikson had stumbled forth, carrying an ungodly load of equipment, a massive gun in both hands, and two beasts by his side that he had never seen before, Tristan had known he had a single option–to flee. He didn’t know what that gun would do to him, but he could be certain that he didn’t want to find out. Bundling up as best he could, wishing this human form had more fur to keep him warm, he’d set out on foot. He’d never been able to figure out how to work those accursed cars these humans drove around on their streets. Besides, the snow was far too thick for a car, and while the going was slow, he was far enough away that the scream of a beast’s pain was nothing more than a whisper on the harsh wind roaring between the city buildings.
Tristan had nowhere to go, no. Nowhere he could hide. There was only one place left, really, and even that might be dangerous. Back to Maxwell–well, back to Scuzz. Maxwell was gone, locked away, and again, Tristan felt a horrible pain in his heart at what he had done. Still, it had been as necessary, as it was horrible. He’d done many, many horrible things now–and yet, this one was far worse than anything he’d done before, he could sense that. This wasn’t a crime committed against a foreign species–this was a crime against his own kind, against his own family. That, by clan law, was unjustifiable–even without stealing the pendant, if the clan knew of this, he would be sentenced to death if he ever went back. He laughed. Like he could ever have the strength to open that portal again. There was no going back, he could sense. Not now, not ever. He was marooned here, it this foreign land, by his own foolish design. He had run away from his problems there, just as he was running from them here. Would be ever stop running? Would he ever be anything more than a coward?
The mall, thankfully, was close by. It still took him a half an hour to reach it, when it should have only taken him ten minutes, but it could be worse. He broke open one of the locked doors, not even caring, and made his way to the boutique. Scuzz was probably asleep, and it would be better if he was. Tristan could see him for a moment, just look, gather his thoughts, and then be on his way–wherever he was going to go. He had no plan, he had no target, he had no path. He didn’t know what he was going to do.
The gate was down at Bear Boutique, but he had a key, and he rolled up the gate, and walked into the store, but he could immediately sense that he wasn’t alone. He could hear someone…sobbing in fear. He found the source of it in the backroom, where Scuzz was huddled, naked, in a small ball, rocking back and forth. Tristan felt his heart leap when he saw him. The magic–the magic he’d cast, locking Maxwell away–it was so weak. What had happened to it? Who could have done this?
Scuzz looked up when he heard Tristan come in, and his eyes were fevered and bloodshot. “You! You, it’s you, the one in the cave, the one I saw in the cave, you–you did this to him, why? Why did you do it? Why?” he shouted.
Tristan said nothing. What could he say to him? To Scuzz, or to Maxwell? Whoever was in there at the moment?
“Please…I’m sorry, I just did it to make Master Erikson happy, so he’d, so he’d make me feel good again. I didn’t know what was on the other side, I didn’t know, but I wanted to know and I knew Erikson would want to know, and there was a crack, and He was there, and I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have done any of it…Please, put him back, put him back in, he’s eating me. He’s eating me inside my head!” Scuzz screamed, scratching at his skull, in some places hard enough to draw blood. “He’s hungry, and angry, and oh God…oh God the things…the things he says he’s going to do to you…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…Please, put him back–save me, please save me.”
“I…I can’t,” Tristan said.
“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t!” Scuzz screamed at him, crawling over to where Tristan was standing, “Look at what you did to him. To me. To this whole damn city! And you’re telling me that you can’t? Please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything. Just save me from him, please. If…If I sleep again, I’m not going to be able to escape, like I did. He’s in there, I can hear him laughing, I can smell the evergreen…I’m tired, I’m so tired, I can’t hold on for much longer.”
“I can’t, I can’t do anything, I’m sorry.”
“You can! You’re lying!”
“I fucking can’t!” Tristan shouted back, “You aren’t even real! I made you, and you can fucking die for all I care, I should have never even made you exist.”
“How…How can you say that? How can you–I’m real! I’m here, I have memories, I have friends, I have thoughts and wants, and everything else, how can you–I’m real, I’m a real as you are. Please, help me.”
Tristan looked down at him, at the filthy biker his magic had made, and he felt pity. This was cruel, this was the height of cruelty, what he had done. What he was going to do,–it would be an act of mercy. Tristan got down on his knees, and with a small breath of power from the pendant, he began to sing the lullaby he’d been sung as a cub, that he had sung that day in the cave.
“I know…I know that song–he, he knows it. He knows you’re here…please, don’t…don’t make me sleep. He’s waiting for me, he’s waiting, and he’ll…he’ll…”
“Shush, I know, and I’m sorry. But it’s the right thing to do,” Tristan said, and then continued the song. He had committed a grave wrong, against Maxwell–he deserved to come back, he deserved that much from Tristan. He’d been a fool to think he could control all of this. a fool. He watched as Scuzz’s struggles weakened, his eyes fluttering closed. It really was a mercy to him. He would lose the battle with sleep eventually–this was far kinder, but he would need to be gone when Maxwell woke up. He had no doubt that Maxwell would be seeking him out, for revenge, and goodness knows Tristan deserved it. He thought, for a moment, of staying. Of waiting. He could apologize, he could offer himself, he could let Maxwell enthrall him. The deep part of his mind, remembering that night, ached for it, ached for submission, but his cowardice…he would run. He would keep running, it was all he knew how to do anymore, and as soon as Scuzz’s head hit the carpet, Tristan left, running, not knowing how long it would take Maxwell to consume the rest of the spell, and then wake himself up to pursue him.
He beat a hasty path back towards the exit, but came to an abrupt halt, as a beast–one of the beasts he had seen leave the lab with Erikson–step through the broken door of the mall, growling and snarling at the sight of Tristan fifty yards away. He looked the beast in his eyes, and saw that, not only were they human–he knew them. They were Frank’s eyes. Erikson…what had he done? Frank snarled, the hair standing up on the back of his neck as he advanced slowly through the shards of broken glass. Tristan’s first thought, so strong it nearly overpowered him, was to run, but he knew that there would be no outrunning this beast. This was as far as running could take him. He could see hesitation in the beast’s eyes–did Frank remember him? It was possible, he figured, but Erikson had likely trained him well, and trained him to kill. He readied himself, and a moment later, the beast charged.
Tristan had forgotten what it meant to fight, until that moment. When the beast collided with him, when he felt the sheer power thrown at him, his body responded in ways he could barely remember, slipping away from the monster, but not before his claws had raked through the coat he wore, breaking through his skin. Tristan felt his reslove shake. He couldn’t win…and yet, he had to. He had created this mess, he had begun all of this, and he had to finish it. He had to bring it to whatever conclusion that might come. He had to fight. He was done running and hiding. With a snarl, he flung himself at the beast. He couldn’t recall, in the bloodhaze, what had happened. All he could remember was the thrill he’d felt, sinking his cock into the beast’s ass, hearing it howl in submission. He had beaten it, he had won. And when he finished, the beast knew it was bested. This was not Prey–this was Master, and when Tristan left, the beast followed.
Tristan was done running, he realized. He would fight. Still, he couldn’t return to campus, or to the boutique. He would have to go elsewhere, but he would win. Let these rising powers squabble amongst themselves–he would be back, and when he came, he would finally crush this human species beneath his rightful throne.
End Arc 1: While a City Sleeps
Bracken's Corner 