Wednesday, January 29, 2014

The Nosferatu Adventures S4 p12

The Nosferatu Adventures 
page 114, chapter 114

He snarled as the light pierced through the crack in the wall. His hand automatically going to cover his face, protecting his eyes. He'd lost count how many days he'd been there; given up hoping of getting out alive. His stomach hurt, mostly from lack of food, his hands and wrists constantly covered in blood and bruises from trying to dig himself out. The thirst was the worst, driving him insane. Once, he'd even hallucinated Harker coming to rescue him.

Dagan was in hell. Literally. Alone, in a dark space no bigger then a closet carved into solid rock. It had rained only twice, water run down the north wall from the small crack in the rock, enough to drink. Wherever he was, there didn't seem to be any sort of guards. No one checked on him, no one brought food or water in the time he'd been locked away. If it wasn't for the poor unfortunate mouse or garden snake that found its way in once and a rare while, he'd never eat. But mostly the werewolf was abandoned. Forgotten. For Dagan, that was his worst fear come true.

He sat with his back against the south wall, hands over his knees, eyes closed, praying to Loki, to Bacchus, to Odin, to anyone who might hear him. No one ever came.

He hated sleeping. When he closed his eyes, the last few minutes of being on the ship returned to plague him. Of Ares appearing demanding the female. Of him being hit hard by the back of the god's hand like he was nothing. Falling overboard, the freezing water like pins and needles as he plunged into it. Of being attacked by the mermaids as they bit and clawed at him. Their poison choking him as it burned his veins. Of then waking in this hell, not sure how he got there.

He knew he'd been reliving this personal hell for at lest four months by how long his hair and beard had gotten. Four months of emptiness, of starving to death over and over again only to die and wake up hours later, to have the process start over. For the first time ever, he hated being a werewolf. At lest if he had been human, the first death would have been enough. And the space was so cramped, he had been unable to shift. He'd been stuck in his human form the whole time. The wolf in him needed to be allowed to stretch, to hunt. Another thing that was driving him insane.

His skull started to hurt, forcing him to dig his nails into his temples, trying to alleviate the pain. But it was no good. Now the male was hallucinating voices. For some reason, it was the Seer's. Dagan screamed at it to get out. Screamed at it to leave him alone, to let him die in peace. But the voice refused to listen. It kept asking him to describe where he was. Then he hallucinated another voice answering.  The female's. He heard her telling the first hallucination she was still in the hall of doors. He heard her say she was hiding again from Reuben. That they'd crossed paths again in the last few days and he once again ripped her throat out. He heard the hallucination say that Reuben had gotten stronger in the past week. The voices disappeared then, leaving Dagan alone again. A rage coursing through him so much he smashed the back of his skull against the wall till he passed out.

When Dagan opened his eyes again, the moon was casting pale shadows over him, his mouth full of dirt, his skin wet from a fresh layer of snow. He was outside, the brutally cold night air whipping snow around him, a distant howl making his ears reverberate in pain. Blinking, he found himself high on a mountain ridge.

tune in again for another installment of the Nosferatu Adventures starring your (straight up story. I couldn't keep him totally totally dead...I wanted to...)

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