Journey from the West

Journey from the West

Chapter 5
Escape

by
Cursed by Dragons

Sylvester bit down on his lip and fought the urge to scream. The saddle-holder he'd been thrown across and tied to cut deep into his belly as a result of the friction. Each one of the splinters tearing into his flesh was like a flake of ember burning a path through his brain. The ropes they'd secured him with had cut into his wrists deep enough that they bled. None of that mattered, though. Sylvester barely gave it notice, because what was going on behind him made everything else pale by comparison.

He couldn't see which one had entered his ass now, though they were far larger than the one who'd just gone there before. One or two of the Templar Knights crowded around him now as their brother plowed into his ass, tearing a path through his bowels with the sort of cock that felt like it had come off a horse. Sylvester's own dick twitched to life again as the assault on his bunghole began again. Several of the other Templars, naked as the day they were born, stood around close by laughing, some of them pointing at his growing state of arousal. Sylvester tried to fight it off, but it was no use. Much as he hated it, his own body betrayed him again.

The one violating him was merciless, pounding into him with all the tenderness of a mad bull. As his balls began to draw up, his assailant's own low-hangers swung around and smacked together with his, creating a fleshy 'clack' sound that sent him over the edge. For the third time, cum exploded out the tip of his cockhead, forming a puddle alongside the other two somewhere below near his feet. Still, the madman behind him kept up with the rape.

They'd kept his mouth free the whole time. At one point, one of the younger ones had attempted to shove his cock down Sylvester's throat, but the others had quickly shoved him away. They needed it open and free of any obstruction, in case he decided to tell them what he knew. By this point, Sylvester would have been happy to. Something inside him had snapped not long after his second load went flying. There were at least ten of them, and only half had taken the chance to dump their loads in his asshole. Some of the other, more experienced members were holding back so they could torture him longer. The ones that had already had their chance were getting hard again, which meant this could carry on for hours, if not days. By that point, he would probably be dead, or begging for it.

The fact was, Sylvester didn't have a clue as to what they wanted. He'd tried telling that before when they'd dragged him away from the jail cell towards one of the nearby ostrich stables. All that had gotten him was a pistol-whipping. Now, it occured to him as the giant behind him gave one last thrust before unloading somewhere near what felt like his stomach that he was going to have to come up with something.

Another took the place of the giant. By now, his ass was so full of cum that it slid right in. Sylvester shut his eyes, tight enough that he saw colored sparks, and pushed away the memory from when he was young. That was the worst of it all. The pain splitting through his body was nothing compared to the bile rising out of his soul. He had forced it back down so many times before, but now it was coming out. He saw the church, and the priest who'd punished him for years, molding him into a perfect vessel for his god. He saw what the nuns had turned a blind eye to time after time, and the slaps across the face whenever he pleaded for help.

At long last, he saw the day when he would have taken his vows. He smelled the blood now, or perhaps it was from the wound in his lip where he'd bitten down until his own blood flowed. Sylvester remembered the weight of the knife in his hand, and the way the priest's smile had turned into a look of dawning horror. He recalled the satisfaction he'd felt then, watching the man who'd spent years torturing him fall to his knees and die. Now, that sensation was more like a dim memory. Now, his life had come full circle.

He was a victim of Man yet again.

A rage boiled up from him as that last thought took hold. Straining against the ropes, he left it blossom inside of him, growing into a full-blown hatred of them men laughing behind him as they stroked their dicks. There was no hope for them at this point. In his mad thirst for revenge, Sylvester lowered his head slightly and whispered a prayer through his parched throat and torn lip. The blood seemed to bubble with the heat of his outrage for a moment. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he prayed out to the gods of old that had served his people so well. He recalled the same lines his mother had used. As his tormentors began their assault all over again, he felt the air around him crackle as his voice grew more audible. Some of the others heard him now, and strained their ears to listen.

"Wait," one of the said, stopping his brother in mid-thrust. "He's finally talking. Get dressed, and bring in the Sister."

Wind kicked up outside. Sylvester felt his body push the splinters of wood out from his body. His battered arse was healed as he felt his assailant's cock forced out rather violently. More wind blew in through the stable windows overhead. The curtain of hair surrounding his face was blown upwards. Straining against the ropes, his anger took the form of a forge's heat in his hands, and burned right through them. Heaving, Sylvester rose up off the saddle bar and whirled around. The Templar Knights stared back at him, some blinded by stunned confusion, while others' faces matched his.

Sylvester spat, finding even his lip mended, and stared each one of them down. "I'm going to kill each and every last one of you sonsuvbitches."

"Good idea," called out a familiar voice. "But you might need this."

Sylvester glanced upwards as his rifle came crashing down right on his face. The loon what had dropped it had at least enough sense to aim the blade away from him beforehand, at least. That was of some comfort, though it still smarted.

"Sorry about that," Tobias apologized, landing next to him. "I thought you would catch it. You're so good at snatching it outta other folk's hands..."

"Help me kill these bastards," he hissed, taking aim. "And I'll overlook it."

"Sure thing," Tobias agreed, grinning as he drew his own pistols. "Ready whenever you are."

It was at this particular point that the Templar Knights present suddenly realized just how unarmed they were by comparison. Sylvester allowed himself just a second to enjoy the dawning horror on their faces before pulling the trigger. Tobais took aim and fired at the same time. Bullets rocketed across the space between them. Blood splattered as holes covered their bodies. One after the other, they fell to the ground, choking to death in a growing puddle of their own blood. Even after the last one fell, Sylvester kept on firing. Tobias reached out to stop him, which ended up with the gun pointed right into his face.

"Now, hold on right there for just a second," he said, holding his arms up. "I didn't come here to get shot by you again. There's somebody here in town that wanted to meet you something powerful, and they sent me to look for you."

Sylvester lowered his gun, but didn't put it away. "Why should I care?" he asked.

Tobias smiled, that same cheeky grin that Sylvester was coming to identify as his own. It made him want to push the fucker right across the jaw.

"Because," Tobias told him. "It's the mayor of this here town."

Sylvester blinked, and hesitated for a moment, sure that he'd heard the Jew ghost wrong and an ammendment was swiftly on it's way. When Tobias continued to look at him, wearing the same smirk as before, Sylvester had no choice but to conclude he had heard correctly.

"Oh."

Before adding anything to that, the half-elf turned around and began searching the room for signs of his clothes. They had been scattered about quite haphazardly, which meant he was forced to wander around the ostrich stable in his starkers for several minutes more. None of it was helped by the fact that he could feel Tobias' eyes follow his every move. Whatever powers the ghost-rendered-flesh had, Sylvester doubted it included being given an overwhelming desire to oggle people while they were indecent. After he'd rounded up as much of his clothes that he could find, Sylvester turned around to find Tobias standing in the exact same spot as before, only now holding out the remander of his garments. There had been no sound in the room aside from his, nothing to infer that the ghost had been mobile. Yet somehow, he was clutching Sylvester's riding coat, chaps, and hat as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Tobias took it, then afforded himself one more glance down towards Sylvester's lower region. A knowing grin covered his face as Sylvester glowered at him, but then he turned around meekly and folded both hands behind his back. "Sorry 'bout that," Tobias said, as Sylvester shuffled into his clothes. "Can't blame a poor soul fer admiring the view, now, can you?"

In answer, Sylvester tapped him lightly on the shoulder. When Tobias turned back around, he found himself face to face, for however brief a time, with Sylvester's fist. Whether the ghost could feel pain or not was really a moot point anyway. It was more about the satisfaction Sylvester gleaned from watching the bastard's head snap back in shock.

"Matter of fact," Sylvester replied, lowering his hat to his head. "I can. Let's get this over with, then."

Putting his jaw back into place with an audible 'crack', Tobias led Sylvester out of the stables back into the sunlight. None of this seemed to bother the ghost any, though Sylvester had long learned that ghosts weren't so much dampened by the effects of the Sun as they were just generally harder to see under it's bright rays. He also wondered if there wasn't some connection between this and the ring placed visibly on his finger, which the ghost gave a habitual stroke with his other hand every so often. No one seemed especially bothered by their presence on the street, meanwhile. At least, no more than usual. People were avoiding their gaze and lowering their heads as they passed, but none of the townspeople shouted for the alarm to be raised, either. It seemed, for the moment, at least, that their notorious escape had gone off without a hitch.

Then again, it could have something to do with the fact that Tobias was taking him to see the man in charge, also. The gunslinger led him down the High Street right up to the front steps of the town courthouse; which, despite the rather mundane size of the hamlet as a whole, was rather imposing. Tobias reached for the door, then made a cheeky, sweeping gesture for Sylvester to enter first. The half-elf considered punching him again, but resisted at the very last second.

The inside of the building was milder, if not outright cooler. Tobias motioned for Sylvester to keep up, and headed straight for a flight of stairs at the far end of the hallway leading up. No one attempted to stop them, or even reacted to his presence there. This was making him more uncomfortable than if someone had shouted obscenities and demanded he leave at once. That would have been familiar, at least. Having people show no signs of noticing him at all make his fingers reach for the trigger of his rifle instinctively.

When they finally reached the third floor, Sylvester was shown to the mayor's office at the far end. This time, however, Tobias needn't have troubled himself. Regardless of all the numerous doors in this part of the courthouse, someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure everyone knew which office was the mayor's. The door to the town proprietor's lair was at least twice as large, and very ordinately carved, standing out by a mile amongst the other, more sabby portals. This struck Sylvester as a bit foolish, considered how he and Tobias were both armed, and could have easily distinguished which room the leader of the town was in if they had come gunning for trouble. Then again, however, Sylvester was thinking from the perspective of a man who'd always been on the run from those out for his neck. Perhaps being the mayor of a town afforded one freedom from such entanglements.

Or, perhaps the mayor was just an arrogant bastard who deserved to die. Either way, it mattered not to him as he stepped through the door of the office.

It was modestly decorated, as things considered. Sylvester had stood before a judge or three in his lifetime who'd spared more expense on their surroundings. Nevertheless, the place gave off a sense of pride in accomplishment. Clearly, the man felt he had earned his place in society. Sylvester immediately took a dislike to him even before his eyes landed on the portly, yet stocky, man sitting behind the desk.

The mayor, in turn, looked Sylvester over for a moment before speaking. "I'm very grateful you came," he said, sounding very hoarse. "Forgive me for seeming so rushed, but there is little room left for formalities. The situation calls for a man of your reputed talents, and I fear we are all very short on time."

"Be grateful he's wearing pants," Tobias quipped from over in the corner of the mayor's office. "Each time I catch up to this fellow, he's always starkers and ready to open fire on my head."

Sylvester raised his rifle without looking at Tobias and took aim. "What's this all about?" he asked, keeping his finger over the trigger, though not squeezing it just yet. "I can't imagine a man in such a... 'respectable' position such as yours would have much business to do with me, unless it involved a noose hung around my neck."

"He's a bit touchy," Tobias added. "Probably just a little saddlesore."

Sylvester's finger came dangerously close to the trigger, silencing Tobias at once. "So, what's this town got to do with me?"

The mayor's eyes flickered towards the rifle still raised in his hand, looking fearful for a moment that it might go off accidentally. "I'm afraid the Protestant Major has left me in a rather hostile situation," he began, speaking as one who is trying to sum up a great many events into as few words as possible. "A few months ago, the children of this town began disappearing. Many of them returned, although they could hardly be called fit or healthy. Something had come over them, and within the next few days, they were dead."

"Heard it all before," Sylvester said impatiently. "In fact, I was there when it attacked the last victim. The creature is dead, so you're problem seems to have up and gone."

"It hasn't," the mayor countered, unflinching. "My daughter was taken last night from her room, and there was no sign of a struggle. It's as if she walked right out of her bedroom window on the second floor and floated off into the night. There were two others taken, as well. Word has it you were the only eyewitness to whatever has been doing this."

Sylvester lowered his gun and thought. "You think I should go out and catch whatever else is out there?"

"I do not know why, but the Protestant Major has been conveniently overlooking our plight. They seem much more interested in locating you. What little influence I have in the church won't tell me anything, but there are stories of them having taken a particularly keen interest in your whereabouts. In exchange for bringing my daughter home and destroying whatever has plagued this town once and for all, you have my guarantee that Sister Marian and the Templar Knights will never see you leave."

"We walked straight through High Street to get here," Sylvester countered, contemptuously. "I'm sure somebody noticed."

"They won't have," the mayor assured him with confidence. "People around here know when to keep their mouth shut. My cooperation with the Protestant Major has been strickly in the hopes of them coming to our aid. Since that hasn't happened, I've chosen to go along with a much more reliable source. No one will fault me for using an alternative means when it comes to the safety of their children."

Sylvester scowled. "Since when are humans so eagerly concerned with their offspring? And the Protestant Major would wipe this town off the face of Gaia without a second thought."

"Then we would build another town," the mayor answered. "And another, and yet another, if necessary. Children are much more difficult to come by, and far more precious to us. I imagine you've seen evidence to the contrary, going by your tone, but the people here value what little they have. Children are hardly easy to come by."

"Empty words," Sylvester countered. "I've heard enough of them to know, but it doesn't matter to me what happens to this place. You're willing to go up against the most powerful organization in this side of the world, all for getting your daughter back? That's fine with me. I can always cut her throat if it looks like you might reign in on your end of the deal."

The mayor's eyes widened in shock, but Sylvester was already out the door with a sweep of his riding coat, leaving Tobias to nod at the shorter man sheepishly before racing out the door after him. His footsteps left no echo on the hard, wooden floor as he jogged to keep up with the much more long-legged half-elf. Nevertheless, a grin was steadily making it's way across his face as he caught up to Sylvester, who seemed to have developed a sense of when he was around. The grimace of dissatisfaction on his face was evidence of that.

"You do have a way with words, you know that?"

Tobias managed to duck this time as Sylvester swung at him. "Ho, hold it!" he said, raising both arms up in surrender. "At ease, commander. Believe it or not, I meant that as something akin to a compliment."

Sylvester ignored him. "And where are you off to in such an all-fired hurry?" Tobias demanded. "Don't you think we oughta plan things more carefully?"

"What's there to plan?" he wondered, without turnning around. "Track the bastard thing down, kill it where it stands... or flies, if that be the case, then bring the old balding idiot's child back to him so's I can get the hell out of dodge. And who in the nine hells said you were coming along?"

"I'm dead," replied Tobias, matter-of-factly. "What else have I got going on?"

That managed to get Sylvester to slow down. "Do whatever the hell you like, I suppose. If I can manage to slip out of town undetected, there really isn't a whole lot stopping me from trudging right along and not looking back. The mayor of this shithole must be slipping if he can't work that much out."

"He probably expects you won't leave without your little friend clinging to life by a threat over at the Doc's place," Tobais replied, thoughtfully. "Most people know by now he was brought in by you. People seem to think the two of you are close."

"Well, they're wrong," Sylvester answered flatly. "Mostly, he just got on my nerves. The trail will be a lot quieter without him around."

Sylvester's eyes darted towards Tobais for a second. "Mostly."

There were Templar Knights waiting across the street outside the courthouse, naturally. Sylvester swore in his native tongue and ducked back behind the courthouse building as one turned their head slightly towards him. Sylvester waited, but when the sound of footsteps didn't come their way, he lowered himself down along the side of the building and crouched, peering around the side again from close to the ground.

"They knew you'd taken me in there," he growled. "Someone squealed on us."

"So I noticed," Tobias said, his head floating up out of the dirt slightly. "Seems the people of this town aren't as trustworthy or loyal as the mayor thought."

"He's an old fool," the half-elf retorted. "Everyone's in it for themselves, and nobody is dumb enough to try and go up against something like the Protestant Major. If the mayor thinks this town will stand beside him, the old bald head is either crazy or deluded."

"Who's to say he ain't both?"

Sylvester was silent as Tobias drifted back up out of the ground behind the courthouse and slip the ring back onto his finger. "Either way, it makes no difference to me," said Sylvester, after a moment. "I'm getting out of here while the getting is right."

When he turned around, Tobias had shapeshifted into his ostrich form. "Need a lift?" he asked, the beak opening and closing in time to his words.

Sylvester seemed to consider it for a moment, then climbed about without a word. "About time you came in handy for something," he grumbled, adjusting himself. "I don't suppose you come with a saddle. It's been a long time since I tried bareback."

"I don't doubt it," replied Tobias, sounding cheeky. "What about your little friend in the Doc's office?"

"You seem to have a keen interest in him." Sylvester thought for a moment more, looking at the building towards where he knew the Templar Knights were still waiting. "Don't see no point in waiting around for much longer. Still, if it'll make you feel better and get your feathered feet hustling along a bit quicker, I suppose we can take him with us. So long as you don't mind the extra load."

"The both of you could ride me all night long and I'd be just fine," Tobias replied.

"Let's haul ass, then."

Tobias seemed to know the area very well. It took very little time for them to reach the back of the Doc's office building. It was still enough for Sylvester's brain to imagine all sorts of absurd ways for things to go wrong, and what a long, impossible chore it would be to get Wu Kong out of there. His brain was still racing when they'd stopped. Tobias, however, merely removed his ring and faded to a nigh-invisible mist before walking through the wall into the back area where Wu Kong had been stored away along with a couple of others. Once inside, he extended his hand under the window ledge that had been cracked slightly to allow a breeze in. Sylvester passed the ring back to him, then turned around and kept watch as he heard the gunslinger shuffling around, lugging Wu Kong's body over his shoulders.

Apparently, the town had written off the victims as a lost cause and didn't bother with posting a watch. Stealing one might be tantamount to bodysnatching, but he was far too anxious to leave for it to be too disconcerning. Tobias raised the window ledge higher so that Wu Kong and the ring could be passed to him; then, the ghost slid out silently as a fog and rematerialized on the spot.

"Here." Sylvester handed the ring back to him, careful about keeping Wu Kong balanced over his shoulder. "Now, lets get out of here."

* * * * *

Sister Marian stood facing out the window of the mayor's office, looking down on the street below with an air of absolute contempt. Behind her, the stocky older man was silent, something she herself felt was the most intelligent thing he had done. The left side of her jaw gave a jerky tick; other than that, however, there was no movement on her part. The mayor, meanwhile, sat behind his desk watching her as one might observe a predator, quietly and without movement, waiting for it to stike.

When she turned around, his body gave an involuntary jerk. "This is not what the Protestant Major had in mind. This is not what I agreed on when we last spoke. How could you have been so foolish as to think he would simply do as you asked."

"The boy is a half-blood," the mayor answered, as if that were the end of it. "Their kind has this whole big to-do about honoring one's word. If he said he would do it, then he'll do it. I don't see why this has your holiness all riled up."

The contempt in his voice was unmistakeable, yet Sister Marian ignored it for the moment. "They're all savages," she countered, speaking that more to herself. "Did he give his word? Was their an actual vow exchanged during your conversation, or was it vague enough that you simply believed him?"

The mayor tried to remember as she paced. "I can leave nothing to chance. The Templar Knights tried entering the stronghold and could barely make a dent in it's defenses. The Shtriga and it's mate had to make their lair in the same spot where the First Gate is reputed to be located in. The Protestant Major wants that treasure back, and you send in a half-breed and some dead, reformated heathen to do the dirty work for us."

"You promised us you would get rid of the Shtriga," the mayor countered, getting up. "Just as soon as you had your hands on that blasted book, or whatever it was down in the mine shaft. That was months ago, and in that time, my daughter was kidnapped and murdered. I've been sitting here behind this desk showing nothing but my most open support of you and the Templar Knights, hoping you'll complete your end of the bargain soon. If none of your men are up to the task, however, I have no choice but to seek alternative methods."

Sister Marian rounded on him. "It is men's desire for 'alternative methods' that lead to sin! The Shtriga is nothing to make lightly of."

"Or is it just that your faith wasn't enough to take them both down?" The mayor savored the look of horror on Sister Marian's face for a moment. "You need someone to deal with the problem, both so that you can get your hands on whatever it is down there, and also so that the Protestant Major can take credit for it. If a poor, dirt-blood half-breed and his heathen friend manage to accomplish what you, the Templar Knights, and your precious faith could not do..."

Sister Marian was on him in a heartbeat, and her fingernails dug deep into his throat as she choked him. "Complete that sentence," she hissed. "And I will see that you and the rest of your blasphemous family are beheaded for heresy."

The mayor, however, was unable to speak another word. His eyes bulged in horror as her grip continued to tighten on him. A cruel smile tugged at Sister Marian's lips as she exhaled softly, almost longingly. "Do you happen to know what occurs to the male's anatomy when he dies from stranglation?" she breathed. "It's quite facinating, really. I've actually found the process... invigorating."

The mayor's feet lifted up off the floor as his face went from red to a deep purplel, his lips changing to blue as his lungs seized up from lack of oxygen. In desperation, his hands beat down on Sister Marian's face with what little strength she had. For all the good it did, however, since Sister Marian seemed to regard his attack as little more than a nuisance. In minutes, his arms hung limp by his side; his eyes rolled into the backs of his head. Blood ran down the length of Sister Marian's pale arm from where her nails had dug deep into the flesh of his neck. Still, she held her grip tightly for a few minutes longer, leaving nothing to chance.

At last, she flung his lifeless body across the top of the desk. Taking one leg in her hand, she removed his expensive-looking shoes first, followed by the neatly-pressed pants. The long johns underneath were the last thing to do. She didn't concern herself with his upper clothing, but simply disrobed in a quick, but orderly, fashion and mounted him. His erection was at full mass, standing proud underneath the belly he'd aquired from the years of hiding behind a desk. Sister Marian cooed softly as she slipped him inside the folds of her own flesh and began humping up and down.

"In the name of our Father," she gasped between strokes. "I commend your soul to Heaven..."