Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Whispers In The Dark ❯ Dissension With Hell ( Chapter 6 )

Horror, Suspense, yucky violence, supernatural activity...somewhat canon charas (if I can manage it).

No Pairings. Maybe just a bit of shounen ai, but not in the way that us people looooovvveee.

Stand Disclaimers Apply: I do not own Gundam Wing. There.

Um...rated 'R' for some violence? (Some violence she says...)

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 = means scene change

A/N: Eeks! You're right, priscel. Unfortunately, this is the end of the story. I realize there are some loose ends-but that's up to the reader to decide. Maybe write your own ending!! Hooray!! Argh!! I just don't know how to end things!!! >_<. Maybe this repost will correct some thingies...I gotta remember to write that 'The End' crap at the end of my stories...

Chapter Six: Dissension With Hell

Heero looked away from the journal, frowning. He had spent at least ten minutes going through the journals to find out what he had to, and realized that he was, indeed, dealing with a specter of sorts. A 'ghost' that had unwisely cursed himself and the occupants of this colony through the use of his black magic and dark worship of a satanic-god. Because of his 'mission' in destroying those people that were deemed 'wrong' by his god's accounts, and because of the dark magic that he'd practiced, Nigel had made a promise that his last victim would be the key to sending him to his paradise.

The last journal entry had detailed what he needed to do before making the kill. The victim was 'prepped' with the appropriate hell-transportation-spell that would send them directly to whatever limbo they were assigned, as per Nigel. This involved ritualistic pig's blood and enigmatic chanting, and a befitting coating of this liquid, which completely encased said victim and sent them via blood bath to their proper hell. Nigel was all set to kill Adrian Dunn and himself, so that he could enjoy 'endless riches in the forms of virgin bodies', but a set-back occurred.

Nigel's last victim had killed himself before Nigel could make the move. From the detailed account that the man had recorded, Nigel had prepared the man for his death. Nigel had confessed, rather guiltily, that he'd made a mistake. He'd fallen for Adrian, wanted his love, his attention, his very soul for his own. Adrian had been rather disturbed by Nigel's kidnaping and torture, as he rightly should have been. Adrian had wanted him to let him go. Nigel had refused. Nigel detailed how Adrian had screamed, pleaded, begged, cursed and shouted at him to let him go. Nigel had continued to refuse. When Nigel tried to 'show' him his love, in the form of rape, he found he couldn't perform. Couldn't get it up. Adrian had laughed at him, in his moment of giving up. Nigel went insane and stabbed the father of two. Right before Adrian's soul could pass over to the hell he'd been 'assigned' to, he somehow took Nigel's knife from him. Stabbed his throat. Killed himself in the resulting shame of his violation.

And because of the certain ritual, Nigel's spell had backfired. Because he himself hadn't killed Adrian, he was condemned to live until he was able to take Adrian's life. In the resulting conclusion, Nigel had gone insane. Killed everyone. That one puzzled Heero. As far as he knew, Nigel hadn't mentioned anything about stockpiling weapons, so he was rather curious as to how he managed to kill all seventy-seven adults and twenty-one children. That part was unexplained. It would probably continue to be unexplained because there was no one to ask.

Nigel, in the resulting process of killing everyone, had tried killing himself, but to no avail. He was immortal until he carried out his plan. Immortal, powerful, and stupid.

Trowa had mentioned that this man was...pure evil. Heero himself hadn't seen any ghosts, so he had no idea what the others were talking about when they mentioned such things. He'd heard sounds, uncharacteristically odd sounds, but he couldn't match them to ghosts. Heero didn't believe in them. He truly believed that humans were fucking with them. They were the enemy-not the ones in the battlefield, but the enemy because they were working against them. Basically, though, Nigel was human-just immortal until he killed Adrian Dunn, or someone of certain likeness, which was, unfortunately, Quatre Winner.

Which brought to mind, where was the 'ghost' of the fallen victim? If there were actual ghosts about, wouldn't this ghost have done them a privilege and assisted them?! How incredibly rude...

Heero didn't believe in black magic, immortality, 'hell'----he believed in human imagination and insane things. This Nigel person was a genius in deranged things, and had fucked with them from the very start. He was probably a prison criminal that had been banished to this colony, and had somehow survived, fucking with the pilots as soon as they landed and getting his rocks off by doing this to Quatre.

With that, Heero was certain. But it wouldn't hurt to go and find out if this were true. He rose from the bed frame, throwing the journal aside. With a thoughtful expression, he bent, ripping the single flannel blanket from the upturned mattress, remembering that it was quite cold without a spacesuit, and he considered Quatre's comfort in this chaotic time.

If this 'ghost' was a traditionalist, and he planned on carrying out this 'ritual' on Quatre, then Heero knew where to find them. Trowa, in his own way, had made sure of this before he died. Heero was positive of it. Trowa wouldn't fail in his own mission to help out his friends, and in a way, he had helped out, even though it meant his life in a rather foolish way. Everything was set. The puzzle completed. All that this needed, was an ending.

Heero would put an end to this, and he and Quatre would leave this place. Minus three pilots, but at least they would be intact. He just hoped he got there in time to prevent Quatre's death. What a shame that would be. Heero would then be all on his own. Which wasn't anything new. He was used to being alone. He'd gotten entirely too used to be with this rag-tag group of different personalities and had grown weak.

He removed his helmet and oxygen tank. He didn't want those things slowing him down when he worked. He left the room, gun withdrawn, determination on his face. Either way, death or no death, this mission was almost complete.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

That smell was hideous. It woke him up with a start, eyes fluttering open with a rather slow reaction. He felt entirely sleepy, sluggish-like he couldn't move. He was still bare-ass naked, and it was quite uncomfortable. His modesty had him shifting, slowly moving his bound hands over his groin. How utterly embarrassing, to be treated this way. How...sick. Cruel. Inhuman.

Nigel was still chanting, there was still burning-and Quatre couldn't see any of it. He was too sleepy to try. He couldn't breathe well. He felt hands on his body, cool, liquid marks on his stomach and chest. That fucker was drawing something on him, something that required rather forceful movements of fat fingers on his skin. Whatever it was that was soaked into his skin was quite drying-he couldn't help but wince at the condition of his skin.

Nigel withdrew his hand from his body, and Quatre found himself relaxing slightly. Fuck. How long did it take for this guy to kill a person?! What the hell was he doing?! Wasn't he supposed to be disemboweled right around now? He drew in a slow breath, careful to keep his hands where they were, not wanting that sick psycho to see his privates. Feeling his face blush with shame that he was naked, Quatre tried focusing in on the chants, realizing that he couldn't really focus. His mind was screaming for more air, but in a rather dim way.

Oh, for a breath of fresh air...oxygen...he wished he could have seen Earth once more before he died...so many things were going to be taken from him before he even had the chance to touch them.... it was so unfair, so unfair...he felt his eyes gather with tears at what he was losing, but it was useless to let them go. Useless to cry.

He felt Nigel's hands on him once more, over his legs. He shook in disgusted violation at the feel of the man's thumb rubbing against his inner thighs, smoothing the pale hair, smoothing over white skin. It was utterly disgusting that this man thought he could have such freedom to touch him in such disrespectful ways. What, was the guy thinking of violating him in that sense? Utterly disgusting!

Quatre could not even conceive of that thought, nor was it appealing in any other sense. He was very straight, thank you very much. Despite his appearance and his rather wimpy attitude, he was straight. And he certainly did not appreciate this deranged Casper touching him in such ways! What a way to add to his current humiliation and shame! What a way to leave this lifetime, violated by something such as Nigel...

He wanted to go to sleep. Wanted to close his eyes and never open them again. He wanted out of this world...he wanted Duo and Trowa. He wanted to be within their comforting presences...wanted the reassurance of Duo's cheer and the stoic strength of Trowa...He wanted to apologize for his wrongs, and continue with his rights. He wanted to be with them once more...why couldn't Nigel hurry it up?

When he opened his eyes, he realized that his legs were being shifted-the plastic cuffs around his ankles being removed. Curious, he lifted his head from the cold metal floor, trying to peer through the darkness. When his legs were shifted, spread, his eyes widened with horror, and he stilled completely. With a start, Quatre realized what was happening. What Nigel was trying to do. At the sound of a zipper being worked, he pretty much went into overdrive to get out of this situation. Kicking, cursing, Quatre definitely couldn't believe this was happening to him.

"I will have you...have you just once...just once...enticing me all this time...I will mark you..." Nigel hissed in a spittle filled whisper that sliced through the heavy silence of the room.

One leg was caught within one meaty hand, and shifted away from his body, held down against the floor. He used his other leg to kick, and that one was held in a similar manner, his privates horribly exposed and vulnerable. He sat up to start swinging with his bound hands, but Nigel shifted over him, pinning him down on the floor with his own fat body. Quatre was instantly recoiling at the horrid stench of body odor and excrement, eyes watering and throat clogging. He shifted madly, trying to wiggle his arms out from underneath Nigel's large potbelly, feeling that fat fuck shift closer to his groin, hearing pants and underwear being forcefully removed.

"Mine...all mine...never had a man...had kids...boys...same as a boy...same as a boy, just with a man..."

Over and over the disgusting litany, something that drew across Quatre's mind the same way a knife would through butter. It was disgusting, sick, grossly perverted, and yet, he couldn't stop himself from listening. Quatre felt sticky leg skin against his own, and panicked in a mad way, struggling fiercely. Anything, anything but this! He'd take tremendous amounts of pain, but not this!

"Just like a boy...just like a little boy...just with a man, a man...just once, just forgive me this once, my Lord, I can't resist, just this once...just once...I am weak, my Lord, weak...can't resist...forgive me please, my Lord....forgive me...."

In earnest, Quatre began struggling, kicking his legs, flopping his body, anything to get that fat sicko away from him. The heavy breathing increased as Nigel tried in vain to keep him under control, and in desperation, Quatre found himself screaming curses and hysterical shouts, struggling hard to keep Nigel from violating him in one of the worst ways possible.

Utterly nasty, utterly shameful, utterly disgusting! Nigel reached down, holding his throat with both hands, choking him as he kept his upper body pinned over the boy's torso. As Quatre tried gulping for air, he managed to shift his arms out from underneath Nigel's disgusting bloat, and swung his bound hands repeatedly on the heavy man's head, trying to dislodge him, to stun him, to do something!

Nigel's hands squeezed his throat, and Quatre found himself unable to breathe, unable to hit as hard as he could. He concentrated in trying to breathe, shifting his bound fists to opened fingers that gripped Nigel's arms and tried getting the man to let go of him. But he couldn't move. He couldn't get Nigel to release him! With his sudden weakness, his lungs screaming for air, Quatre found himself unable to move. Nigel moved in then, keeping one hand firmly on his throat, the other shifting his legs, pulling them over his shoulders so that his knees were bent over them.

"Just this once...forgive me, my Lord, forgive me," Nigel kept whispering, spittle against Quatre's face, spittle and dripping sweat. The stench was horribly suffocating, the weight, the skin-the very thought of being raped! Of violation in this degree...

Ultimate humiliation and shame raced through the blond's entire being, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to live, not wanting to feel or experience what was going to happen to him. He didn't want to experience it! Didn't want to be here! Why wasn't he dead?! He couldn't get Nigel to get off him, couldn't get him to stop-! Useless..utterly useless...

"I will have you...have you just once...just once, I will have you...can show you...give you what you've been asking for...slut...give you what you want..."

Nigel huffed heavily against him, suffocating him with both his hand on his throat and his heavy body pressing against him. He felt as if he were going to break in two with the position the man forced him in, and he grit his teeth, feeling something entirely soft and limp against him, brushing against him-then he realized with a heave of breath that Nigel's member wasn't even hard! It was...it was disgustingly soft. Ha! The psycho was impotent!

Tremendous relief and hysterical joy wrung a mad bark of laughter from Quatre's lips. He laughed hysterically as Nigel grunted, trying to force that limp thing into him, but to no success. Quatre continued to laugh as the heavy man grew furious, pressing harder against him, shoving against him. All that work for nothing?! Nothing at all?!

"Stop laughing at me!" Nigel growled, ceasing in his efforts to penetrate him, fondling himself furiously. "Stop laughing! STOP LAUGHING!!"

Quatre couldn't stop-his deliriousness had accelerated to his own madness, madness that had built due to the overwhelming stress he'd undergone since he set foot on this colony. Laughter made it easier to handle that he was almost raped by a ghost. That he was going to die by a ghost. Laughter was somewhat...relief. Relief from the pain, the tremendous guilt, the acceptance of his death...damn it, he could laugh if he wanted to! He was the one that was going to die!

Nigel lifted off of him completely, letting go of his throat and thrusting his legs aside. Curled on his side, Quatre laughed, snickered and giggled, tears running down his cheeks. Nigel shifted, doing something that Quatre couldn't see in the dark. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back onto his back.

"Stop laughing at me!" Nigel shrieked, in a far higher pitch than should be healthy for a man.

And Quatre stopped laughing upon the continuous rain of blows that landed in various areas on his chest, his face, his shoulders, and he found himself trying to curl up in a ball to escape Nigel's fists. Nigel was furious, pushing him back against the floor, trying to keep him in one place while hitting him continuously with the other.

Screaming words that Quatre couldn't understand, Nigel was so intent on hitting him that he shifted forward, climbing onto one of the blond's legs, setting his massive weight on the slim thigh, and that wrung a shout of pain from Quatre as he tried shifting the man off of him. His bound hands were clumsy, sluggish, and he found himself quickly draining of energy. His muscles were going lax, and he was having trouble concentrating, staying awake....

He felt very sleepy, very much at peace. His body was relaxing, and he suddenly felt very disoriented. He wasn't sure if he were lying down or standing up. Suddenly, Nigel's continuous hits on his body didn't register, and his massive weight on his leg didn't register. Suddenly, it wasn't cold. Suddenly it wasn't dark. Suddenly... he realized that he was dying. From lack of air? From whatever shit Nigel had slathered on him? From...from the blows...?

Nigel had ceased his hits, and was breathing entirely heavy, straddling his hips. But he couldn't feel it. He could barely hear the man's grunts and breaths. He couldn't smell the stench of his body odor. He... he was at peace.

His eyelids were growing heavy. At least, during this last segment of his torture, he wasn't able to feel anything. Weird...how he felt nothing as he was dying. Air didn't matter, his wounds didn't matter, Nigel didn't matter...

"Go...go, now...your death will release us," he dimly heard Nigel whisper against his ear, something entirely cold and metal against his throat. With a faint nod of recognition, Quatre realized that Nigel hadn't hit him at all. He'd been stabbed. Repeatedly.

Huh. So being stabbed really did feel like being hit with a closed fist..he wouldn't have known. He could feel his blood oozing out of him, his lungs suddenly failing to hold air. He choked for air, but he wanted to die. He wasn't going to fight it anymore. His chest felt suddenly pressured by something unseen, and there was a very strange wheezing sound coming from his chest...like air was pressing down on his lungs from within his body...but there was no pain.

Shouldn't have laughed at him, he thought vaguely, staring up at the darkness. But then again, it may have been the better choice...at least he was dying more quickly than he would if Nigel had gotten it up. The very thought of that made his stomach quiver involuntarily. No. Anything was better than that. Anything.

Suddenly, he was moving, and Nigel was screaming in outrage, the effect rattling the entire room. Was he moving on his own? No... no, there was warmth all around him. The feel of something incredibly real and firm against him, the faint smell of someone's familiar body scent...Heero...Quatre wanted to say something, but his lips wouldn't even move to form his friend's name.

Heero stared in wide-eyed recognition of the angry man-spirit that was jumping to its feet in half-naked indignance. He dully noted the dropped pants and underwear, the flaccid penis that jiggled with its sad, limp manner, and grew intensely furious that such an incident occurred. He wondered if the man had accomplished what he tried, but Heero couldn't do anything about it.

It looked as if he'd come just in time, having seen Nigel back away from a very naked and very injured Quatre. His flashlight had revealed agonizingly large stab wounds all over the blond's chest, throat and face, revealing yellow fat and muscle, revealing massive amounts of blood that was currently soaking the blanket he'd brought as a precaution.

Nigel's face was furious, staring at him in utter fury as the Japanese cradled the blood-soaked blond to his chest, adjusting the blanket around him in a protective gesture. Stepping backward, toward the door where the separated halves of Trowa Barton watched in silence, Heero moved away from Nigel and began making his way to the hall. He was very certain Nigel couldn't stop him without the use of his 'spells'-that part had been made clear in his journals. Without that liquid that had coated Duo's body earlier, Nigel couldn't rightly touch him. Heero still wasn't sure how he'd been able to touch Quatre. The spacesuit the blond had worn revealed nothing of the telltale splatters. Perhaps it had to do with those bodies in the water channel...he knew he would never know. Quatre wouldn't be able to say, and Nigel Van der Pool would never confess.

Nigel's screams of fury followed him as he left the room and began the mad dash toward the hangar, two levels above. Unable to see how Quatre was doing, the darkness preventing a quick visual scan and the current situation preventing him from pausing and examining his comrade with his flashlight, Heero merely held the blond tight and ran for all that he was worth. He awkwardly positioned the flashlight in his right hand to guide his way through the various halls, moving up familiar staircases and reading the faded level labels at every corner.

He knew Quatre was still alive-he could feel the faint, wet breaths against his neck, the gurgling of blood in his throat. He didn't know how much time he had before Quatre succumbed to his wounds-but Heero would try and make it to the ship. At least, if he couldn't leave with the other pilot alive, he would at least be able to take him with him when he left the colony.

Heero was panting heavily as he reached the upper level, the carrier just outside that blue door, just paces away-!

He slowed his pace as he stepped within the hangar, and came to a complete stop. There, moving to surround him, were the ninety-eight spirits that were trapped within the colony. They stared at him in various poses and expressions, forming a barrier between him and the carrier. He shifted his hold on Quatre, and turned to go the other way for another way out, but had to stop. Some of the spirits had shifted course and were blocking that way as well.

In confusion and in surprise, Heero stared at the various souls that stared right back, all of them in some stage or manner of decomposition. Confused, Heero adjusted his hold on Quatre, who uttered something incoherent against his neck. Heero turned in a slow circle, coming to a stop when he saw Nigel standing there, dressed, grinning evilly. Quatre's blood decorated his features, darkening the shadows on his face.

"We want to go," he hissed. "He needs to die..."

Heero stared at him in silence, shifting his package once more. Quatre's breaths were growing slower and slower, the gurgling sounds thicker and wetter. He wasn't going to last long. Nigel would have his wish.

Unless...

Heero stared at the others that surrounded them, many shaking their heads, agreeing with Nigel's words. Some began shouting that they wanted to leave, that they didn't want to be here anymore. They wanted to move on. They wanted Quatre dead so that the curse would be lifted. He had to die from Nigel's hand. So they could be 'released'.

Heero shifted his narrowed eyes to Nigel, who merely grinned, waiting. Their souls were odd blue colors, lighting the floor, lighting the hangar. Heero eyed the distance he figured would get him to the ship. The spirits tightened their barrier, and Heero frowned, knowing that he couldn't shoot them. But could they touch him in return? He started to weigh the chances of just making a run for the carrier, but he figured that if Nigel, of whom Heero hadn't rightly decided was a spirit like the others, could touch Quatre, then the other ghosts could touch him as well.

Quatre started to stiffen, mouth open, trying to gulp in air.

Many of the spirits were clapping, encouraging his death with low murmurs and shouts of glee. Heero froze, blinking at this. He looked down at the boy in his arms, his body trying to draw in air. And he looked up at Nigel, a slow, acknowledging smirk drawing across his face as something came to mind.

"With his death...you will all be released?" he questioned, his voice breaking through the spirits' cheers. They quieted to listen to this exchange, all in varying expressions of relief.

Nigel nodded his thick head, chins wobbling, evil eyes glinting.

Heero's smirk increased in expression. He held Quatre tighter, hoping that the other pilot would be able to somehow feel what he was thinking, feeling....

"Fine...I understand," Heero said monotonously, shrugging.

"Good...Let him die...Give him to us...let him die."

Heero nodded in agreement, and looked away from Nigel. He bent with his knees, lowering himself and Quatre to the floor, setting the blanket covered blond on his back before him. He sat back on his heels and carefully wrapped the blanket over Quatre's nude form, giving him that respect. He eyed the spirits, all of whom were watching the blond's slow death with eager expressions, kids starting to clap with glee, women laughing in nervous relief, men starting to smile with broad expression.

Heero stared at all of them, shifting his position so that he was able to pull Quatre's top half from the floor to rest against his chest, the rest of his body nestled between his thighs. He shifted his friend's face to rest against his shoulder, his cheek resting against the blood soaked blonde locks. Quatre was starting to convulse now, eyelids fluttering, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Blood pumped from his mouth, and his limbs were jerking. Heero shifted his sight from the others and watched as his comrade died.

With a frown, he exhaled slowly, bowing his head, his temple against the blond's forehead. He listened to the sounds of good cheer around him, to the sounds of air bubbles, the sounds of Nigel's slow laughter. It just wouldn't do to die in vain, he supposed.

Without looking at the others, Heero shifted his head, pressing his lips tightly against Quatre's open mouth, and murmured a comforting farewell. Nigel screamed suddenly as Heero then pressed the barrel of his gun against the blond's forehead and fired once. Multiple screams of horror and rejection echoed around him as he lifted the gun against his own head, smirking in Nigel's direction as he unloaded the last bullet against his temple.

The colony echoed with the agonized screams of the ghosts and the single condemned immortal, all of them forever doomed to their own, unintended hell.

Owari. O_O.