Chapter 4
In which things become a little complicated
"Sometimes its good to be bad." - Rober Moore
As Ebony attempted to avoid the onslaught of thick drunken drool, the underworld continued to do its duty. The children played, the women laughed, the jeggerworts snorted, and far, far away, a man cried.
It was the sort of cry that broke hearts, the gasping sob of a man who knew he would never see his little boy again, or the women to whom he had given his heart. The sob sang a sad song, a wavering melody that sent chills down spines and rattled teeth. Weaved into the weeping were words of distress and denial, of disbelief and discord. He prayed that someone would hear his cry, and come to his aid. Of course, no one ever came.
In a distant room, the FILTH laughed.
He crept slowly to the dank cell, rolling like a pile of delighted sludge. No face could be seen, only the disgusting glob of black grime, though a grin filled with rows of glittering white teeth stretched across the girth. Flickering limbs lashed out, hundreds of them dancing along the walls like those of a spider. Their clattering filled the room, and at the sound of them, the man’s wailing song sped up, the tempo broken with gasps of fear. The FILTH chuckled again, a dark and impossibly deep chortle that seemed to only distress the poor man even more. As the FILTH approached the cage, the man fell silent, stunned into horror at the sight of his torturer.
“Henry,” the FILTH hissed, his voice deep and growling. The sick grin never faltered, instead almost growing wider, “Perhaps you are prepared to tell me what I need to know now, yes?”
Henry’s eyes were wide and wild, jerking unstably with fear. He shuddered with a sickly gasp, as if trying to speak. The FILTH gave a snarl, his wide mouth open and a long tongue flicking out. Clearly he was impatient. After a moment, the FILTH’s dark smile returned, crawling slowly across it’s face.
“Perhaps a different form would be more…savory?” As the FILTH spoke, his features began to change. The long legs folded in on themselves with a clatter, sucking together to vaguely form human hands and legs. His torso twisted, curling to become thin and flat, another pathetic glamour of the male human body. Taking his preferred human face, the FILTH stepped forward, using his long brittle fingers to stroke his short goatee.
“Now, Henry,” he spoke again, his voice deep and welcoming, though his black eyes glittered with maliciousness, “ Tell me what you saw. Or need I call upon the Yzinh‘s to aid your memory?”
Henry whimpered, eyes widening. The beastly creatures, with the head of a sickly cat and the body of a boa, fed on misgivings and unhappiness, drawing them up in a persons mind. Any little fear, hate or worry was magnified, barraging the victim with an intense mix of them all simultaneously. Henry shook, the memory of the morning’s session still fresh.
“I-I-it’s true,” he croaked out, glancing up at the FILTH with begging eyes, “I-I saw her m-m-myself. The one they call ‘The C-c-converted Savor’. J-j-just a girl - young, c-can’t be more then 16..” Henry drifted of as he recognized the dark look in the FILTH’s eyes. He had obviously not heard what he wanted to hear. Henry’s tone switched immediately, words broken by gasping sobs. “Oh no no no no no - please! Please don’t!”
His begging fell on deaf ears. In a matter of seconds, the FILTH had returned to his first form. Without another word, a long leg flicked out, cleaning cutting off both Henry’s cries and his head. Dozens more legs lashed forward, shoveling the corpse into his fang lined mouth. In a matter of seconds, nothing more remained.
The FILTH turned, as casual as if having just finished an afternoon snack. The grin on his face had faded, replaced instead by a dark frown. The FILTH was not at all pleased. If what the streets were saying was true, then the king may have finally returned to take back his throne. And as the soul of a girl no less! After the king had died, it had been all too easy for the FILTH to take control. He wondered if the little girl knew just what she was taking on. A dark chuckle emitted from the depths of the large black blob. Why was he worrying? Surely he would be able to dispose of the child easily enough.
The FILTH approached a large door, decorated with and intricate web of golden twine. He shoved through, not at all surprised to find that someone was already waiting for him there. That someone gave a deep bow, then rose, stepping forward to greet his dark master.
“DeGraye,” the FILTH greeted, though his voice held no warmth, “I have a little plaything for you.”
The man called DeGraye was well known in the Underworld. Those who dared speak his name did so in a hush, and were often silenced quickly. Tall and thin, DeGraye had the appearance of a particularly grey praying mantis. He was shirtless, though his pants looked as though they might have once belonged to a tuxedo of some sort. His skin was leaden and decaying. Implanted in his skin were clocks of various sizes, all ticking away. A large golden clock was especially noticeable, perched deep inside the center of his chest. DeGraye’s right eye was also a clock, small and glistening, the second hand whirling gaily. Such features earned DeGraye the nickname The Clockwork Man, spoken mostly in stories to scare small children into behaving.
“Excellent. I‘ve been dying to get out of this hellhole,” DeGraye’s voice was deep and gravely, but a sliver of excitement shone through. Such missions entertained him, and he loved nothing more then to ‘play with his food’.
“Find the one who is rumored to be the king returned,” the FILTH ordered, “Don’t waste your time looking for proof - destroy anyone who even has a chance of approaching my throne.”
DeGraye grinned, his teeth as grey as his skin and his name. He bowed once more, the clocks whirling swiftly with exhilaration. The Clockwork Man passed the FILTH without incident, though once he was out of sight, he let out a breath. That disgusting mass was terrifying, sending DeGraye into shivers at even the mention of his name. He payed well though, and allowed DeGraye to play with all the victims he could want.
The grin widened. This could, very possibly, be the hunt of his life. He could be the one to take out the historic Grim King. Or rather, the one who was once the king. DeGraye began to whistle, haunting tune that sent the remaining prisoners into new waves of sobs. A song had never sounded sweeter.
I can't wait to find out what happens next!!! Do Ebony and Death fall in love? eeee XD