Chapter Two-Hundred Eighty: Duskfang Stalker

Chapter 280

Duskfang Stalker

A twin tunnel of brilliant white light pierced deep into the forest, cutting through the swirling banks of low-hanging mist. The powerful beams threw dramatic, elongated shadows behind the thick pine trunks, illuminating the moss-draped branches above and making the reflective yellow dashed lines on the dark pavement flare vividly into view.

The increased visibility revealed the winding road curving deeper into the secluded wilderness, every bend framed by towering walls of ancient evergreen trees.

Fabien leaned back against the leather seat, resting one hand firmly at the top of the wheel and the other resting casually on the shifter, steering through the shadowy woodland curves with relaxed, confident precision.

Fabien steered the Mustang around a final bend, the headlights suddenly sweeping across a dilapidated stone sanctuary half-hidden by overgrown ivy. Beyond its crumbling archway, a graveyard stretched into the gloom, weathered markers standing like jagged teeth against the night. Under the pale, dual glow of the moons, Lena caught sight of the eerie site and gasped, shrinking back into the leather seat with a tremble.

Fabien immediately eased his foot off the accelerator, the Cobra's low rumble dropping into a quiet, soothing hum. He reached up with one hand, pushing his Ray-Bans up into his silver hair so his warm, green eyes could meet hers directly in the soft glow of the dashboard.

Fabien: “Hey, it’s all right, Lena…”

He said gently, his tone instantly shifting from cool detachment to calm, steady reassurance.

Fabien: “Just an old historic—likely Earthling—chapel from way back. Nothing to worry about at all. You’re completely safe with me, I promise.”

Keeping the Mustang moving at a slow, protective crawl, he kept one hand firm on the wheel, letting the powerful headlights sweep clear through the eerie shadows.

The Mustang crept along the ascending woodland path, its twin high beams piercing the swirling fog that rolled off the damp forest floor. The piercing white glare suddenly washed over a truly bizarre, spine-chilling tableau along the shoulder of the road.

Perched haphazardly on weathered tree stumps, mossy fence posts, and jagged rocks were dozens of vintage clown dolls. Their faded porcelain and cracked plastic faces stared blankly into the headlights with garish, permanent painted grins. Ruffled satin collars, stained by years of rain and forest grime, fluttered slightly in the breeze, while hollow glass eyes caught the glare of the car with an unnerving, reflective glint. Some sat upright with limp, checkered limbs arranged in mocking poses, while others tilted sideways, grinning silently from the creeping ivy.

Fabien: “...What the fuck is this now?”

Lena let out a terrified, sharp scream. Completely abandoning her seat, she lunged across the center console, burying her face straight into Fabien’s chest. Her hands gripped the sturdy lapels of his heavy leather jacket with fierce desperation, her entire frame trembling against him as she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the eerie sight.

Fabien reacted with instantaneous, fluid control. He smoothly dipped the clutch and applied the brakes, bringing the Shelby to an easy, rock-steady halt without jolting her. Wrapping his right arm firmly around Lena’s shoulders, he pulled her securely against his chest, tucking her head safely under his chin. The rich, grounding scent of his Gucci cologne, warm leather, and faint tobacco instantly enveloped her, creating an impenetrable barrier against the unsettling woods outside.

Fabien: “Whoa, hey—easy, Lena. It’s okay.”

He murmured softly, his voice vibrating warmly right through his jacket and against her cheek.

With his free hand, he reached up and pushed his dark sunglasses completely off, tossing them onto the dash. His fingers gently smoothed down the back of her purple hair, his touch steady, calm, and effortlessly protective.

The Shelby’s cabin suddenly strobed with brilliant pulses of crimson and cobalt, reflecting sharply off the rear glass and dancing across the leather interior. The low, authoritative whoop of a police siren cut through the silence.

Fabien glanced up into the rearview mirror, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the cruiser pulling up behind them on the shoulder.

Fabien: “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

He muttered. He didn’t let go of Lena immediately, keeping a reassuring hand resting gently on her shoulder until she felt steady enough. What the fuck are the cops doing out here? He wondered. Something is not fucking right, he thought.

Gently helping her sit back into the passenger seat, he reached up, clicked off the high beams, and shifted the Cobra into park. He rolled down the driver’s side window, resting both hands in plain sight on top of the steering wheel.

The gravel crunched under heavy boots as the officer approached, the powerful beam of a Maglite cutting through the mist and sweeping across the Mustang’s interior. The light momentarily blinded Fabien before settling on his hands, then flicking over to Lena, who was still visibly shaken.

The officer tapped the rim of the flashlight against the door frame, the sharp metallic sound echoing in the quiet woods. He was a tall white man, his face partially obscured by the brim of his hat and the glare of the patrol car’s strobes behind him.

Officer: “License and registration, please. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The request was delivered with a stern, practiced authority that brooked no argument. Fabien didn’t flinch. He remained perfectly still, his fingers loosely curled around the top of the steering wheel, his expression unreadable in the shifting light.

Fabien: “Hang on.”

He stated calmly, his voice steady. With one hand still on the wheel, he reached slowly into the inner pocket of his heavy leather jacket. He pulled out a leather wallet, flipped it open with practiced ease, and slid his license out between two fingers.

Keeping his other hand visible on the wheel, he then reached across to the glove compartment, his movements fluid and unhurried. He popped the latch, retrieved the registration, and held both items out toward the officer, his green eyes meeting the man’s gaze.

The officer reached out and snatched the documents, the leather of his glove creaking. He held the Maglite between his arm and torso, squinting as he moved the beam back and forth over the license. He handed them back to Fabien. He slid his license back into his wallet, placed it into his jacket, and put his registration back into the glove box.

After a tense, silent moment, he looked up, the harsh light reflecting off the chrome trim of the Mustang.

Officer: “Step out of the vehicle, please. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The command was cold and final. Fabien didn’t argue. He offered a quick, reassuring glance toward Lena, whose eyes were wide with renewed fear, before reaching for the door handle.

With smooth, controlled movements, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped out onto the damp gravel, standing tall in his leather jacket with his hands held loosely at shoulder height, his calm gaze never leaving the officer.

Officer: “I’m going to take that young lady home.”

Fabien gaped at him.

Fabien: “What? Why?”

He asked him, feeling his anxiety soar. Something is definitely not right, he thought.

The officer crossed his arms over his chest, his flashlight beam angling down toward the damp road between them.

Officer: “Look, Mr. Bellegarde…”

He said, his tone turning stern and authoritative.

Officer: “It’s past one in the morning on an abandoned, closed-off road with detour hazards, and the young lady in your passenger seat looks terrified out of her mind. For her safety, I’m going to take her home in the patrol car.”

Fabien didn’t budge. He kept his posture relaxed, hands resting loosely at his sides, but the easygoing warmth in his green eyes sharpened into something firm and resolute.

Fabien: “Look, she’s scared because we saw some clown dolls on the road.”

He nodded toward where they came from.

Fabien: “I’m going to take her home for her brother, Jordi.”

The cop’s jaw tightened, stepping into Fabien’s personal space as his hand rested heavily near his duty belt.

Officer: “I AM NOT ASKING YOU!”

He barked, leaning in with a commanding glare.

Officer: “I am demanding you hand over custody of the passenger right now so I can transport her safely. You will step aside, let me escort her to my cruiser, and you’ll be on your way. Do I make myself clear?”

Inside the Mustang, Lena’s eyes went wide with panic through the windshield. Outside, Fabien stood his ground on the mist-slicked asphalt, immovable under the pulsing emergency lights, showing zero intention of backing down.

The officer didn't wait for a response. He thrust his hands forward, and a crackling, unseen force erupted from his palms, slamming into Fabien’s chest like a physical blow. The impact sent him flying backward, colliding hard with the rough bark of a large pine tree. A sickening crack echoed in the night air, and almost instantly, blood began to pour down from a jagged gash in his head, matting his hair. As Fabien crumpled to the ground, the officer ignored him, turning his focus toward the Mustang and reaching in to grab Lena.

The officer wrenched open the passenger door. Before Lena could even scramble back against the leather seat, his thick hand clamped firmly around her upper arm, pulling her forcefully out onto the mist-slicked shoulder.

Lena: “Hey! Let go of me!”

She cried out in shock, stumbling as her sandals hit the wet gravel, her purse nearly slipping from her grasp.

Fabien lay sprawled on the damp needles and gravel, a low, guttural groan vibrating in his throat as his consciousness flickered back. The jagged gash across his temple began to pulse with a faint, rhythmic heat. Within seconds, the torn skin began to knit itself back together with unnatural speed, the blood slowing to a trickle before stopping entirely. As the wound sealed and faded into a thin, white line that eventually vanished, the haze in his mind cleared.

He watched with rising, cold fury as the officer’s silhouette loomed over the Mustang. His teeth gritted against the remaining ache in his skull, his fingers clawing into the dirt as he witnessed the man roughly snatching Lena from the safety of the cabin. The sight of her struggling against the officer’s grip fueled a fire in his chest that burned hotter than the impact that had grounded him.

Lena: “FABIEN!! HELP ME!!”

She cried as the officer slung her over his shoulder.

Fabien: “Take your hands off her now.”

He commanded, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone. He marched to him. The officer put his hand to Lena.

Officer: “One more step and she’s toast!”

He growled. Lena wailed.

Lena: “FABIEN!! HELP ME!!’

She wailed. Fabien halted in his place, his jaw tightening.

While the officer ran with Lena, screaming, Fabien rushed after them. The officer thrust his hand forward, and a crackling, unseen force erupted from his palm, slamming into Fabien’s chest like a physical blow. The impact sent him flying backward, colliding hard with the metal side of the police cruiser. A sickening crack echoed in the night air as his right leg snapped against the reinforced bumper with a brutal, audible crunch. Fabien let out a choked, agonized cry, his body seizing up as white-hot pain flared from the jagged break, leaving him slumped against the wheel well, gasping for air as his vision swam.

Lena: “FABIEN!!!”

She cried.

As Fabien gasped in pain, his healing factor surged into action. A faint, pulsing warmth spread rapidly through his shattered leg, and beneath his dolphin shorts, the fractured bone began to knit back together with unnatural speed. The jagged, white-hot agony that had paralyzed him moments ago began to recede, replaced by a strange, tingling numbness as the tissue and muscle repaired themselves. Within seconds, the snap of the break was nothing more than a fading memory.

Fabien gritted his teeth and cautiously tested his weight on the now-healed leg, pushing himself up from the gravel. Finding it perfectly steady and strong, his expression hardened with a cold, lethal resolve. He ignored the lingering ache in his mind, his green eyes locking onto the direction where the officer stood.

The officer, seeing Fabien standing strong, snarled in frustration. With a sudden, violent thrust of his hand, he telekinetically seized the parked police cruiser. The heavy vehicle screeched as it was ripped from its position, hurtling toward Fabien like a metal battering ram.

In a blur of motion, he threw his hands upward. A brilliant, shimmering green energy barrier materialized instantly before him, vibrating with power. The police cruiser slammed into the barrier with a deafening, metallic groan, the metal crumpling against the unseen wall before erupting into a massive, blinding fireball. Shrapnel and flames arced into the night sky, casting a chaotic, flickering light over the clearing.

Completely undeterred by the destruction of the cruiser, he clutched onto Lena’s waist and began retreating into the suffocating darkness of the deep woods. Lena’s voice tore through the roar of the fire, her screams for Fabien echoing desperately against the ancient pines as the shadows swallowed them whole.

Fabien plunged into the tree line, vanishing into the thick, swirling vapor. The deep woods were a claustrophobic maze of suffocating, ancient pines that seemed to lean inward, their heavy boughs blocking out all but the dimmest, silvery-blue light from the two moons above.

The forest floor was a treacherous carpet of slick needles and hidden stones, but Fabien’s balance was perfect, his muscles coiled and ready for the inevitable confrontation. He could hear Lena’s distant, fading cries echoing through the timber, a sound that fueled the cold fire in his chest.

The encroaching treeline parted just enough to reveal the monolithic ruin, a forgotten carcass of brick and crumbling concrete swallowed by decades of neglect. Tendrils of aggressive ivy clung to its fractured facade like veins, slowly dragging the abandoned sanatorium down into the damp earth. Every hollow, glassless window stared back into the clearing with the vacant malevolence of empty eye sockets.

Between the road and the decaying hospital stood a rusted chainlink fence, its woven wire tangled with thorny underbrush and crowned with menacing loops of barbed wire. It leaned under the weight of the wilderness, a futile barrier erected to keep trespassers out—or perhaps to ensure whatever lingered within the ward never found its way into the woods.

Above the jagged canopy, the night sky held an eerie, impossible spectacle. The dual light of the twin moons warped the shadows, stretching them at unnatural angles and leaving the silent grounds suspended in an uncanny, breathless dread.

A sharp, unmistakable cry cut through the oppressive silence of the grounds—Lena’s voice, echoing faintly from the dark, hollowed-out structure ahead. His heart hammered a rhythm of pure, cold adrenaline against his ribs. Fabien sprinted toward the perimeter, his sneakers finding purchase on the rusted chainlink. He hauled himself upward.

When he reached the top, he pushed off, launched himself from the fence, and landed silently on the other side, dropping into a crouch as he moved toward the gaping, dark entrance of the hospital.

The heavy oak door, swollen with decades of damp, groaned in protest as Fabien pushed it open.

Cold, indifferent moonlight spilled through the grand, arched window at the end of the hall, a fractured frame for the dark forest outside. But the space’s true geometry was warped by the flora that had claimed it. Great coils of ivy, thick as ancient ropes, burst from the decaying walls and ceiling, weaving through the cracked brick and exposed plaster like some monstrous nervous system.

Empty, rusted metal beds lined the passage, their skeletal forms and peeled paint hinting at the suffering they once witnessed. One, overturned on the tiled floor, lay near a small pile of forgotten documents, their pages yellowed and curled by the humidity, secrets lost to the rot. Above, the remains of an ancient ceiling fixture hung by a fraying wire, draped in cobwebs.

~

Lena’s breath hitched in the stagnant air of a small examination room tucked deep within the hospital’s bowels. Her dress was removed, leaving her in her pastel pink bra and panties. Her wrists were bound tightly together with coarse, abrasive rope, secured to a rusted, horizontal steam pipe that ran along the wall just above her head. The forced posture kept her on the tips of her toes, her slender arms stretched painfully taut as she struggled to maintain her balance on the cracked linoleum floor.

The officer stood just a few feet away, his silhouette looming large. He didn’t speak; he simply watched her with a menacing, predatory stillness. His intimidating gaze remained locked on her tear-streaked face, his eyes cold and devoid of any human empathy. The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the rhythmic, agonizing drip of water from a leaky valve somewhere in the shadows and the frantic, shallow gasps of Lena’s own terror. Every time the officer shifted his weight, the leather of his duty belt creaked with a sound that felt like a physical threat, tightening the suffocating coil of tension that held her captive.

He finally broke the silence, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate through the damp air.

Officer: “You’re quite the prize, aren’t you? So innocent, so perfect.”

He reached out, trailing a gloved finger along her jawline, his touch impersonal and chillingly clinical.

Officer: “Don’t bother screaming. No one is coming for you. You’re being sold to a sex trafficking ring that operates far beyond the reach of anyone who might care about a girl like you. You’re not a person anymore, dollface. You’re inventory."

He said as his gloved hands cupped her breasts. Lena sobbed and thrashed around.

Lena: “NO! DON’T TOUCH ME! THAT’S FOR FABIEN!”

She wailed.

A glowing purple bubble instantly enveloped the officer.

Officer: “WH-WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Before he could react, the sphere yanked him upward, lifting his boots off the cracked linoleum as he clawed fruitlessly at the translucent, gelatinous surface. With a sound like a tearing sail, the bubble hurtled sideways, guided by an unseen force, and slammed into a rusted, jagged piece of metal protruding from the wall.

The impact shattered the sphere into dissipating mist, impaling the officer instantly against the sharp steel, splashing blood on the wall. He didn’t even have time to gasp as he slumped, lifeless, against the wall, blood dripping down onto the floor.

Narcisse stepped through the doorway, his silhouette framed by the harsh, lunar light spilling from the hall. He looked at the scene with detached, aristocratic grace and slowly spread his arms wide, as if embracing the grim tableau before him. Lena screamed when she saw Narcisse.

Narcisse: “Coucou, ma fleur violette!”

Narcisse crossed the room with a predator’s slow, rhythmic grace, his polished white loafers clicking rhythmically against the cracked linoleum. He ignored the cooling corpse of the officer, his attention entirely focused on the shivering, bound girl before him. Lena pulled frantically at her restraints, her heels barely touching the floor as she tried to shrink away from his approach, her breath coming in ragged, terrified hitches.

Narcisse: “Such a fragile, beautiful thing... and so very responsive.”

He murmured, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips.

Without warning, he reached out and drove his long, slender fingers into the sensitive hollows of her underarms. Lena’s scream of terror instantly broke into a series of sharp, involuntary gasps and frantic, high-pitched laughter. Her body convulsed in a violent, desperate squirm, her slender frame jerking and twisting against the abrasive ropes that bit deeper into her wrists with every movement.

Lena: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHASE!!

Narcisse watched her struggle with a look of detached, academic interest, his fingers dancing with deliberate, agonizing precision against her ribs and underarms. He maintained that unsettling, placid expression while Lena thrashed in her bonds, her face flushed with a mixture of hysterical distress and pure, unadulterated panic. Every desperate lunge she made to escape the tickling only seemed to pull her arms tauter against the steam pipe, leaving her completely exposed to his sadistic amusement.

Lena: “AIYEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Shifting his attention downward with a slow, deliberate movement, Narcisse let his gaze linger on Lena’s exposed feet. With a cruel, anticipatory smirk, he sank to his knees, his fingers abandoning her ribs to instead focus on the delicate arches of her feet.

As he began to ruthlessly tease her soles, Lena’s entire body went rigid, then shattered into a frenzy of uncontrolled, shrill laughter. Her toes curled tightly, and her legs kicked wildly against the constraint of the ropes, her head thrashing back and forth as the sensation proved far more unbearable than before.

Lena: “NOHOHOHOHOHOO! PLEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHASE! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP! HEHEHEHEHEHE!”

She begged, her voice cracking under the relentless assault, while Narcisse merely tightened his grip, his expression unchanging as he relished her frantic torment.

Fabien heard her laughter and rushed down the corridor. As he sprinted past a cluster of sagging ivy, a dark, multi-legged shape launched itself from the dense foliage with terrifying speed. Before Fabien could react, the eight-inch spider slammed into his face, its heavy, bristled body clinging to his skin with sickening strength. He let out a muffled cry of surprise as the creature’s sharp, hooked legs dug in, scratching deep furrows across his cheek and forehead. Hot, metallic-smelling blood immediately began to well from the jagged marks, trickling down toward his jaw as he clawed frantically at the arachnid to rip it away.

Even as the creature scurried back into the shadows, the familiar, rhythmic heat of his regenerative factor flared to life within his skin. The deep furrows across his cheek and forehead began to itch with a fierce intensity as the torn tissue knit itself back together with unnatural speed. The fresh blood vanished, the jagged marks smoothing over into flawless skin within seconds.

But as the wounds sealed, a sudden, violent wave of vertigo crashed over him. Fabien’s green eyes widened as his vision fractured, the dimly lit corridor dissolving into a sickening, kaleidoscopic blur. The grand arched window and the rotting metal beds pulsed and shifted, spinning uncontrollably in his sight. His knees buckled as the strength drained from his limbs, and with a heavy thud, he collapsed onto the cold, cracked linoleum floor, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as the world around him went dark.

Narcisse stood over an unconscious Fabien and smiled.

~

Fabien’s consciousness clawed its way back through a thick, suffocating fog. The first thing he felt was the cold, unforgiving press of the linoleum against his back, and then a strange, restrictive tightness at his extremities. As his green eyes snapped open, his breath hitched in a sharp, jagged gasp. He lay spread-eagled on the floor, his limbs pulled taut and anchored firmly to the ground.

He tried to pull his arms free, but they wouldn’t budge. He looked down, his heart hammering against his ribs with sudden, cold dread. His wrists and ankles weren’t held by rope or metal, but by thick, translucent cords of sticky spider webbing. The silk was unnaturally strong, shimmering with a sickly, iridescent glint under the moonlight shining in through the windows. Every time he strained against the bonds, the adhesive surface only seemed to grip his skin tighter, the webbing stretching slightly before snapping back with relentless tension.

Fabien: “Lena?”

He croaked, his voice raw. He heard the clicking of loafers on the floor, and he froze when he saw Narcisse standing over him.

Fabien: “YOU!”

Narcisse: “Hello, Mr. Bellegarde. How are you on this fine evening?”

He chuckled. Fabien bucked his hips, trying to find some leverage, but the webbing across his ankles held his legs immovably against the floor.

Narcisse: “Interesting outfit, Mr. Bellegarde… I never pegged you to wear dolphin shorts, socks, and sneakers.”

He snorted. Fabien glowered at him. Narcisse shrugged.

Narcisse: “Whatever, less is more.”

Narcisse knelt down beside the helplessly bound Fabien, his silhouette casting a long, jagged shadow across the cold linoleum. With a cruel, amused glint in his eyes, he reached out and began to ruthlessly tickle Fabien’s armpits, ribs, and tummy. Fabien, completely trapped by the relentless grip of the sticky webbing, writhed and convulsed against the floor.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH NOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

His body shook with bursts of involuntary, high-pitched laughter that echoed through the derelict ward, his muscles tensing and jumping as he struggled in vain against Narcisse’s unrelenting teasing.

Fabien: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!”

Narcisse abruptly pulled his hands away from Fabien’s ribs and armpits, the sudden cessation of the tickling leaving Fabien gasping for air, his chest heaving as he stared up at his captor with wide, wary eyes.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

A slow, malicious grin spread across Narcisse’s face as he leaned in closer, his gaze dropping to the center of Fabien’s exposed stomach. Without a word, he curled his hand into a fist, extending a single, long finger and driving it deep into the sensitive hollow of Fabien’s belly button.

Fabien: “GAAAAAAAHHH!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!”

He let out a sharp, strangled cry that was choked off by the intense, localized sensation. His entire body arched off the floor, his back bowing as he strained against the iridescent webbing with newfound desperation. His toes curled tightly inside his sneakers, and his face flushed a deep crimson as he squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching in a series of ragged, pained stammers while Narcisse continued to probe the vulnerable spot with clinical, sadistic focus.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Narcisse abruptly stopped, drawing his hand back as Fabien gasped for air, his chest heaving against the restrictive webbing. Standing back with a look of detached, cruel satisfaction, Narcisse watched as a dark, eight-inch spider emerged from the gloom of the ward. It scurried across the cold floor and climbed onto Fabien’s trapped leg. With sickening, deliberate movements, the spider crawled up his torso, its many legs skittering over the fabric of his shorts, before settling squarely onto his chest, where it remained, its mandibles twitching.

Fabien gnashed his teeth as he tried to struggle from his bonds.

Narcisse: “Well, Mr. Bellegarde, that is a very special friend of mine. It seems to like you.”

As the eight-inch spider shifted its weight on his chest, Fabien’s entire body was seized by a series of violent, uncontrollable shudders. Despite the relentless grip of the iridescent webbing anchoring his limbs to the floor, he tensed with a visceral revulsion that made his skin crawl under the creature’s many-legged gait. The sensation of its heavy, bristled body pressing against his bare skin sent waves of cold dread through him, his muscles locking in a futile attempt to recoil from the arachnid’s presence.

Narcisse: “That bit you earlier. It’s the ‘Duskfang Stalker’, named because regardless of the time of day, getting bitten means twilight arrives in exactly one hour without an antidote.”

He chuckled.

Fabien’s breath hitched in a series of shallow, panicked gasps, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw tightening so hard it ached. Every skittering movement of the spider’s hooked legs felt like a physical violation, a primal terror that eclipsed even the lingering sting of Narcisse’s tickling. Fabien’s toes curled tightly inside his sneakers, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he lay helplessly pinned, while the creature loomed over his heart.

Narcisse: “Fear not, Mr. Bellegarde. Due to your Ethereal Prowess being ‘self-regenerative healing’, you’re safe. The creature will bite you, and you’ll be out all of ten minutes—maybe.”

Fabien’s chest heaved as he glared at Narcisse. The spider crawled up his face. Fabien winced and swerved his head back until the spider crawled down onto the floor.

Narcisse: “Alas, I cannot say the same for her.”

He gave a mocking, sympathetic sigh and stepped aside to show Lena unconscious on the floor. Fabien’s blood ran cold when he saw her.

Fabien: “Lena?! LENA!!? What the fuck did you do to her?!”

He screamed as he thrashed against his bonds.

Narcisse: “Let my little friend have a nibble.”

He chuckled. Fabien roared as he tried to break free from his bonds.

Narcisse checked his pocket watch.

Narcisse: “You have until three in the morning. Adieu, mon ami!”

He said, then pressed the button in his ear and teleported away.

Fabien’s muscles coiled and strained until they knotted with agony, his jaw clamped shut so tightly that his teeth ground together with an audible, gritty friction. He let out a low, animalistic growl of pure desperation, his entire frame vibrating as he threw his full weight against the bonds. The iridescent silk of the spider webbing hummed under the immense tension, stretching just enough to mock his efforts before snapping back with a relentless, adhesive force that seemed to fuse his skin to the cold linoleum.

Every violent heave only served to pull the translucent cords tighter, the sticky threads biting deep into his wrists and ankles like burning wire. He watched Lena’s slumped form through a haze of sweat and fury, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs. The sheer, unnatural strength of the Duskfang’s webbing was unlike anything he had ever encountered, transforming his own regenerative power into a secondary prison as his body refused to give out even as the frustration threatened to boil over into a scream of absolute helplessness.

Fabien: “Jesus fucking Christ…”

He choked out in frustration as tears pricked at his eyes.

Teleporting into the room were Trevor and Percy. Percy wore a sequined pink suit and black Chelsea boots, with a fur-tailed cape draped around him.

Percy: “In a pickle, Monsieur Bellegarde?”

He flipped his cape.

Fabien: “Percy, she needs to be healed. Get your fat boy to teleport her to Jiro or Deimos, because she will die in an hour.”

Percy cupped his chin, glancing at Lena and back at him.

Percy: “What on Reona are you doing here with her, Fabien?”

Fabien: “Can you… fucking ask me those after she gets healed?”

He asked with frustration.

Trevor: “Yeah, man, she will die if you don’t.”

He scratched his ass.

Percy: “Wow, Trevor, I never knew.”

He said wryly.

Fabien: “Are you going to teleport her to Deimos or Jiro?!”

He asked sharply.

Percy: “Fabien, you are in no position to bark orders at me.”

He said firmly. Fabien’s chest heaved as he panted, glaring at Percy.

Percy: “I refuse to simply give that satisfaction to Jiro or Deimos—especially Jiro!”

He growled and clenched his fist.

Fabien: “You’re going to let her die because you’re angry with Jiro?”

He asked disbelievingly. Percy looked over his shoulder at the younger man.

Percy: “I loved Jiro with all my heart, and he absolutely broke it.”

He said with hurt in his tone.

Percy: “You, of all people, should know this.”

Fabien pursed his lips.

Percy smiled, flipped his cape, and produced a vial.

Percy: “I never said I would let her die, darling, just that I don’t want Jiro to have that satisfaction.”

He reached into a hidden pocket of his sequined jacket and produced a small, sterile syringe. With a practiced, elegant flick of his wrist, he popped the cap off the vial. The liquid inside shimmered with a faint, iridescent glow, matching the webbing that held Fabien captive. Percy carefully inserted the needle, pulling back the plunger to draw the clear fluid into the barrel with meticulous speed.

Percy: “This is a synthesized neutralizing agent.”

He explained, his voice losing some of its theatrical edge as he knelt beside Lena’s limp form. He expertly swabbed a patch of skin on her upper arm with an antiseptic wipe he’d produced from the same pocket.

Percy: “The Duskfang’s toxin works by systematically shutting down the nervous system, tricking the body into a permanent state of stasis. This antidote will bind to the venom molecules and dissolve them before they can reach her heart.”

Without further hesitation, he pressed the needle into her skin and depressed the plunger. As the last of the antidote entered her system, Percy withdrew the needle and stood up, smoothing the front of his pink suit. Lena’s chest immediately hitched in a deeper, more rhythmic breath, the greyish tint beginning to recede from her cheeks.

Percy: “She will be in a deep sleep for a few hours.”

Percy turned his attention back to Fabien, who was still spread-eagled and anchored to the cold linoleum. A mocking glint returned to Percy’s ruby eyes as he reached into his sequined pink jacket once more, this time producing a slender, silver blade that caught the moonlight. He knelt beside Fabien’s right wrist, the blade hovering just above the shimmering, iridescent silk.

With a single, expert flick of his wrist, Percy sliced through the thick, translucent cords. Fabien felt the immense tension instantly release, the sticky webbing falling away from his skin like severed wire. Percy moved with practiced fluidity, circling around Fabien to slice through the restraints at his other wrist and both ankles. As the final strand was cut, the relentless adhesive force that had fused Fabien to the floor vanished completely.

He bucked his hips and rolled to his side, his muscles coiled and ready as he finally broke free from the remains of the Duskfang’s silk. He pushed himself up into a crouch, his sneakers squeaking against the cracked floor, his green eyes darting between the unconscious Lena and the enigmatic Percy.

~

Lena was in her dress as Fabien carried her in his arms. Percy and Trevor were by Fabien’s car.

Fabien: “How did you find me anyway?”

Percy tilted his head.

Percy: “Oh, Tickles had this brilliant idea of lining up clown dolls, hoping a handsome man would step out so he could tickle his feet. He told me he saw you drive by and spotted that fake policeman taking Lena away. Are you aware of people posing as police officers to kidnap young women?”

He asked, tilting his head. Fabien shook his head.

Fabien: “No.”

Percy: “Nevertheless, I had to intervene. You’re a good young man, Fabien. You’re nothing like Jiro.”

He smiled sadly. Fabien looked away.

Fabien: “What do I owe you for this?”

Percy planted his hands on his hips.

Percy: “Nothing, except telling Jiro he’s not as useful as he wishes he were.”

Fabien nodded silently. A wry smirk touched Percy’s lips.

Percy: “I knew you would agree. Don’t be a stranger, Fabien…”

He patted his shoulder.

He placed his arm on Trevor, and they teleported away.

Fabien carefully pulled the heavy passenger door open. He eased Lena into the leather seat, making sure her head was resting comfortably before leaning over to secure her seatbelt. After a final, lingering look to ensure she was stable, he gently clicked the door shut.

He walked around the front of the Mustang, the moonlight reflecting off the polished chrome. Sliding into the driver’s side, he rested his hands on the wheel for a moment, his green eyes reflecting the fading adrenaline of the night. He turned the key, and the Cobra’s engine roared to life with a low, powerful rumble that echoed through the silent woods.

Shifting into gear, he pulled away from the shoulder, the twin beams of his headlights cutting through the mist as he drove away from the abandoned road and back toward the safety of the city.

As the Mustang cruised steadily through the moonlit forest, the tension of the night finally began to settle in Fabien’s shoulders. He reached one hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. With practiced ease, he shook one loose and caught it between his lips, then produced a polished silver Zippo. He flicked the lighter open with a sharp, metallic click and struck the flint, the small flame dancing in the dim cabin. He inhaled deeply, the tip of the cigarette glowing a bright, intense orange, then exhaled a long, slow plume of smoke that swirled toward the open window.

Staring straight ahead at the winding pavement illuminated by his high beams, he kept his expression unreadable as the Cobra’s engine hummed a low, rhythmic accompaniment to the quiet night.

~

The Shelby Mustang Cobra roared through Orchard Street, its powerful engine a low, rhythmic thrum against the backdrop of the dual moons. Fabien kept his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw set in a grim line as he navigated the final few turns toward Lena’s home. The cool night air rushed through the open window, carrying the scent of pine and the fading trail of his cigarette.

He pulled the 1970 Shelby Mustang Cobra to a smooth, controlled halt along the curb in front of the Vaquero residence. The headlights cut across the manicured lawn before he flicked them off, plunging the car into the soft, silvery glow of the night. He shifted into park and killed the ignition, the sudden silence of the neighborhood feeling heavy after the chaos of the sanatorium.

Fabien stepped out of the driver’s side and rounded the front of the car, his heavy leather jacket creaking as he moved. He carefully opened the passenger door and leaned in, unbuckling the seatbelt that held the unconscious Lena in place. With effortless strength, he slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her into his arms with practiced care. Her head rolled against his shoulder, her breathing deep and even, thanks to the neutralizing agent Percy had administered.

He carried her up the walkway, his sneakers silent on the pavement. Finding the front door unlocked, he nudged it open with his shoulder and stepped into the dim warmth of the house. He moved through the familiar hallway with silent precision, guided by the moonlight filtering through the windows. When he reached her bedroom, he pushed the door open and stepped inside the soft, lavender-scented room bathed in pink that resembled a princess’s bedroom.

Gently, Fabien lowered Lena onto the edge of her bed. He settled her back against the pillows, smoothing her dress and pulling a light quilt up to her shoulders. He lingered for a moment, his green eyes softening as he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, ensuring she was safe and comfortable in the sanctuary of her own home.

Abraham: “Holy fuck, kid, you look like shit! Did you get into a fight with a bull?”

He asked gruffly, remarking on the dried blood that was on Fabien’s face and the blood matted in his white hair.

Abraham: “You look like a giant pad! I see ‘em all the time in her bin! All white with red!”

He laughed at his quip. Fabien glared at him.

Fabien: “Thanks for the compliment, sir, and you’re welcome for bringing Lena back home.”

He said dryly and rose, storming past him.