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King Jareth was trembling, his body on the brink of collapsing into chaos as he seemed to struggle to keep something ferocious within. He vibrated with anger, his lips pulled back in a fierce snarl as his teeth sharpened, elongated. His eyes were glowing with a rage that promised violence.
Chapter Five
Salas could only watch as King Jareth’s skin rippled, as though something sinister was crawling just underneath the flesh, itching to be released. If Salas had any doubts before that the humans here could turn into beasts, he no longer did. With the King’s glowing eyes, and a rumbling growl growing within his throat, the monster was there, just beneath the surface, standing at the threshold of its open cage.
Salas sat up and gasped, the single sound the King’s undoing. King Jareth’s eyes flickered to Salas’ face and he roared. The pounce that came next was inhuman, a leaping bound too quick for the eye. His skin burst into dark fur as he attacked, claws extending and body expanding.
Salas scrambled up, shrieking. When the beast made its move, he dashed from the bed, grabbing for the door handles that did not relent to his tugs. It didn’t move. The obstacle took too much time. A clawed hand wrapped around his throat and slammed him into the door, causing the world to once more tilt.
“Help!” he yelled mindlessly, hoping the guards in the hall would hear him and be merciful. If they’d heard him, however, they were not.
The grip on his throat tightened, snagging his breath away. Claws brushed his buttocks, and he felt a sharp pressure at his hole when the phallus was savagely pulled out of him, without warning. Something that had brought so much pleasure in the past now only brought pain.
“Sto—” he wheezed, battering weakly at the hand that gripped him as his vision swam.
The power in the grip was immense. With a simple flick of the wrist, its owner could snap Salas’ neck. End him with just a twitch.
Did he have any resources to draw from that could potentially remove him from that fate? He thought of once more of bribing, offering, appealing to the beast’s better nature. But with his breath caught, that was not an option. Perhaps there was no better nature in this kingdom.
He had only one other option. One he had sworn to himself not to use, and for ten years, had maintained that promise. That streak was over.
Salas reached up a hand to his hair and yanked it. A lock pulled away from his scalp, and once detached, it began to change shape. The strands merged together, morphed, the physicality of the lock changing into something else entirely, until Salas no longer held a tress of hair. He held a snake, long, vividly red, and hissing.
With the creature he’d called for in his grasp, Salas threw the serpent at the beast.
Grunting in surprise, the beast reared back and Salas was able to free himself from the grip, dashing to the only other doorway in the room; an arched entrance that led to a washroom. When he spotted a window, he couldn’t help the breath of shaky relief. Behind him, another roar.
Salas had to scale the wall in a frenzy to reach the sill. The window had no way of opening, so he threw his entire weight at the glass in order to shatter the pane. He didn’t look over his shoulder, but with the sound of grunts and the feeling of the encompassing, raging energy, he knew that the beast was there, racing towards him.
He barely felt the scrape of a claw at his ankle as he flew out the window, momentarily uncaring which floor he was on or if he would land well. It turned out, thankfully, to be the second floor. The descent through the air was short, and then his body found the bitter snow. When he landed with no broken bones, he picked himself up and kept moving.
He glanced over his shoulder just swiftly enough to ensure that the beast had not followed him out the window. It had not. Another animalistic cry disrupted the morning air.
Salas raced away from the castle, his feet plunging into the bitter white with each step, eliciting a new chill each time it happened. How many steps could he withstand?
He had no idea where was running to, that much was certain. Another courtyard stretched before him, and beyond, various buildings and castle sections of indiscernible purposes. He avoided them all and instead ran to a more desolate area, his heart rate spiking with the sound of shouting men. The guards had already made it out of the castle, and were out looking for him.
When he met a dip in the land, he descended, stepping onto icy rocks as he lowered himself down into the fissure. It was a river, frozen solid, that allowed him a more secluded passage away from the castle. And not a moment too soon. The moment he’d fully descended to river-level, he heard a noise from somewhere above him. The guards were in the area now, but it didn’t seem as though they had spotted him.
Salas held himself still, crouching low to the rocks and peering up. Motion passed overhead, angry and distressed Diagorian voices yelling orders.
But then it was gone. The guards moved on, searching a different area.
That was when a crunch of ice to his left grabbed his attention. Just around the river bend, having been hidden from view from the guards by a slope, stood a figure. It was a tall figure, though small for a Diagorian. A young girl, childlike in the face though perhaps as tall as Salas, was standing at the shore of the river.
She was absurdly young, like an infant giant, bundled well in furs and layers. She stared at Salas with round eyes, her warm breath puffing little clouds around her rosy face as she stared at him unblinkingly.
When she took a step towards him, Salas stiffened. “Stop,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder and praying the guards had not spotted her.
She asked him a question in Diagorian, taking no heed to his one word, and stepped towards him. When she was close enough, she laughed at something, poking at Salas’ body that was nearly equivalent to her own size, and seemed delighted by his smallness.
“No,” he barked quietly, in Diagorian, slapping her hand away. He held up a finger to his lips in the hopefully-universal sign for ‘quiet.’
The young girl frowned, affronted by the harshness of his communication, and said something else, her tone louder.
In a panic, Salas reached to cover her mouth but slipped on the ice. They both fell down onto the rock. The girl released a cry, and with the thunder of footfalls, the guards came fully armed in their pursuit.
Salas attempted to rise, but his already-weakened legs failed him. He need not have tried. The guards tore him away from the girl as they pulled him to his feet, handling him roughly and shouting in his face. Too exhausted to struggle, he slumped in their grips, tired and confused by the turn of events. Somewhere along the series of events, he had done something very wrong, and the Diagorians were not pleased.
