Peter Pan and the War of Evils

Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Violence/gore/character death

Chapter Sixteen

They arrived on the outskirts of the south coastline precisely fifteen minutes before midday. Their caravan, fifty Indians strong including the chief, plus the Lost Boys, Peter and Kaytee, had begun the trek early in the morning. After a break just long enough to drink water and gather their wits, they had finished the last final mile.

Here, they took their stand, hidden still in the shadow of the thick palms. The Indians, at the chief's signal nod, spread out along the treeline, the ten archers awaiting the further nod to ascend into the trees. Tinker Bell, who had shown up ten minutes prior at Peter's whistle, began layering Kaytee and the Lost Boys in pixie dust, just enough brought from the reserves, their stock depleted greatly from the fire.

The sun crept further towards the center of the sky. And as it did, they watched pirates descended from the decrepit Jolly Roger, slouching their way through the choppy waves, swords glinting in the noon light. To the defenders' benefit, the pirates seemed rather scrawny and ill, but what they lacked in strength they made up for in the threatening grimaces sneering on all their gaunt faces. Just out of reach of the water, they stopped, peering up into the jungle, waiting.

Five minutes before the sun was its highest, Peter grabbed Kaytee's hand and in a whisper, begged, "Stay alive."

Her hand gave a gentle squeeze and with a nervous smile, she replied, "You first."

He released her hand and the island grew silent.

The wind, always prominent as a gentle breeze along the coast, suddenly picked up viciously, though it made no sound. Even the waves, now crashing harder than ever, gave barely more than a low rumble. Creeping along the horizon, a gray storm cloud slunk across the sun, throwing the sky into a dreary overcast and a chill into the air. Every hair stood on end as the jungle behind them grew impeccably still.

A murmur of unease washed over both parties alike, glancing into the sky, and behind their shoulders into the jungle. Someone gasped, and eyes swiveled towards Peter. Kaytee frowned and looked at him too, and then stepped back, a sharp breath pulling through her teeth in shock.

Peter's force field of magic had returned a thousand fold. Like so many moons ago, when he had first flown Kaytee here from the mainland, his magic had cocooned them in air and warmth as they traveled through the stars, protecting them from the unforgivable atmosphere of Space. And now, sensing even more the need to protect, his magic radiated off him in great waves. His very skin seemed to glow. The air around him was warm, as if the sun had removed itself from the sky and settled in the center of Peter's chest.

He stepped onto the beach, one foot, then the other, deliberately, like the weight of the entire island balanced precariously on his shoulders.

Peter squinted and found Hook's eyes from the deck of the ship, red as blood. And even though Peter knew the pirate wouldn't hear, he tilted his chin up anyway and said "You've threatened my home for the last time, old man."

Peter raised his arms, palms to the sky, his aura of power widening a few final feet, and said, "Have at thee."

At this declaration, Neverland released her fury.

Birds of prey by the dozens descended onto the beach, screeching, cawing, bursting forth in swift flight. Cries of anguish erupted as great talons made for snatching up fish and tearing flesh found purchase on the pirates' exposed skin, while long beaks prodded at eyes and fingers.

Peter then looked to the Indian chief, who watched on with the passive air of someone no longer surprised by the doings of magic. When they made eye contact, both nodded. The archers ascended into the trees. Peter unsheathed his sword.