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justatiredghost · 6 hours ago

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Udurgh ch2 ao3

A Pathologic/Magnus Archives AU

When Jonathan Sims was appointed as Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, he was expecting a quiet office job involving too much filing, even with the strange statements they handle. But before he can begin, his first assignment sends him to a remote steppe village to meet his predecessor. The moment he arrives he is accused of murder and has to uncover the truth behind her supposed retirement away from the Capitol.

As if that wasn't enough, there’s a plague sweeping through town with disturbingly familiar characteristics. Hopefully he and Martin, the assistant librarian who volunteered to help him, can get to the bottom of this before they all die from this terrible corruption.

When the train finally came to a stop, John sighed in relief. He wasn’t used to trains and this one had felt like it had taken years. The silence without the constant lurching and groaning of the train car or the chugging of the engine was such a blessed relief.

His muscles were stiff as he dragged himself to his feet and slowly and painfully rolled back the door. It was dark outside and he vaguely wondered what time it was as he climbed down as carefully as he could, thankfully avoiding twisting his ankle, and was gripped with the irrational urge to kiss the ground.

The hard part was over, now. He just needed to meet up with his contact and then he would be more or less free to explore the town. Yes, this was his first assignment in his new position, but more than anything this was supposed to be a congratulations, a little vacation before he really dug into his new role as Head Archivist. There were so many fascinating practices here to learn about and he wanted to know and document all of it.

Movement caught his eye pulling him from his thoughts and he looked up to see three men, all with knives, approaching him with violent intent. He knew he should be afraid, but the sight was just so wrong he couldn’t seem to process it properly. According to his research, sharp objects like knives were banned here and violent crimes were incredibly rare, this was supposed to be a peaceful town. He had no idea what was going on, but his mind insisted this had to be a mistake.

He took an involuntary step back and bumped into the train car, the realization that he was trapped snapping him out of it and letting the panic finally sink in. There was nowhere to run. He looked around frantically, but there was no one else in sight, no one who might help him. Where was the conductor? What was happening? And why him of all people? It made no sense.

“What-what do you want?” He stuttered, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

He didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t exactly a fighter. Was he about to be mugged? He’d been mugged a few times before, but not by so many people that seemed so angry. If they were after his money, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

“Justice,” the one leading them said to his complete bafflement and then they were sprinting towards him.

“For what!” John screamed, but none of them seemed interested in talking anymore.

On reflex, John swung his bag off his shoulder and threw it at them, the weight causing the one who appeared to be the leader to stagger into the other two. He had a brief moment of remorse realizing he’d just lost all of his personal belongings before the danger of the situation sunk in and he jumped into action. Unfortunately, his attackers didn’t seem interested in robbing him, but the distraction did buy him a few precious seconds in which he dropped to the ground and scrambled underneath the train car as quickly as he could.

He had a moment of triumph at his quick thinking, sure he was going to make it, when he felt a hand close around his ankle, dragging him back. He rolled onto his back to try to get enough of a view to deliver a kick, but before he could, blinding pain ripped through him as the man drove his knife into his thigh.

All his life, despite the scrapes and beatings he managed to get himself into, he had never actually been stabbed before. It was a singularly unique experience, feeling the blade rip through skin and muscle. It was a pain that radiated outward, nearly debilitating him, causing him to fly into a blind panic. He cried out from the pain, kicking instinctively, and suddenly he was free. It was pure adrenaline that let him continue scrambling to freedom, hearing the obscenities yelled at him by the man he’d struck.

The moment he was out from under the car, he staggered to his feet and limped towards a gate in a nearby wall, an exit from the train yard. It looked like a warehouse district of sorts beyond, and he slipped behind one of the buildings, hobbling along as fast as he could.

He was gasping for breath now, agony spiking through his leg with every step, and he knew he had to find a place to hide. There was no way he was going to outrun them like this. He refused to die here and now, he had way too much work to do, both here and in the capital. He'd only just gotten his promotion!

He could still hear the shouting behind him, growing ever closer, and he was beginning to hyperventilate as he looked around frantically. Every building had a secure chain on the front, and there wasn’t much to actually hide behind. As he took a hard turn down a side alley, he spotted a rusted out hole in the side of one of the buildings and he felt a surge of hope.

He practically dove inside without a second thought, reaching around blindly in the darkness until he found a crate. It was incredibly heavy and he had to throw his weight into it, but he managed to push it up against the opening, plunging him in complete darkness. He covered his mouth, trying to stifle his gasping breaths, just hoping no one would notice and think to check. He was fairly certain they would be able to move the box if they suspected, even if John tried to push back. And if they got inside, there was nowhere he could run.

He sat there, curled in on himself, his hand pressed to his bleeding leg in an attempt to staunch the blood flow, counting down the seconds to try to keep track of how long he was there. He felt restless and frantic, his body aching and his leg in agony, and he hated staying still, but he had no choice. It felt like an eternity when he heard voices and the sound of feet on gravel and he held his breath until they ran far enough that he could no longer hear them.

He stayed there well after he thought they’d moved on, worried he’d find them waiting just on the other side of the wall if he tried to leave too soon. He couldn’t stay here forever, though, so eventually he got up the courage to move the crate and crawl back out. He gasped in pain as he put too much weight on his injured leg, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, cursing himself and his own idiocy. It was like he was trying to give himself away.

He just stood there between the buildings for a long moment, wavering slightly as he tried to balance on one leg, listening. Once he was sure he hadn’t alerted anyone to his presence, he leaned heavily against the rickety old building and pulled off his belt. Then, he pulled out his handkerchief for good measure. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would stop him bleeding out until he could get it properly looked at.

He took a steadying breath and finished his makeshift bandage. Then, he stood and prepared to make his way again, swaying slightly and feeling light headed from the blood loss. He just needed to keep going. He’d studied maps of the town before he left - he disliked going anywhere unprepared - so he had an idea of where to go. He just needed to get to Gertrude Robinson’s flat. She would know what to do, and hopefully she could explain what the hell was happening.

He was wound so tightly as he made his way, peaking around corners and diving for cover at any hint of another person, his progress hindered by his injured leg. At least the streets were mostly empty at this hour, but he could occasionally hear shouts, and he wasn’t sure if more people had taken to searching for him, or if the town was simply descended into chaos and violence.

He was breathing hard, strained and exhausted, his heart pounding in his chest as he expected someone to jump out at him at any moment. Then he heard someone nearby cry out in pain as more shouts rose up. He froze, but only for a moment. He was heading towards the noise before he’d really registered what he was doing.

He had no plan, he’d barely escaped his first encounter with angry locals, what could he possibly do to help now? Somehow none of that seemed to matter. It certainly wasn’t bravery that drove him on, and his ego wasn't so inflated that he thought he could swoop in for a rescue. He just knew he had to try, even if he had no real chance. He was always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He’d gotten himself into trouble this way before, blundering into a mugging once and getting a concussion for it. He never seemed to learn his lesson.

He’d barely turned the corner when he came across two men restraining a third who was begging for his life. John couldn’t help but note his black eye and split lip, or the cruelly tight grip the attackers had on him as they pinned him against the ground.

“What are you doing?” John demanded, like an idiot. Apparently that was the best he could come up with and he tried not to let his wince show.

“What’s it look like?” One of them answered. “We found the new Archivist, Jonathan Sims.”

“That is not Jonathan Sims,” John snapped before he could stop himself, because none of this felt real. They knew enough to know his name, but not what he looked like? How did they even know who he was to begin with? It didn’t make any sense.

“And how do you know that?” the other man asked.

“Because I’m Jonathan Sims.”

It was a stupid thing to do, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He knew what was coming when the two men shared a glance. They released their current prisoner, who took off running, before they turned on John instead. He tried to flee as well, but he forgot about his leg and put his full weight on it, nearly collapsing from the pain.

It left his pursuers plenty of time to grab him. One of them delivered a punch to his gut that knocked the breath from his lungs and it would have dropped him if they hadn’t had such a tight grip on him as they slammed him against the side of a building, pinning him in place, his face scraping against rough wood.

He couldn’t understand it. He didn’t know why there was so much hate in their eyes. He’d been the target of violence before, and he knew what it was like to be hated, to have someone loathe his presence. But he’d never had anyone out for his blood quite so personally like this. It was terrifying being the center of that focus and he couldn’t get the words out to ask them why they were doing this.

He wondered in a detached sort of way how long it would take for someone to find his body crumpled in some back alley in an undignified position. Maybe they wouldn’t find him at all, there was plenty of space out in the steppe to bury a body. He wondered how much it would hurt, how much his body could take before it gave out. He wondered if his boss would be disappointed that he needed to be replaced so soon. He hadn’t even seen his new office.

He wondered if anyone would miss him, and decided that was one question he could answer himself. He wasn’t exactly well liked at work, and he didn’t have a social life beyond that. Maybe he should have felt some form of regret for that, but it was just the kind of person he was. He was unpleasant and rude and, honestly, it was a wonder something like this hadn’t happened to him sooner.

“Run!” someone yelled down the street, and the two men holding him froze. “It’s the Shabnak-adyr!”

The men shared a look so full of terror, it was incredibly jarring to see. They had been the ones with all the power, the ones presumably preparing to kill him, but now they dropped him and fled down the street, all interest in him gone. John had read about the Shabnak-adyr, but it was a creature of myth, and it didn’t make any sense that they’d show so much terror just from the name.

It was likened to a demon, or some sort of spirit of the earth, that often disguised itself as a woman. There was more evidence than most legends that this might have been a real creature once, but that had been hundreds of years ago. Surely it was just paranoia, monsters didn’t just go walking down the street, even in the middle of the night. What on earth was happening in this town? Had everything he’d heard about it been wrong?

Regardless, he took advantage of his newfound freedom to stagger to his feet and limp away in the opposite direction the men had run in. There was no way he was going to stand around and see if they’d return. His head was spinning and he still couldn’t make any sense of what was happening to him. A strange mugging he could write off, but these people knew his name, were expecting him.

Yes, he knew Elias had sent word of his coming, but there was no reason anyone beyond Gertrude or his contact would know or care. Besides, the town was supposed to have a good relationship with the Magnus Institute, Gertrude worked here with them, for god’s sake. She’d even sent a report just last month that had seemed normal enough, and he wracked his brain to try to remember what it had been about. Local medical practices and herbs, maybe? That didn’t seem relevant at all.

He was so distracted as he limped along that when he finally looked up, he realized he was standing in full view of a woman who was watching him. At least, he thought it was a woman. She was standing casually in the middle of the street, wearing a tattered red dress, her face partially obscured by her long black hair. And she seemed to be covered in small circular holes all over her body. She didn’t seem injured, and she wasn’t actively bleeding. And then he nearly gagged when he realized there were worms crawling in and out of her flesh.

He staggered back with a horrified shout, realizing he’d been running in the direction the supposed Shabnak-adyr had been in. Was this it? It certainly didn’t seem human, at least not anymore. He didn’t think a human could live with that many maggots or worms or whatever they were inside of them. And worst of all, it reminded him of the giant bull from his nightmare that wasn’t as dead as it should be. She grinned at him and he felt a shiver of terror down his spine.

“Archivist,” she said, or at least tried to say. It didn’t look like her throat was made for speaking any longer and it came out harsh and guttural, but it was clear enough that he understood, and he went cold with terror.

She knew who he was. How could she possibly know who he was? Why would someone like her, some sort of powerful inhuman being, even care? He was a nobody. She was still grinning at him and a worm tumbled out of her open mouth, hitting the ground where it squirmed with its brethren, and somehow that was the jolt of surprise he needed to startle himself back into motion.

She didn’t give chase, and somehow that was worse. He could hear her cackle following him but he didn’t dare turn around. He was already hindered by his injury and he couldn’t risk it. He didn’t know how fast she would be if she did follow, with her flesh covered in burrowing holes, but he had a horrible feeling that if she wanted to catch him, she could.

That made it all the more unsettling when, several minutes and several wrong turns down confusing backstreets later, he finally made it to his destination unhindered and seemingly unfollowed. He had nowhere else to go, though, and he needed to get off the streets before someone else tried to stab him, so he headed up to Gertrude’s flat.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #jmart #teaholding #fanfic #Udurgh fic #martin blackwood

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