Author's Note: This is my very first The Lost World fic. Please be kind, and any type of feedback is greatly craved and appreciated! The story is quite dark and graphic, but I hope you'll enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing it.

Disclaimer: The show, the characters and anything related to it are not mine.

Cry of the Blood


The malicious glint of the knife danced in his eyes; his dilated pupils echoing the dreadful sparkle of the deadly object as it was swung in front of him, barely missing the flesh of his cheek by a mere half an inch.

"Marguerite," came the hiss of his voice, barely audible yet vibrating with suppressed emotions.

"Stay away from me," the woman told him, her own eyes wide and focused on him and his actions only. Her lower lip trembled in both fear and defiance, the only sign of emotion on her cold face, and she swung the blade again as he attempted to step towards her. "I said—" the blade made a whooshing sound as it sliced through thin air, "—stay away from me! You monster! You—"

"Marguerite!" The cry came from a wounded Veronica, who crouched down low at the corner. With one hand she clutched the fallen body of Challenger, as the man lay unconscious on her lap, while the other she kept immobile so as to delay the rapid outward flow of her blood. Tears stained her sun-kissed face as she bowed her head in sheer terror and helplessness. "Marguerite!" she cried again, but her voice came out small and remained unheard.

John Roxton glanced at Veronica, before returning his gaze on the wild-eyed woman who held the bloodied knife on her hand. She gripped at its handle like it was the most precious thing on earth, her bloodied knuckles turning white from the applied pressure.

"Marguerite," he said her name like a whispered prayer, "give me the knife."

Her gray eyes flashed with rage. For a moment, it seemed as though she was going to follow his fervent plea as she willingly lowered the blade. John smiled slightly, and he moved his hand towards her in an attempt to reach for the knife. But she had other plans. With a swift movement of her hand, she had managed to cut his skin, marring and staining its golden hue with the lively red of his blood.

"No!" Veronica cried again. "Marguerite, no!" her shout sounded shrill and high with fear as she pulled Challenger's body closer to her, as if the act would somehow protect them both from the massacre that she was sure was going to happen to them all. They were going to die that fateful night, and their deaths would be the doing of a person they had considered a friend, a family, a loved one.

Roxton barely glanced at his wounded arm; he barely felt the gush of blood as he stared at her. There was but one thing in his mind, there was but one thing he could do about their situation, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do it. Even if it means—

He closed his eyes, as if in doubt. But when he opened them, there was a different glow in them both.

Suddenly, the tables have turned. Suddenly, she found herself without a weapon to defend herself with. Damn it, she should have been keener, more receptive of how he thinks when it comes to a duel. Marguerite finally allowed herself to feel the ice in her blood as she looked at Roxton. He looked apologetic, grieved, and downright determined. He raised the knife up, slowly, as if he was teasing, taunting her. She knew what he was going to do to her the moment he got his hands on that knife. And now, it was time for her to die.

The knife glinted maliciously as it reflected the dark light of the silent moon, and before she could even breathe, she heard these four, last words…

"I'm so sorry, Marguerite."

And the knife was plunged down; the blade aimed directly towards her heart.

* end prologue

and I hope that that teased you into waiting for more… :) Don't worry, I'll make sure that the chapters will be longer than this one.