Near Piccadilly

12:58 a.m.

When Drake awakened the first thing to greet him was excruciating pain and eternal darkness. A warm wash of blood dripped from his mangled arm, sliding down his ribs and to the floor. His feet dangled a foot above it and iron chains suspended his arms to the ceiling. He looked around and saw nothing but broken windows and meat hooks surrounding him. Carrions of slaughtered animals hung on more hooks. On one of the sheet metal walls, he saw letters that read Watson’s butcher.

His arms felt as if they would be ripped from his shoulders. Corruption infested the butcher shop, writhing its way into him and twisting his gut. Through the shroud of darkness, a pair of yellow eyes glowed with dark determination. Then they took the shape of a man as he stepped into the moonlight that poured through the windows.

The man formed a sinister smile. He snapped a finger and bright flood lights illuminated the warehouse. Scattered on the floor, he saw endless pairs of women’s shoes, dresses, umbrellas and even bras and panties. Dried blood saturated the floors; though there were no traces of said women.

“They were delicious,” the man prompted, licking his lips. “I had to leave a few intact after I had my way with them. After all, an artist wants to be recognized for their work, right?”

Drake squirmed, and his body rolled with the chains. Beads of sweat formed on his body like dew on a melon. Every time he moved the chains strangled his wrists. His captor only guffawed upon seeing his struggle.

“Who are you!”

The chains rattled, and he groaned in pain. His captor took a step forward, grabbed his chin, and growled. He forced Drake to look him dead in the eyes, his grip cracking his jaw.

“You lost your memory huh?” he said, his voice resigned. “Sullivan said that might happen. He also said you’ve been hiding a little secret in that right eye of yours…”

He released his grip and pushed Drake. His body swung a few moments like a clock’s pendulum before the man stopped him.

“My name is Dacre, and you are our father!” Dacre smiled fervently and turned away. “Well, you’re the father to us all. All the freaks and demons of the world! You, the mighty Drake! He, from whom all others are made-!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Dacre snapped his head towards Drake and struck him with a powerful right cross. He continued to pummel his face, knocking out a few fangs as well. Each strike was vindictive and personalized as Dacre relished until his fists bled. Drake’s body swung idle on the chains. His left eye swelled and his olive-colored skin now black and blue.

“Now then, I’ll be taking that pearl from you…”

“I- I don’t know what you’re… talking about… I’m just a lawyer. I swear…” Drake muttered.

Dacre pointed a finger at his right eye. A stream of electricity formed as it extracted a crimson pearl. Drake shrieked, but after a few seconds the pearl was out. Dacre trapped the pearl between his fingers and eyed it quizzically. Then he stuffed it in his pants pocket and turned to Drake.

Scars and terrible burns anointed Drake’s body. On his back were patterns of deep lashes, much like stripes on a tiger. Embedded into the center of his chest was a single brand of an unknown glyph, presumably Macedonian or Mesopotamian according to the rumors at least. Dacre curled a fist and threw everything he had into Drake’s gut. Drake gasped and nearly hurled.

He shook his fist and chuckled. “Wow, that hurt. Have you been working out, Drake?”

Drake’s body swung idly.

Dacre regarded him coldly. “I told you I would make you pay for killing my brothers. Ivan and Darius…” He stared at the ground where a butterfly-shaped hair pin lay, fangs took shape in his jaw. “You slaughtered them, and now you’re gonna die…. LIKE A DOG!”

Sharp talons formed on his hand and Dacre plunged it through Drake’s chest like a spear. His hand protruded from the other side, soaked in blood. Drake choked and expelled blood. Dacre pulled his arm out, his white sleeve now dyed red. His citrine eyes glowed with insanity. But he was far from finished.

Drake’s wound healed, though it came to no surprise to Dacre. Dacre removed a silver pocket watch from his vest pocket. He wrapped its chain around his one good hand and shattered Drake’s ribs with one strike. Drake shrilled, his face contorted into misery before passing out.

3:15 a.m.

His body screamed in agony with every movement. Drake opened his eyes. The light was gone and silence filled the warehouse like the empty vacuum of space. He wanted to scream for help, but the gag in his mouth muffled his words. Footsteps pounded against the hollow floors and Dacre emerged from the darkness, holding a chair. A wide smirk etched itself on his countenance.

It had just occurred to him. He no longer hung from the ceiling but now sat on a chair, his hands tied behind his back and feet bound by chains. Dacre stared somberly, drawing from his cigarette sitting on the chair backwards. He cast a stream of smoke that floated to the ceiling and found freedom through a crack in the windows. He and Drake both watched it fade from existence.

“You probably figured out that I’m not gonna kill you. Yet,” Dacre prompted.

He stood from the chair and approached Drake. Then he extinguished his cigarette onto his cheek; Drake’s skin sizzled against the flame. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled, then he released.

Dacre paced around him.

“You’ll wish you were dead before this is over,” he said. “Did you really think you’re normal? That you’re like everyone else? Your life is a lie all of it…”

Drake shook his head.

Dacre raised a brow. “Oh? Tell me then. Tell me why your wounds heal in an instant? Why do you have a deadly allergy to silver? Can you even explain those scars on your body?” He scoffed. “Don’t answer that, I’ll tell you-”

He unsheathed a dagger and drove it into Drake’s thigh. His body recoiled terribly, and the gag muffled his screams. Dacre twisted and drove the knife deeper, the screams a melody to his ears. Then he jerked the knife from his thigh as blood sprayed to the air.

Dacre rested a hand on his shoulders and whispered to his ear: “I will break you. You are alone. Everyone’s abandoned you. Even your lover, Lyn. She belongs to Sullivan. He even told me how she moaned like a whore when they made love-”

A hidden strength manifested within Drake. His eyes glowed a bright blue, and he released a monster roar that freed his gag. Dacre blanched, but the chains held firm, confining him to the chair. He snarled and growled like a wounded animal caught in a trap. Words and reason were beyond him when instinct took over. The need to survive. The desire to consume.

“So, when you haven’t had enough blood… You become another wild animal like the rest of us…”

He sliced his palm on a saw blade hanging vertically from the ceiling. Bright droplets fell from his palm, stopping at Drake’s feet. Drake lunged from the chair, the chains still restraining him. The smell of blood infuriated him, though he could do nothing to get it. Veins popped from Drake’s face and his bloodshot eyes. Inadvertently, he broke his own wrists, trying to free himself from his constraints.

Dacre licked his wound and grinned. A puddle of water splashed behind him and he looked over his shoulder. Then his heart skipped a beat. He remembered the woman with green hair and eyes like rain. The woman that had taken a piece of his ear with her arrows. She stood before him now in tights and a black leotard, holding a silver bow.

She wore a predatory expression and glared. Then she fired the luminous arrow that flashed like lightning. The bolt struck him dead center, pushing him into a pile of wooden crates that toppled over him. Lyn lowered her bow and sprinted to Drake.

He didn’t move nor respond to her words.