In the dead of night, where the velvet tranquillity slept amongst the darkness, creating an eerie yet calming atmosphere outside London's veil. The silvery mist swept along Rhazien's leather boots as they clung and swirled around him with ghostly tendrils. The yellowed grass, shrivelled flowers, and bushes lined the path were withered and lifeless as if the mist's touch had drained them of all vitality. Despite the stillness of the night, Rhazien couldn't shake off the feeling that something or someone was watching him from the shadows.

As he stands there, his eyes scan the area and fixate on the old, rusted gate in front of him. The letters that were once there have long since disappeared, and the metal is now weathered and worn, a testament to the passage of time. The gate seems to embody the weight of the years gone by, and the missing letters only emphasize the inevitability of change and decay.

"Welcome to Hell," Rhazien mutters, remembering long ago, the letters above once said the school and orphanage he used to attend until he was adopted.

Following his conversation with James earlier that day, he quickly deduced that this was the designated location. A nagging feeling of unease settled in his stomach as he approached the yard. Despite the absence of any visible signs of danger, he remained alert, knowing that he couldn't let his guard down. The man he was supposed to meet was nowhere in sight, and the silence was deafening. Every rustle of leaves or branch creak made his senses more aware, and he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching. He relaxes his shoulders and takes a deep breath as Corvus scans the yard from above. 

Standing before him was a forsaken building, worn and beaten by time and the elements. Its walls were layered with grime and moss, obscuring the once vibrant red bricks that now looked faded and lifeless. The windows, long since shattered, were boarded up, leaving no room for light to enter and allowing the howling wind to seep through the cracks and gaps in the building. The doors hung precariously on their hinges, creaking eerily with every gust of wind. As he gazed upon the abandoned structure, he couldn't help but feel that harrowing memories lay amongst the structure.

He raises his hand toward his ear, placing his two fingers against the smooth black surface of his earpiece.

"No sign of our guy," he comments, keeping his eyes peeled on his surroundings.

"Do you think he might have bailed?" James spoke from the other line.

"If he wants to talk, we'll talk," he replies, pacing closer to the yard.

"Look, Rhazien, before you go any further, there's something you should know." Rhazien halted his steps as he continued to listen to James.

"You know the rookie from the other day? It turns out he was stabbed multiple times yesterday night. By the time I got there, he was barely holding on. He mentioned something about burning candles and killing light -- some gibberish. Since then, he has received medical attention, though he still hasn't woken up, and he still is barely holding on. I have a feeling that the man you're about to meet is more dangerous than we had anticipated -- correction: a psycho. If we can get him to admit to the stabbings, then for sure, we have him," James explains.

"And if things go south, don't hesitate to notify me. Good luck."

Rhazien let his hand gently fall to his side as he made his way closer to the yard. The rugged terrain beneath the man's boots swayed gently as a tumbleweed rolled across his path, carried by the wind. Rhazien couldn't help but feel an ominous sense of dread as he wondered what the stranger had in store for him. He had previously dealt with enough dangerous individuals to know that this could be a game with fatal consequences. The memory of his past failures weighed heavily on his mind. Each victim had received no justice, and Rhazien was running out of options to solve these cases. No matter how hard he tried to find a way to bring justice, it seemed like it always resulted in a bloody ending.

Callum's mother.

Dead.

Mr. Blanks.

Dead.

The rookie.

Just barely holding on.

How many were going to die because of civil justice?

"To what cost?" Rhazien murmurs.

Rhazien stood still in the middle of a vast yard, where the sound of children's laughter once filled the air. He gazed upon the playground equipment that still stood there, the same swing, sand, and slide he and his friends used to play on. The sweet sense of childhood memories filled his ears as he watched them play before his eyes like a projector. However, with each second that passed, his heart began to ache as he saw those memories slowly fade away, one by one, like a mirage. The pain in his chest became more intense as he realized that those carefree days of his childhood were long gone, and all that was left were fragments of what once was.

"We all grow up eventually." A smooth voice spoke from the darkness.

Rhazien's eyes darted ahead of him, and he caught sight of a dark figure emerging from the shadows, shrouded in mystery. Looking up, he noticed the clouds slowly drifting away from the moon, casting an eerie glow illuminating his surroundings. The sudden burst of light made everything around him feel more vivid, bringing into sharp relief the details of the landscape hidden in the darkness.

With a tilt of his head, the mystery figure before him shared a grin beneath his dark red scarf. A light chuckle admitted from his throat as his silver gaze became fixed on Rhazien.

"Long time no see, huh, detective?"

Long time no see? Rhazien mentally notes, his brows furrowing. A pit in his stomach starts to form as unease creeps up within him. The more he ponders over the man's identity before him, the more his stomach churns, as if sharp claws are digging into his gut, leaving a pit in its wake.

"Don't tell me you forgot, old friend?" he questions, adjusting the cuff of his coat.

"I don't recall having a ripper as a friend. The friends I acquired in the past are either buried six feet under or missing. They die along with the memories I bear." He narrows his gaze by half an inch, studying the man before him. He had a feeling this conversation held grudges of the past.

"What a shame you don't remember your oldest pal. I thought we meant more to you than that," he chuckles, his voice growing more grim by the moment.

"Though you don't get it, do you?" he taunts as he begins to chew on his bottom lip, growing more irritated by the second. The man before him felt his skin itch, something aching and gnawing from beneath it.

"You don't get it!" He grits his teeth, his temple aching from the pain of his thoughts.

With a slow and deliberate motion, the man before Rhazien begins to lower his scarf, revealing himself. As the fabric slips away from his face, Rhazien can't help but notice the appearance of this mysterious stranger. His once lustrous dark locks, now dulled by the moonlight, frame his face, drawing his attention to the prominent scar that runs down the side of his lip. It's a jagged line representing a past filled with danger and violence. 

As Rhazien's gaze flickered toward his eyes, he couldn't help but feel a shiver go down his spine. The man's left eye was milky, the iris faded and cloudy, lacking the vitality of the other. It's a hard and cold gaze, something Rhazien couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding wash over him. The cold glow of the moonlight accentuated his high cheekbones, adding a cutting edge to his demeanour.

Rhazien's eyes narrow in concentration, his brows furrowing as he notices a familiar scar. A deep sense of unease settles in the pit of his stomach as he realizes who the man before him is. Suddenly, memories long buried flood his mind, vivid and unrelenting. The darkness around him seems to thicken as if it is a physical presence, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. It's as if he's transported back to the past, reliving those painful moments once again.

"Crain. . ." Rhazien lifts his eyes toward Crain, and the pain in his heart begins to spread like wildfire through his chest. The image of the happy, carefree kid he used to know is now a distant memory, replaced by someone who seems almost unrecognizable. Despite this, Rhazien knows that there are still unanswered questions that need to be addressed.

"Rhazien, why didn't you come back for us?" The question lingered in the air with a heavy burden.

"In the wake of your departure, my relentless pursuit of locating you was driven by a keen sense of determination and intellect. The desire for your presence amid my solitude was paramount, reflecting a keen awareness of my isolated state. Therefore, the moment of your departure marked the onset of systemic disillusionment and disintegration within the system. Subsequently, the disappearance of the twins, Renwick and Aria, promptly followed. And now? The weight of this makes you a traitor. You! You broke your promise," he balls his fist as anger begins to seep into his voice.

"The weight of this calamity I had to bear transpired because of your fragmented promise to safeguard us. Bloodied pearls and broken ribs became an accustomed parallel on these grounds. A cycle some may suggest. The day my head collided against the concrete, the word absolution never came into mind upon my survival. Instead, my mind clouded with a newer clarity that retribution was an alternatively better route. . ."

"What did you do, Crain?" Rhazien asks, narrowing his gaze by half an inch as he remains unfazed. He had a feeling nothing good would result from the poison that spilled from Crain's lips.

Rhazien had always been aware that Crain was the target of severe bullying, even though the reasons for it were quite bizarre. However, Rhazien took it upon himself to protect Crain from any possible threat. Despite this, when Rhazien eventually left, he knew that something had snapped inside Crain. Rhazien could feel the intense anger emanating from Crain, which was fueled by a strong desire for revenge against those who had made his life a living hell.

"I killed them," he grins, his voice filled with malice, making Rhazien feel sick.

"The rush crawling through my veins. The systematic reflex that had inclined me to become the very influence that indulged me in taking action was because of yourself. Believing that God themself creates miracles, you have to ponder whether Satan has a few tricks up his sleeve. It's a shame you can only die once. Don't pity me and my pain, Rhazien. Something inside me broke loose and made me stronger. I am who I am because of you," he boasts darkly.

"Consider it justice."

Rhazien's expression turned stern as he clenched his jaw tightly. His lips formed into a thin line, preparing himself for the worst. His toes curled up inside his leather boots as if trying to find a grip on the ground. Something inside of him began to stir like the churning tides below, ripping apart the remaining hope he had in its wake.

"Continuing to slaughter innocent lives isn't going to convince me otherwise," Rhazien states blandly, leaning his weight on his opposite hip.

"Innocent lives? Tch. You haven't transfigured one bit, always pursuing the weak like some guardian angel, but what's the point? The humans never fulfilled anything for you. They hunted each other for centuries; it's only time to pay the price. What is the impact of fighting for the innocent when you can fight for us?" Crain asks while a shit-eating grin pulls at the corner of his lips.

Strike one.

Rhazien remained silent, his steely demeanour reflecting the mental wall he built in front of him. He would not allow Crain to get to him even though he was now one of them. There was no bringing back his best friend. Under his steely demeanour lies his heart. It bled with regret, knowing he thought about it many times when he left the orphanage. He knew he was leaving behind his family. His family.

"Nothing to say?" he crosses his arms, leaning back on his heels, "Fancy that. Your use of witty remarks used to be a breath of fresh air. What happened to that sharp tongue of yours? Has the department cut down the barriers of it? Or have you gone soft? I wonder. . ."

Strike two.

"Or perhaps," he grins, "it's guilt. . ."

Strike three.

Rhazien's eyebrows furrowed slightly, and a subtle twitch began to manifest on his forehead. As he tried to suppress his mounting frustration, his eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed into a thin line.

"Don't delude yourself any further. I didn't answer the call to listen to you talk about past transgressions.-"

"Ahh. . . So, it is guilt," he chimes with a hint of venom that seems to linger at the ends of his words, leaving a sense of unease.

"You're holding back."

"Perhaps. . . it's the boy holding you back," he raises a brow, pondering as he read Rhazien's motionless expression.

"Leave him out of this," Rhazien warns as he grips his cane; the leather of his gloves begins to scream.

"How can I not? He is Lord Ravenwood's successor. He possesses something rather. . . unique." He places his hands in his jacket and shifts his weight to his other hip.

"Of course. . . we could work together," he suggests, words lingering on the end of his tongue, eliciting the feeling of bitterness.

Rhazien couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss with Crain. Every fibre of his being warned him not to trust the enigmatic killer in front of him. Every memory of Crain's smiling face diminished, leaving behind only haunting and malevolent grins that sent shivers down the spine. The thought of him slaughtering innocent lives, all just to get to him, made him sick to his stomach. The more his grin grew, the more he noticed the fangs lodged perfectly into his pearls.

"Let's play a little game, shall we? I want you to retrieve something for me in exchange for the location of Lord Ravenwood himself." Crain's grin soon dropped as his features turned stone cold, telling Rhazien this was a matter of desperation.

The temptation of his offer was undeniable. The latest reports concerning the infamous crime lord of London had revealed that he had managed to evade the authorities' watchful eyes and move under the radar. His every move was shrouded in secrecy, his tracks carefully covered up to prevent anyone from uncovering his nefarious deeds. 

Untouchable.

In order to put an end to this seemingly unending ordeal, Rhazien knew he must delve deeper into the root of the problem and execute a strategic strike there.

"Is it a deal?" Crain's voice began to taunt Rhazien. His voice left a sense of unease as if he was intentionally trying to provoke a reaction. His words seemed to hang in the air, lingering on long after he had finished speaking.

Rhazien's gaze flickered toward the arm stretched out before him, offering him to shake on it. As much as he didn't want to take it, he was running out of time and options. He knew helping him would put him one step closer to finally ending this nightmare.

With a firm grip, he took his hand, sealing the deal.

Unknowingly the nightmare was far from over. . .