Order of the Dragon: Part 01
I always liked this time of night. I always found it to be serene how the world stands still. You can hear some soft sounds here and there. Mostly those made by nature herself. A light rustle of leaves in a tree, a slight skittering of a rodent running across the pavement. Not much of anything, but enough to remind you that time hasn’t stood still. The moon was at its peak, and while it wasn’t full, it was casting an ethereal glow upon the surfaces. The moonlight seemed to extract colours from the earth, instead of wash over them. Reds became violets and greys became silvers. Looking around, one could forget that they were even on Earth, and maybe imagine that they are on another world, or in another time.
For a brief moment I close my eyes and take a slow breath in. I can picture being in this other time. A time of the past, of simplicity. A time when the world seemed mystical and full of unanswered questions. These were the times I long for now, instead of this present filled with skeptics and those who aim to prove that nothing more exists in the world. How I wish to go back to then.
The sound of a car rushing by snaps me out of my state, and reminds me of where and when I actually am. For I am not upon a quiet hill taking in the sounds of nothingness. I am in the city, the concrete jungle where most people reside.
How unfortunate.
I resume my meandering through the city, going down as many side streets as I can. For I do not wish to be distracted by modern devices. Not now at least. This was the most at ease I have felt since my return, and I aimed to keep it that way as long as I could. So, I continue to walk along the streets, looking for that little bit of wonder that I know exists. It might not be obvious to most, perhaps not even myself, but it must be here.
If it isn’t, then why am I here?
This is a question that I must ask myself now, and this question is why I explore, why I search. I will continue to walk and explore at night, if only to get some peace and to see what this city has to offer me. Rarely do I come across another human at these times, and that is bliss. I do not wish to interact with anyone, so this is the perfect time for me.
At this hour, not many people are up, and those who are seemed to spend their time in their dwellings. From what I have seen (through open windows and drawn curtains), people up at this time are normally watching television. Personally, I am not a fan. Now don’t get me wrong, there are some truly beautiful films, ones that I would classify as works of art, but that isn’t what people watch at this hour. No, people watch situational comedies at this time. Sometimes I see people reading, and I wonder what they are consuming. Perhaps a dramatic piece of fiction, or excerpts of journals written during the time of war? I never knew, but I did like to wonder.
I will keep like this until the sun starts to rise. It is in the early time of daybreak that people will start to rise and start towards their professions. The ‘rat race’ as I have heard it called. People do not seem to like this routine, and yet they do it anyways. Where I am from, life wasn’t lived in this fashion. People did what they were good at and what they liked to do. Better yet, they were appreciated for this. The people in the town knew who you were, and they wanted your goods. This is the way it should be. I can always hear people complain about their jobs, and how they hate the commute and hate who they worked for. So why not stop that?
Maybe if people did what they liked; they would be happier? But maybe they are afraid of being happy? Who am I to know?
There are footsteps behind me, soft and slow, but they are there. Seems to be five sets, but I cannot be too sure. I pay little mind to it and continue on my way, enjoying the crisp cool air. As I continue though, I notice that their steps are still behind me. Could it be a coincidence? Possibly, but I want to make sure. I take the next left I can find, and the next right after that, not changing my pace at all. They might not be able to see my purpose, but I can assure them that it is there. The group behind me follows me with each turn, and at the second turn I use my peripherals to see that there are in fact six men following me, showing that I was close, but my hearing was slightly off.
With the turns I was able to confirm that they are on the same path as me, but the question is, are they following me? If so, for what purpose? I slow my stride and start whistling a tune that I heard recently. The notes sail through the air, creating a slight echo down the road, as if a friendly soul is sharing the tune with me. I notice that the group behind me slows down too, rather abruptly.
They are following me, but they don’t want to be seen. Their motives are probably nefarious then. I can’t help but smirk at the idea of a little chase. Let’s see if they are up for a game.
I continue to walk, taking precise turns when I need to, all the while whistling my tune. After a few minutes of casually walking I notice two things.
First; we are going to a remote area near the waterfront, where there are hardly any occupied buildings.
Second; the group behind me are quickening their pace.
I take a couple turns here and there before I find that I am in a dead-end alley. I reach the end and look at the fence closing off the narrow brick corridor.
“Looks like you took a wrong turn there, pal.”
The voice comes from behind me. It is gruff and deep, but artificially so. Maybe he wants to disguise his voice so no one can recognize him? Or maybe it is to intimidate the weak? We will soon find out I suppose.
“How can I help you gentlemen tonight?”
I say this as I slowly turn around to face them, surveying my surroundings as I do so. Mostly just garbage littered in the corners. There are a couple iron rods lying on the ground on my left, and one of the fence posts seems to be loose.
“You don’t seem to be from around here, Mr. Fancy Pants.”
I look myself over in comparison to them. I’m wearing a charcoal grey pinstripe suit, freshly pressed as it is every night before I go out. There is a black vest under the jacket, with a pristine white collared shirt underneath it. The ensemble is finished with a crimson red tie with a double Windsor knot. The grouping in front of me are all wearing blue jeans that are covered in dirt, along with brown hooded sweaters. I guess delinquents have a dress code. In comparison, I do look quite elaborate.
“You are quite right; I am not from here.”
The one in the middle steps forward, the hood on his sweater is drawn, like the others.
“You look like someone who has lots of money and who would like to make a donation to those less fortunate.”
He pulls a knife out of his pocket as he steps towards me. It has a decent sized blade on it, but it probably hasn’t been sharpened in a long time, or ever. There are some brown spots on it; either blood or rust. Either way, this doesn’t look good.
“My wealth is no concern of yours, nor is what I decide to do with it.”
As I say this, I reach out to the fence, straightening out a loose link.
“What are you looking for? You can’t get out of here, man. If you try to climb the fence, my boys and I will get you, and we will hurt you. You can’t get through us either. You’re trapped.”
The rest had their knives drawn now. The cockiness and insolence in his voice upsets me.
“Oh, you have me mistaken, boy.”
His expression drops at this, as I unbutton my jacket and start to remove it.
“I wasn’t looking for a way out, I was just looking for a place to put my things, so they don’t get dirty.”
I hang my jacket up and start to unbutton my sleeves.
“You see, this is a rather expensive ensemble, and I would hate to ruin it.”
I begin to roll up the sleeve on my left arm, meticulously making sure the roll is never smaller than the cuff.
“Besides, this is my absolute favourite suit. Unlike you folks, I take pride in my apparel.”
As I begin to roll up my right sleeve, they converge on me slightly.
“Oh, I don’t like your tone. You lookin’ to get cut?”
His arrogance was astounding.
“No, I can assure you I am not ‘looking to get cut’. I am looking for something though.”
I remove my tie, hang it with my jacket, and crack my neck. The ‘leader’ takes two steps closer to me, essentially isolating himself away from the others.
“What might that be?”
I lunge forward, catching him off guard and lifting him up in the air by his throat. His knife drops to the ground as his hands fly to his neck, trying to loosen my grip. His legs flail and his neck stiffens.
“I suppose I am looking to remove you.”
The Next Day
Detective Marcus Walker approaches the yellow police tape sectioning off the west part of the Kelly Harbour. He flashes the nearby officer his badge, who gives a solemn nod as he ducks under. As Marcus ducks under, a little bit of his coffee spills out, landing on his newly cleaned jeans.
“Son of a Bitch.” He mutters under his breath.
He looks around while trying to wipe any coffee off his pants. He sees a middle-aged man near an alleyway wave him over. If he didn’t see the waving, the all brown suit would have given him away. Marcus approaches the man, noticing that his eyes look vacant, and his mouth looks grim.
“Chief.” Marcus reaches out and shakes his hand.
“Marcus, thank you for getting here so quickly.” They release each other’s grasp.
“No problem. So, what’s the urgent matter you told me about?”
“Take a look for yourself.” The chief motions to the alley.
Marcus walks towards the alley and is caught off-guard by the carnage. In front of him, Marcus sees 6 male bodies.
The first one is torn partially torn in half vertically, bisecting them from their groin to their rib cage. The way the body fell makes a shape similar to a broken 'Y'. Surrounding them are their innards, painting what used to be their lower half in blood and gore. A pained, frightened look is frozen on their face.
The second one is slumped against the wall on the right. Most of the body is painted a deep crimson; it still isn't dry due to the amount of blood. Six knives are in the body; one in each eye, one in either side of the neck, one in the top of the head and one in the chest. The back of the victim's head is caved in, most likely due to being forced into the brick wall.
The third and fourth bodies are largely the same. They were both impaled through the chest with rebar. The interesting thing to note is that the rebar was forced through the asphalt, essentially pinning them in that spot. From the viscera on the rebar, it looks like both of these victims slowly slid down and died over a period of time. The only difference between the two bodies is that one was facing upwards and one was facing downwards. The one facing up looked like he tried to pull himself up off of the rebar, but to no avail.
The fifth victim was arguably killed in the most normal fashion. His throat was torn out. He was found face down with a broken arm. Actually, it was less broken and more shattered. There were five breaks total along with a dislocated shoulder. Upon further inspection, Marcus could not decide if the throat was clawed or bit out. The small, sharp marks looked to be from teeth, but he had never seen marks like this before. They were too... sharp.
The sixth victim was the worst. In Marcus' 10 years on the force, along with his dad's 35 years, he had never heard of anything as brutal as this. From what the evidence told him, this is how it played out. Victim six was thrown high into the wall, bruising his back and breaking two ribs. It then looks like wire from the fence was stripped, making the fence post bare. Part of the wire was used to make a tourniquet on his left arm. This was used to stop the bleeding when that arm was torn off. Part of the wire was also forced through the victim's ankle, and he was dragged through the alley to the post. The victim was then vertically impaled through the fence post, with his head facing down. The fence post essentially went through his esophagus, meaning he most likely died from suffocation. Just like the other impaled victims, his body slid down over time. The amount of time the sixth victim took to die is uncertain upon initial viewing, but however long it took, it was extremely painful.
Marcus found the sixth victim's arm by the left wall, where its use was found. On the wall was an image painted with blood. The images seemed to be a winged dragon curled up, biting its own tail. Upon the dragon's head were curved horns, reminiscent of a demon. Marcus stared in awe, not only at the brutality of these killings, but at the mark painted upon the wall. There was a meaning through this.
Over the last month, there have been home invasion killings. These killings happen with homes consisting of five or more people. They were normally college dorms or frat houses. Occasionally they were families too. All the victims were found partially cannibalized, and missing most, if not all of their blood. What ties the killings to this bloodbath was the symbol. In each house, there was a demonic dragon painted in blood on a wall.
So these were linked, but to what extent, Marcus had no idea. All he knew was that he was going to find out who was doing this.
He was going to stop them.
- Cody S
For a brief moment I close my eyes and take a slow breath in. I can picture being in this other time. A time of the past, of simplicity. A time when the world seemed mystical and full of unanswered questions. These were the times I long for now, instead of this present filled with skeptics and those who aim to prove that nothing more exists in the world. How I wish to go back to then.
The sound of a car rushing by snaps me out of my state, and reminds me of where and when I actually am. For I am not upon a quiet hill taking in the sounds of nothingness. I am in the city, the concrete jungle where most people reside.
How unfortunate.
I resume my meandering through the city, going down as many side streets as I can. For I do not wish to be distracted by modern devices. Not now at least. This was the most at ease I have felt since my return, and I aimed to keep it that way as long as I could. So, I continue to walk along the streets, looking for that little bit of wonder that I know exists. It might not be obvious to most, perhaps not even myself, but it must be here.
If it isn’t, then why am I here?
This is a question that I must ask myself now, and this question is why I explore, why I search. I will continue to walk and explore at night, if only to get some peace and to see what this city has to offer me. Rarely do I come across another human at these times, and that is bliss. I do not wish to interact with anyone, so this is the perfect time for me.
At this hour, not many people are up, and those who are seemed to spend their time in their dwellings. From what I have seen (through open windows and drawn curtains), people up at this time are normally watching television. Personally, I am not a fan. Now don’t get me wrong, there are some truly beautiful films, ones that I would classify as works of art, but that isn’t what people watch at this hour. No, people watch situational comedies at this time. Sometimes I see people reading, and I wonder what they are consuming. Perhaps a dramatic piece of fiction, or excerpts of journals written during the time of war? I never knew, but I did like to wonder.
I will keep like this until the sun starts to rise. It is in the early time of daybreak that people will start to rise and start towards their professions. The ‘rat race’ as I have heard it called. People do not seem to like this routine, and yet they do it anyways. Where I am from, life wasn’t lived in this fashion. People did what they were good at and what they liked to do. Better yet, they were appreciated for this. The people in the town knew who you were, and they wanted your goods. This is the way it should be. I can always hear people complain about their jobs, and how they hate the commute and hate who they worked for. So why not stop that?
Maybe if people did what they liked; they would be happier? But maybe they are afraid of being happy? Who am I to know?
There are footsteps behind me, soft and slow, but they are there. Seems to be five sets, but I cannot be too sure. I pay little mind to it and continue on my way, enjoying the crisp cool air. As I continue though, I notice that their steps are still behind me. Could it be a coincidence? Possibly, but I want to make sure. I take the next left I can find, and the next right after that, not changing my pace at all. They might not be able to see my purpose, but I can assure them that it is there. The group behind me follows me with each turn, and at the second turn I use my peripherals to see that there are in fact six men following me, showing that I was close, but my hearing was slightly off.
With the turns I was able to confirm that they are on the same path as me, but the question is, are they following me? If so, for what purpose? I slow my stride and start whistling a tune that I heard recently. The notes sail through the air, creating a slight echo down the road, as if a friendly soul is sharing the tune with me. I notice that the group behind me slows down too, rather abruptly.
They are following me, but they don’t want to be seen. Their motives are probably nefarious then. I can’t help but smirk at the idea of a little chase. Let’s see if they are up for a game.
I continue to walk, taking precise turns when I need to, all the while whistling my tune. After a few minutes of casually walking I notice two things.
First; we are going to a remote area near the waterfront, where there are hardly any occupied buildings.
Second; the group behind me are quickening their pace.
I take a couple turns here and there before I find that I am in a dead-end alley. I reach the end and look at the fence closing off the narrow brick corridor.
“Looks like you took a wrong turn there, pal.”
The voice comes from behind me. It is gruff and deep, but artificially so. Maybe he wants to disguise his voice so no one can recognize him? Or maybe it is to intimidate the weak? We will soon find out I suppose.
“How can I help you gentlemen tonight?”
I say this as I slowly turn around to face them, surveying my surroundings as I do so. Mostly just garbage littered in the corners. There are a couple iron rods lying on the ground on my left, and one of the fence posts seems to be loose.
“You don’t seem to be from around here, Mr. Fancy Pants.”
I look myself over in comparison to them. I’m wearing a charcoal grey pinstripe suit, freshly pressed as it is every night before I go out. There is a black vest under the jacket, with a pristine white collared shirt underneath it. The ensemble is finished with a crimson red tie with a double Windsor knot. The grouping in front of me are all wearing blue jeans that are covered in dirt, along with brown hooded sweaters. I guess delinquents have a dress code. In comparison, I do look quite elaborate.
“You are quite right; I am not from here.”
The one in the middle steps forward, the hood on his sweater is drawn, like the others.
“You look like someone who has lots of money and who would like to make a donation to those less fortunate.”
He pulls a knife out of his pocket as he steps towards me. It has a decent sized blade on it, but it probably hasn’t been sharpened in a long time, or ever. There are some brown spots on it; either blood or rust. Either way, this doesn’t look good.
“My wealth is no concern of yours, nor is what I decide to do with it.”
As I say this, I reach out to the fence, straightening out a loose link.
“What are you looking for? You can’t get out of here, man. If you try to climb the fence, my boys and I will get you, and we will hurt you. You can’t get through us either. You’re trapped.”
The rest had their knives drawn now. The cockiness and insolence in his voice upsets me.
“Oh, you have me mistaken, boy.”
His expression drops at this, as I unbutton my jacket and start to remove it.
“I wasn’t looking for a way out, I was just looking for a place to put my things, so they don’t get dirty.”
I hang my jacket up and start to unbutton my sleeves.
“You see, this is a rather expensive ensemble, and I would hate to ruin it.”
I begin to roll up the sleeve on my left arm, meticulously making sure the roll is never smaller than the cuff.
“Besides, this is my absolute favourite suit. Unlike you folks, I take pride in my apparel.”
As I begin to roll up my right sleeve, they converge on me slightly.
“Oh, I don’t like your tone. You lookin’ to get cut?”
His arrogance was astounding.
“No, I can assure you I am not ‘looking to get cut’. I am looking for something though.”
I remove my tie, hang it with my jacket, and crack my neck. The ‘leader’ takes two steps closer to me, essentially isolating himself away from the others.
“What might that be?”
I lunge forward, catching him off guard and lifting him up in the air by his throat. His knife drops to the ground as his hands fly to his neck, trying to loosen my grip. His legs flail and his neck stiffens.
“I suppose I am looking to remove you.”
The Next Day
Detective Marcus Walker approaches the yellow police tape sectioning off the west part of the Kelly Harbour. He flashes the nearby officer his badge, who gives a solemn nod as he ducks under. As Marcus ducks under, a little bit of his coffee spills out, landing on his newly cleaned jeans.
“Son of a Bitch.” He mutters under his breath.
He looks around while trying to wipe any coffee off his pants. He sees a middle-aged man near an alleyway wave him over. If he didn’t see the waving, the all brown suit would have given him away. Marcus approaches the man, noticing that his eyes look vacant, and his mouth looks grim.
“Chief.” Marcus reaches out and shakes his hand.
“Marcus, thank you for getting here so quickly.” They release each other’s grasp.
“No problem. So, what’s the urgent matter you told me about?”
“Take a look for yourself.” The chief motions to the alley.
Marcus walks towards the alley and is caught off-guard by the carnage. In front of him, Marcus sees 6 male bodies.
The first one is torn partially torn in half vertically, bisecting them from their groin to their rib cage. The way the body fell makes a shape similar to a broken 'Y'. Surrounding them are their innards, painting what used to be their lower half in blood and gore. A pained, frightened look is frozen on their face.
The second one is slumped against the wall on the right. Most of the body is painted a deep crimson; it still isn't dry due to the amount of blood. Six knives are in the body; one in each eye, one in either side of the neck, one in the top of the head and one in the chest. The back of the victim's head is caved in, most likely due to being forced into the brick wall.
The third and fourth bodies are largely the same. They were both impaled through the chest with rebar. The interesting thing to note is that the rebar was forced through the asphalt, essentially pinning them in that spot. From the viscera on the rebar, it looks like both of these victims slowly slid down and died over a period of time. The only difference between the two bodies is that one was facing upwards and one was facing downwards. The one facing up looked like he tried to pull himself up off of the rebar, but to no avail.
The fifth victim was arguably killed in the most normal fashion. His throat was torn out. He was found face down with a broken arm. Actually, it was less broken and more shattered. There were five breaks total along with a dislocated shoulder. Upon further inspection, Marcus could not decide if the throat was clawed or bit out. The small, sharp marks looked to be from teeth, but he had never seen marks like this before. They were too... sharp.
The sixth victim was the worst. In Marcus' 10 years on the force, along with his dad's 35 years, he had never heard of anything as brutal as this. From what the evidence told him, this is how it played out. Victim six was thrown high into the wall, bruising his back and breaking two ribs. It then looks like wire from the fence was stripped, making the fence post bare. Part of the wire was used to make a tourniquet on his left arm. This was used to stop the bleeding when that arm was torn off. Part of the wire was also forced through the victim's ankle, and he was dragged through the alley to the post. The victim was then vertically impaled through the fence post, with his head facing down. The fence post essentially went through his esophagus, meaning he most likely died from suffocation. Just like the other impaled victims, his body slid down over time. The amount of time the sixth victim took to die is uncertain upon initial viewing, but however long it took, it was extremely painful.
Marcus found the sixth victim's arm by the left wall, where its use was found. On the wall was an image painted with blood. The images seemed to be a winged dragon curled up, biting its own tail. Upon the dragon's head were curved horns, reminiscent of a demon. Marcus stared in awe, not only at the brutality of these killings, but at the mark painted upon the wall. There was a meaning through this.
Over the last month, there have been home invasion killings. These killings happen with homes consisting of five or more people. They were normally college dorms or frat houses. Occasionally they were families too. All the victims were found partially cannibalized, and missing most, if not all of their blood. What ties the killings to this bloodbath was the symbol. In each house, there was a demonic dragon painted in blood on a wall.
So these were linked, but to what extent, Marcus had no idea. All he knew was that he was going to find out who was doing this.
He was going to stop them.
- Cody S
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