drabble

The footsteps of the man were following a rapid erratic pattern. Eyes were open wide as his head swiveled constantly behind him. Massive rivers of sweat were pouring down his brow flying off wildly in every direction as he ran for his very life. He couldn’t be caught. It would cost him everything if they caught him. He had to try. He couldn’t stop. His heart was thundering in his ears. His face was turning a bright red. Was this how it was going to end?

Soon there were a set of footsteps following him. These footsteps were faster than his own and more furious. It sounded like a gallop. The man in flight had a head of brown hair that was being matted by the perspiration that saturating his face in the middle of his flight. The low growl accompanying those footsteps made his heart beat faster. They had sent the one agent who would actually catch him and rip his heart out without even a second thought. He was a dead man.

The set of footsteps behind him turned into a full on gallop. His pursuer was on all fours now. The man was only minutes from capture and probable death. That wouldn’t stop him. He kept on going until finally the gallop behind him stopped. The man being chased was suddenly tackled to the ground. His pursuer had taken a mighty leap hitting his target perfectly. The force of the blow sent the man flying forward landing upon the concrete just ahead.

The ridges of the concrete repeatedly tore into simple flesh of his facial features while the impact itself had caused a sickening thud as his nose was broken as was his right eye orbital socket. He felt himself being turned around by his attacker. The pain was excruciating. The man barely could make eye contact with his attacker. He was right. They had sent him on this important mission.

Sitting atop this older man’s chest was a young man with brown hair, tanned skin and firey golden eyes. Fangs were bared and his fingertips were half way between a man’s hands and that of a wolf with full claws ready to rip him into shreds at a moment’s notice. “WHERE IS IT?” He demanded. “WHERE. IS. IT?” He repeated slowly as he growled his question. His voice was deep and guttural.

Trembling bloody fingers reached into his front pants pocket fumbling with the item he’d stashed there. He slowly pulled out the object. It was a golden and black onyx medallion that he rose out of his pocket praying silently that it wouldn’t be the last thing he’d ever done. “Here…”

The werewolf atop the bloody mass of flesh that had been a man was a member of a legendary blood line. His name was Tyler Lockwood and he was the last of the Apisi pack. Life for him had been one slice of hell after another. It wasn’t until he joined the Armory and began to fight against the true evil of this world did he finally feel like he actually belonged. Once this man that he’d been assigned to track down by their leader Alexandria St. John had finally given him the artifact that he’d absconded with from the vault, Tyler took his from his hands. He examined it. It looked exactly as Alex had shown him. He climbed up off the man who was broken and bleeding. Tyler’s wolf features reverted back to normal as he pocketed the medallion. He turned away from him and started to walk away.

“Are you going to just leave me here?” The broken voice of the man who was in agony trailed after the werewolf agent of the Armory. “HEY…. LOCKWOOD!” The man’s speech wasn’t exactly clear to him. Tyler could smell the amount of blood that was pouring from every orifice of the man. “I know something about you that Alex is keeping from you…” The man’s lips spluttered blood when he spoke. When Tyler had tackled him, he had cracked a rib. That rib had punctured a lung. Blood was pouring into his chest cavity.

When he mentioned Alex, Tyler stopped. He didn’t turn around. He kept his back to the man. “Alex isn’t keeping secrets from me. Keep your damn mouth shut and just die already.” He didn’t move. Something about the whole thing nagged at Tyler. This had to be a dying man’s last attempt at trying to save his own skin.

“Don’t you wanna know why Klaus Mikaelson could make a hybrid so easily?” The man’s taunt to Tyler was costing him his last moments of air. Pain was ravaging his mind and every breath was a struggle. “You’re a fool if you go back to them Lockwood.”

Tyler’s eyes went gold again and his fangs were bared. He raced back to the dying man grabbing his lapel with a wolf’s paw that faintly resembled that of a man. Tyler pulled the man close to him. “SHUT IT! Just SHUT it! Do you hear me?” That nagging feeling kept pulling at him more now. It was stronger than before.

The man’s face was crimson now. His brown hair was saturated with blood. Lips curled into a smile that gave him the final laugh. “S-Sure Lockwood. T-The doppleganger blood wasn’t w-what turned you. Ask A-Alex…” The man couldn’t speak any further. His facial features were etched with the ultimate horror. His body seized up in the throes of death as he was dropped to the ground by the Lockwood werewolf.

Tyler stood there with his right arm saturated in blood to the elbow. The vulpine fingers of his right hand were clenched around the man’s still beating heart as the spurting blood with its final beats finally ceasing in his hand. He tossed the organ to the ground let it land next to his body. The organ sounded like what a wet rag did when you tossed dropped it to the ground after cleaning your bathroom. Tyler turned from the sight before him with a definite scowl on his face. There were questions. He didn’t like questions. He was going to get some answers.

 

Tyler Lockwood/Cerberus