Dark Chemistry |18+| (Under editing)

5 || Wolf (Violence)

"I know you told me I should stay away,
I know you said he's just a dog astray,
He's a bad boy with a tainted heart."

✿

NICKOLAS

Two weeks ago...

The suffocating stench of blood and decay clung to the air as I descended into the underground chamber beneath the warehouse, hidden deep within the unyielding jungle of Monpura town in Bangladesh.

This was no ordinary place. This was a graveyard for the living, a realm where the line between life and death blurred, where men came to meet their end in ways that defied the imagination.

The darkness was alive, pulsing, as if the walls themselves were breathing, drawing in the pain and fear that had been spilled here countless times before.

As I moved deeper into the heart of this forsaken place, the distant echoes of past screams seemed to whisper in my ears, urging me forward. I could feel the weight of every soul that had been broken here, their agony seeping into my bones, feeding the darkness that lay coiled within me, ready to strike.

When I entered the narrow, dimly lit cell, the scene that greeted me was nothing short of grotesque. Stephen, my most trusted ally, stood like a predator over a man who was barely recognizable as human. His eyes were cold, devoid of any empathy, fixed on the battered figure before him.

Beside him, Victor and John loomed like shadows, their presence radiating a primal, sadistic energy that filled the small space.

Ray, the journalist who had dared to cross us and made me fly here from Italy leaving all my important meetings behind, was nothing more than a heap of broken flesh on the blood-streaked floor. His body was a grotesque tapestry of pain, every inch of him marred by cuts and bruises that oozed fresh blood.

His wrists were shackled behind him, forcing him into a position of absolute submission, his breaths coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

His face, swollen and disfigured, was a mask of suffering, his eyes half-closed, barely clinging to consciousness.

"Is he still breathing?" My voice cut through the thick air like a blade, cold and sharp, as I narrowed my eyes at Stephen.

Stephen's lips curled into a dark, twisted smile. "Barely. But he won't die just yet."

I nodded, a grim satisfaction settling in my chest. "Did he talk?"

The question was simple, but the implications were deadly.

John, leaning against the wall, spat on the floor in disgust. "This piece of shit wishes he didn't have a tongue."

I took a slow, deliberate step closer, my boots echoing ominously against the stone floor. Ray's eyes fluttered open, and the moment he saw me, I could see the flicker of recognition-followed by pure, unadulterated terror. His bloodshot eyes widened, and a weak, pathetic whimper escaped his cracked lips. The sight of his fear sent a thrill down my spine, a cold rush that ignited the darkness within me.

"Hello, Ray,"

I whispered, my voice a low, sinister hiss that reverberated through the small cell, wrapping around him like a noose.

I watched as he struggled to pull himself together, but there was no hiding the terror that gripped him, that seeped into every fiber of his being. I let my gaze travel over his battered form, taking in every bruise, every cut, every broken bone.

My fingers, cold and unforgiving, brushed lightly over the torn flesh of his arm. He flinched, a strangled gasp escaping him as I traced the jagged lines of pain etched into his skin.