Red, Thick and Powerful

Prologue: London, England 1959

The night was cold. He preferred it that way, hunting in the heat was neither fun nor effective. As the wheels of the Vauxhall Wyvern rubbed against the curb and came to an abrupt stop, the young-looking man inside peered out of the driver's side window. His long black hair was shoulder-length, tied back loosely behind his head with a few elastic bands. A short beard framed his rugged yet youthful mahogany face. He whistled through his teeth as his hand reached for the glove compartment, pulling a Colt Python pistol from it and placing it inside of his belt after checking it had sufficient ammunition. He reached into the backseat to grab a long leather jacket and exited the car. It slammed behind him with a metal thud as he moved his way towards the rear of the vehicle. He placed the key inside of the lock and pulled open the boot of the car. Inside were a vast assortment of weapons. Pistols, shotguns, swords, daggers anything anyone would need to cause damage to another. He pulled a small sword out of the pile and flung it over his back, he did the same with an old shotgun and closed the boot behind him. He took three or four steps towards the house before stopping. He placed his hand on an empty pocket and grumbled. He turned and went back to the car and clutched a small decorated wooden box from the boot and slammed it again with even more vigor. He unlatched the box revealing 3 small vials of a thick red liquid. He sneered at the vials before closing the box and placing it inside his breast pocket.

He looked up at the large gate that was the grand entrance to a very old and very well to do home, though it no longer looked like anyone lived there, no one this side of the vale anyway. All the foliage that once adorned the garden had long since died and the area was as grey and melancholy as a graveyard in winter. He placed his hand on the gates lock and pulled it open, the brittle mechanism crumbled as he did so. He stepped into the sizeable courtyard and walked cautiously towards the abode. The hefty decorated wooden door sat between two gigantic stone pillars that supported a grand balcony above. Vines and spiderwebs were the only things clinging to the walls other than misery.

He pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and placed it upon the web covered iron door knocker and knocked it three times.

"Anybody home?" His deep voice rang around the emptiness of the property.

He didn't expect an answer but it was always nice to make sure he had the right place. He moved the hand from the door knocker to the handle and pulled down. The mechanism made a loud click and the door opened with a long deafeningly loud squeal. He cautiously placed one foot inside of the doorway and waited a moment. As if answering a question he asked himself, he nodded and stepped fully into the dark home. Even though the home was almost pitch black, he did not seem to struggle to see. There was a grand wooden staircase leading to the next level right in the centre of dust riddled main foyer. To the right and left were doors leading to other sections of the home. He looked around and noticed that the bodies of small birds, squirrels, and various critters were littered around the room, considerably more of with were around the staircase. As if against his better judgement he moved towards the staircase and began to climb, each footstep causing the brittle wooden floorboards beneath to bend and creak.

Upon reaching the second level the rancid stench of dead flesh was rampant, he knew now he was right where he needed to be. He stepped slowly down the corridor, the remains of animals crunched underneath his black booted feet as he did so. He reached a door on his left side, He placed his hand on the door and moved his head closer to the wooden surface. He could hear laughter. He pulled his Colt from his belt and cocked it back. He placed his left hand on the door and pushed the door open, aiming the pistol into the room, it was empty. He walked in and placed his pistol back into his belt and had a look around. A dusty old bed was in the corner, it was small no more than 4 feet long. There were rotting wooden toys on the ground. One was a train and the other was what was left of a male figurine. This room clearly was inhabited once by a child but it wasn't the epicentre that he was looking for, he turned to leave.