Felix trudged down the quiet street, his mind sprinted from one idea to the next as he looked around the streets. The wound on his shoulder had stopped bleeding by now, but the pain was intense enough to keep him alert. He knew where he needed to go.
The place where it would all end—the building. It had always been the building. He had been avoiding it for years, but deep down, Felix knew that if he ever came back, the Flayer would meet him there. It wasn’t a place that stood out, not really. It was a six-floor residential building, tucked away between larger, flashier structures. It was inconspicuous, so much so that most people passed it without a second thought.
But Felix knew its unremarkable nature was exactly why the Flayer chose it. And the only reason Felix even knew this was the building was because of the symbols graphitized on its walls. The same symbols he had seen numerous times in his parents’ rituals and engraved on that bloodstained dagger from so many nights ago.
It’s always been this place, Felix thought as he approached the entrance. The Flayer comes here, routinely checking to see if I’ve returned. If I’m not here, he moves on to flay someone else. But if I am…
He didn’t let himself finish the thought. The Flayer would come. He always came.
Felix had set up two decoys earlier to delay the police. The first was a bit of bribery—he had slipped a few bills into the hands of three different street cleaners nearby, asking them to give false reports of his whereabouts if any officers came around asking. Felix had been polite, humble, and even a little desperate. People usually responded to that kind of thing.
The second decoy was simpler. He’d gone to a nearby convenience store, bought a drink, and left his jacket behind in the back alley, making it look as if he’d ducked inside one of the buildings. It wouldn’t fool the police forever, but it would buy him enough time to get inside.
Felix made his way through the quiet lobby of worn linoleum floors, quickly bypassing the broken elevator as he made his way up the six flights of stairs, his breath shallow and his pulse racing. His shoulder throbbed from the bullet wound, but he barely noticed it now. The pain in his body was nothing compared to the dread in his heart. The top floor was mostly empty, save for a few old boxes covered in dust. A large balcony faced the city skyline, and Felix stepped out onto it, gazing out over the city. He needed to get a better vantage point in case the Flayer showed up.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, waiting. But the moment he heard the quiet footsteps behind him, Felix knew. He turned sharply, expecting to see the Flayer, but instead, his eyes widened in shock.
It was Specter.
"Look, I’m no shrink or anything, but you look pretty rattled, eh?" Specter gave a sly grin. "Not stoked to see me? That’s a bit rough, mate. You didn’t really think I was gonna bugger off that easy, did ya?"
Felix’s heart raced. Specter… still alive?
Before he could even react, Specter drew his silenced pistol and began firing at him. Felix barely managed to dive behind a pillar as the bullets ricocheted off the concrete, dust flying everywhere. He could feel his pulse in his ears, the adrenaline spiking through his veins.
Taking out his notebook with trembling hands, Felix scribbled a message quickly, then peeked out from behind the pillar, holding the note up for Specter to see. What do you want from me?
Specter laughed, tossing the gun aside as if it were a figurine. "What do I want? Mate, it’s dead simple. You’re the Flayer, top of my list, so I can’t really head off without finishing ya off, aye. Nothin’ personal… well, sorta."
From various pockets in his oversized overalls, Specter began pulling out gun parts, fitting them together piece by piece. A barrel here, a scope there—his hands moved with precision, the same kind of sick joy lighting up his eyes as if he were assembling a toy. Soon, he had crafted a fully functional submachine gun. "She’s a real beaut, eh? Look, I know this setup’s a bit rough, since you’re unarmed and all, but come on, you’re lettin’ me down a bit, bro. Didn’t think you’d be huddlin’ away like a cornered possum all day."
Felix’s heart raced. He had to think fast. He quickly scribbled something else in his notebook and tried to show it to Specter, but the man opened fire before Felix could even lift it. The rapid barrage of bullets tore through the paper before Specter could even see it, and one hit Felix’s palm, shredding the skin and muscle. He stifled a scream, clutching his bleeding hand, wide-eyed as he stared at the gory mess.
Specter didn’t stop, the gun kicking back in his hands with each shot, as he laughed maniacally. The bullets tore through the air, embedding into walls and shattering windows. Felix’s cover was crumbling under the assault, and he knew he didn’t have much time left before Specter finished him off.
Think, Felix. Think! Specter was too unstable to reason with. But maybe… maybe if he had survived the curse once, he was immune? Felix took a gamble.
"I’m not the Flayer! The real Flayer is coming here!" he shouted, his voice trembling as he held up his hands. "I’m—" he hesitated, then chose his words carefully. "I’m just a guy who is breaking down."
Specter stopped firing, his head tilting as if he were processing Felix’s words. Felix stood slowly, hands still raised, stepping out from behind his crumbling cover.
"A guy who is falling deeper into an abyss of his own creation," Felix added.
Specter stared at him for a long moment, and then slowly dropped his gun. For a brief moment, Felix allowed himself to believe he had reached him. Then, without warning, Specter gave a wide grin as he pulled another pistol from one of his pockets, aiming it directly at Felix’s head.
Felix’s eyes widened in fear but before Specter could pull the trigger, the floor beneath him gave way with a loud crack. The old building, weakened by time, finally buckled. The first two floors crumbled, collapsing into themselves and sending Specter tumbling down with them.
The ground shook violently as debris rained down around Felix. He stumbled backward, watching in disbelief as the place collapsed. Miraculously, the section of the floor Felix stood on held firm, the collapse stopping just short of where he stood. He was saved—by sheer, abnormally lucky chance.
Specter, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. As the floors crumbled beneath him, he managed to grab hold of a broken beam, though he dislocated his shoulder instantly. He cursed under his breath but didn’t dare let go. With a groan of pain, he barely managed to haul himself out of the rubble, limping and bleeding from multiple grazes and cuts. The pain was overwhelming, but he was alive.
Barely.
Specter groaned, coughing up blood as he staggered to his feet. But before he could even think about going after Felix, someone else appeared at the top of the staircase.
The Flayer.
Specter’s instincts kicked in immediately. The man’s pale, soulless eye locked onto him, and in that instant, Specter knew. This was the Flayer. Every fiber of his being screamed it.
Specter raised his gun to fire, but at that moment, the universe seemed to conspire against him. Felix’s curse activated. The series of events that followed felt almost surreal—a rusty pipe hanging from the ceiling above snapped loose and fell, striking Specter’s hand and causing him to misfire. The bullet ricocheted off a metal beam, hitting Specter in the leg. Specter staggered backward, his ankle catching on a broken piece of concrete. He fell, his gun discharging wildly. Four more bullets tore into his chest, one after another, blood splattering across the broken floor. Specter gasped for air, clutching his chest as he fell to his knees.
His vision blurred by pain and shock as a manic laugh bubbled up in his throat. Death had always been a gamble, hadn’t it? A game where the house always won. And today, it wasn’t his lucky hand. Blood dripped from his lips as he looked up at the crumbling sky.
"Aw, fuck," he muttered, spitting blood onto the rubble, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Guess I’m punchin' out early, eh?"
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
He tried to stand up once more but he stumbled backward, breaking his ankle on a piece of rubble, the pain numbing. His body tilted backward, crashing through what remained of the balcony railing, and with one final, blood-choked chuckle, Specter fell.
His body disappeared into the debris below.
Felix stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock. No… no… He had thought Specter was immune. But the curse had claimed him too.
Trembling, Felix turned to face the Flayer. Fear, anger, and grief swirled in his chest as he stared into the man’s cold, empty eyes – well, eye. The same man who had haunted his nightmares for years.
The Flayer’s injuries were severe—his tattered hoodie did little to hide the gouged eye, the deep scars across his chest, or the gash on his thigh. How had he survived the Butcher? It was impossible. And yet, here he stood, as if nothing had touched him.
The Flayer’s voice was calm, eerily familiar. "You came back, Felix. I always knew you would. You remembered the symbols. I’ve been waiting. You’ve come to complete your destiny."
"I’m sorry," Felix whispered, his voice low and trembling, "but you’re going to die here."
The Flayer chuckled softly, a dry, hollow sound. "Maybe. Or maybe… I will be killed here."
Before Felix could respond, a deep, menacing voice thundered through the air.
"He’ll be dying by my own hands."
Felix and the Flayer turned toward the entrance. There, standing with two massive cleavers in hand was the Butcher. His cowhead mask was slashed from battle, his beautiful but beastly blue eyes glowing with fury. The deep scar on his chest from the Flayer’s blade was still visible, and two of his fingers were missing from his hand.
Felix’s heart raced as he stared at the Butcher, a monstrous figure of raw hunger and fury.
This beautiful monster of a man was starving.
The Butcher walked forward, each heavy step sending out ripples of hatred that filled the air like thick smoke. His breath was a harsh growl in the silence, the cold hunger in his blue eyes fixed on one target—the Flayer.
But then, Felix stepped in the way.
His legs trembled as he placed himself between the Butcher and the Flayer. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline burning in his veins, but he couldn't move. He wouldn’t move. Felix swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of the Butcher’s presence grow, but he stood his ground, as weak and fragile as it felt.
The Butcher kept walking, unfazed. His breathing came in deep, steady exhales like a beast stalking its prey, each inhale heavier than the last.
As the Butcher closed in, Felix began to speak, desperation creeping into his voice. "Stop… just stop," Felix stammered, his voice trembling. His throat was dry, the words catching in his chest. Come on, work… let the curse work!
But this time… nothing happened.
Felix’s pulse hammered in his ears as he stood there, waiting. Any second now. The lights would flicker, windows would shatter, the ceiling would crack, and something would fall and save him. It always worked. Always. But the seconds stretched out, agonizing, the silence threatening to choke him.
Nothing happened.
Impossible.
The curse always worked. Always. But not now. Why? His heart pounded in his chest. Of all the people… why was it not working on the Butcher? And why now?
The Butcher’s breath grew heavier as he stopped right in front of Felix. He towered over him, a massive, hulking figure of fury and death. His voice was cold, devoid of anything but the promise of violence. "Get out of my way."
Felix’s voice trembled, but he stood his ground. "I – I can’t… I have to be the one to—"
The Butcher’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His voice came out as a growl. "Are you conspiring with him?" He nodded slightly toward the Flayer, his cleaver shifting slightly in his hand, itching to strike.
Felix shook his head, his heart pounding. "No! I’m not with him. I’m a victim, just like everyone else. But I can’t let you—"
The Butcher’s hand shot out and grabbed Felix’s shoulder with terrifying strength. Felix felt his bones creak under the pressure, his lanky body crumpling under the iron grip. The Butcher pulled Felix closer, his blue eyes gleaming from behind the tattered cowhead mask, filled with something ancient, primal. "Then get. Out. Of. My. Way."
Tears welled up in Felix’s eyes. He wanted to run, wanted to flee just like he always had, but he clenched his fists tightly, refusing to move. He couldn’t. Not this time. "I won’t let—"
Before Felix could finish, the Butcher snarled in fury. With a violent shove, he lifted Felix off the ground by his shoulder and tossed him aside like a rag doll. Felix’s body slammed into a nearby pillar with a sickening thud, the sharp edge splitting the skin at the back of his head as he collapsed to the floor, unconscious, a trail of blood pooling beneath him.
The Butcher didn’t even look down at Felix’s motionless body. His eyes remained locked on the Flayer, the hunger for violence radiating from him like a burning furnace. Slowly, he resumed his approach.
The Flayer stood calmly, glancing once at Felix’s unconscious form before turning back to face the Butcher. His hollow, transparent eyes betrayed no emotion, no fear. "Your ability to find others is truly impressive," he said in a calm voice, "but this isn’t your fight."
The Butcher stopped, his cleavers crossed in front of him, the edges scraping against each other in a slow, ominous grind. The metallic sound echoed in the unnerving silence as he stared down his prey. His voice was a deep rumble, filled with murderous intent. "You think I care whose fight this is?" He grinned darkly beneath his mask. "You’re just another prey about to be butchered."
The Flayer’s expression didn’t change, but his hand moved to his pocket, pulling something small from inside. Calmly, he revealed a detonator, his finger hovering over the button.
The Butcher’s eyes flickered over the room quickly, noticing the small details he had missed in his rage. Small, glinting wires hidden among the debris. Tiny metal canisters tucked into corners. Explosives. The air suddenly felt thicker, more volatile, as if the whole building was on the edge of destruction.
He snarled, his grip tightening on his cleavers, but before he could act, the Flayer’s hand slowly pressed the detonator.
The deafening roar of multiple explosions reverberated through the walls, shattering glass and splitting the air. Fire burst from every corner, engulfing the room in searing flames. The ceiling cracked, raining down debris as the structure buckled under the violent force of the blasts.
The Butcher's eyes widened for a split second before the flames swallowed him completely, his massive frame vanishing into the inferno. The Flayer, moving with a speed that belied his injuries, darted toward a nearby stairwell, disappearing into the smoke and debris. The heat and force of the explosion twisted steel, shattered concrete, and sent shockwaves through the entire building.
And in the heart of the inferno, both men – monsters in their own right – had completely vanished.
Lewis stood in an alleyway near the corner of a quiet industrial district, the buzz of machinery in the background. It was an old construction site with looming warehouses, barely used anymore. Sarah stood beside him, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as several police officers combed the area, flashlights cutting through the afternoon light.
"Are you sure Felix is here?" Sarah asked, her voice filled with doubt as she scanned the surroundings.
Lewis didn’t answer right away. His gaze turned toward the horizon, the direction where he had initially believed Felix would be hiding—the six-story residential building far from here. He took a slow breath.
"No. I’m not," he finally admitted.
Sarah blinked, caught off guard by his reply. "But you seemed so certain back at your apartment. You said this was where he’d be."
Lewis shook his head slightly, staring at the cracked pavement beneath his feet. "That’s because here isn’t the place."
Taken aback, Sarah glanced around at the scene. "Then why are we here?"
Lewis hesitated before responding. "Before I got here, I spoke to some street cleaners. They told me they’d seen someone matching Felix’s description running off in this direction."
"And you believed them?" Sarah asked, eyebrow raised.
Lewis didn’t answer. The truth was, he hadn’t really believed them. So why had he come here? A nagging thought had followed him the whole time. Did a part of him not want to catch Felix? Was he afraid of what might happen if he did?
Sarah sighed, taking a step back. "You know, sometimes we chase ghosts because they’re easier than chasing the truth,” she said quietly. “If Felix isn’t the Flayer, maybe you’re afraid of what that means. Maybe you’re afraid you’re chasing the wrong man."
Lewis flinched. She was right. But, he remained silent.
"Let me ask you this," Sarah continued, "do you still think Felix is the Flayer?"
"All the evidence points to him being—"
"But what do you think?" she interrupted, her eyes steady on him.
Lewis lowered his head, the burden of everything pressing on him. He took a deep breath, the memory of Thompson flashing in his mind—their arguments, their theories, and finally, Thompson's death. His voice was barely above a whisper when he answered, "I... I don’t think so. Thompson was right. I choose to believe he was right."
Sarah nodded. "But there’s still a chance the Flayer is connected to Felix. Or worse, Felix could be a victim. We should save him before any more murders happen."
Her words cut through him like a knife. Save him. That phrase resounded in his mind, pulling him back to thoughts of his brother, Martin. He couldn’t save his own brother. He hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t been enough. Lewis clenched his fists, a storm of guilt swirling in his chest.
I couldn’t save Martin. The thought stabbed at him repeatedly. I couldn’t protect him. And now, Thompson.
If I let Felix fall into the same darkness... If I fail again...
"Even if it’s just a hunch," Sarah’s voice broke his thoughts, "where do you think Felix is?"
Lewis looked up, locking eyes with her. His voice, though shaken, found its resolve. "It’s just a hunch, but I believe he’s at 38 Parnell Street."
Sarah looked puzzled. "There? Why there?"
"The symbols on that building don’t match any known gang tags or anything common for that area and curiously enough, those symbols only appeared about two weeks ago," Lewis explained. "The layout, too—it’s isolated, out of view from most major streets, but it’s tall enough to give someone a good vantage point. It’s a place where you can see everything without being seen. And the proximity to the recent crime scenes—it’s too close to ignore. It’s still within the borders of Ashbury Street and Haversham Lane."
Sarah stared at him, stunned. "T-That’s amazing."
Lewis’s expression darkened, a chill in his voice. "Felix might not be the Flayer, but today is the day we’ll find out if he has it in him to become just like him."