Blood - to some a gruesome depiction of ill meaning, to others a sacred representation of life – but to all, it is known to be the substance that dwells within the body. This blood, which was pooling slowly through the crevices of a cobblestone floor, belonged to a man who had spilled more of the dark liquid in his lifetime than any surgeon might ever have seen. For this man, driven by revenge, living only on his twisted desire for macabre, had fate decided to deem irony. The man's face appeared as a reflection in the dark substance spreading now on the stones of the floor around him. Reflected only by the flickering of a fire, which illuminated just a side of his face, blotted still by the crimson. His lips, also bleeding, parted and began to speak soft, sing-song words.

"There was a barber and his wife,

and she was beautiful..."

Blood suddenly began to spill from his mouth, but the words continued.

"A foolish barber and his wife,

she was his reason and his life..."

The blood fell from his mouth freely now, stealing away from his fading senses. There was a splash in the pool of blood that had spread ever so slowly atop the cobblestone as his form collapsed. In a heap, the man continued to mouth the words.

And she was beautiful,

and she was virtuous,

and he was...

His breath failed him and he trailed off as his lips parted for the last time, no longer moving.

"Attend the tale of Tyki Mikk

His skin was pale and his blade was sleek

He shaved the faces of gentlemen

who never thereafter were heard from again."

The ghost of a man, a slender dandy in pearly gray gloves and a matching waistcoat, appeared in the shadows of what seemed to be a chamber with a low ceiling. Shadows and silhouettes danced about the walls in the flicker of a furnace.

"He trod the path trod not by the meek

did Tyki Mikk -

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street."

A new shadow emerges within the flames of the furnace, taking the form of a large, rotund man with sleek muttonchops and a fitted business suit. The banker.

"He kept a shop in London town

of fancy clients and good renown."

Many more shadows materialized within the chamber, joining the two ghosts. Scenes of macabre, walking dead, bloodied and slit at the throats did they appear around the man on the floor. Eyes strangely impassive, they surrounded his bloody, unmoving figure.

"And what if none of their souls were saved?

They went to their maker impeccably shaved..."

The voices of the ghosts become louder and began to ring off the walls eerily. Their words became more and more distinct, speaking in unison.

"Swing your razor wide, Tyki!

Hold it to the skies!

Freely flows the blood of those

who moralize!"

More and more figures began to appear, their facial features becoming distinguishable in the flickering light of the furnace. The general, a tough, leather skinned man in a crimson imperial uniform.

"His needs were few, his room was bare,"

A priest, lean with pale skin in his clerical attire.

"A lavabo, a fancy chair,"

The tourist, who was meek with wire-frame glasses and an ill-fitted suit.

"A mug with suds, a leather strop,

an apron, a towel, a pail and a mop..."

A student, dressed intelligently with gorgeous, flowing blond hair.

"For neatness he deserves a nod,"

The ghosts begin to move around in the shadows, their forms eerie and dancing about the chamber. Their voices were in perfect unison;

"Inconspicuous Tyki was,

quick and quiet and clean he was,

back of his smile, under his word,

Tyki heard music that nobody heard,

Tyki pondered, Tyki planned,

like a perfect machine, he planned,

Tyki was smooth, Tyki was subtle,

Tyki would blink – rats would scuttle!"

The fires erupted from the furnace, dancing about angrily as the ghosts picked up the pace. Their voices became accusing and cold.

"Tyki!

Tyki!

Tyki!"

Their shadows flickered over the dead man's face, half submerged in his blood. The banker and the gentleman rounded on him, crouching down closer to the body. Their clothes were unaffected by the red liquid as they knelt, each on his knee as if to propose to a bride, in the man's lost blood, still pooling.

Said the banker, "He served a dark and vengeful god. What happened then-"

"Well who's to say?" Interjected the gentleman, raising a finger matter-of-factly, "And he wouldn't want us to give it away!"

The ghosts begin to chant, their voices drowned out at first, then joining once again into unison:

"Not Tyki!

Not Tyki Mikk,

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street!"

The dark waters glimmered and shimmered like glass as a grand ship glided across its surface. From the gloomy deck of this ship, the busy voices of sailors called out in the darkness, breaking the calm atmosphere. From the fog, a figure emerged, planting himself on the railing. His name was Lavi – a young sailor with dark crimson hair, like blood, held up by a black cloth. He peered out through the mist with a brilliant jade eye, squinting and straining to see the silhouette of the approaching city. London.

As the ship approached, the city came into view, and Lavi's breath hitched in his chest. The mountainous rooftops, the towering spires, dreadful and magnificent as it was – Lavi felt his excitement of reaching this London rise to a barely containable pitch as the image crawled out of the fog like a tiger stalking its prey.

Lavi's young eye continued to take in the wonders of this city as the ship gradually inched forward. The gnarl of rooftops and labyrinths that made up its streets and alleys sat below the black smoke rising like grasping fingers from its countless chimneys. Lavi was so awestruck by its spell that he was hardly aware that another, older man had stepped up next to him at the rail, looking out at London in the distance.

"I've been around the world, sailed it, beheld its wonders – from the Dardanelles to the mountains of Peru," Lavi exclaimed, that one green eye flickering with enthusiasm, "But there's no place – not one – like London-"

"Yes, of course, no place. No place like London."

Lavi turned his head, surprised to find his friend, Tyki Mikk, grimly interrupting him with his tired drawl.

"Tyki...?"

The older man turned his head as well, looking down at the twenty-year-old with an eerie golden eye.

"You're young, Lavi. Life has been kind to you. But you will learn. Soon enough." Mikk returned his glare forward, his gaze fixed on the city. Lavi stared at him a moment, trying to understand what Tyki meant with that riddle of his.

Once at the docks, Lavi became eager to get off that humdrum old ship. Tyki soon followed, hands buried into his pockets with a stoic expression on his face. On the other hand, Lavi was smiling widely, taking every opportunity to behold another of the marvels belonging to this new world. Simply overwhelmed by the ambiance of it all, Lavi spun and ran over to Tyki, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?"

Tyki snorted, walking on ahead of him.

"Tyki?" Lavi followed after the man, who sent glares at the people working around the docks. Filth. Scum. He began to snarl under his breath as his pace quickened, Lavi being forced to jog to keep up with him.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,

and the vermin of the world inhabit it.

And its morals aren't worth

what a pig could spit -

and it goes by the name of London!"

Lavi's single green eye widens at his words. Tyki suddenly stops, turning around and gazing intently at Lavi.

"At the top of this hole

sit the privileged few

who mock the vermin in the lower zoo.

Turning beauty into filth and greed.

I too have sailed the world!

I have seen its wonders!

The cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru,

but there's indeed no place like London!"

Lavi tilted his head questioningly as Tyki visibly made an attempt at calming himself. The man closed his eyes, running a hand through his curly dark hair, offset only by a white patch running along where the hair split over his left eye. Accomplishing this demanding task with an ache, he rested his eyes again on his companion.

"Have patience with me, Lavi. These streets..." Lavi followed his gaze toward the solemn twists and turns of the city, "I'm seeing shadows."

"Shadows?" Lavi inquired, scratching absent-mindedly at the strap of the eye patch running across the bridge of his nose. Tyki Mikk strolled a few paces toward the water, gazing down at his reflection on its glassy surface.

"Ghosts." His reflection was joined by that of Lavi, who was giving him a dubious look. Tyki returned only a quick, half-hearted glance before he peered down again. His voice was quiet and pensive as he explained.

"There was a barber and his wife,

and she was beautiful.

A foolish barber and his wife,

she was his reason and his life,

and she was beautiful and virtuous,

and he was..."

The speaker shuddered lightly.

"What?"

"Naïve."

Lavi watches, rapt, as Tyki is thrust into his memories from fifteen years before.

Tyki - a younger Tyki – walks with his beautiful wife Lulu, through a crowded flower market. The woman was indeed the fairest sight, with flowing dark hair, soft features, pale skin – crystal blue eyes like that of the summer sky, like a robin's egg. In her tender arms she carried an infant, not a year old, bundled in white silk and soundly resting. Tyki was hardly recognizable – happy, smiling, laughing with his love.

From beyond the luxurious flowers, an elderly man stalked the happy couple, his eyes full of jealousy, eying the object of his desires. Wanting her. Judge Leverrier, with his sullen demeanor, with his dog of a companion, Howard Link. Link - a tall, blond man with pudding bowl hair and not one, but two moles sitting on his forehead just above his eyes – flanked his master compliantly.

"There was another man that saw this -

that she was beautiful.

A pious vulture of the law,

who with a gesture of his claw,

removed the barber from his plate.

Then there was nothing but to wait,

and she would fall,

so soft,

so young,

so lost,

and so beautiful!"

The Judge whispers to Link, indicating Tyki to him with a firm hand. Link nods and disappears behind the arch leading into the market. Soon, he returns with several policemen, who advance on Tyki, arresting him. Lulu cries out, reaching for Tyki, who reaches back – but to no avail as the police drag him away from her. Leverrier appears, a sinister, lewd, and frightening smile on his face, advancing on his prey Lulu.

"And the lady... did she submit?"

Tyki grimaced, pulled out of his memories. He shouldered his duffel bag, looking down at Lavi.

"Oh, that was many years ago..." he sighed, "I doubt anyone would know." Lavi frowned, pitying the man.

"I owe you my life, Lavi. If you hadn't spotted me, I would be lost on the ocean still... thank you."

With that, he turned and began to walk away. Lavi watched him go for a moment, saddened by the mysterious cloud that hung over his head. He was almost away from the docks when Lavi ran forward several paces, calling out to him.

"Will I see you again?"

Tyki raised his hand, waving to him, without turning to face the red haired man.

"You can find me again, if you wish, on Fleet Street."