A/N: Hello strangers! Sorry, it has taken me so long.

Chapter 7:

The road so far...

Killian finds out of his dark fate and unleashes his anger allowing darkness to feed on his thirst for vengeance.

Years had passed for the man who sat in the darkest corner of the Crow's Nest Tavern. He kept his back to the wall as he watched the depravity of the group. He especially hated the man-handling of the barmaids.

A ghost from his past entered. The crew was loud and rowdy, no longer a merchant ship crew. They were now privateers. One of the men recognized Killian and approached his table.

"If it isn't Killian Jones, the little brother of the sanctimonious Liam Jones. I see His Majesty's Royal Navy didn't want you either." Captain Silver taunted as his crew laughed.

Killian hissed, his fangs surfacing. He looked up and his dark blue eyes had turned into an icy blue, almost white, shade.

In an instant, he rose from his chair and rounded the table. "I remember you, how could I forget?" He held out his hand and pointed to the still Captain Silver. "Oh yes, I remember you, Captain." His index finger trailed along the throat of his intended and broke the skin, his hook slamming and puncturing the wooden table. He tilted his head and whispered, "I'm going to enjoy this. However, I'm a man of honor, and therefore I will give you lot a head start."

The crew managed to come to their senses, they grabbed their Captain and left the tavern in a hurry. They scampered out as fast as humanly possible, but Killian was faster.

He stood facing the ship that was his home for so long, waiting for the crew to arrive.

Captain Silver saw as his crew fell, one after the other. Their bloodied bodies dropped to the floor as Killian made his way to his former Captain and tormentor.

Captain Silver started to plea with Killian as he came closer to him, "Please, Killian, I don't want to die." he stuttered, "What would your brother Liam want you to do?"

"Liam would want me to not play with my food, calling it bad form." As Killian swiftly moved to hold the older man in place, his fangs punctured the skin and he drained him dry. Satisfied with finally taking his revenge from the man who tortured him in his youth, he strode to the other dead crew members and relieved them of a few trinkets. It wasn't about the wealth of the trophies, but what they symbolized.

Killian strode towards his ship. It had been so long since he was this calm. He had managed to make his foes pay for their transgressions. Ah, except the Spinner and Zoso. Killian had learned a few things from the contracts he had taken from his house and slowly made his way through the names on the signed deals.

Milah's husband had turned out to be elusive. Zoso, on the other hand, would show up to give his approval. The more bloodshed the better, but Killian had found there was one thing that irritated the "man" to the end of time. That was simple - Killian dispatching his henchmen and women. Anyone that bared his mark was fair game. He smiled at the thought.

He kept on the path to his beloved ship - his only family left. It was strange to think of the ship as family, but she had become that after all the time that had passed since his brother's loss. It was obvious that Zoso would kill anyone that mattered to him, so Killian decided to not get a new crew.

That meant no one to leave on guard of the Jolly. It turned out the ship was made with Enchanted Wood and was magical, and he was fast enough to do it all. He was still trying to understand his abilities because being a daywalker was not the only thing he could do.

The fact that the Jolly was unguarded made the ship very desirable.

Pirates.

There had been a few pirate captains who had tried to claim the Jolly as their own and succeeded temporarily, but eventually, Killian would catch up and make them pay dearly. No survivors, no quarter.

The last one to attempt to take her had been the fearsome Blackbeard. Once he caught up with him, Killian had enjoyed toying with him. He took his time, played a small game of cat and mouse with the man. A sword dance he had missed since becoming what he now was. Killian had shown his swordsmanship superiority with each blow he threw. His physical strength gave him an advantage over Blackbeard, and soon each punishing strike became too much for the other man. Killian was subdued by the piercing of flesh, with a combination of hook and sword. Blackbeard's guts splayed, coloring the deck of the ship.

It had been reminiscent of his favorite times. When he had his love, his Milah and crew by his side. A small reminder of a time he had some form of happiness.

In the end, it had been such a grim ending for the dastardly captain and his crew that word spread around fast and soon made Killian the scourge of the seas. No one dared to touch the Jolly Roger ever again.

Decades later, at least he thought it had been that long - he lost track of time - Killian arrived at the port town in search of a powerful witch from the neighboring Kingdom. He had hoped to broker a deal with her. He needed to learn about his abilities. But his timing had been off and he was too late. The Evil Queen had perished, if the whispers were to be believed. Yet no one said it out loud, in fear of her appearing and unleashing her fury. He was not surprised the villagers were still afraid of her since all royalty was evil and not to be trusted. He found that her name was quite fitting.

Killian was walking toward the harbor after a disappointing encounter at the Sea Shell Tavern. It was confirmed she was dead, torn apart by some monster.

A peculiar scent caught his attention. He diverted his path and soon was trailing a well-dressed man. The man seemed to be high born and had a busty barmaid on his arm. They were too entertained with each other to notice Killian or the other man lurking in the shadows ahead of him.

The well-dressed man reeked of dark magic. Perhaps he could be of help to Killian. Perhaps his day was not a total loss.

The man hidden in the shadows emerged with a small dagger and quickly grabbed the well-dressed man. The woman gasped and ran away. No longer distracted by her, the well-dressed man nervously raised his hands to plead for his life. The man with the dagger walked closer to his victim with a wicked smirk.

Killian made his move, and with a swift motion of his hooked arm, the man with the dagger slumped before his feet.

The victim gasped, "Thank you."

Killian's head tilted in response and he leaned toward the man. "Killian Jones, but most people have taken to call me by my more colorful moniker, Hook," he said, flourishing his bloody hook as he took a vow.

The gasp was barely audible.

Killian's eyes changed to a lighter shade as the man lost his footing and fell on his back. Killian smirked, "Now, now I'm not going to kill you."

"You're not?" the man asked, still on the floor.

"I'm not," Killian confirmed.

The man peered over to see the bloodied body of his attacker. "Thank you," he said as he slowly got on his feet and attempted to walk away.

Killian laughed, "So typical of the wealthy to just walk away."

The man stopped at his words and turned to face him, "I said thank you."

"Aye, that you did. How about you tell me why you stink of powerful dark magic?"

The man paled as he looked around. "What are you talking about?"

"I can smell it all over you. No need to be nervous, calm down, mate. Your heart is beating so fast it might just jump out of your chest. Then what would be the point of saving you?"

"You smell it? But how? I didn't know dark magic had a scent." The poor man was so confused.

Killian laughed, "I can smell things others can't."

"How is that possible? Are you some kind of monster?" His curiosity winning, he moved closer to his new benefactor.

With a roll of his eyes, Killian set his gaze on the man in front of him, the shade of his eyes changing to an icy blue. "Your name?"

Without hesitation, the man answered, "Victor Frankenstein."

Killian maintained his gaze with the man. "Victor, why is there dark magic all around you?"

"The Evil Queen sought my services, and her dark magic lingers around me even after her death," he answered, emotionless.

"Ah, what kind of services did she require?" Killian prodded.

"Her dead lover back to life," the man answered.

"Are you some kind of sorcerer? Because that is not possible." Killian knew there were things he didn't know, but to bring back the dead, he was sure couldn't be done.

"Not magic, science. I'm a doctor," Victor said, still unable to resist the need to respond.

"Is she truly dead?"

"I was successful, but something was wrong, he - her lover - was not normal. He was violent and she couldn't put him out of his misery. So he put her out of hers. I had to hide from the monster and flee her castle to save my life."

"What became of the monster?" Killian's interrogation continued.

"He fled to a nearby village and slaughtered everyone he faced. Until some sort of hunter finally ended his rampage." With that final answer, Killian released his hold on the doctor.

Desperation could lead to one's doom. It had claimed many lives and would most likely claim millions more. For Victor Frankenstein, it was his desperate need to prove to his father he wasn't a failure and that he had put his faith on the wrong son. His father, Alphonse doted on his brother Gerhardt. Victor loved his brother, but he also yearned for his father's approval. Alphonse had always thought of his son, Victor, as strange. Since he was a child, Victor would dissect insects, animals or whatever living thing he could get his hands on, and put them back together. His mother had told his father he was a curious boy.

Alphonse gave both of his sons a gift. To his favorite, Gerhardt, he gave a watch that had belonged to their mother, and Victor's gift was a commission to join the army as a physician. Alphonse hoped the army would end his son's scientific exploits, which has been funded by his father's money and housed in the family's summer home. Victor begged his father to let him continue his life's work, but his father refused to continue supporting his endeavors, and it cost his brother, Gerhardt's, life. In his desperate need to continue his research, and bring his brother back to life, he was made a proposal he happily accepted. A proposal that offered the guarantee of success.

Years later, he found himself in front of a new benefactor, stuck in a different realm with a new motive - his survival.

That was how the friendship of Killian Jones and Victor Whale, formerly Frankenstein, began. Victor informed Killian of the magic books he had grabbed as he exited the Queen's castle and ran for his life. Together they researched the books. Victor had been curious about Killian's affliction, once their mistrust for each other faded. Their bond only increased once they realized they had a similar loss; they both lost brothers they loved and admired, men they considered better men than themselves.

Victor had offered his help since Killian saved his life. While studying Killian's blood, Victor noticed the blood cells rejuvenated a sample of his own. He knew he could find a cure, but he needed time. For now, the doctor decided to develop a serum for Killian, using a combination of science and magic. He opted to inject himself with small amounts of Killian's blood to halt his aging. The serum helped Killian so his need for blood could be controlled. On rare occasions, Killian would feed on willing participants. He would pay handsomely and never lost control. He would only allow himself to lose control in the presence of one of Zoso's people.

Endless blue water surrounded the group of Isles that were connected by clear waterfalls, the white sand beaches extending to kiss the surrounding sea. Not far from the shore, there were farms with perfectly ripe fruits and vegetables.

The Isles had a protective barrier around them, powered by the bloodline of its inhabitants. Time moved slower; it almost stood still. The Isles lush green lands were blissful.

Like any other civilization, some sort of government was needed for the Isle to function. Here in this magical piece of heaven, there was the council. At the top, there were the strongest wielders of white magic.

On a rare sunny day, a tremor was felt on the Isle. On the beautiful seashore, there was a man with torn, soaked clothes. He gasped for air, gurgled water leaving his windpipe and uttered, "brother," as sleep claimed him.