Note: I do not own Ghosthunter or its charectors! I have made
some slight changes considering the plot, but nothing radical
like Lazarus dying before the game begins. I don't own the
characters as such. But Hawksmoor's family were just an idea, I
gave them names faces, and personalities.
Whispers of Souls
Summary: In the depths of his heart, William Hawksmoor feels something for a certain police officer. But will he show it, and what will be the reaction?
My saviour
Five years after the Detroit school murders
William Hawksmoor paced up and down; well as much as is possible when some bloody American has locked you in an oversized beer bottle! He muttered under his breath, quietly raging at his fate. After a while; he stood still and inhaled slowly, the morbid rattling of his breath reminded him of his defeat. Those treacherous, murdering, raping bastards in England. How he had loathed them, but they got their comeuppance in the end, Hawksmoor had made sure of that. It was a morbid yet tactile pleasure; watching them writhe in agony as he tore their souls from their feeble bodies and devoured them. That was the first time he had truly accepted what he was, a ghost. After that he became trapped, in neither heaven nor hell. He had finally found his freedom in the form of one Peter Brooks; but the fool pursued him. And imprisoned him in this damned machine. He sighed and leaned against the wall, was he condemned to reside here forever? The fallen knight closed his eyes and sighed.
Hawksmoor was wrenched out of his contemplation by a strange swirling sound, and then a flash. Richmond. The man smiled cockily, his eyes twinkled, and beads of sweat covered his forehead.
"Just bagged the last one!" Hawksmoor glared at him venomously; maybe it was the whiteness of his teeth which contrasted against his dark skin, maybe it was the shape of his ears. His accent? Whatever it was, there was something about Peter Richmond which would have made the Machiavellian spirit despise him, even if he wasn't a "Ghosthunter". He laughed inwardly; that term was so noble, so false. Ghosts are not animals, some may crawl on all fours, some have claws and fangs, some are fat, repulsive little creatures, but they are not animals. The only reason they looked like they did was because of one thing, desire. Desire to exist, to not fade away into nothing, and to exact revenge.
To kill is not a single act of bloodlust, it is an art. You send someone on their way to oblivion; you take away everything they have in a single, pristine moment. Your form depends on your personality, aggressive people seemed to become Revenants, but that was understandable. Revenants are huge, hulking masses of ethereal muscle they can lift a man as if he is as light as a feather. Poltergeists tended to be pranksters, telekinetically lifting objects and hurling them at unsuspecting foes. Whatever form you take, you come to realise this, you are a killer. An efficient brutal killer with powers far beyond that of the living.
After Richmond had put the ghost into the array, he looked at Hawksmoor and smiled
"Who's da man?" The spirit sneered at his captor and replied
"You don't expect me to believe that you are a man do you? Such a soft, feminine voice. Such a weak and dainty grip. And of course there's the peculiarity of your- what was that word again?" he paused for a moment, looking pensive then clicked his fingers "Ah yes, your man-boobs." Richmond just stood there gaping, if only Hawksmoor had a camera, that look was absolutely priceless.
"You won't be smiling for long worm-boy!" Richmond stepped forwards and pushed down hard on a small blue button connected to the array. Jets of pressurised steam blasted the ghost in the face. He put his arms in front of his eyes to shield them, but he was already blinded. His eyes felt as if they were on fire, he stumbled and fell to his knees unwillingly.
"There's a good wraith. Now you just sit tight and think about what you've done. And maybe if you're good, I'll let ya out for a while. Who am I kidding? I'd never let an insubstantial scumbag like you out!" That little bastard had become quite the sadist over the years. William clenched his fists, while he listened to the fading echoes of Richmond's footsteps as he left. That would be the last time he would ever hear those footsteps. He would wait another five years in this prison, that is, until she came...
Five years later...
Hawksmoor closed his eyes, he was thinking about his life. Those last few moments; how could he have been betrayed like that? He had always been, loyal, honest, unswerving. He alone had to face the nagging guilt of those dead men on his conscience. He alone had to ignore constant snide comments from those traitorous dogs. He alone was the "Black Hawk". His wife, his children, all dead. He could not remember their faces though, it was hell. He knew what he felt, yet he could not even recall what colour hair they had. But thankfully, he could remember their names. He had two daughters and a son, the eldest daughter was called Rebecca, the other daughter was called Charlotte and the son was called James. His wife was called Marianna.
He suddenly opened his eyes, the door was open. It was open, but how?
Note: This isn't the end, I'll edit the chapter later!
Whispers of Souls
Summary: In the depths of his heart, William Hawksmoor feels something for a certain police officer. But will he show it, and what will be the reaction?
My saviour
Five years after the Detroit school murders
William Hawksmoor paced up and down; well as much as is possible when some bloody American has locked you in an oversized beer bottle! He muttered under his breath, quietly raging at his fate. After a while; he stood still and inhaled slowly, the morbid rattling of his breath reminded him of his defeat. Those treacherous, murdering, raping bastards in England. How he had loathed them, but they got their comeuppance in the end, Hawksmoor had made sure of that. It was a morbid yet tactile pleasure; watching them writhe in agony as he tore their souls from their feeble bodies and devoured them. That was the first time he had truly accepted what he was, a ghost. After that he became trapped, in neither heaven nor hell. He had finally found his freedom in the form of one Peter Brooks; but the fool pursued him. And imprisoned him in this damned machine. He sighed and leaned against the wall, was he condemned to reside here forever? The fallen knight closed his eyes and sighed.
Hawksmoor was wrenched out of his contemplation by a strange swirling sound, and then a flash. Richmond. The man smiled cockily, his eyes twinkled, and beads of sweat covered his forehead.
"Just bagged the last one!" Hawksmoor glared at him venomously; maybe it was the whiteness of his teeth which contrasted against his dark skin, maybe it was the shape of his ears. His accent? Whatever it was, there was something about Peter Richmond which would have made the Machiavellian spirit despise him, even if he wasn't a "Ghosthunter". He laughed inwardly; that term was so noble, so false. Ghosts are not animals, some may crawl on all fours, some have claws and fangs, some are fat, repulsive little creatures, but they are not animals. The only reason they looked like they did was because of one thing, desire. Desire to exist, to not fade away into nothing, and to exact revenge.
To kill is not a single act of bloodlust, it is an art. You send someone on their way to oblivion; you take away everything they have in a single, pristine moment. Your form depends on your personality, aggressive people seemed to become Revenants, but that was understandable. Revenants are huge, hulking masses of ethereal muscle they can lift a man as if he is as light as a feather. Poltergeists tended to be pranksters, telekinetically lifting objects and hurling them at unsuspecting foes. Whatever form you take, you come to realise this, you are a killer. An efficient brutal killer with powers far beyond that of the living.
After Richmond had put the ghost into the array, he looked at Hawksmoor and smiled
"Who's da man?" The spirit sneered at his captor and replied
"You don't expect me to believe that you are a man do you? Such a soft, feminine voice. Such a weak and dainty grip. And of course there's the peculiarity of your- what was that word again?" he paused for a moment, looking pensive then clicked his fingers "Ah yes, your man-boobs." Richmond just stood there gaping, if only Hawksmoor had a camera, that look was absolutely priceless.
"You won't be smiling for long worm-boy!" Richmond stepped forwards and pushed down hard on a small blue button connected to the array. Jets of pressurised steam blasted the ghost in the face. He put his arms in front of his eyes to shield them, but he was already blinded. His eyes felt as if they were on fire, he stumbled and fell to his knees unwillingly.
"There's a good wraith. Now you just sit tight and think about what you've done. And maybe if you're good, I'll let ya out for a while. Who am I kidding? I'd never let an insubstantial scumbag like you out!" That little bastard had become quite the sadist over the years. William clenched his fists, while he listened to the fading echoes of Richmond's footsteps as he left. That would be the last time he would ever hear those footsteps. He would wait another five years in this prison, that is, until she came...
Five years later...
Hawksmoor closed his eyes, he was thinking about his life. Those last few moments; how could he have been betrayed like that? He had always been, loyal, honest, unswerving. He alone had to face the nagging guilt of those dead men on his conscience. He alone had to ignore constant snide comments from those traitorous dogs. He alone was the "Black Hawk". His wife, his children, all dead. He could not remember their faces though, it was hell. He knew what he felt, yet he could not even recall what colour hair they had. But thankfully, he could remember their names. He had two daughters and a son, the eldest daughter was called Rebecca, the other daughter was called Charlotte and the son was called James. His wife was called Marianna.
He suddenly opened his eyes, the door was open. It was open, but how?
Note: This isn't the end, I'll edit the chapter later!