Descendants: End of Days

Harry

4 months ago

A low whistle echoed throughout the empty street, Isle residents having vacated upon sight of Harry Hook. A grin on his face, a fire roars in a salon behind him. He should know; he'd started it. Now, he was just out for a stroll, looking for some goodies to steal. He is a pirate, after all. So when moonlight glinted off of a piece of jewelry just inside a house, Harry doesn't think twice before pushing the door open and scooping up the medallion with the hook that seemed all but glued into his left hand. He didn't even comprehend the sight of the symbol on the door: a dark red cross, painted upside down. Inspecting the necklace in his hand, the beads of jet stone glistening in his fingers, his eyes rested on the medallion centerpiece. A piece of jet stone the size of his palm, inlaid with a ruby carved into the shape of a bat. Though it looked ominous, Harry pocketed the item, knowing it'd hold serious value on the black market. His eyes found a box, and then another box, and then another. Harry knew he'd just scored big, especially since the resident looked to be asleep or out of the house.
Oh, how wrong he would be.

The search of the boxes proved mostly futile, turning up clothes, worthless trinkets, some crates even held nothing but dirt. And then the dust. There was a copious amount of dust on everything, as if nothing had been touched in ages. Behind Harry, the door creaked and slammed shut, plunging him into pitch black darkness.
"Bloody hell…" he muttered to himself as he pulled a lighter from his pocket, using the flame to try and find a light switch. Though he never did find one, he did hit his head on a piece of metal jutting from the wall. Rubbing the back of his head after uttering a stream of profanities, he found the piece of metal to be a holder… or a torch.
"Damned hippies" Harry grumbled as he pulled the torch from the holder and lit it, providing enough light to illuminate the room. The first thing he saw was the dusty black blanket covering something hanging on the wall. Intrigued, he pulled the blanket off, and was met with the sight of a portrait. A rather dated one, too, judging by the aging of the canvas. The frame, though, was definitely gold plated, and could fetch a pretty penny. Harry held the torch in his mouth while he attempted to take the picture down. The frame slipped from his fingers, crashing and breaking on the ground. Harry didn't cringe at the noise. What caught his attention was the door in the back of the room, creaking open.

The room behind the door, like the rest of the place, lacked any electricity. The room was barren, save for an opened and empty armoire in the corner. But the puzzling feature was in the middle. A mound of dirt, topped by an ornate wooden coffin. A coffin which was open. While this would've sent chills down anybody's spine, Harry couldn't care less. His focus was on one thing, and one thing only: money.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Harry asked the empty home as he approached a mahogany jewelry box, which had been hidden by a black velvet cloak. Ignoring the fluttering of bats outside, he propped the torch up in a holder above him, illuminating the area whilst he dug through the gems and metals, pocketing them all. He didn't notice the door open to the street, nor did he notice the figure standing in it. Lightning flashed, and for a split second, the figure's shadow snapped him back to reality. Turning to the doorway, he saw nobody. And then the hand gripped his shoulder.

"Who are you?" the voice asked from behind. Her voice was hollow and chilling. Her grip, like iron: strong, cold, unforgiving. "Why are you in my home without my permission?"
"Because, you see, lass" Harry began to answer. "I'm the Hook. I rule this island. I don't need permission."
That was a bad answer. Faster than Harry could comprehend much of anything, he was slammed against the wall, three bleeding lines having been newly slashed into his cheek. He drew his sword, only to have it knocked out of his hands by the woman, who proceeded to grip him by the throat and hold him up against the wall. Literally, up; Harry's feet weren't able to touch the ground.
"You are no ruler of mine, Harry Hook. Thus, you have no right to intrude upon my home and take my belongings as if they were yours."
Harry struggled against her grip, and was thus unable to respond.
"I could open you from your belly to your brain, but I'd rather we make a deal. Let's see what you've stolen, shall we?"

Harry screamed as the bats swarmed him. They were in his hair, in his pockets, in his jacket, in his face, all around him, with no mercy. They weren't hurting him, but it also wasn't a pleasant experience. Stolen jewels flew from Harry's pockets as the bats found them, until the medallion that had first drawn him in landed at the woman's feet.