The rhythmic thud of Jacob's fist against the worn leather punching bag echoed through the cavernous hall of Lockwood Manor. Each blow was a desperate attempt to exorcise the demons that plagued him. Sleep was a distant memory, replaced by a relentless loop of nightmares. Fangs ripping into his flesh, eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger, these were the images that haunted him, lingering fragments of his encounter with the Deucalion.
But that wasn't the worst of it. Ever since waking from his coma-like sleep, a different kind of torment had taken root. Flickering images of the Deucalion, gruesome and violent, plagued his waking moments. These fragmented visions morphed into agonizing migraines, stealing away his peace and leaving him with a buzzing sensation behind his eyes.
