Hunting Ground

For a supposed genius, Henry Jekyll was as thick as a post.

It was a wonder any of the bloody League actually took his constant whining of being a 'good man' seriously. Hyde might have been- as he SO hated to remember- a dwarf when he was simply a reflection of the doctor's sins, but that was because Jekyll was a coward as well as an idiot. The timorous chemist had created such a terrible beast so he would actually have the guts to do something that was not dictated by others.

He had always been craven, even since his youth. Not once did Henry ever speak back to his father, never saying any fault he might see in the life he had planned out for him, leaving no other options. And at school, where the privileged bullies reigned supreme, it had been his friends- Hastie and Gabriel- who had been the protectors. Not him. Not lily-livered Jekyll. The ponce.

Always weak, always spineless… And now was just another example of his cowardice. What had the fool done now? Only let his darker half loose on London's streets, free to go on a murderous rampage with no restraints… Oh, the League would be angry at him for this… And Edward Hyde, standing on a rooftop, his silhouette looking more like a hideous gorilla than anything human, grinned to himself.

He berated the doctor often (rather well, he thought) for being so feeble, but what release would he get without him? The malleability of his mind was what had enabled Hyde to keep on being let out even after Carew's murder and the escape to Paris, although now the formula was practically unneeded, and just Jekyll in a sorry state of mind.

With the sod being as guilt-ridden as he was, it was hardly a difficult task. Just a few memories recounted there, a couple of snide remarks there, and the doctor was all too wiling to drown himself in his monstrous side.

This time, Edward had worked upon the half-formed desires Jekyll had contemplated- alone at night and before Hyde's existence- about his school fellows, sniggering at his baser natures, and how even dear Mina could see it, see that the 'good doctor' was no worse than Hyde, being a monster all of himself with sick baser nature.

And now, he was free.

People, from the lowest scum of the East End to the posh prats of society, never truly appreciated how good life was. For as much as Hyde hated his creator, he was all too aware his death would also mean his own. That, of course, would to be a terrible thing; to never feel the wind on his face, blood on his skin, and the flesh of a woman on his own.

Up there on the rooftops, he was already experiencing the first, but by the time the night was out he was hoping to at least get a taste of the other two.

Luckily for him, the East End was the best place to get them.

Had the Ripper not chosen the prime location for his own pursuits? Indeed, his methods and motives differed a little from Hyde's, but he knew what good work was, and could value a man who had caused more uproar and fear than even himself. But, then again, Hyde was certainly no man, and perhaps Jack had not been… The letter, topped the phrase 'from hell' and apparently written by the man himself, could perhaps be a clue to his origins. Certainly, the League had encountered things that could prove this theory true, and maybe the Ripper had never been caught because he had fled back to the bowels of hell.

That was almost a comforting thought, that the only person who had ever matched him had not been an actual person. Hyde did not like to lose, either in sex, battle or murder. Now, some might say that fornication had no winners, but Hyde would just reply that they obviously weren't doing it right.

Thinking, however, was what his lighter half did, and these musings were just eating up time. London was waiting for him… The scents of sweat, sex, sewers and shit coursed into his nostrils, a thousand times more inviting than any perfume, and undoubtedly better than the cheap aromas the whores wore, to disguise the smell of the man who had come before.

He leapt from the roof with a surprising grace, landing with such volume that Jekyll muttered his disapproval, though Hyde pointedly ignored him. This was his time out, and he would make all the bloody noise that he pleased. The shadows leant him some disguise, coupled with the blackness of night, but for him really to have some fun he would have to be seen, and that would be easy enough.

Gone were the days he could simply stride into a club, take whatever girl he wished, and killing on a whim, sparing some if he wished to return, or if simply couldn't be bothered. People loathed his appearance more than ever, and he could not be with a woman without crushing her to paralysis, if not death.

Some, like Jekyll, would have lamented these circumstances, but Hyde just took it in his stride. There were more than enough compensations. Now he could tear a man in half without even thinking about it, and his primal nature was much more exposed than in that shell of humanity.

He was a predator and London was his hunting ground, as varied as the plains of Africa and containing just as many frightening creatures, though he was the most terrifying of them all. Out of all the League had come against, he had not met his match, and had joyfully ripped apart his enemies, glad in both being allowed some freedom and fulfilling one of his primitive urges.

The League was full of monsters, but he was the only one who revelled in his state, and he was the one they unleashed when they needed bloodshed but their morals would not allow it. And this, this got him murder, but his other desires were just let to rot. Jekyll was no help, pushing any thoughts even approaching that subject away, and refusing to ever give himself the release he so urgently needed, by his own hand or by one of another.

This was mainly why Hyde was walking the streets now, if not also to give the other members of the government group another reason to sigh and shake their heads at Henry Jekyll.

The conditions were perfect- the smog thin enough to not impede his sense of smell, and the streets quiet enough for him to hear any approaching footsteps. There was suddenly a high-pitched giggle to his right, signalling a woman at work, but he wanted one alone… One he could ambush, and take as his prize…

Given the part of the city he was in, it did not take long.

He heard her dainty little heartbeat long before she came into view, and then it took a good while for her to spot the behemoth in the shadows, bearing down on her like a great bird of prey. He watched as she checked her light hair in a pocket-mirror. He watched as she smoothed out the folds of her dress, and tried to clean off a suspicious looking stain. It was only when she turned and made to scream that he moved.

Before she had any time to register who he was, what he was, and what else to do other than just shriek for help, she was being roughly shoved up against the wall, a large, knotted hand covering her mouth, and another pressing against her shoulders so hard she swore she could feel her bones straining.

And then she looked up, at the creature, and all hope was lost.

This was the stuff of nightmares.

His whole appearance was warped; even his eyes seemed to have an element of animal in them. The body just consisted of a huge, hulking mass, with the muscles seemingly pushing to get out, stretching the skin in a grotesque manner. Horrid, yellowing, and subtly sharp teeth were bared at her, in what was a mockery of a human grin. How could anything like this feel emotion? He was a beast, but changed, perhaps by the hand of some sick vivisectionist, such as the infamous Moreau.

She could have said these things, and Hyde would not have minded. All men's souls were dark, his just happened to be on show, and this little creature would no doubt be appalling to look at if her appearance was a manifestation of her true self.

He didn't take in too much of her, and was in fact only staring at her so to take in that wonderful scent of fear… She was there, she could feel, and she had a hole. That was good enough to him. He had no knife, but he would have fun with her besides… More fun that Jekyll could ever have with anyone, at least.

Her body shook, and he wanted her.

No, he needed her, yearned for her, and despite Henry's impotent pleas her fate had already been sealed. Edward Hyde was not built for a life of chastity. It had been too long since he had had the opportunity for such pleasure… He was barely let out much to begin with, and the bloody League's pursuits left little time for whore-hunting. This was the release he so desperately needed, and he'd be damned if anyone was going to stop him.

The heat of her body was already tempting, just screaming out to be taken. This whore, this slut, this goddamned tart, was going to moan, whether in pain or pleasure, he didn't care. What mattered was that he was the one that benefited, and had her until his needs were sated. Bollocks to propriety- sex was sex, and he needed it now, and he wanted her… He wanted…

He wanted to fuck her until not even her mother would recognise her.

The prostitute let out a dry, muffled sob, body still quaking, knowing his intentions. She was no beginner, and it was easy to sense. There was a certain look people got in their eyes when they were crazed with lust…

There was no longer any humanity in him that she could see, just a savage beast. Even the drunkards and others who had tried to take advantage before had still seemed like a person beneath their longing, but this was completely different, and she could not remember ever feeling more afraid.

That horrible grin was still there, and an all too familiar- and missed- warm feeling sunk into his crotch.

He could no longer make a woman cry out for him to enter her, make her mind wild with the feelings society denied her of, but the experience was still great for him, and far better than any fantasies that Jekyll dreamt up, at least when he dared to even think of such things…

Her eyes flittered up to his, but they were not quite focussed on her, already lost in the moment. A haze had fallen over his mind. Hyde could be eloquent enough, but it was moments like these that the true animal shone through. Though it barely seemed possible, he pressed his weight against her harder and breathed in her scent: it intoxicated him, even down to the inexpensive perfume…

'Mine,' he breathed suddenly, deep in her ear, and in a voice more approaching a growl than anything else. Thought patterns had been lowered to nothing above emotions and simple words. She was his for the taking…


Jekyll was stuck watching, disgusted at both himself and his creation, as it happened. The animal was truly free, and there was no holding back. Again and again, he pounded into her. Again and again, her bones shattered. And again and again, his arousal increased.

Thankfully, it was around then that the doctor passed out.

He woke up.

He was not, as expected, in some godforsaken street, dressed only in rags, but in his bed at the League headquarters. Henry Jekyll frowned to himself. Had it been just that, a dream? For once had Hyde's misdeeds only existed in the horrible regions of the mind and not been truth? He pushed himself up, smiling disbelievingly, hoping that these musings were correct.

And that, of course, was before he saw all the blood.

The windows of the room had been smashed, leaving glass everywhere, and mixed in with this was the horrible red liquid, staining everything. The bed, the floor, his own clothes were covered, like some horrific sort of decoration had been abandoned part way through: a room painted in blood and blood alone.

The centrepiece of this artwork was yet to come, and Henry's eyes looked over it the first time, him not daring to believe it was there.

The prostitute's body, torn apart limb from limb, barely looking like it had once been a living human being at all. Her dress was no longer the light blue, but a dark scarlet, and it had lost all semblance of clothing. He could not tear his eyes away, taking every detail of it in, even the way that odd chunks seemed to be missing from some of the flesh, having been torn off by something sharp…

But there were indents… Not a knife, no…


When one of the staff came up, some time later, the doctor was still emptying the contents of his stomach.


A/N Hyde is one of my favourite characters (As I'm sure everyone has noticed) despite the fact he is a murderous rapist, and this fic was supposed to embody this fact. Too many fics make Hyde out into almost a pet monkey of sorts or just an annoyance to Jekyll, when he's really so much more. However, I may have failed, and I am well aware I have a horrible, horrible mind.