Before the cataclysm Drake had always been impulsive. He would jump into action with little or no thought, no plan, no process. It seemed that said impulsiveness had carried over into the creature that now called itself "Drake". It was this recklessness, this obedience to pure instinct, that had led up to this moment.
And it was his undoing
His prey was weak, pitiful, struggling to stand. It should have been easy, his wrath should be sated. His maniacal grin and bloodshot eyes only widened as the gap between him and Carrie had closed. But there was a blur of movement from Carrie. Drake saw the blade, saw it racing towards his face. But he was moving too fast, his altered legs had provided too much force. He was hurtling forward with no way of slowing down or even evading. The blade came closer and closer. The nearer it came, the more time seemed to slow down. The blade made contact with his face....and everything stopped.
All was white. Everywhere he looked there was nothing but a pure, unending white. Drake stood in this vast emptiness. He looked completely human again. He knew this because he was looking at himself from a third person perspective. Drake looked at what he had become, the only sign of the darkness within came from the violet eyes. The "him" that he was looking at was gazing at something. Suddenly there was another figure, standing across from "Drake".
This figure was Drake also, but his eyes were the brilliant green they had been before the tragedy. Before all the death and the loss. The eyes were kind, caring, yet showed traces of underlying humor. They were the eyes of a friend, the one you want to hang out with because he always makes you laugh. The one you go to when the problems just keep piling up and you need to talk to someone.
The old Drake had one other distinguishing feature. Wings protruded from his back. They looked to be made of a kind of liquid metal, and they shimmered and flowed while maintaing their majestic shape. The two Drakes stared each other down for several moments. All the while there was utter silence.
Then the old Drake hunched over, seemingly in pain. He began to cough and soon fell to his knees. Dark tendrils suddenly erupted from his back and snaked their way along the beautiful silver wings. More and more tentacles burst from the young man's body, wrapping around his limbs, his head, everything, until all that was left was a writhing vertical mass of tentacles.
All the while the "new" Drake had ambled over to this mass. He stood before it, looking it over. Then in one sharp, swift motion he plunged his hand into the pillar of black. There was a piercing screech and the world of white became dark. And the young man known as Drake knew no more.
There was a pause when Drake's head was removed. A deathly silence as his corpse stood, unmoving. The tentacles coating the hole he had emerged from began to whiter and retract until all that was left was the headless body. Then, unceremoniously, Drake fell to the floor with a thump.