"Let me go!" Saoirse demanded yanking against her restraints, only to be laughed at by the intruders.

"How cute. I'm going to have LOTS of fun making you scream." One of the men replied grabbing Saoirse's jaw, pulling her face close. Saoirse growled and lurched forward; the men laughed.

"Looks like we got a fighter! Good. I like a whore with spirit! " Another man said using a blade to cut off Saoirse's shirt.

" Don't! Stop it!" Saoirse screamed both angry and terrified as they groped her bres and touched her thighs and butt. "Stop it!" She repeated screaming, trying desperately to fight back.

"Good... Keep screaming. But yer precious soulmate ain't gonna save yer pretty ass anytime soon. So why not enjoy yourself? It's gonna be a long night for you." Another man replied smiling evily, starting to pull down Saoirse's pants.

Step 1: Clarity and focus
'About time' Dorian thought to himself as Rose finally vanished. He had seen the magics of her escape primed and ready since his arrival. He had only need push her to them.
Finally, solitude.
He stood before the monitors, the bi-product of her sick sadism, a blessing in disguise.
Being able to physically see the location made things much easier than working from vague memories. It gave him a live-action real-time point of focus. It gave him a a smile of confidence.

But first, despite all the things to soon come, Dorian does the one thing that furthers him the most from morality and humanity. Without hesitation, he switches it off.
Like the sudden flick of a switch his inner light instantly ceases to exist. His presence nothing but a hollow empty shell, the entirety of his eyes void of any colour, windows to the bleak non-existence of his soul. The emotions of sympathy, empathy and morality all lost to a cold heart caught in the space between beats. Should Saoirse notice it, the name on her arm swelled to a sickly dark colour like that of a bubbling bruise. Dorian was no more.

Step 2: the bond or connection.
There was already much that Dorian could use as inspiration to create his connection to the homestead. Sympathy of two points depended on their bond. While the walls held no history of his or family heritage, he had lived no major events or memories within its confines, basically none of the major sentimental things that would create the strongest of bridges between himself and a location. He did have a few other things. His possessions, the legal document of entitlement to the establishment, the blood of his brother and the pull of his soulmate. All these would act more enough to help defy the physics of distance.

But his ambition called for a purely seamless transaction between locations, he would not settle for the loss of strength or a delay in time due to inferior practices. His enemies would know the full unrelenting merciless wrath of his vengeance. Rose would hear of his power.

To fully enhance the sympathy from his current location to the house he had to replicate his runic signature that was created in the basement. To make the bond even stronger he would draw it with the same materials as before, his own blood.

Drawing blood was easy and effortless, without mind to it the creature put a finger in his mouth and tore away the flesh without so much as a flinch. Self preservation always came first, so an ancient rune was scribed onto his chest with the blood. The rune demanded and commanded the very laws of nature to act in a certain way.

Next he knelt and began the circle that would surround him. His bleeding finger dragged through the dirt and grime along the cold hard floor. He wielded the dripping blood like an artist would paint. An unnatural force guiding and moulding the form and placement of the fresh burning crimson liquid. As he went around runes began to emerge. Linked by symbols, patterns and long forgotten letters. Next a sizzling began, the liquid thrummed as a thin smoke began to rise.

Dorian stopped drawing and sat back in the centre of his circle. The markings on his chest glowing as the wound on his finger closed shut. He had given the circle all the blood he could and now even though he stopped giving, new runes still rolled to life as his blood continued to sprawl about on the floor. It slowly crept, crawling all around him in mesmerising hypnotic patterns, leaving and connecting more powerful symbols in its wake.
The creature that was Dorian had began chanting some time ago, unbeknown even to himself. Drawn into the mystical moment, dark abyssal words flowed freely off of his diabolical tongue. They resonated with an intense passion, as hypnotic as the rolling blood around him they were alluring, exciting and horrifying.

A ring of flame erupted around the circle and bellowed with heavy grey smoke. It surrounded him like a wall. In that wall, amongst the rippling pattern of flame and smoke Dorian saw the room, he saw the men, Clay on the floor and Saoirse in the bed. He saw it all, he was there.

Step 3: Death, horrible terrifying death.
He was there but wasn't. Dorian saw everything through the rippled shades and shapes of rolling smoke and flame. While his vision was not the best, his prey would never see him at all. Dorian was at the interpass of two or more worlds, existing in neither but with influence over both.

Saoirse no longer screamed, now only sobbing. But in this place the shrill of her cry still echoed about with the muffled distortion of being underwater. It hit Dorian like a full cyclone.
Pure aggression and malice surged through Dorian. His intense hatred manifesting around the room in the form of cluttering and falling objects, the dimming and dying of lights and foul growing patches of rotten mold.
A violent silent roar escapes his ethereal form. His breath catches the flames that surround him and lapse them over the confused man climbing off Saoirse. The invisible fire fuelled by uncontainable malicious rage crawls under the mans skin and begins to burn him from within.

There is nothing he could do to save himself, all the screaming, rolling around and tearing off of his clothes couldn't stop his muscles and organs cooking from within as his flesh boiled, blistered and popped in front of his very eyes, until they too burnt and melted out of their sockets. When he was crying on the floor and his breaths were dry and raspy, only then did the hatred settle, even if only to let him suffer his last moments in prolonged agony.

Next...

It wasn't until Dorians carnage had began did the two men stop their beating and torturing of the injured, bloody, bruised and broken bullet riddled Clay. Despite all odds, amongst the following chaos he fought heaven and hell to drag him self onto Saoirse's bed where he wrapped his arms around her head and just held her. Shielding her eyes and ears from what was about to come. Giving her a hidden place against his chest to cry unseen. Space to vent. Space to escape into where she could forget what had happened, what was going to happen, and what was happening around her. It was a place that wasn't here.
A sad notion of fickle safety and a desperate attempt to shield her from it all, at least until it was over. But right now it was something. That had to be better then nothing. With what could have been Clay's last breaths, he gives them to her.

"Hold tight, you're gonna be ok."

But
Next....

Pistols, wonderful toys. Dorian who was in no shortage of malevolent spirits, pulled one from the obfuscating smoke surrounding him. After breathing into it his will, he sent the unseen vile cloud afloat in the direction of a pistol wielding goon.

Having just given breath Dorian turns to a man causing a ruckus of vibrations in his world. He sees the strings that bond his senses to the physical existence, and cuts them all. The man instantly becomes blind, deaf and tasteless. Dorian doesn't stop there he begins cutting away at motor functions, thoughts and even memories. One by one, slither by slither, Dorian grinds the man into a drooling vegetable. Meanwhile his malevolent cloud gets to work on its victim.

With every breath the other man took the invisible darkness seeped further and further into his lungs. Inside it fed and grew, a man on a job like this was already full of his own darkness. Soon his heart was pumping pure oil in place of blood. It trickled down the veins in his left arm making a painful display as it became clearly visible, the slick black lines a contrast against his white pale skin. It seemed to rest when it reached his hand.
Panic took the man as he soon realised he could not control his own arm. He fell to the floor as he fought to keep the gun away from himself. A maddening confusion in his eyes.

BANG! The gun went off. There was a moment of hesitant silence, and a sigh of relief as his hand relaxed and he realised he wasn't hit.

THUD! A nearby goon fell into his lap, head wide open leaving blood and brains dripping out all over him. In the short moment of a panicked cry the darkness once again took his arm and before he could fight it it aimed the barrel of the pistol down at his own groin.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

His whimpers didn't last long until he bled to death.

Dorian felt the unexpected feeling of eyes upon him, it shot up his spine like electricity. He frantically looked around the room to see no one gazing in his direction. Then he noticed it, a man frozen in fear staring at a cabinet. Dorian could not see it from his view but he was smart and still sane enough to realise the man was looking at a mirror, and what he saw in the reflection was very far from the Dorian Saoirse had seen.

Dorian slowly walked behind the trembling man, he could practically see his heart palpitating in fear. Dorian reached between worlds to grab the man by the back of his neck. The sizzling and hissing of melting flesh resumed along with the stench of burning hair. The victim flayed madly and fought, swinging weapons and guns, but he couldn't break Dorians grip. Dorian stared where his reflection would be, then he called to it.
The mirror shattered into a thousand tiny shards which exploded free and flew at the helpless mans face. Every single razor sharp slice of glass trying to pierce its way into his eyes. One after another they plummeted into free space or the back of another, goo and blood splashing oozing and dripping about. Meanwhile he recoiled like the victim of a machine gun. Even when he fell to the floor the trajectory turned as to allow the glass to tear open his face and reach his eyes from any angle necessary.

A frightened man fled out the door way and started hammering down the hallway to the front door, he opened it and instantly dropped to his knees crying out and pleading in desperation. He was back in Saoirse's room, kneeling before the carnage.

He looked to the now four dead bodies and the one with severe burns all over. They were once people he knew.
He looked to the walls and every other surface, all splattered with their blood. He smelt hell amongst gun powder and burning flesh. He began to pray, praying to a god he defied all his life as he begged for forgiveness. Dorian was not his god nor was he forgiving.

Dorian grabbed the pitiful man and hurled him across the room like a rag doll. Bones crunched as he slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor. Death could be dealt so swiftly but this had become more then petty vengeance or justice, deep down Dorian was still man and therefore susceptible to the addiction of power.

He hurled the man again, and again until he no longer screamed. Then he decapitated his head with an open window. Down stairs new screams echoed out as a swift breeze runs through the rest of the house slicing and decapitating legs, ankles and knees alike. Not one of them would leave walking.

More cries of pain from a single person as one by one every joint in the mans body forcibly snaps in the opposing direction until he lay helpless on the floor.
Another man laughs while he uncontrollably feeds his own arm into the garbage disposal.
Nearly every kitchen knife finds a new home in the few men trying to flee across the lawn.

Sheer horrifying chaos and death ensued for the next few long moment as limbs, screams and bodily fluids were strewn around the house. It was as if the very house itself gnawed upon the bodies. Finally silence took its hold as all fell still.

...

From behind the locked impenetrable doors of Dorians cellar the wheezing coughing cries of the burnt man rung out dryly. Behind hidden doors Dorian marks the mans scolded flesh, the painful cries ring out long after he lost all breath. By the time anyone eventually gets into the room the man and spirit of Dorian are gone.

Step 4: Costs

----back at the warehouse------

First the smoke clears, then the bright tall flames settle. A man kneels amongst a pool of blood. Shirtless he wears only tattered pants. His torso, frail, thin and pale is etched with many scars, names that nearly conceal every part of his bare flesh.
He opens his eye lids to reveal empty sockets. Bony fingers reach out to grab the burnt man laying before him.
The two disfigured humans bare the same runic symbol on their chest.

Dorians madness didn't come without a cost. These new names were not like the others on his wrist. This was not a cleaning, this was debt. His debt. Everyone was either at a deals end or on the wrong side of another's deal, and Dorian job was to collect. He had become personal misfortune.

The flames of his circle crackled back to life as they reignited, but this time it was different. He didn't call them. They were calling him.
Dorian had filled himself with so much infernal power that he was now more demon then man. The most powerful underlying forces of nature and laws of creation considered him as such too. Therefore affecting him as such a being.
The flames leapt up and shackled Dorian as he desperately grasped onto his victim. He could not fight them, it was inevitable. There was just no way he could fight the plight of existence. But he could drag this bastard to hell with him. So he did.

"Saoirse. I'm sorry, forgive me for I have failed you."