Hal Yorke
Oddly at the start everything had still been tinged with irony. That he was here, the cage hadn't reacted as he had anticipated and to start with he'd been thrust into somewhere where he'd had to kill his comrades. Which was fine, they were all beneath him anyway. And he had to admit, getting to kill the unkillable bitch had been fun. And pretty blonde Rose. He had rather had a thing for blondes back in the day. Oh but how he was made to see the error in that, his sins returned to haunt him, so many woman, so many he'd hurt, so many he'd made suffer for his needs. Blood turned to ash in his mouth and that of course began to change things. Slowly at first, the few occasions he saw the others he'd begun by bragging, it wasn't going to break him. Not Lord Harry. He was beyond this, he'd flirted with the women before killing them, but slowly times changed, the people changed. He was back in Lawrence, things were better he was Hal again. He was good, he could be good now. But it didn't last, with inhuman strength he was killed, destroyed every time, by Alex, by Lydia, by Mitchell, sometimes he even thought about Tom being the one to finish it.
He saw Mr Snow, Cutler, he saw Crumb. Mary, Catherine, Lauren, so many times, in so many different ways, stripped of his vampirism, he thought for a while, a short while that it was a good thing. But he died anyway, screaming at the hands of his enemies. He was always made to suffer for his sins, sins against his own kind or sins against those he created. Or in Lauren's case, simply one he'd used.
He watched heaven and hell rage against the other, he saw the war play out before his eyes. He saw Sam say yes, he saw chaos. And he saw his friends die.
He didn't know when it changed either, this time it wasn't the blink of an eye. This time it was slow. This time it was moments, just moments, and the moments grew. The tortures of the Cage enough to drag him back from where he'd been so long kept down by the heartless version of himself. And then of course the torture changed to match, became that much more exquisite. His choices come back to hurt him. Man in Denim shirt, everything he'd done, or everything he was yet to do, he saw it, he lived it. Switching the blood, running, trying to run. The arrogance of Lord Harry and the weakness of Hal Yorke.
It was all he was after all, weak. He watched himself hurt them, the women, anyone who got in his way. He watched himself tear the world down around him with Fergus for company, his destruction of Cutler.
"Fucking kill her"
No no no kill him. Why were they not killing him. Why did it never end? It should end. He deserved death.
Everyone died. Good people died around him and he went on, he always survived and he was tired of it. He was tired of the person he could become. Of the endless round and round. He just wanted it to be done