(no subject)
[For Part One]
Drip... drip... drip...
Blood drips from the body lying on the makeshift altar on to the bricks. It does not behave like normal blood - it does not pool, it flows. Effortlessly sliding across the stone, it flows in small rivulets down the side corridor, toward the small stream that ran down the middle of the sewer. A drop at a time, coming slowly but never ending, the blood of the fallen reaches out for salvation.
Kneeling near the body, head bowed in reverence, was a woman in a dark red robe. All was seen of her was a darkly tanned hand, as it reached out over the body to grab at the air, or some unseen force hovering about. Without a word, the pale hand clenched tightly around something, shuttering with the effort.
The body on the altar was very similar in appearance to the woman praying beside it. In another life, they could have been sisters. However, marring the flesh of the prostrate woman was a series of burns, most of which were in the process of healing - slowly. Singed were the clothes that she wore - a simple blouse and skirt with a jacket - and in some cases, especially around the flesh wounds, the clothes were burnt completely away.
"I don't understand..." whispered the woman on her knees. "Why does she continue to bleed?"
Unlike the humans they fed upon, vampires do not naturally continue to bleed after they are cut. After the blood flows to the wound to heal it, it simply stops flowing.
"What does this mean?" she calls out to the unseen spirits around her. They do not answer.
It was that Tzimisce, Dragos, thought the younger vampire, He has infected her with something...
Dragos had encountered the older vampire, Cybele, while she was working in the underground trying to locate the mages from the Order of Hermes. The Baali had established a foothold in the underground and were not keen on giving it up. Especially not to the Tzimisce, who already had control of the city streets. The Baali needed their allies, for it was certainly clear that the infernalists had a tough run before them.
Cybele had tried to give Dragos the slip, but the dragon could see three moves ahead of her. He chased, back and forth through ever darkening labyrinthine structures, some of which were a construct of the infernalist's dark powers, but it was no use. In the end, the childe of Cybele came to reclaim the body of her fallen sire.
I must find the cure. Petaniqua thought, her mind frantically working away.
She would seek revenge on the Tzimisce. She would raise her sire and consolidate their power. Everything could still be theirs....
If only there wasn't so much blood!
****
Elsewhere in the sewers, a monster lurks. It does not try to stay in the shadows, hidden from view. It does not try to move in silence, moving without sound. It does not try to outwit or deceive, formulating a masterful plan. It does not do these things because it does not need to. It only needs to hunt and destroy.
It is Beast.
Stomping through the sewers, tightening the strap on the leather mask that binds its ugly, distorted face to the rest of its disfigured and discolored head, the Beast roars. The scent of something strong was in the air -- something strong, and foreign. It was time to destroy.
It was not that the Beast was an unintelligent creature - far from it. He may not have been as intelligent or conniving as other members of his clan, but he still possessed an intellect. He may not have positioned himself in the political arena or made alliances with the other powerful clans in the city, but he still had plans. It just so happened that all his faculties were turned toward one thing: destruction.
The vampire pulled the hood of the cloak away as he stepped out in front of the green terror - he had faced the Beast before, and now he had no choice to do it again.
"Beast, our quarrel is not with-" the Beast roared again, obscuring part of the statement. Egothha's voice always lingered in whispers anyway. "-must work together."
The Leatherface of Detroit didn't care about words. They were meaningless in the greater scheme of things. Only blood mattered.
With unnerving speed, the large Nosferatu sprung at his prey. His huge claws outstretched, he reached for the cloaked figure - who immediately began to run. Down the adjacent tunnel, slipping through the shadows, Egothha tried to distance himself from the raving vampire. Beast, however, was just as fast - if not faster - than the Harbinger, and followed closely behind. He reveled in the chase.
Egothha made another quick turn around a corner, trying to elude his hunter. He had no illusions that the Beast was after anything less than his head. The frenzied monster was even drooling with anticipation.
The Beast rounded the corner clumsily, barreling forward and hitting the wall. His speed and strength propelled him up the side, and for a few paces he was running on all fours on the sewer wall before gravity caught hold of him again.
Standing before him was a vampire in a cloak - but not the one he chased. This one had turned to face him. Beast could see this newcomer's pale white skin, but most of his body was covered, including a plain featureless gray mask that was worn over the face.
Beast closed. A victim was a victim.
The other jumped backward, but did not flee. Beast surged forward, reacting faster this time - he did not want to lose another of his prey.
The Nosferatu's claws drove forward, seeking to render the flesh from the unliving body before him. Suddenly, a streak of light flashed between them. The fabric of space was ripped, and a entity of spiritual energy flashed into being. It seemed only to be made of light, but there was something very tangible about its presence.
Beast couldn't move. His wrists were suddenly bound by strands of the spectral intruder. They held him more powerfully than a physical being could. On his face flashed the light generated by new entity, and it pooled in his red eyes. Images penetrated deep into his twisted skull, scattering his thoughts away from the combat.
Without warning, the spirit was gone. Beast was released, but his prey had fled. But the large vampire no longer remembered his victim -- his thoughts had been directed elsewhere...
****
"Hold it, Egothha," came the voice from behind him. The Harbinger had fled the Beast, leaving Agaitas to distract him, but apparently someone had found him in the sewer tunnels.
Egothha turned. Down the tunnel and behind him was a black man in leathers, wearing his sunglasses in the night and carrying a very large handgun. He advanced.
"Slowly," instructed Theo Bell. He gestured with the gun for Egothha to come nearer.
"You cannot shoot me," Egothha murmured in his scratchy whisper. "They will know the Beast did not kill me."
Theo's smile faded. The Harbingers knew about his association with the Nosferatu - how he was helping direct his fury toward his own goals. Just another reason to make sure that Egothha didn't survive - but all the more reason to make sure it was done right.
Theo put away the gun. With an unnatural quickness he surged forward - a light flashed, and he stopped. He found himself staring at an empty sewer tunnel, wondering what had happened.
There was only the vague memory of spirits whispering in his ear...
****
Petaniqua screamed. She was held by the neck, back pressed into the stone of the sewer tunnel. A loud crunch and blood flooded in her mouth. Her attacker was over her, ignoring her attacks. She had drawn blood, but not enough to dissuade him. He continued to dominate her, slicing her flesh and breaking her bones. And to add insult to injury - pull her fangs.
Beast roared with delight. Holding his little white prizes in his hand, he let his grip loose on the Baali, watching her frantically scramble to her feet.
He couldn't say exactly what had drawn him here - there was the scent of blood mingled with his earlier disappointing defeat with the Harbingers. But there was also something else - like he was called here. He knew he would find the woman in this tunnel, though he still didn't know what she had been doing. All he saw was opportunity.
A throaty laugh escaped his lips. He would have pressed the combat further, but he felt strangely satisfied at his minor victory. Beast watched the woman scramble back into the shadows. He would be seeing her again.
Petaniqua puzzled at the sudden pause in the fight. She had lost, but the Nosferatu just gave up on her without pursuing the struggle.
Is he toying with me, or was this just a warning? she wondered as she hovered in the darkness, waiting to see if he followed. She heard him chuckle, snort, then stomp away. It looked like the fight was over.
She moved quickly, running back into the tunnel where she left the body of her sire. The neverending streams of blood were visible from here, emptying from the side tunnel into the main flow, tainting the water red. For hours, she had watched the corpse bleed, and now only wondered when it would stop.
Rounding the corner, she was shaken by what she saw. Her eyes widened with shock and her mind raced with panic. He could only stare at the altar in disbelief.
The body was gone.
Drip... drip... drip...
Blood drips from the body lying on the makeshift altar on to the bricks. It does not behave like normal blood - it does not pool, it flows. Effortlessly sliding across the stone, it flows in small rivulets down the side corridor, toward the small stream that ran down the middle of the sewer. A drop at a time, coming slowly but never ending, the blood of the fallen reaches out for salvation.
Kneeling near the body, head bowed in reverence, was a woman in a dark red robe. All was seen of her was a darkly tanned hand, as it reached out over the body to grab at the air, or some unseen force hovering about. Without a word, the pale hand clenched tightly around something, shuttering with the effort.
The body on the altar was very similar in appearance to the woman praying beside it. In another life, they could have been sisters. However, marring the flesh of the prostrate woman was a series of burns, most of which were in the process of healing - slowly. Singed were the clothes that she wore - a simple blouse and skirt with a jacket - and in some cases, especially around the flesh wounds, the clothes were burnt completely away.
"I don't understand..." whispered the woman on her knees. "Why does she continue to bleed?"
Unlike the humans they fed upon, vampires do not naturally continue to bleed after they are cut. After the blood flows to the wound to heal it, it simply stops flowing.
"What does this mean?" she calls out to the unseen spirits around her. They do not answer.
It was that Tzimisce, Dragos, thought the younger vampire, He has infected her with something...
Dragos had encountered the older vampire, Cybele, while she was working in the underground trying to locate the mages from the Order of Hermes. The Baali had established a foothold in the underground and were not keen on giving it up. Especially not to the Tzimisce, who already had control of the city streets. The Baali needed their allies, for it was certainly clear that the infernalists had a tough run before them.
Cybele had tried to give Dragos the slip, but the dragon could see three moves ahead of her. He chased, back and forth through ever darkening labyrinthine structures, some of which were a construct of the infernalist's dark powers, but it was no use. In the end, the childe of Cybele came to reclaim the body of her fallen sire.
I must find the cure. Petaniqua thought, her mind frantically working away.
She would seek revenge on the Tzimisce. She would raise her sire and consolidate their power. Everything could still be theirs....
If only there wasn't so much blood!
****
Elsewhere in the sewers, a monster lurks. It does not try to stay in the shadows, hidden from view. It does not try to move in silence, moving without sound. It does not try to outwit or deceive, formulating a masterful plan. It does not do these things because it does not need to. It only needs to hunt and destroy.
It is Beast.
Stomping through the sewers, tightening the strap on the leather mask that binds its ugly, distorted face to the rest of its disfigured and discolored head, the Beast roars. The scent of something strong was in the air -- something strong, and foreign. It was time to destroy.
It was not that the Beast was an unintelligent creature - far from it. He may not have been as intelligent or conniving as other members of his clan, but he still possessed an intellect. He may not have positioned himself in the political arena or made alliances with the other powerful clans in the city, but he still had plans. It just so happened that all his faculties were turned toward one thing: destruction.
The vampire pulled the hood of the cloak away as he stepped out in front of the green terror - he had faced the Beast before, and now he had no choice to do it again.
"Beast, our quarrel is not with-" the Beast roared again, obscuring part of the statement. Egothha's voice always lingered in whispers anyway. "-must work together."
The Leatherface of Detroit didn't care about words. They were meaningless in the greater scheme of things. Only blood mattered.
With unnerving speed, the large Nosferatu sprung at his prey. His huge claws outstretched, he reached for the cloaked figure - who immediately began to run. Down the adjacent tunnel, slipping through the shadows, Egothha tried to distance himself from the raving vampire. Beast, however, was just as fast - if not faster - than the Harbinger, and followed closely behind. He reveled in the chase.
Egothha made another quick turn around a corner, trying to elude his hunter. He had no illusions that the Beast was after anything less than his head. The frenzied monster was even drooling with anticipation.
The Beast rounded the corner clumsily, barreling forward and hitting the wall. His speed and strength propelled him up the side, and for a few paces he was running on all fours on the sewer wall before gravity caught hold of him again.
Standing before him was a vampire in a cloak - but not the one he chased. This one had turned to face him. Beast could see this newcomer's pale white skin, but most of his body was covered, including a plain featureless gray mask that was worn over the face.
Beast closed. A victim was a victim.
The other jumped backward, but did not flee. Beast surged forward, reacting faster this time - he did not want to lose another of his prey.
The Nosferatu's claws drove forward, seeking to render the flesh from the unliving body before him. Suddenly, a streak of light flashed between them. The fabric of space was ripped, and a entity of spiritual energy flashed into being. It seemed only to be made of light, but there was something very tangible about its presence.
Beast couldn't move. His wrists were suddenly bound by strands of the spectral intruder. They held him more powerfully than a physical being could. On his face flashed the light generated by new entity, and it pooled in his red eyes. Images penetrated deep into his twisted skull, scattering his thoughts away from the combat.
Without warning, the spirit was gone. Beast was released, but his prey had fled. But the large vampire no longer remembered his victim -- his thoughts had been directed elsewhere...
****
"Hold it, Egothha," came the voice from behind him. The Harbinger had fled the Beast, leaving Agaitas to distract him, but apparently someone had found him in the sewer tunnels.
Egothha turned. Down the tunnel and behind him was a black man in leathers, wearing his sunglasses in the night and carrying a very large handgun. He advanced.
"Slowly," instructed Theo Bell. He gestured with the gun for Egothha to come nearer.
"You cannot shoot me," Egothha murmured in his scratchy whisper. "They will know the Beast did not kill me."
Theo's smile faded. The Harbingers knew about his association with the Nosferatu - how he was helping direct his fury toward his own goals. Just another reason to make sure that Egothha didn't survive - but all the more reason to make sure it was done right.
Theo put away the gun. With an unnatural quickness he surged forward - a light flashed, and he stopped. He found himself staring at an empty sewer tunnel, wondering what had happened.
There was only the vague memory of spirits whispering in his ear...
****
Petaniqua screamed. She was held by the neck, back pressed into the stone of the sewer tunnel. A loud crunch and blood flooded in her mouth. Her attacker was over her, ignoring her attacks. She had drawn blood, but not enough to dissuade him. He continued to dominate her, slicing her flesh and breaking her bones. And to add insult to injury - pull her fangs.
Beast roared with delight. Holding his little white prizes in his hand, he let his grip loose on the Baali, watching her frantically scramble to her feet.
He couldn't say exactly what had drawn him here - there was the scent of blood mingled with his earlier disappointing defeat with the Harbingers. But there was also something else - like he was called here. He knew he would find the woman in this tunnel, though he still didn't know what she had been doing. All he saw was opportunity.
A throaty laugh escaped his lips. He would have pressed the combat further, but he felt strangely satisfied at his minor victory. Beast watched the woman scramble back into the shadows. He would be seeing her again.
Petaniqua puzzled at the sudden pause in the fight. She had lost, but the Nosferatu just gave up on her without pursuing the struggle.
Is he toying with me, or was this just a warning? she wondered as she hovered in the darkness, waiting to see if he followed. She heard him chuckle, snort, then stomp away. It looked like the fight was over.
She moved quickly, running back into the tunnel where she left the body of her sire. The neverending streams of blood were visible from here, emptying from the side tunnel into the main flow, tainting the water red. For hours, she had watched the corpse bleed, and now only wondered when it would stop.
Rounding the corner, she was shaken by what she saw. Her eyes widened with shock and her mind raced with panic. He could only stare at the altar in disbelief.
The body was gone.