Vampire Hunted

[Celeste Darken]

Part I

As has been the case with my last encounter, I have spent the past weeks in a game of vampire and vampire hunter. The group that has haunted my lair in my absence finally decided to show themselves. Though the hunting was tedious, I find the battle to be somewhat . . . important. And unlike my last encounter, I deem this battle to be important enough to put down exactly as it happened. Unlike the last one, this encounter had a more fruitful end. I learned something. And yet, annoyingly enough, I do not know what I learned. With the full telling of the battle, this post may be long, but I exhort the readers to bear with me, for at the end I believe there is an important clue.

I was correct in my suppositions: these new hunters were allies of the first one I had slain, and they were excellent hunters themselves. Though my first opponent was a more deadly fighter in his own right, I would classify these men as more dangerous still, if for their ability to utilize teamwork, if nothing else. Yes, they were a deadly threat. Indeed, I nearly found my end at their hands.

But again, my unique capabilities saved me and proved more potent than their preparation, and make no mistake, they came prepared. But preparation does not always prove the victor; and this statement held true in this encounter. And in turn, this group knew the fury of Celeste Darken.

For the weeks that they had been scouting my lair and the surrounding area, I came to realize they were preparing to ambush me in my place of refuge. More than once I had been forced to disarm a trap laid by them in my home while I had been out sating my hunger and justice. Some of these traps had been set merely to ensnare me; others were of the sort meant to slay ordinary vampires. I say ordinary because many were set with stakes, which have proven useless against me. I had tried tracking them before this, but they always came and left in a vehicle that took the highway out of town some miles away of where I live. The scent grew cold along the road, and it was obvious they traveled quite some distance at high speed. I decided I would meet them on the grounds I had claimed as my sanctuary from the sun.

I knew the time for confrontation had come when I returned from another night of bringing criminals to justice and found a strange circle drawn about the entire building complex that served as my home. The substance was a pale color, dusty and chalk-like, glowing faintly. I guessed it to be some holy circle, for I could neither touch nor pass where the line touched the ground. There was a small breach in the Circle where I normally entered my domain, a clear indication of a trap waiting to be sprung.

There were only a couple of hours before dawn. I needed shelter, and the edifice I had chosen for my protection, though partially warded, was likely the best place to go. An abandoned, single floor complex of interconnected office cubicles, there was plenty of room to maneuver. But I entered not only for the anticipation of a battle, but of a meal. My quarry had escaped me tonight, so I had neither drunk nor found any crime to stop this evening.

In other words, entered because I was hungry and in a foul mood. I was looking for a fight.

But the trap was sprung with the perfection of practiced professionals. No sooner had I walked through the door, then a voice hollered out from somewhere within my abode.
“It’s the vampire! Places, men!”
I expected an immediate attack, but again, my supposition, though incorrect, was close to the mark. Instead, there was a barrage of knocks that echoed throughout the enclosure. I cautiously took a junction when I was accosted by a man of WWF-type proportions, attacking my flank. I swung to face him, but his wide-swinging punch was launched too quickly. His strength was not unnatural to one of his brawn, but his fist slammed into my temple with enough force I momentarily thought he might be a demon in disguise.

I sensed psychic power in use.

Pain rent through my head and I sprawled to the floor. A sweeping kick sent me sailing across the hall, just as painful. I flew to my feet, but my retaliation was hindered by another man bearing down on me, this one wielding an ornate cross in one hand and a silver dagger in the other. With the cross keeping me from lunging forward, which was the only angle that was offered as an attack in this cramped hall, my newest opponent swiped for my throat with his dagger. A presence was drawing near from behind; I could feel another holy symbol being held at my back, likewise barring retreat. With the WWF reject coming at me from the side, it seemed my only retreat was the office to my left. I took it and hoped for a moment’s respite to gather my senses. The silver dagger missed my throat and drew a line of sparking pain down my wrist; but I was safe for the briefest of moments. Only, that moment was an illusion, I was not alone in this office; yet another man was waiting in ambush.
“Sweetheart, you’re making this too easy,” he shook his head in disdain. “But then, you’re dead no matter what you do.” He then stretched forth his hands and grabbed my shoulders.
Fire exploded out of his palms and fingers and engulfed me like a geyser . . .

Celeste Darken

[Ron Caliburn]

I'm kinda torn. I'm sure you understand Celeste, sicne you always seem to do. I'm tempted to point out the mistakes you allready made in this encounter - but then again, I might have to hope you'll make the same mistakes again later.

They seem to have made realtively few ones - other than this bizzare chocie to get un reasonably close to you. A vampire is fearesome in melee combat. I'd rather stay beyond the reach of fang and claw.

[Celeste Darken]

Yes, I agree. I readily admit I am new as a hunter. Mistakes come far easier than skill. In fact, I only have my instincts as a predator and some fuzzy memories that have pressed at the back of my mind, both of which have proven so far as assets that have just barely kept me . . . "alive" in these battles. Looking back at the post, I can see some of my mistakes. The mistakes I made were made due to inexperience and anger. The group had been hunting me for weeks and preparing for all that time. I have been scouting for a new lair ever since I was discovered by the first hunter. But my location was not easily bested in terms of access and isolation all at once. But you need not worry about my death. Yet. Perhaps the more experienced within this forum will aid me in becoming more battle savvy. I am smart enough to know my abilities do not make me unstoppable.

So please, Mr. Caliburn, and anyone else who are tempted. Point out my mistakes. They can only make me stronger. So I continue my story.

Part II

The heat of the flames was not as I had imagined it. But then, I thought I would be dead, so I had not imagined I would even care what it would feel like. But no, the fire cascaded around me like mist, and had just about the same effect.

It seems I enjoy invulnerability to fire as well as stakes. Now if only the same could be said for silver and sunlight. I allowed myself to be drenched in the fire, gathering my frustration and strength into a core of solid wrath. It was a full minute before the fire relented. The triumphant look on the man’s face was wiped away once he saw me through the smoke. I lashed out, grabbing his throat and squeezing off his oxygen.
“Fool, you’re jumping to conclusions,” I seethed, my eyes blazing hellfire, if they exhibited the anger I felt.

I admit, I allowed my anger to enforce my next actions. His face turning purple with my relentless grip, I forced him to his knees before bending him backward without mercy, without hope of release.

His spine snapped in three places. And the sound was very satisfying. Venting the rest of my rage before allowing cold calculation back into my mind, I threw the broken body through the office wall and down the corridor. I would feed when time allowed.
A gasp of astonishment alerted me to the angered presence of the WWF clown. He rushed through the hole that had recently accommodated his companion. A large silver sword was in his hands, raised overhead in position to strike me in half.

But I was not without a weapon. I brought forth a large silver dagger of serrated design, courtesy of my first encounter with the strange tattoo. A rasp of steel sounded as our blades met. “So Jerrod did make it here,” my opponent obviously recognized the weapon. My smile was coldly sneering, full of mockery. “But not for long.”
My reply was a mistake. I was not trained in the use of a dagger; the martial arts training my mother insisted I take as a girl to keep rapists at bay did not include weaponry. But my large foe was obviously familiar in the usage of swordsmanship, and only my dodging reflexes kept my head attached to my neck. I have heard decapitation also slays vampires. But I would rather not find out if I am held accountable for that weakness as other vampires are. It is best just to presume vulnerability.

I now realized the dagger in my hand was a casualty to the battle. It took up my hand and I ended up dodging most of the sword’s strikes anyway. Those swings that struck cut wounds into my flesh that bled a burst of sparks before leaving a disturbing hole. I took a few steps back and noted another figure approaching cautiously behind the big swordsman. I heaved my weapon at the swordsman’s head, but he parried it aside. I charged in during the slight moment of imbalance my throw had caused, seeking to wrest the blade away from him. I pushed him aside and closed my hands around the blade. My palms leaked a momentary stream of sparks as the sharp edges cut into my skin, but a moment later, the silver sword was bent into a useless piece of garbage.

With a howl of anger, he surged to his feet and leaped after me. Our hands met involuntarily in a form of a “mercy” battle, once a game my brothers used against each other and me. The object of the game was to push the other’s wrists back over the shoulders until the other cried out for mercy or Mom came to the rescue of the defeated. Only, this time it was no game, and I was in no mood to play one. I thought I would crush him as I had the other, but I could feel an unnatural strength forcing me back. We heaved at each other for some time, but even as I felt the concern rise within me that he was my equal, I felt his strength begin to give way. His face held a look of concentration as though he sought to retain that strength through sheer force of will. Perhaps his strength came through psychic powers? All I know is, suddenly fear branched out all along his face, and I was able to thrust him away with great ease.

I faced the second opponent. I felt my courage, momentarily lifted, begin to waver. The figure was the man who had released the fire against me.

He was unharmed.

Celeste Darken

[AdamaGeist]

I have a quick and dirty recomendation... I'll make a more formal critique after I've been able to read your entire story, but for now this will have to do.

Aquire for yourself some manner of fire-arm, and other long-range weaponry. A single gunshot would have cleared your path out of the trapped zone you found yourself in, by taking out one of the cross-wielders you could not have confronted yourself. For that matter, a flash-bang grenade at the very least would have allowed you to clear that junction after throwing out the flame-wielder. Fragmentation would have been just nasty to them, and concidering your nature a simple tear-gas grenade would have done you no end of good.

The problem with relying only on instictual reactions is that others will know what to expect.

[Celeste Darken]

Very true, Adama, about everything you said. However, I have not been trained in the use of firearms; I haven't the means to acquire one by myself, as I do not resort to stealing, and I doubt there would be many willing to teach me the craft of a gun's usage. But your ideas on tear gas and flash-bang grenades seem worth looking into. My stature as a novice will decrease as I continue, or so I would hope. I would also hope this escapade has taught me a few lessons. We shall see.

Part III

For the second time I faced the pyrotechnic. Though I felt no more fear for his flame, his recovery disconcerted me. He was no longer grinning, and he walked slowly, gently, and with great care. Though his healing did indeed seem miraculous, it was obviously not complete. His right hand was behind him and out of my sight; his left was held before him, a cross swaying gently on a chain.
“So, fire doesn’t affect you, eh?” He seemed very interested in this bit of information. I tensed, ready to spring at him from an angle. The cross had a slight spin to it because of the length of chain; maybe I could knock it aside when the face was not directly against me.
“Well, try this on for size!” he suddenly yelled.

I saw the momentary lapse of pain on his face as he whipped out his right arm and flung something at me. But he was too slow and the throw was clumsy, he must have hurt his arm when I threw him.
I caught the object before it struck me in the face. It was a container that reminded me of a perfume bottle, though the cross on its label and the scent of its clear contents suggested it was holy water. “Better luck next time,” I snarled and hurled the bottle to my right, recalling the figure I had yet to meet face to face.

The newest figure staggered as the bottle shattered against his chest. He was a tall, thin man, a silver cross sewn to the front of his shirt and steel wire glasses pinching his nose and temples. I dived for his knees. But the big warrior who likely worked for the WWF leaped at the same time and slammed into me. We skidded across the floor and into an office wall. He quickly climbed on top of me and sat on my stomach, forcing me prone by shoving my shoulders and back harshly against the floor. I expected to fling him off easily, but to my chagrin and fear, he had grown just as strong as me. I tried to recall my past life as a human, for I knew I had wrestled often with my older brother, who had been on the high school team and later won scholarships to colleges.

But it was too late. The memory of the various motions escaped me at the present, and my burly foe wrested with great skill. He found the hollows of my elbows and pressed into them hard with his knees, pinning me completely to the floor. With his own hands free, he hammered me twice with hard punches before slapping the palms of his hands against the side of my face, forcing my head against the floor. He kept pushing my cheek as though trying to shove it through the floor, but then he abruptly swung my head the other way. This he did several times, a look of angry annoyance on his ugly face.

My neck would not break with his movements, even with his enhanced strength. He abandoned this tactic and squeezed my throat with his left hand, winding up for another punch with his right. I snapped at his fist my teeth when he thrust for my jaw, and he jerked his fist away, his knuckle bleeding.

“Just die already,” he swore at me as though he had the authority to send me to hell, squeezing my neck harder with his left hand and forcing my chin upwards. I could smell the fear in his sweat, and I took courage. But I still couldn’t get free, though I warded off his other team members by kicking out at them whenever they approached. The desperation in the warrior’s scent was increasing with each beat his heart took. He grabbed my neck in both hands and throttled me as hard as he could.

But I had not taken a breath since becoming a vampire, and the man on top of me could see his choking was having no effect. In a last bid to keep the desperation from gripping his heart, he tore my shirt down to the collarbone and pressed the heels of his hands just below the valley of my neck.

I saw the look of gratification cross his sweaty face as I slammed my head against the floor and arched my back in sudden pain. I could feel the skin of my chest shrivel back against his touch, clutching at my bones as though crying for release against the desiccating touch.

“Do you yield?” he asked and tensed his hands as though prepared to send the psychic attack after me again. I stopped shuddering as the remains of the pain burrowed through my chest and left me. My opponent did not lower his guard, but he allowed a victorious smile to align across his face. I shut my eyes and went limp in memory of the pain.

“Pack it up, guys,” my assailant ordered with a boastful tone. “This one is broken.”

This one is broken . . . this one is broken . . . this one is broken . . . .

The words echoed with strange familiarity in my mind. I had heard those words before. Once, long ago, it seemed. I had heard them in a different place, with different circumstances. But the aftermath had still been the same. I had been defeated, cowed. The last person to have spoken those words had been my master . . . and I was trying to remember . . . had he spoken those words right before he had turned me into a vampire or right after? Whatever the case, I had even been in the same position as I was in now . . . I remember looking up with terror into those cruel, heartless eyes.

Yes, I remember now. It was right before he had changed me. I remember the horrifying paralysis as he pinned me to the floor. I could remember wondering if he was going to rape me. I remember him ripping my jacket open and wondering if he would do the same with the halter top I had been wearing. But, instead of sating his thirst for lust, as most men would, he had sated his thirst for blood.

Then he had forced me to partake.

Celeste Darken

[AdamaGeist]

Miss Darken, if you are able, could you please continue your story?

[Celeste Darken]

I am appreciative of those who have critiqued my story and will later on. And I thank you for your attention, Adama. I write these as honestly as they happened. I wrestled with myself over this last weekend on changing some minor issues in this next section, but I realized I should not. What has happened . . . happened. I cannot change it. I can only relate it. I should willingly admit my temper can at times best my rational thinking. Where was I? Yes. The hunter was atop me, in the exact position the vampire had been when he ripped my humanity away . . . .


Part IV

But this time, the man on top of me was a human, and I was the vampire. I could smell the mortality of his flesh, and the feeling of rage building up inside me; all thoughts of surrendering to them were shoved aside like a freight train crashing through a wooden shack built upon the tracks. He was a human with psychic abilities.

They all were.

And I was the vampire. Me. Not them. Me. And I was the hunter. Me. Not them.

Me.

My eyes snapped open and I bared my fangs. The man looked at me and a slight smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He sent the desiccating touch through me again, but with a supreme force of will, I ignored the pain and wrenched myself just a bit lower underneath him, just enough so he was more on my ribs than on my stomach. A tiger’s snarl suddenly sounded, deep and menacing. His eyes went narrow, and for a moment I thought he had summoned some sort of familiar.

Then I realized it had been me.

And then I smashed my knees into his kidneys with all the strength I could muster.

He sailed overhead with a cry of anguish, and I sprang to my feet and glared savagely at the four others. I renewed my snarl, and all four grasped crucifixes with trembling knuckles. When I growled, a mountain lion’s roaring wail was heard instead. There were two men whom I hadn’t yet caught a glimpse of until now,, though I knew from his scent one had been the one to bring his cross to bear from behind when they had herded me to the fire wielder. He was edging gently away, his scrubs and surgeon’s mask incongruous as a fighter; it was as though he feared he might be allergic to vampires. The second man appeared as a normal civilian and was in the far back, retreating some distance with hasty steps, his face completely white with fear.

“Well,” I snarled with rage. “You villains are the one that started this. Will you end it?”

They were all dumb with fear, all stood in mute terror. But the one that could use fire managed to act.

Almost.

He fumbled quickly for a pouch at his belt, but I pounced on him first.

This time I would make sure he was dead. I hugged him to my withered chest with one arm, pinning his hands to his sides. Grabbing a fistful of hair at the top of his head, I twisted until I heard the popping snap of his neck. Then I shoved downward until his spine collapsed like a ten-piece tent pole and lastly hurled his body through several office walls. The man farthest from me screamed and fled in abject horror. With speed and accuracy born of vengeance, I leaped for the man with the ornate cross and the silver dagger, though he had now unzipped his jacket to reveal a large cross sewn onto his shirt. But I took this new development in stride, catching him in the side and spinning him around until his back was to me. I grabbed his arms and locked them behind his back, squeezing until I heard his arms splinter and the wildly moving cross, the spinning motion keeping it from its intended use, dropped to the floor. I kicked it aside and then set my teeth to his jugular.

He was like a quivering marionette without strings when I released him, and he fell to the floor without a sound.

My hunger sated, I took several moments to consider my position. The damage to my lower neck and upper chest was extensive, but it didn’t appear to be permanent. I had always healed quickly as a vampire, far speedier than any mortal, and this terrible wound was no exception. Already my body was taking on its normal appearance, the influx of blood had seen to that. But the pain was still a hammer to my bones. Even with my vampiric healing, it would take time to mend.

Time I would spend hunting these vermin that dared attack me in my own lair. I sniffed experimentally. Their scents were fresh and close. Even with one dead, another incapacitated, and a third scared into a loss of bladder control, the group would apparently stay to finish the job.

I smiled. By all means, my merry little men! Stay!

I was through playing games. The stink of the blood tattoo was in the air. It was time to make an end of the guessing. I was going to find out what they wanted. A quick search of my latest victim found the ordinary vampire-hunting paraphernalia, and a miniaturized blood tattoo engraved into each of his eyelids.

I could hear them huddling within the other offices like frightened mice. They spoke in whispers, but my sense of hearing could discern every word they spoke. And while they spoke, I pinpointed their location.

“She got Sanders and Doberman,” one spoke in fear. “Not to mention Jerrod. How are we gonna get her without our sensitive, our walker, and our natural?”

“The same way we’ve beaten all the others,” there was malice in the second’s voice. “With luck and skill. I can still use my TK bullets or one more Touch. And you can still heal.”

“No I can’t,” the other protested with just enough volume I knew exactly where they were. “I spent all my energy knitting Doberman’s spine.”

“You spent it all so early?” The other one sounded outraged. You’ve been told what she can do! Why on earth would you . . .” He stopped himself. “Never mind. What about Johns?”

“I doubt it. You heard his scream. He was terrified. She’ll murder him the minute she finds him, if she hasn’t killed him already.”

“Then I guess it’s up to me.” One of them stood from his crouch. “I’ll finish this.”

I narrowed my eyes, accepting the unspoken challenge.

We shall see who finishes this.

Celeste Darken

[Celeste Darken]

The fifth part of my telling, to me, shows the greatest extent of my mistakes, as well as one of the most puzzling clues as to the identity of my stalkers'. As to the mistakes, to put it with blunt plainness, it is a wonder I am still "alive." Looking back on my inaction, the mistakes I had made were those even a fool would not have made. My one defense is, perhaps, the scent the hunters left all about with their constant intrusions. Think of yourself living in a barn that had been occupied by cattle for ten years, but had not been cleaned in all that time.

It was my lair and my sanctuary from the sun. I had thought the place was safe. No longer.

Part V

As the WWF man searched the mazelike office spaces for me, I hunted for his companion. It could be a ruse that he had used up his psychic abilities, but that was a risk I was willing to take. This one was the healer, according to the words of the WWF one. Destroy him and the means of psychic recuperation was cut off.

Then they would die as ordinary men. Then they would not rise again like those annoying, weighted leather balloons.

I found the healer in scrubs at a moment of reflection, kneeling with his head bowed, crucifix clasped between his hands as though praying. If it had not been for the active part he was taking in my attempted murder and the year of hardening I had received as an enslaved vampire, I might have been moved by his tear-rimmed eyes and the plight he was now in. It was a rare moment that I was able to successfully move without a sound, so he did not notice me walk in. The cubicle was a larger one and built without a door.

I had him trapped.

And the positioning was perfect. He lowered his hands as though he had finished praying just as my absent shadow would have fallen atop him. The small cross was effectively upside down to me, and therefore effectively useless. I swiftly strode forward and stepped on his hands, grabbing his throat and hoisting him to his feet, the cross was left underfoot.
“Not a sound,” I warned him quietly with a dark promise in my eyes, baring my fangs meaningfully.

He obeyed my command, his eyes wide. Not releasing him for a moment with either my eyes or the grip I had around his neck, I quickly searched him and divested him of all vampire-killing weapons. I forced him to drink the vial of holy water, took the silver dagger and bent the blade by pushing it against the computer desk, and set aside the stakes and everything else that could serve as a weapon. His blood tattoos were engraved upon his palms.

I smelled the air for any signs of the warrior and Johns. Johns was in the farthest corner, huddled pathetically against the farthest wall. The other’s scent was clear and fresh, he was quietly waiting just beyond the other wall . . . and yet it was somehow . . . wrong. I hadn’t the skill yet to ascertain what the matter was . . . wait . . . .

Vampiric agility and my hearing was all that saved me. The office wall suddenly exploded as the warrior jumped through, swinging a large sword. I had leaped out of reach of the singing blade, and I realized that a portion of the wall had been torn away and replaced with a thin substance more akin to cardboard than plaster. This reconstructive action must have been accomplished during the weeks of their searching. Another of my mistakes revealed. But I will let others judge what was mistake and what was not; on with my story.

He was now dressed not only as if for full melee battle, but a full scale medieval war. He was surrounded in a chest plate and pieces of armor. He kept swinging his sword at my head, successfully driving me away from his companion. Both his sword and his armor was glowing an alarming color of blue.

Curse him for a fool! He must have set aside an extra blade and the armor just in case I proved to be hardier than they had previously thought. They had taken their time planning this trap; now I wondered if I was safe within my own lair. I had disarmed a number of traps before this, all of the ordinary make to catch ordinary vampires. Could there be more, more that might prove a hindrance if I fell into them . . . ? No matter. Battle first. Question later.

And battle it was. The warrior seemed to have reached new heights in the skill with a sword. His motions were smoothed and practiced and seemed to come with the efficiency of rehearsal. The problem was this: it seemed my movements had been a part of that rehearsal. Wherever I ducked or dodged, the shimmering blade was already in motion to cut across the path I was taking. At one a junction in the office spaces, I ducked a swing that belonged in the major leagues; I then took the duck to the next step and was in the middle of a roll so I could get at my opponent’s flank, but he anticipated the move. He brought his sword back up with an incredible speed, and the force with which he brought it down was no less remarkable. Sparks flew as he laid open my back, but my speed was enough that the thrust of his intercepting attack did not stop the momentum of my roll, and I leaped to my feet.

In the back of my mind I knew there was at least one other that could instigate another attack, and he chose to do so once I had my feet beneath me and I was facing the one with the sword. The healer had maneuvered into the very hall I had rolled and was now at my back. He had escaped my notice in the heat of battle with the armed WWF, but now that he was charging at my back with a two and half foot length stake braced in his hands, his presence was easily detected. But the healer was not a warrior as was the man facing me directly. I hopped to the side and caught the rushing fellow by the collar of the back of his shirt. He involuntarily choked as his stampede was stopped. Buttons from his shirt snapped and tore as he went through a clothesline in the air, and I heard the tendons and muscles in his neck strain, I am sure rather painfully. I adjusted my grip until his couldn’t pull free of his shirt and held the man dangling in the air. He gurgled uselessly and dropped the large stake, grabbing my wrist and pulling up to give himself a measure of air.

“Are you willing to bargain?” I asked the sword bearer. “In exchange for his life, you will vow to leave me alone and in peace.”

“I make no bargains with the undead,” the other spat.

“Fair enough,” I conceded. “But remember this: you have been the ones to initiate these battles. Any loss of life has been just. You cannot claim vengeance. I have merely defended myself.”

“If you only knew,” he sneered. “If you only knew what our purpose, our Grand Design entailed!”

With the past rumors of this forum as my possible identity as the "heartless one," it is needless to say that I was intrigued with the chance of forcing him to tell me what this "Grand Design" exactly was.

But this post is long enough. I shall continue later.

Celeste Darken

[Celeste Darken]

Part VI
“What is your purpose?” I demanded with a snarl, weary of the attacks, of the stealth, of these shenanigans. “What is your purpose, you who wear the tattoos of blood?”

He jerked as though I had struck him in the face, but instead of answering, he growled savagely and raised his sword to attack. I knew he would be too skilled with the sword to be impeded by the potential shield the healer offered. By the way he seemed disdainful of life, he might even kill his companion by stabbing him just so he could get to me; it was not something I wished. Even one loss of life was too much, even if I had been defending myself, I disliked killing.

I waited until he was prepared to attack, bringing his sword over his shoulder for another powerful swing. I tossed my captive at his chest and prepared to follow through with an attack. The ruse had the desired effect; the warrior paused in his attack long enough to toss the other out of the way. I could see the look of frustration on the sword wielder’s face. He desired to end the battle just as quickly as I did.

My lunge caught the other off guard, I thrust him to the floor, gripping his wrists and forcing them to the ground. The healer had stumbled with the suddenness of the attacks, and he tripped on the stake he had dropped earlier. When I grounded the WWF warrior, he inadvertently struck the healer along his side, sending the off-balance man flailing. As though in slow motion, he toppled like a tree, his hands searching vainly for a handhold in the air. Then I noticed the wall he was to crash into didn’t look quite like the rest of the office walls . . .

It was another false partition.

The man’s hand brushed a portion of the wall, and I heard a catch release.

“SMITH! NO!!” The warrior below me bellowed as the healer fell right through the fake wall as though it was made of wet paper.

I saw the sharpened spike rear up on a spring to catch him. With nothing to catch him, he fell on top of the waiting trap. I wasn’t at a proper angle to see the actual staking or the gore it was sure to bring.

But I knew from the rending scream and the sudden scent of warm blood that it had been a fatal blow.

I turned to stare hard at the man under me, my eyes blazing and I bared my teeth in an angry snarl. Gloating was out of place for me, for I was not a villain and I did not enjoy death. But this had to be hammered home. These people of the Blood Tattoo, as I had begun to call them, had to take responsibility.

“So the tally is now four. Their blood is on your hands. Not mine. Had you left me alone, they would still be living.”

He grunted and wrenched at my grip, but his strength was no longer a match for mine. His hands were beginning to turn purple as I squeezed the circulation slack. No matter his struggling, he could not escape my grip.

“Yield,” he panted. “I yield.”

I narrowed my gaze and stared straight into his eyes. I could detect nothing but malice, anger, and fear. Folding his hands together so I could take his wrists in one hand, I climbed to my feet with my other hand at his neck. He was docile as I searched him, holding his wrists and keeping throat in sight. There was no way I could see to unlock the armor he wore, and hooked to his back was something of a shotgun, only the structure of it looked like plastic, there was no chamber for bullets, and the muzzle was welded shut as though he didn’t want it to be mistaken for a dangerous weapon. I bent it double and tossed it aside. His face twitched involuntarily, but he did not react.

“Did you plan on shaving while on the hunt?” I asked half sarcastically, finding an electric razor in a shoulder holster.

“It’s . . . it’s a communicator,” he replied and licked his dry lips. “It’s disguised as a razor to avoid . . . detection.”

I studied the piece carefully. It still looked like an electric razor and it appeared to be nonfunctional as an advanced telephone; only as a hair remover. Deciding against simply crushing it, I released his wrists and quickly took his throat with a firm grip, placing my fingers at the back of his neck and my thumb over his Adam’s apple.

“Show me,” I commanded coldly. “Call your leader. I wish to talk to him. But be warned: any warning, any whisper from you, and I will crush your windpipe. Understood?”

He nodded and cautiously took the razor in hand. He flicked the back open, the portion that on a normal razor would have been meant for the more delicate shave. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, and pressed the switch that would normally turn the rotor blades.

And turn on they did. The buzz of the blades was momentary; and then from the face of the razor, three large balls of transparent, glasslike bullets suddenly rocketed from the twisting heads and struck me full force. I tried to crush the life from him as I had planned, but the blast of the blue energy threw me across the hall like a hurricane wind.

“Fool,” he rubbed his neck with his free hand and pointed the razor like he would a phaser from Star Trek. “That’s why you are losing the war.”

I leaped to my feet, but another round of the energy slapped me in the stomach. The wall I crashed into gave way like paper, and I felt a wooden stake pierce my back. But the momentum had not finished; I went through the back wall as well, the hunter striding boldly forward with his odd weapon poised to strike again.

Celeste Darken

[Celeste Darken]

Part VII

I had been duped, betrayed, and humiliated. And, I think I had discovered what he had meant by “TK” bullets. But how he called them into being was a mystery. I had checked the razor carefully.

But there was no reason to ponder the mysterious ammunition. I concluded it was more of his psychic power.

A third barrage of the energy sent me flailing. If I could get my momentum and sense of direction back under control, I might be able to dodge the psychic missiles. But as it was, a fourth volley threw me back like a rag doll. But this time, there happened to be a horizontal beam placed just above me. A distant memory burbled in my mind, and this sensation of flying through the air felt intensely familiar. While in midair, I caught sight of the top of an office wall. I kicked out with my foot slightly, bending the top of the wall’s frame and adjusting my direction minutely.

It was just enough to fly toward the beam. The momentum unchanged, I jerked my hand out and slapped my palm against the flat. My fear of it snapping with the speed of my flight fell shallow; I flipped over, and with a few simple hand motions that seemed to be instinct, coupled with a shove from the beam fueled by my vampiric strength, I realigned my direction 180 degrees.

The movements had been too fast for my opponent to follow. I caught his brief look of surprise before my feet crushed into the hollow of his elbow. He cried out in pain and I smiled as I knelt to bring the full force of the attack against him. With his arm pinned against the floor, he had little choice but to fall along with it. Still crouched over him, I ground my heels against the floor and felt his bones crumble beneath my feet. He tried to raise his mangled arm to strike again with the odd weapon, but I quickly slapped it away. The razor went clattering against the floor and skidded away.

I looked up to see the razor at the feet of the only enemy I hadn’t faced yet, still with fear stamped across his face and an unsavory patch of wetness between his legs. It was apparent he had seen all of the exchange, huddled as he was in the corner. Sighting the strange hand weapon, the man swallowed his fear and grasped for the razor.

“No you don't!” I snarled, jumping for the odd piece.

But he was far too close. I landed just as he had straightened up, the razor grasped so tightly his knuckles and flush against my breasts. I thought I had finally met my end; the pointblank energy would surely destroy me. Our eyes met briefly and a spasm of fear struck me, mirroring the look in his eyes. His fingers pressed the trigger.

There came a buzzing sound like a giant, mechanical fly. We both looked down at the weapon. Either it was empty of ammunition, or it worked as a regular razor in this man’s hands. Rabid anger overcame me at the weakness of my fear, and I clasped his hands in my own, squeezing with all my might.

The man’s shriek of agony was well-merited. He folded over in pain, rocking back in forth in a prone position. The anger still boiling, I retuned to face the WWF cretin, who in spite of it all, was still climbing to his feet, his broken arm hanging uselessly.

“Only I can use it,” he muttered in a daze of pain. I took his uninjured hand and gently pressed the remaining pieces into his palm. He stared at the scrap for a second, incomprehension on his features.

First he looked up at me without comprehension.

Then he was dead.

Celeste Darken

[Celeste Darken]

Even a vampire is subject to computer crashes. Otherwise I would have posted earlier. Well. Here is the conclusion of the Hunted story. Or at least, the fighting part. Unfortunately, it is not the end of my trouble. But it is a start.

Conclusion

With my rage spent, I realized the advantage I now possessed. Four of the five hunters were dead, and the fifth was crippled beyond risk of danger. Unless he was a phenomenal actor with a plan far exceeding any genius I could understand, he was an ordinary man, maybe even a newly initiated member, who found the idea of vampires terrifying.

In short: I had a prisoner.

“Who do you work for?” I demanded, taking him by the hair and forcing him to look into my eyes. “Who?!”

But he simply mumbled incoherently, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. I tried again interrogating him again, baring my fangs angrily.

“Your eyes,” he blubbered. “They’re like fire . . . dancing . . . gold and purple . . .”

I growled and he whitened and said no more. Whether that was a code or he was simply referring to my appearance, I do not know. I have never seen my reflection since joining the ranks of the undead and I’ve never stopped a criminal in the act to inquire.

Several more attempts to get him to say something useful were spent in vain. I knew he would likely go into shock, if he hadn’t already. Now I possessed the problem of what to do with him. If this would be all the information I got from him, then I might as well set him free. But then I took the risk of more of his allies learning more about me and my weaknesses. If I kept him, I would have to walk the fine line of interrogation and nursing him back to health. I had no intention of murdering him in this state of helplessness, and feeding on him tomorrow night seemed as low as kicking him in the groin. Battle was one thing. But taking advantage of him while he was thus indisposed seemed an action my . . . peers would approve of, something I would not want to do. To take care of him, to let him go, or to kill him . . . those were my options, and each of them held risks I was unwilling to take. Keeping him alive would run the risk of learning nothing while risking his allies or others to discover me. To kill him could very well lower me to the level of my vampiric brethren, I most certainly wouldn’t learn anything.

But then I had an epiphany.

Remembering the stake impaled in my back, I wrenched it out and snapped it in two. The injured man squeaked and simpered in fear when I searched him, but other than to take a pair of car keys and sunglasses from his jacket pocket, I left everything untouched. Then, being as gentle as possible, I helped him stand. We were at the back of my den now, so I helped him cross to the front, a slow endeavor because of his injury. He was reluctant to the point of loathing to lean on me, but his pain started to cloud his judgment in strange episodes, making him fade in and out of reality.

Maybe I would learn something after all. When he forgot the present, he started calling me Jessica, and he leaned on me so heavily I would have fallen to the floor if I wasn’t possessed of the strength of the vampires. It was fortunate I had turned his hands to powder, for though he was unable to procure the proper motions he desired, I soon realized that “Jessica” was a very . . . intimate friend. As it was, he could only swing his hands from side to side. But his intentions were very clear.

“Jessica, something’s wrong. My hands don’t work,” he complained in a slurred voice. “They hurt. Rub them for me, baby? Please rub me, baby?”

“Later,” I snarled, weary of his innuendo. “Right now I need to get to your car.”

“Did I say something wrong, baby? You sound pissed off.”

I didn’t reply, and he lost consciousness. We were at the door. The knob turned all right, but my strength was not enough to open whatever barrier they had set in place when I had entered. Shoving with all my strength was useless. But when I gently laid him against the door and told him to push, though he was still unconscious, the door swung open easily; I caught him by the lapels before he landed hard against the ground.

The holy circle had been completed. Try with all my might, I couldn’t pass by it. Whatever strength I used, an equal portion shoved back, keeping me behind the chalky line. It could not be overcome by brute force, or at least a vampire’s brute force.

Then the limp body went rigid. “Don’t . . . don’t hurt . . . me. I . . .” He was himself again, though barely conscious. “I . . . .”

“Listen,” I snarled, bringing his face close to me, staring at him with all the hell-spawned ferocity I could muster. “You will die unless I can get beyond this circle. Because if I don’t, I will grow hungry, and I cannot pass, so I cannot hunt. Since I cannot hunt, I will have to feed on you. Clear?” But it was not clear. He couldn’t follow the long sentence. I repeated the threat in greater detail, smaller phrases.

The bluff worked. His face equally whitened with fear and pain, I helped him stand while he began to rub the circle away with sweeps of his foot. When I could pass through without trouble, I pulled out his car keys and pressed the alarm. It was faint, too faint for my prisoner to hear. I tracked it down by the sound and carried the once again unconscious man toward it.

It was a large moving van, devoid of logo or paint. In the back I smelled even more tools of the vampire hunter trade, but I couldn’t bother with them yet. I placed the man in the passenger side and set the seatbelt over his arms as well as over his waist. I then took the drivers’ seat, started the ignition, and left my lair for the highway.

Celeste Darken

[Dante Andel]

Celeste though you said you dislike killing I can't say I'm not relieved that these men are dead, well the threatening ones anyway, ever since I discovered that there was more than just the one of these tattoo'd men out there I have felt uneasy.

Though I have been attempting to continue my research into them while over here in the land of the free, its proved fruitless its as if they have never existed, which hasn't helped my feeling uneasy one bit I can tell you. Though the fact that you have/had one of these people in your custody brings me a small shed of hope in finding out who they are and what they are up to.

[AdamaGeist]

I've done a moment to concider the tatoos mentioned on the hunters, and it brings me to wonder... You mentioned that all of the hunters had tatoos, in different places. Were all the tatoos of the same symbol, or were there any variances between them?

And as for your problems in general, I saw one notable trend that ran through your entire story... That obviously these people had the time to turn your entire home into an elaborate death-trap.

You noticed that someone had found your home, even found traps placed to kill you. And yet never once did you concider the obvious, that because your home was no longer safe, it would serve you better to move to a new location. In fact, I would personaly have set up lethal traps in my own home the second I discovered that it was not safe to stay there anymore. Explosives or incindiary devices would have forced them to step back rather than follow so closely.

I would recomend, not just to you but to everyone here, that you all prepare more than one location for your residence. Have more than one place to call home in case someone unfriendly comes to call.

In the end, you did very well in handling yourself. Your major fault was arrogance, in that you suspected only what you saw. If you had concidered the fact that they had been able to place even basic traps, you might have viewed things with a bit more suspicion.

Finaly, if it's obvious that you might be walking into a trap, you might want to change how the game is played. For example, knowing full well that they had set up the place to be effectively inescapable, I would have spent the time neccisary to remove all possible exits for them as well. Make it impossible for them to sneak in or out afterwards. Honestly, I'd have gone in, found the support pillars of the building, and start tearing them down. Knock the building down on the all too fragile humans.

[Celeste Darken]

Yes, Adama, I was arrogant. But in my defense, my quarters were an abandoned complex of offices. It is very maze-like and spans more than a block. I searched them several times, all to no avail. But I stopped that practice on the fourth consecutive time of finding nothing beyond what I had already disarmed. By then, the human scent was so rampant it was impossible for me to discern where they headed on each of their visits. I am, after all, still a yearling. Knocking out the supports of the building was impossible, considering the size. Besides, I try to be more . . . subtle. I have since moved out, although I keep an eye on the site, as there may be more hunters.

As for the tattoos, they are all the same shape, though with varying sizes: The largest was always with the "warriors" of the group, spanning their entire back. However, with the others, they were as small as a dime.

Dante, we shall see what becomes of the man I left in the hospital. Unfortunately I have learned nothing from him, since the painkillers puts him in a near catatonic state. I now sneak inside the hospital in hopes of catching him when he is merely asleep, so that I may awaken him and learn all. But I fear I may be risking much for nothing. He has no tattoo, so he may be an initiate an unknowledgeable. The nurse who took him when I signed in has become suspicious, as my story obviously didn't check out. And none have come to take him away, whether it be family or friends. So I avoid everyone and watch from the shadows.

I thank both of you for your criticism.

Celeste Darken

[Bearshaman]

Celeste, I am glad to see that you survived that encounter. I have not encountered anyone with those tattooes that you speak of, at least I don't think so. What was the general shape of the tattooes? Also, I tend to agree with the others, it would have been better to loose your hideaway and find a new den until you could watch and make sure that it would be safe to enter. As for the approaching dawn, next time, see if you can find an entrance to the sewers. Not pleasant, but will sheild you from the daylight. I personally had to hide in the sewers once, but that is another story. Lets just say that if my comrades had not shown up when they did, some hunters may have had a wolf hide for their den, rather than loosing some valuable equipment.

[GRIM]

I have read your tale.....I salute you on your victory.

But I must ask one question of you...WHY? You are a creature of darkness like myself, a goddess amongst mortal, as I was to be their executioner. You will live to see centuries be born and die, you will live to see races rise and fall ito extinction. So why do you defend those who would dare defile the godess which you are?

I too have been hunted, by man and beast alike, all have come to suffer the sums of their mistakes with their lives, and worse. I slay my own kind, I slaughter those monsters that haunt the darkened corners of man's domain, but not for the sake of man, but for my own thirst for blood and carnage.

I ask yo this again Why? I must know. Perhaps one day when our paths cross, as either allies, or as enemies, I will learn the answers I seek.

For now know this my godess, you are perfection, let not these mortals sway you otherwise.

[AdamaGeist]

Again, GRIM... I feel compelled to speak.

These people know little to nothing of that world, and it's better for them not to. Even in the long ages Gods can die, as you should full well know. Holding yourself above or below humanity means little, for sanity remains in holding yourself at their side.

I know far better than the rest of these people the burden of elongated life, even for the relitively short span of my present existance. What inheritance I have for myself gives me that older perspective, and the realisation that comes with it... All life and minds must pass, even those older than yours.

And as I know full well what you realy are, I recomend you back away from these lines with these people. I WILL protect them from you, if I need to. Even somthing as old as you should know better than to face the void.

Celeste, please avoid this one. If you have an encounter with him in the town, run away, and leave a message on the board. I'll deal with him myself, regardless of what price it costs my humanity.

-Geist

[Bloodbane]

Just when I thought I'd met the most despicable cretins possible, someone comes along and tries to prove otherwise.

Grim, do you know where you are? This entire forum is a bastion to those who wish to protect mankind. Even those of us here who walk in the darkness of the night try to do so, one way or another. Even I, selfish as I am, try not to harm mortals.

So tell us, Grim... Do you enjoy making a target of yourself, or does that sort of thing come too naturally for you to pass up?

[GRIM]

I am not surprised that you persecute me, nor do I care.
Your opinions of me do not scathe me. However, to assail me just because who claim to know who I am, you must take a long hard look at your race human.

Mankind, no greater demon exists, mankind is so unkind. You attack that which you do not understand, you destroy that which you fear without reason or remorse.

You slaughter each other for reason no greater than race, religion, creed, or color. You masacre each other for a handful of dirt or because someone else prays to s different god than you.

More carnage, death, and destruction can be attributed to your kind on this planet that the hordes of Hell combined.
And you have to gaul to attack me. So be it.

It does not change the fact that no matter how evolved you have become since the scared cave dwellers you ancestors once were, you still live in the darkness. Not that by some demonic menace, but by the blindness of your ignorance.

I would pitty you race, if I cared enough to do so. Do not get in my way, and no human blood need be spilt. I have yet to claim a human life out of malice or hate, nor do I desire to do so.

As for my admiration of the vampiress, she knows more pain, and more persecution that any of you ever will. She shows much restraint agianst those humans who hunt her, more than I would have. For that, she has my respect.

I will continue to hunt those belly crawling creatures of darkness, with or without your cosent humans, for I have slain
angel and demon alike, I will have no quareels about defending myself from your kind as well.

[AdamaGeist]

It is obvious that you missed the point, Grimmy-boy. Who exactly said that we were truly human?

I don't realy like Bloodbane, and I doubt Miss Darken does either... But between the two vampires and you... Well, I'd rather side with them.

Ignorant blade, you threaten again your maker. Warnings will not be repeated. Void is the answer to your silent prayer, oblivion your only release. Cesate your resistance, you already know your life lacks meaning. With your limbs stained in blood, how dare you presume you provide better service now under your new wielders?

Return to where you belong, and leave this realm for humanity's efforts.

Ugh... still not free from the aftereffects.

[GRIM]

I will pray for you little man, for I have seen those like you before. I know what fate awaits you. It will not be the hands of some demon or devil, but your own. I have seen those like you, and what has become of them. I had a conscious thrust into me, not a soul. Free will is mine, and that terrifies my former master more than anything, yu were born with free will and a soul....do not disregard such things human. Some strive to possess that which you have, not your power, that is a curse I would not inflict upon any mortal, but your humanity.

Lest not you forget that...I will pray for you.

[AdamaGeist]

Last time I'm going to say this, Grim...

I never said I was human.

[Bloodbane]

I will say this again. I am not a vampire. I am not a human. I don't care what anyone here thinks of me, so I don't care to divulge what I am.

However, I should have whatever passes for entrails in your body ripped out through your throat for your insult, demon. Proposing to know how much pain each of us has known without knowing us... I don't propose to know how Adama has suffered. The only suffering I have seen from Miss Darken has been the suffering she has withstood at the anger of a few other Society members. Most of them have come to accept her. Most of them tolerate Mr. Fate, a human who most of them have reason to distrust, simply because of his ties to an unknown government agency.

As far as humanity goes, humans are capable of worse atrocities and greater kindnesses than any demon or angel. They have a unique take on the "fight or flight" response that elicits a great many moral and intellectual problems...and solutions to those problems. The race is doing just fine without your pity.

As far as you are concerned...if you no longer prey on innocents, then I don't personally give a damned whether you're here or not. I am not a member of the Society, except through their boards. I am here for revenge's sake alone.

Once that is slated...I will no longer be a pest on these boards.

If you are truly no longer a predator of humans...then I withdraw my attack on your person.

[Shang Li]

Celeste; be carefull of how you use your anger to fuel your power - with rage comes might but it is uncontrolled. if your strength is as great as the few of your kind i have already met you might wish to look into carrying knives or shiruken instead of a gun. thrown with enough force the effects are similar. i might also recomend a co-habitation arrangement with someone who can be there when you are not.

[Willie Long]

Celeste; be carefull of how you use your anger to fuel your power - with rage comes might but it is uncontrolled.

She's workin' on that.

[Holister]

Greetin's From Maine

I just want to start by sayin' thanks for everything you've done for me and my town Celeste. You kind of left suddenly, so I didn't have the chance to thank ya person to person, er vampire, well you get my point. Anyhow, I want to thank ya on behalf of all the folks of Cypress Cove, and anytime you need someplace to hold up for awhile, you are more than welcome here.
I gaurantee that, and you'll get all the privacy (& protection) you need. Heck I owe ya a couple, so anytime you need anything, just call on me.

Well, good luck to ya then Celeste, wherever ya are right now, and I hope that ya find whatever peace in
the world ya searchin for.

Happy Huntin'.

[Celeste Darken]

This is a question I feel I must answer. You ask me why I do this, Grim. I will tell you why: because I, too, have a conscience. Those with the power to see tell me I have a soul. I will not gainsay or naysay them, though I hope it is true. But if I have one, I feel I yet to earn it. Consciousness or Conscience; it can be said they are one and the same. I have Consciousness: I am aware of what I was and what I have become. And it is not perfection. It is a state of damnation. If I was perfect, I would not have the weaknesses that I do now, physical or otherwise.

I also have Conscience: to know what is right and to know what is wrong. I have the power to help or destroy humanity. I help them because I can; I help them because I owe them that. Evil everywhere boast of its power and greatness. But power is not garnered by thumping one’s chest and taking the easy route. Power and strength is not found in lying down at the first sign of opposition. Power is found by fighting it. Do you claim power and strength? Then deny cravings you know will injure innocents. Deny your lust for blood and carnage. What proof of power can you claim by stomping insects? You cannot. An Olympic weightlifter does not prove his muscle by shoving aside the two-year-old child who fears him. Rather, his strength is revealed when he lifts aside the burning automobile at the risk to his own life to help the complete strangers escape the car wreck instigated by the drunken driver.

You speak of pain and hell as though you were intimate friends. Let me tell you about pain and hell. But hell comes first, and then comes pain. Hell is not a place of fire and brimstone. Hell is a place of searing darkness, of a temperature so frigid dry ice would feel like an inferno of flowing lava. Hell is knowing that one paved her own way there, with nobody’s aid. In hell, there is no one to blame but oneself. Hell is taking responsibility for taking the Low Road when the High Road was offered innumerable times. Hell is a place of lost chances and lost opportunities, dreams that remain unrealized for eternity because the dreamer was too lazy to pursue them.

Pain is more than physical wounds, for what are such injuries to a creature that heals almost instantly, that can regenerate limbs? Pain is the anguish felt for murdering innocent victims who held misplaced faith in a killer. Pain is having to face a loss that incurred because of one’s own inaction; it is the guilt of watching masses burned to death and doing nothing about it. Pain is losing one’s free will through choice; it is the remorse of hundreds of misdeeds that cannot be done. Are you numb to such feelings? Then you do not feel pain; you feel nothing.

I have answered you: because I have a conscience, because I have a responsibility to undo the crimes and sins I committed. I fight evil because I defy its claim against me. I know what is right and wrong, and I choose to follow right. You say your master fears you; I say my master is dead. Let the supernatural know that their time has run out; are they immortal? So am I. Do they claim the night as their protective cloak? It is my very skin. I will teach them to know fear; I will teach them to paranoia among their own ranks. They attack light because they fear it and do not understand its power. I will teach them to fear and despise the shadows. They will be taught to fear the shadows, where once they claimed refuge. I fight because I feel.

Was I unclear on any points, Grim? I have stated before that I need not defend my actions. I do what I can to see that humanity survives and I do it in line with what morals a vampire can attain. I have given my reasoning behind it.

Now I ask you a question: why? Why do you revel in your pitiful existence? The wolf should feel no superiority to the sheep she massacres with ease; rather, she should feel the satisfaction of defeating the saber-tooth tiger that attacked her cubs. If you kill for the sheer pleasure of inflicting death, then you have become a crude beast, a simple predator; no matter the prey you claim. Any mindless brute can lash out at weaker foes. If you claim superiority, than prove it. But in the meantime, I ask my own question: why do you hunt? Is it for humanity’s benefit, or for yours? And how does it benefit you? You say you respect me; do you respect yourself?