Celeste Darken wrote:

Holister wrote:I walked over to Cee, shrapnel bouncin' off my rock hard abbs.

She got up and ran to me, " Ben, you saved me, how can I ever repay you. " she said to me.

"Shucks ma'am, " I said, " It weren't nothin' Its my job, my life to serve and protect. "

Cee gazed longingly into my eyes, a look of admiration and desire wellin' up within them. She drew closer...

I backed away, " Sorry Celeste,
but I know what your feelin' now is natural, havin' just saved your life and all, but I'm not the guy for you. Im a sheriff, and my mistress is the law. Maybe one day somewhere in this mixed up, crazy world you'll find find someone. "

" Oh Ben " she said, " I can never find someone as ruged and brave as you. "

" Well then, give me some sugar baby. "

. . . .?!!! One . . . two . . . three . . . four.

I suppose I should relate my portion of the story concerning the oil rig, as a certain man has several accounts . . . skewed. I shall take Shadowstalker’s suggestion in mind. And I suggest, Mr. Holister, while you are at the hospital, as soon as all the present . . . difficulties have been completed, that you have your head checked.

As Konthaak had stated, I must have hitched a ride with someone else; but that little detail is not important. Let us just say I have friends that don’t frequent the Lazlo Society and leave it at that. Since a number of posters have declared their faith and trust in me, let my word suffice that the individuals who helped me are also trustworthy; but they wish to remain nameless, as dealing with vampires in their line of business is not exactly . . . encouraged, let us say.

Shepard had it in his mind to divide us and pick us off individually with his “Horsemen.” The idea was to “divide and conquer,” I presume. Bert was to deal with War; Konthaak, Famine; Adama, Pestilence. And as for myself . . . Death.

But we all knew him better as Ben Holister.

My battle took place on a high tower with no cover anywhere. It was literally a featureless platform at the top, the drop off was a good sixty feet, with nothing but the waters of the sea to surround us. I could barely make out another tower, even higher than the one we inhabited, a little ways apart, though too far for me to worry about with such immediate concerns to take the forefront of my mind. At first, I thought my battle had already taken place and involved two foes: Ben Holister, nearly unrecognizable as once our friend, his features frozen in an expressionless grimace that somehow still exuded the inner conflict within; the second figure was a man dressed in blood-spattered robes, his wounds received by an entire arsenal of weaponry: there were the smooth and jagged tears done by blade; riddled bullet holes rimmed in blood, by automatic machine guns; and charred and smoking flesh and robes, flames and explosives; each wound seemed strong enough to shred an ordinary human thrice over, yet the robed man lurched for me wearily.

“Better hurry,” Holister said, though I was uncertain to whom he was addressing. “I won’t wait too long; and you’re nearly dead, anyway.”

I sensed no trouble from the second man; he laboriously made a staggered path toward me, though every step must have been agony. He nearly fell at the last step, and I quickly knelt in front of him, my brow furrowed when he collapsed in my arms. He weighed no more than a feather; even if I hadn’t my supernatural strength, to hold him would have required no effort. He slowly raised his gaze toward mine, his eyes clouding over as death sought to tug him free; but he held on stubbornly. I tried to place his face within my memory, but was unable. It was indescribable, but not in a bad way. It was a face no different than any other human in a large crowd. It seemed washed out and faded, a face that no memory could hold. His cracked lips parted, and when he spoke, I instantly understood.

“Nocturnal goddess . . .” he croaked, his failing eyes seeking my face. “You are just as beautiful as I imagined . . .” He broke off in a fit of coughing, but he rallied. “I wanted to see you before I died. To apologize for . . . my failure. I failed you . . .” He raised a reddened palm, caressing my cheek gently.

A flash of memories . . . his memories . . . touched my mind.

“Finish . . . what I began . . .” he implored, and then suddenly sagged in my arms.

“Grim . . .”

I didn’t speak, nor could I find the proper emotion to convey when he died. And for that reason, I was expressionless when his body turned into mist and discorporated.

“Interesting,” Death spoke in Ben’s voice. “How he wanted to see you before he died. Especially in that false form, pretending to be a human. I would have thought his demonic visage much more suitable, considering that he was a monster from hell. Declared from his own lips; do not bother to deny it.”

I slowly stood, the fire inside my eyes licking through my irises angrily. “Shepard,” I announced caustically. “Tonight, you die. Tonight, Ben Holister goes free.”

He smiled humorlessly and brought up the weapons he had chosen to start the melee.

And the battle began.

It was rather uneven to start, though well-matched. I held back because I had no desire to kill him; I knew Ben was not responsible for his actions. In the meantime, Death, augmented through magic, held back because Ben would not give up his body and mind without a fight. We feinted back and forth for the first portion of the battle, seeking openings within established defenses. Death was decked in combat fatigues and armed with a slue of weapons, all calibrated to killing vampires. My opponent was going after me with an eighteen inch, silver-plated, kris dagger when the photographs came.

I smelled Konthaak’s signature of magic on them, these pictures of Ben and Molly. And suddenly, I knew my chances of getting through Death and to Ben had just gotten a lot easier. Up to now, I had been dodging and parrying his attacks, trying to reason with the human just underneath the monster. But now I took a chance, remaining still and cajoling Ben to come out. Death charged me with the twisted dagger leading, aiming for my heart. I took his wrist and deflected it downward, intentionally ramming it through my stomach. Gritting my teeth against the dull pain, I grasped his wrist and held him fast.

“Benjamin Holister,” I called to him, staring into his eyes. “Listen to my voice. You are not the murderer they would want you to be. You are a father. To her,” I showed him the picture of Molly, and his distant gaze became focused on it. “Do not return with the need to explain yourself. You are not only a father, you are a man of the law. Humanity’s law; thus, you should be one of their saviors. Not one of their destroyers.”

Holister froze. A wild look of chaos rushed through his eyes. He suddenly cried out in pain, dropping to his knees, clutching at his head. He gasped once, and fell to the deck.

Shepard was not one to have his crony leave his side so suddenly. I spun about with the force of the bullet hitting my shoulder. I pinpointed the shot to a man on the distant tower. He was older, his face horribly misshapen.

A man, if it could be called that, stood by on the deck, a flechette in his hand. Here was the cyborg, a thing of metal. He was a Juggernaut intent to destroy me. The wound had only grazed me, but it hurt far more than was ordinary for silver, healed slowly, and bled sparks like an artery.

Shepard called out from a loudspeaker, “My dear Celeste, you do remember my son David, don’t you? I’m sure he remembers you. You are not leaving this place alive, monster!”

As a second hail of bullets came screaming.

“Kill her, then that traitor Death!”

“DIE SLUT!!!” Shepard yelled his favorite monicker of me through his . . . “son’s loudspeaker. I leaped out of the way of the bullets, skirting the lip of the deck and drawing the fire away from Holister. But its wild burst slapped into my hip, and another agonizing splash of pain with it. It was far faster in movement than any machine that bulky had a right to be. I hit the deck, it approached. It loomed over me; Shepard gloated; a mistake. A panther’s growl escaped my lips, and I lunged up, tearing into it. It staggered beneath my blow, but Holister had one thing correct: it was specifically made to kill me. A punch to my temple sent me sprawling to the deck yet again.

I waited, braced on my hands in a prone push up position. When it drew near, I vaulted into action, weighting myself down by adhering my palms against the deck floor and spinning my legs against it, memories of gymnastic endeavors fueling the double strike against the back of its knees. As it tumbled to the ground, I pounced on its back and interlaced my fingers over the top of its metallic head, my palms against its temples.

“Haven’t you figured it out?” I growled to Shepard, putting the full force of my vampiric strength to shove its head together. “I am already dead.”

“So tell me, Shepard,” I snarled. “How does it feel to be damned? Did you sell your soul yourself, or did you have to have help for that, too? And how many others have you bargained for?”

Suddenly a sharp ping erupted in my chest, sending agony throughout my body. A series of hollow silver reeds ejected from the thing’s spine and into me; the scent of water, obviously blessed, filled my nostrils, and I was forced to back down.

My body began to smoke as the lethal does of some sort of poison coursed through me. The torso of the wretched abomination spun to face me; sinew and entrails simply plummeted to the ground in a macabre “flop.”

As a flash of intense flames erupt from the tubes benathe its arms.

Still fazed and dizzy by the Holy Water coursing through me, I forgot my immunity to fire and leaped clear. And here Ben did[/I awaken. But he wasn’t quite as . . . eloquent as he portrayed himself. I won’t post his exact words; Molly should keep [i]some of her father’s dignity.

But he was a good shot. I will give him credit for that. It turned its attention away from me as two more slugs buried themselves into the chest of the monstrosity.

Thats when I saw it . . . a glowing green fluid filled cylinder with a human heart in side of it, buried deep in the titanium chest cavity. It sprayed fire in Ben’s direction as he dove out the way, throwing away the spent gun and grabbing a fresh one. Ben unintentionally distracted the thing, while I leaped upon its back and planted my feet to its shoulder blades, adhering to it in case it tried another pirouette. Ripped away at the metal encasing the strange canister, I yanked the thing free and jumped clear.

It suddenly dropped like the dead thing it was.