• Date with a Vampire Hunter

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 12:24 pm**

I crouched upon the roof, keeping to the shadows and watching the alley below me intensely. I had hidden myself during the day and set out right after nightfall, rather than the three hours he had suggested; such a time span was nothing short of an attempt to play with my mind, I knew. With Khavik, false information was mingled with a bit of fact as well; it helped to keep opponents guessing. And he never proceeded without two or more of his goals getting closer to completion with any action of his, while at the same time foiling his foes. He was as savage as truth, as efficient as time, and as faceted as a kaleidoscope. And he utilized those skills to his fullest advantage.

Because of his wanton duplicity, several questions were running through my mind as I skimmed through the night shadows: what part of Nordstorme had he been honest about, and which were lies? Was I in the process of being framed again, or was he shunting me aside while he set a bigger scheme into motion? What was he doing, what crime was he planning or already committing, while I followed his directions? And had he told me, as he occasionally did, the complete truth, expecting me to disbelieve the most critical facts? Most importantly, by going by my own schedule, would I be too late to stop the ambush, miss it altogether, or be in time to stop it? The vampire was a master at mind games and like traps; I had fallen into them more than once. With him, it was never a matter of fair play, a matter of outguessing, or a matter of stopping. It was a matter of countering as many catastrophes and setbacks as possible.

If I ignored him, I knew Nordstorme, as well as many innocents, would die. Follow his instructions to the letter, and likely the same outcome as the former would occur, with the added determent that I would likely be blamed for the deaths. The only other options were gathering a small force of other from Lazlo to try to turn the tide of his plan in our favor, which is a course he would expect, or to take the middle ground and not follow his directions entirely, but follow them nonetheless.

I chose the middle ground and went out Sunday night. I know you are all considering me a fool by this, especially since many at Lazlo would be willing to accompany me against this monster. But I am not willing to let another die in my stead. And make no mistake, against Khavik, death is always a remote possibility. I say remote because, like Ecclesia before, death is a one time thing. But breaking men and women is an art that he has thoroughly mastered and enjoys committing over and over again.

Let me give the gist of what Khavik told me: the identity of Nordstorme and how to find him. And the details were these: that in little more than a week, Nordstorme would be ambushed and possibly killed. Again, the scenario was remarkably similar to Mr. Cifer against Ecclesia. And he gave me the details of how I could stop it from happening. Yes, Khavik knows our weaknesses well: put innocent lives at stake. I told nobody about the ambush or Nordstorme’s identity because there would be a clamor to help him. And such clamors would only serve to heighten the confusion and paranoia, themes he plays like a deck of cards in Vegas.

I had checked the entire city first; just to be certain of the possible “games” Khavik might decide to play. I couldn’t discern any tricks, but I could see the vampire hunter’s handiwork well. Nordstorme’s regular patrols were exactly as warranted. And those streets were far safer than the ones he didn’t patrol regularly. The city was far too large for him to keep the entire thing safe, but Nordstorme did well with keeping the infested downtown from spreading outward.

But that would change radically if the ambush wasn’t stopped. And it looked like Khavik was already hard at work. Victims were being found in spite of Nordstorme’s vigilance.

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 12:56 pm**

Damn. You should've taken at least a little help with you.

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 3:07 pm**

I have to agree with Bert getting some help would not have hurt.

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 4:17 pm**

Shadowstalker wrote:I have to agree with Bert getting some help would not have hurt.

Maybe so. Or it might have gotten others killed, or worse.

An hour and a half later of slinking through the dank streets, my assertiveness was rewarded. A piercing scream rent through the mist-garbed air; not so loud, really, but a distinct sound to a vampire’s hearing. The sound of struggle could be heard in the distance. The scent of blood was in the air; the acidic fumes of gunpowder wafted in the wind; the cries of battle had begun. I sent my senses, physical and psionic, winging toward the scent and followed after.

The site of the battle was fresh and still underway. The two figures straining at each other were locked in melee, passing through the shadows and haze as only experienced stalkers could. Nordstorme wore goggles and an armor of dark black, matte Kevlar of some sort, rimmed with psychic energy. He was large and compact all at once, a hunting cat fighting for his territory. His foe, on the other hand, was gaunt and bony, a starved creature that had once been a woman, now a bloodthirsty night stalker. Her lust for the body as well for the blood of her meals was evident.

Nordstorme was doing well against her, as I believed he would. But the creature was a fierce opponent and quick even for a vampire. Giving no room and giving no quarter, they surged back and forth, Nordstorme armed with a silver sword with strange designs across the length, swinging with measured temperance. The vampire screeched and howled like a barnyard owl, wrenching at his armor with blood-soaked talons.

A wild, I thought. She was crazed and attacked without thought of strategy. I cast about, quietly searching. The cry of a dying human was on par to a whisper, but insistent enough to catch my attention. I followed the scent of blood quickly, around and behind the combatants. Taking care to hide my vampiric aura, I uncovered the body of a young teenager, nearly bone thin and her lifeblood seeping out her throat.

“Help me,” she begged, her eyes glazed with tears. I knelt in pity, carefully pushing aside the garbage cans she had been left among and gently taking her in my arms, doing what I could to staunch the bleeding. She gurgled out a delusional explanation while I worked at keeping her throat and airway clear. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have come home when you told me . . . .”

Her eyes widened in shock and fear as vampire and hunter crashed into view. I covered her protectively. For a brief instant, the smog seemed to part into a frame that captured the moment like a Polaroid snapshot, the hunter stood poised to strike, wooden stake readied for the plunge. Then it swung downward, smashing into the wild’s breast. She shrieked once; a second later, her skeleton tumbled to the ground. The hunter caught sight of the girl and me and stared expressionlessly.

Then he turned away.

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 4:54 pm**

Wow. Grrr, don't keep leaving us hanging. :wink:

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 4:57 pm**

I agree with Bert.

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 5:40 pm**

Bert_the_Turtle wrote:Wow. Grrr, don't keep leaving us hanging.

In this case, I would wish I could leave you hanging. But alas, time must always move on, even for those not affected by it . . . .

“She’s still alive,” I called after him. “She needs to be taken to an emergency room right away.”

“Better hurry then,” he barely paused and didn’t even turn around when he spoke. “The hospital is about half an hour away. You can make it if you run.”

“Do you have a car or a cellphone?” I asked.

“No.” He secured the stake to the vampire and stood up. Without even glancing back, he started to walk away.

Furrowing my brows in consternation, I checked the makeshift bandage I had torn from my shirt and applied to the girl before gently picking her up gently in my arms and following the hunter. It was only a few seconds later when he stopped.

“Why are you following me?” It was not a question. It was a demand.

“This girl needs medical attention,” I said scathingly. “My first aid won’t be enough.”

“She’s your problem. Not mine.” He barely glanced back, tapping the side of his goggles with his forefinger. “I’m a hunter, not a nurse. You want to spoon feed her, go ahead.” He continued walking.

“Nordstorme!” I barked angrily.

He spun around. “You going to just stand here yappin’ all night, or are you going to take the hooker to the doc?” he snapped. “What do you want from me?”

“Some directions would be nice,” I growled, knowing full well the girl was not what he had tagged her as. “And some help wouldn’t be uncalled for, either.”

His brows knit above the goggles. “You want help with the girl?” He stomped right up to me until his Kevlar breastplate brushed against my fingers. He was at least a half foot taller than me and far heavier, and used that to his advantage, stared hard into my eyes. “You want me to take care of her?”

“It was a thought,” I replied boldly, not backing down a millimeter. Nordstorme stiffly held out his arms for me to pass her along. He gently cradled her head in the crook of his left bicep while she breathed unsteadily.

And he tossed her callously on the ground, quick-drawing a large revolver.

A loud roar of thunder sounded.

“There,” he didn’t blow the smoke from his smoking barrel, he didn’t look at the body; he didn’t do anything as he holstered the gun. “All taken care of.”

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 5:44 pm**

I'm pretty sure Nordstrome has found his way on to a few lists..

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 6:06 pm**

If he just killed an innocent victim he's on mine now.

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 6:27 pm**

I am not likeing this guy at all.

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 7:50 pm**

I’m glad feelings have been unanimous with this monster. Because I acted by my instincts . . . .

He regarded me coldly. When I didn’t speak because of shock, he turned on his heel and started to walk away. All I could do was I stare in disbelief at the man I had once thought was my savior . . . my hero. I had looked up to this man . . . I had nearly come to idolize him . . . I once thought if I could get my actions justified by this man, I would be able to . . . .

But now . . . such a deed seemed frivolous. Indeed, such an act on my part seemed blasphemous. And I found I didn’t care for the man anymore. It was no wonder Khavik had led me to him. Such a monster was as bad as any supernatural threat. While I’m certain the vampire had brought me here to destroy this hunter, which would prove beneficial to Khavik among many other supernatural evils, I found I would gladly comply.

I wanted this man . . . this fraud . . . to die.

“Arthur Nordstorme,” I took a perverse pleasure in calling him by his pseudonym. His other name . . . the pseudonym we all knew him as . . . was no longer proper for him. It was the label of a hero . . . and this creature deserved no such accolade.

“Make it fast,” he swore. “The night is growing older. I have many more supers to kill.”

“Are you so anxious to fight?” I snarled, the rage building up inside me. “Are you as anxious to die? Why take on any old supernatural when you can have me? Come . . . take the chance you know you have always wanted to. See if you can take on the likes of Celeste Darken.” I dropped my false aura.

He spun an about face with such precision the barrel to his shotgun was pointed between my eyes almost before I was aware he had moved at all.

Almost.

I leaped to the side even as the flare of fire coughed from the gun barrel, and even at thirty feet distance and dodging the initial attack, I felt the wind of the shot a hairsbreadth from nicking my ear, shattering against the brick of the building across from us. Latching onto the wall of the alley’s last building, I shoved off and just managed to leap over another barrage, landing fifteen feet closer.

“Killing you will be a pleasure,” he replied eagerly. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

“And this was a time I hoped would never come,” I stalked to the side, his gun barrel following me. “But I have always been prepared for the possibility. If I have to kill you and spike your head atop your own sword to expose your betrayal, so be it . . . Nordstorme.”

Posted: **Mon Feb 12, 2007 8:03 pm**

A little extreame, but if I was there I would likely been inclined to take him down myself.

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 12:04 am**

I cannot wait for the part where your tear his head off, or whatever you do with him.

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 2:01 am**

I have to admit I would be torn between the idea of arresting him or beheading him.

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 7:20 am**

The philosophy of druidry doesn't believe in punitive justice... We believe in reconstructive justice.

However, when one proves to be sick enough in spirit and head to be beyond justice, I say just kill the bastard.

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 8:41 am**

I can live with that...

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 5:07 pm**

Kolya wrote:I cannot wait for the part where your tear his head off, or whatever you do with him.

Tear his head off? No; I was going to DISEMBOWEL him. Next I would peel the flesh off his cranium, and then after tearing his head off, ramming his entrails down the stump, and shoving his skull up his a . . . use your imagination . . . on that, I would finally kill him and burn his carcass, lay whatever remained of him to rest by flushing it down the toilet.

Or at least, that was the plan. Too extreme? Resorting to my baser instincts? Probably true on both counts. But at the time . . . it was the lesser of two evils. Don’t lecture me on self-control and allowing my rage to take over, Li-san. I was under the influence of both. I was controlled. It was a carefully calculated decision, and he deserved worse.

What I planned would be merciful to other considerations I gave thought to . . . .

This battle was not so easily won by the esteemed Mr. Arthur Nordstorme. He found me a relentless opponent, far more capable of strategy than his previous foe. But he was outfitted to kill vampire; he came after me with shotgun propelled stake and cross, silver rounds and garlic spray. When I got too close, the hunter unsheathed the blade he had strapped to his waist with professional ease, swinging the silver-edged blade at my chest. I mostly sidestepped it, though my arm sparked with the edge slicing into my skin. But the flesh wound closed almost instantly. Nordstorme didn’t stop to think, attacking with a ferocity that was unbecoming of a human. I dodged to and fro, kept at bay by the constant barrage of anti-vampire weaponry he assailed me with.

He was in turn a dauntless foe for me; his reputation was well-earned and ferociously defended. He gave no quarter and he used plans and strategies well-honed by years of practice. But physically, I was his superior. I proved this by catching his blade in midswing as it sailed for my neck. He grunted with the effort to wrench it out of my grasp, but I hung on stubbornly, sparks flailing from my palm like water from a showerhead, drenching the front of my shirt in warmth and small black spots. The hunter leaped away as I jabbed out at him with my free hand, leaving the sword in my possession.

His eyes thinned menacingly when I bent the blade into a crumpled little ball. But now he moved with a wariness that suggested he was running low on ammunition. I wouldn’t be taken off guard in such a way, however. I knew it would take him nearly a half hour of constant divestment before he was completely unarmed. Thus we circled each other guardedly, looking for the hole in each other’s defenses. His was the first to offer an opening. I pounced on it immediately, boring past his guard and wrapping my hands about his throat. My palms started to hiss, burns intermingling with the coursing sparks; he had crosses sewn into the material of his armor.

“Do you yield?” I growled against the pain, tightening my stranglehold as best I could, the holy symbols weakening my strength as long as I maintained contact.

“When . . . hell freezes . . . over . . . .” Even with the embossed crucifixes sapping my power, I was still stronger than him. He gave up trying to force my hands off his throat and rummaged at his belt. His hand came up to my face bearing a can of mace . . . filled with holy water.

I jerked away from the direct strike to my face, the fine mist enveloping me; he sprayed again, but this time it only caught the back of my neck and ear. My left hand crackled painfully when I slapped the can away, shattering it. My vision was blurry; the mist seemed to thicken; I saw his distorted form jump to his feet. Wiping my eyes and face angrily, I sniffed him out and feinted; a roundhouse kick found a mark directly against his chest. The slap of Kevlar cracking was unmistakable as he flew almost a dozen feet against the cement.

A figure of slight proportions made her way through the deserted mist from the other end of the street.

“Hey,” she called out to us, oblivious of the danger she was in. “Either of you lookin’ for a hit? I’m available.”

Nordstorme leaped at the chance to turn the advantage over his way again.

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 5:08 pm**

Perhaps I vented a little more of my rage in that last post than I should have. But at the time, I was thinking of this post down here. Let me assure you, it was an intentional statement, made entirely upon rational thinking. In case anybody is worrying: I am not, was not, and will not go over the “deep end.” I swore I would kill him, and while I sincerely wanted to commit the acts that I related before . . . well. Words and deeds are often different. When I got him, I would kill him. The end. My desires to desecrate his corpse were housed upon the hoard of anger I felt at being betrayed, anger that could be and was redirected upon necessity. I had always known that he might try to kill me, or he might ignore me . . . but it had never entered my mind that he was evil. Whether I carried them out, however, was irrelevant. He had to be stopped.

He was deliberately provoking me. And it was working . . . .

“No!” I hollered, frantically rubbing the last vestiges of the blessed liquid from my eyes. “Leave here now! Run!”

But I was too late; Nordstorme had rushed to her side, and all I could do was watch as her expression of mild curiosity turned to surprise, and then fear as the hunter rushed her, grabbing her by the throat and twisting her so she was between us. A dagger found its way to her throat, his other hand dropping to her wrist.

“Easy, buddy,” she stammered. “My rates are okay. Honest!”

“Your fight is with me, Nordstorme,” I demanded icily. “Let her go.”

He smiled with chilling promise. “Very well.”

The dagger blade flashed with his sharp movement. He shoved the prostitute toward me and turned tail and fled. I reached the girl before she fell to the ground, catching her by the shoulders. Her head flopped against me, and the blood from her severed throat ran down my pant leg. I turned her around to look at her stricken face. The look of surprise, minutely stamped with an indirect fear, didn’t leave her face as the life drained from her eyes. The moonlight was suddenly blanketed by cloud cover. The girl slowly slid from my hands to the ground. Nordstorme’s sneer vanished as I lifted my chin to face him, my irises glowing hotly with my wrath. The final line had been drawn.

“Nordstorme,” I grit my teeth as I stood, balled my fists at my sides. “Whatever I had previously thought of you is void. I had thought to repay my debts to you for freeing me. But you are worse than the monsters you hunt. Any debt I might have owed you no longer applies. Tonight, it ends. I swear, whatever happens . . . I will kill you.”

It was a moment before his swagger returned.

“Well,” he took a step back, his hand straying for a weapon. “Never knew a vamp to keep her promise.” He dived backward as I sprang for him, tearing out his large shotgun and firing it off. The fireball slammed into my chest, but I was so enraged I barely even felt it. He scrambled into the alley confines, knocking down trash cans as he passed to hamper clot up his trail.

But I was not following his trail. I was forging my own. I leaped past the blockage, taking to the alley wall and racing along its length as easily the ground. The shotgun was too unwieldy in this chase; he turned to using a strangely wrought pistol to shoot at me; I merely leaped to the opposite alley side, tumbling along the brickwork to regain my feet and to continue the chase from the second floor equivalent, while he pounded along the ground.

The mist was getting denser. The ground was nearly invisible, covered in the smog, reeking vapors trailing up like snakes. I allowed myself a grin when he started looking about for me frantically, running headlong against the back to a store as he did so. It was nearly impossible to see for human eyes, and whatever powered the strange goggles was apparently running out of steam. The hunted set his back against the wall and dropped the pistol, cycling his shotgun and holding it stiffly against his chest. Running along the very wall he used for protection, I leaped and let out a roar as I catapulted toward him. He swerved quickly, bringing up his gun.

Much too slowly. I smashed into his chest feet first, and he flew through the thick air, the dank mist swallowing him whole.

I closed in for the kill.

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 5:48 pm**

Damn!

You tell the best stories Auntie Cee :wink:

All kidding aside, that's amazing. What happens next!?

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 6:07 pm**

Sheesh I love the story and want to know what happened next, But I also am wondering... Ron any comments?

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 6:16 pm**

Well, we know Ron's opinion of hunters that don't protect the innocent.

Posted: **Tue Feb 13, 2007 6:23 pm**

Yeah I just hope he isn't haveing issues with the idea that Celeste was the one takeing him down? Even tho from the way Celeste tells it he was more than deserving of whatever he got.

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 4:13 am**

Am I the only one concerned by the similarities between this post and Mr. Caliburn's "Back in the hunt"? The hunter apears to be using the same tricks as Mr. Caliburn, and the vampire that Mr. Caliburn is fighting has used the same sequence of attacks that Ms. Darken has used.

I hope it is not true, just the suspicious rambleings of a tired old man.

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 8:10 am**

I'd noticed that, but I reasoned that they're both still alive, and Ron's real name isn't anything resembling that which Ms. Darken has used in this post.

Though the fact that they're both still alive is a greater give-away, because neither of them tend to leave enemies living. At least not without putting up a more immediate notice of their enemies being alive. They're both telling stories in installments...

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 9:18 am**

I had that exact same thought Shang Li and asked Cee. No, they aren't relating the same fight.

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 11:52 am**

I found him impossibly on his feet, swinging toward me, shotgun barrel leading the way. His eyebrows shot up as he saw me, and his gun bellowed with the shot; I just barely dodged out of the way, slamming into the wall with the momentum. He followed in with another shot, this one I leaped over. The jump took me over his head, and my kick glanced off his shoulder. But it was enough to send him spinning.

“Your murders will not go unpunished,” I promised him. “You will pay.”

“You dare call me a murderer.” Another shot sent me wheeling from my perch to find a new one. “You’re the one who feeds off the blood of innocents, parasite.”

I growled at the audacity of his remarks. The mist was as thick as wool, nearly impossible for either of us to see through. It was impossible to see clearly; anything past four feet were nothing more than indistinct shapes, easily caused by wind or our own movements. My sense of smell was nearly useless in the mess of scents that permeated the area like colors on a Jackson Pollock painting. My hearing, however, was an invaluable asset in pinpointing him.

I leaped up the wall and onto the fire escape to avoid a spray of garlic. Apparently, his goggles enabled him to see through the smoky haze. Some sort of thermo-imaging perhaps, I thought while dodging the noxious fumes swinging toward me. Though dead, I somehow was registering heat; somehow, I knew this.

And Nordstorme was not about to let me out of his sights.

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 12:47 pm**

He had me on the ground; I was spiraling from shoulder to shoulder to extinguish escape his latest grenade throw, a combination of holy water and garlic oil. But the alley wall barred my way; I rolled to my feet and cleared the fire escape, the rattle of the gun’s ammunition drumming against the steel floor. I used the stair railing to redirect my momentum; the weakened metal, added to my weight, caused the entire structure to collapse with a shriek. Nordstorme twisted out of the way from my lunge, but my heel managed to clip him hard enough in the shoulder to send him spinning. Now the mist was so dense it swirled like a cloak with our movements, blacker than smoke and full of evil intent. I could hear him panting with the strain of battle; I was surprised that I hadn’t heard it sooner. However, I didn’t pounce after him just yet; the fallen fire escape was still quivering with its fall, and I dared not go after him while the twisted metal had a chance of sheltering me from his night vision.

A break in the mist opened like the seal of an envelope; in that brief moment, I saw him scanning the darkness with his large gun, his goggled gaze pressed to the scope atop the weapon. He was at a 45 degree angle from my present position. For the moment, I was outside his line of sight.

And I chose that moment to strike. Moving as quiet as lost time, I snatched a trashcan lid and threw it as I would a Frisbee, over his head and against the opposite wall. He whirled his gun about face, again with the speed that nearly defied conventional means. With his back to me, there was no advantage better than this. I took careful aim, an aim that took less than a second to calculate, and then lunged for his back, my foot leading in a flying jump kick.

His grunt of alarm was punctuated by an underlying current of pain, both of which were nearly drowned in the keening crack as his armor split under my attack. Nordstorme’s gun flew one way while he flew another. He managed to successfully roll with the strike, facing me on the ground with an expression of alarm on his face.

Incensed beyond belief, I forced myself to face him as he reached back for yet another weapon. Growling as much in pain as anger, I ducked his next hurled object and rammed into his chest with my knee leading, reaching behind him and grabbed the first thing my hand touched, yanking it out of its sheath. My hand began to hiss and throb, holy symbols were etched along the handle. The blade slid free and he tumbled to the ground, where I pounced on him, my knees planted on his chest.

“Don’t move,” I snarled, setting the tip of his sword against his throat, ignoring the dull ache against my palm. “Move, and I’ll cut off your head.”

But I hesitated with the blow. This was not Nordstorme.

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 12:49 pm**

oh boy...

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 12:59 pm**

Appears my post in Ron's story may have not been off by much. Sounds like someone set you two up.

Michael T.

Posted: **Wed Feb 14, 2007 1:11 pm**

Go Lazlo Society Secret Handshake.

Date with a Vampire Hunter

Date with a Vampire Hunter

Meeting the Man

Betrayal of the Trust

Sometimes a Girl must face Reality . . .

Confronting the Enemy

The Final Line

Inconsistencies

Inconsistencies