#9 - Hunter Versus Hunter

By Adam Koeth

This issue is recommended for Mature Readers only!

Her eyes glinted a flinty grey in the dim light that surrounded Hannibal King's home, just outside New Orleans. I had come, with King, Frank Drake, and a woman who calls herself Petra, to come up with a plan to hunt down some bloodsuckers in the city. Drake went psycho on me. He wanted me to kill him, to end his newfound existence as a vampire. I almost gave in, God help me, but the proceedings were interrupted. Drake escaped in the confusion. I have a feeling that I'll see him again.

Then there's her. Whoever she is, she's been following me for a good while now. I almost didn't realize it, which pisses me off. What good is a vampire hunter who doesn't know he's being followed?

"You want to get that pigsticker out of my throat?" she asks me, her eyes filled with rage. I have my sword pointed at her throat, a show of force to stop her from getting away. I need answers. "Or should I remove it myself?"

She's arrogant. Unfortunately, she has the skills to back up the attitude. Before I know what's happening, I'm on my back, the sword a few feet away in a pile of dirt. With a soft laugh, she tries to flee into the forest again.

I jump to my feet and cut her off again, this time without the advantage of my sword, not that it did me any good last time. The kid gloves are off, though. I'm through wasting time with her, woman or no. I give her a shot on the right cheek, which whirls her around.

"Sonofa--" she spits, holding a few fingers to her cheek. She looks at me, the anger gone from her eyes. Now all I see is pure, unadulterated hatred. Straightening, she catches my eyes. A staring contest ensues for a few seconds before she makes a break to my left.

I dance to the left, my arms ready to block a shot. Unfortunately, she goes for my legs, bringing me to one knee. Before I can respond, she brings the flat of her palm to the side of my head, creating a peculiar ringing sensation in my ears.

King steps in, trying to restrain her, using all of his vampiric strength. I watch as, impossibly, she breaks his grip and does a perfect hip-toss. King lands hard on the ground, skids for a few feet, then quickly gets back to his feet. By that time, however, she's turned her attention back to me.

Ducking to avoid her next blow, I sweep her legs out from under her. She falls with an audible grunt, but gets to her feet at the same time I do. Another staring contest, then I bring the fight to her.

She ducks under my punch, but leaves herself wide open to a knee in the face. Her nose breaks, a small trickle of blood turning into a massive flow. A small bit of dark red liquid falls on her, staining her dark leather pants, while the rest spills on the ground.

I don't give her time to feel the pain. Swinging off to the side, I give her a hard punch in the kidney, followed by a few quick jabs in the stomach. She doubles over, blood still dripping from her broken nose.

"GodDAMN it all!" she cries out, clutching at her stomach.

Quickly, I dive for my sword. Before the woman can get to her feet, I bring the razor-sharp edge down against the back of her neck. "Now, I asked for some answers, and I want them. I've got all night."

Strings of raven hair hang in her face. If it mattered to me, I would say she almost looks beautiful. Any semblance of beauty, however, is quickly lost as she spits on my left boot. In return, I bring the tip of the sword around and press it into her throat, my muscles tensed, waiting for her to make another move.

"Fine," she whispers, her eyes still filled with anger and hatred. It doesn't look like she's going to fight any more, but I'll just leave the sword right where it is while she explains to me just what the hell is going on here. "My name is Elizabeth Van Helsing. Yes, I know, Rachel was supposed to be the last of our line," she begins. She must have seen the surprise in my face. "Almost my entire life, I've hunted vampires. It's my family duty, if you will. At times, I don't like it. In fact, I hate it some times. But I do it... it's what I was raised to do."

"Who sent you to follow me?"

Van Helsing sighs. She doesn't want to give it up, but she will.

"My mentor, the man who raised me. His name is Whistler," she says, staring straight into my eyes the entire time. I get the distinct feeling that she didn't want to follow me, that she had better things to do. "He helped found a small group of hunters a couple of decades back. Whistler, and a few other guys, would go out, night after night, risking their lives to kill vampires. One night, he rescued me from a vampire that goes by the name of Jean-Paul."

"We've met."

"I know," comes her reply. "He also killed my great-grandfather. Jean-Paul thought it would be a nice touch to destroy the last of the Van Helsings. Whistler and company didn't think it was that funny." She takes a seat on the ground, knowing that I'm not going to let her up until I get the full story. Petra and King stand nearby, listening intently to Van Helsing's story.

"Did Whistler send you after me?"

She rolls her eyes, as if I asked a stupid question. I don't like being patronized. "Yes, he did. Whistler thought that you would make a good addition to our organization. I disagreed, but I did what he told me to anyway." She glances over at King and scowls visibly. King isn't even looking at her. "I'll take you to him, if you want."

I think on it for a moment. This mystery man would seem a lot less mysterious if I could put a face with the name. But what if it's a trap? Pulling the tip of the sword away from her throat, I nod. If it is a trap, I can handle it.

Dusting herself off, Van Helsing gets to her feet. "Fine then." She looks again at King, her eyes gleaming with hatred. "I suggest your pet stays here. He's liable to get himself killed." This comment finally draws King's attention, and he doesn't seem to happy about it.

"He's no pet," I reply, turning my back to Van Helsing. I sheathe the sword, fully expecting the woman to take advantage of my apparent distraction and attack me. She doesn't. "And he can handle himself well."

"I'm just saying," Van Helsing replies, wiping dried blood from underneath her nose. "Walking into a hotel full of vampire hunters with a bloodsucker by your side might not be the best idea." She cracks her neck, then her knuckles, then her back, all the while walking towards the woods. "My car's parked a few miles away. I'll go get it, then--"

"I'll go with you," interrupts Petra, her attention turned towards Van Helsing. I don't quite fully trust this psychic crap yet, and I'm wondering why Petra was so eager to volunteer. I find myself nodding, despite the reservations. Van Helsing enters the thick woods, followed closely by Petra.

King steps over to me, his pale skin evident in the darkness. I can hear the whisp of his long cloak as it scrapes against the ground. "I don't trust her."

"Which 'her'?"

"Van Helsing," King says, staring into the woods. "I'll stay close, just in case this whole thing is a trap. I'll see you and you won't see me, but I'll be there nonetheless." He stops talking and looks at me, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "You and Drake are the only people I actually call friend. I fear I've already lost Frank. I don't want to lose you too."

What am I supposed to say to that? I'm a vampire hunter, and yet a vampire is one of my closest associates? Dare I say...one of my closest friends. I slap King on the back and nod. It's the best I can do.

He nods back, and backs away towards the woods. In a few seconds he is gone, merged with the darkness. I stare for a moment at the void where he once stood, my mind churning. When I first arrived in New Orleans, it seemed as if the city was utterly devoid of leeches. But then I meet Petra, and all of those illusions are cast out the window. Drake goes nutso on me, and this Van Helsing woman blabbers on about a society of vampire hunters. If this is a jigsaw puzzle, I think I'm missing a few pieces. If this isn't a trap, then I hope Whistler and his little society can help destroy every vampire in New Orleans. Then I can be done with it all and move on. If it is a trap...then I'm going to kill Whistler, Van Helsing, and whoever else tries to give me shit. Then I'm going to destroy every vampire in New Orleans by myself.

Frank Drake huddled inside the dark, dank, disheveled house, greedily sucking the life out of a plump rat. The ichor was bitter and somewhat cold, nothing like the salty, warm taste of human blood. Once finished, Drake tossed the dessecated rat to the side and wiped his lips clean of blood.

"Not very tasty, is it?"

Drake started at the voice, his eyes quickly searching ever corner of his haven. Despite his enhanced vision, he couldn't pinpoint the source of the voice. Unsatisfied by the rat's blood, Drake jumped to his feet.

"Who's there?" the former Nighstalker called out, sniffing the air. Suddenly, his nostrils were overpowered by the stench of decaying flesh. A bright red pair of eyes blinked open a few feet away from Drake. "Who are you?"

"A friend," the mysterious vampire said, fixing his eyes squarely on Drake's. There was an accent to the leech's voice; it sounded Middle Eastern, Egyptian perhaps. The eyes slowly began to move to Drake's left, never breaking their gaze. "At least, a better friend than Blade. You're scared, Drake. Why?"

Retreating into a nearby corner, Drake crouched down. "I'm not scared."

"Yes you are," the vampire whispered, making the hair on the back of Drake's neck stand on end. "Of what? Blade? Van Helsing?"

"Who?"

"The woman. You made good your escape because of her." Something in Drake's mind clicked into place. The vampire watched from across the room as understanding dawned on the former Nightstalker's face. "Yes, a scion of Van Helsing. The last. Do you fear Blade?" Drake shook his head. "You should. He is a formidable foe, and you have earned his ire."

Drake looked confused for a moment. "But...I'm his friend."

"PATHETIC!" the vampire raged, a body beginning to coalesce around the glowing red eyes. He stood revealed to Drake, wearing a well- tailored, three-piece suit. The vampire's skin was pale, but darker than most other vampires. "Blade doesn't know the meaning of friends! He would gladly tear you to shreds, chew up the pieces, and spit you out on the ground in order to be rid of another leech! Haven't you realized that?"

"Oh," Drake scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "I suppose you know the meaning of friendship, mystery man?"

The vampire smirked wryly. "Yes. I can help you, Frank Drake. As long as you hunt alone, Blade is a threat to you. Van Helsing and her ilk are a threat to you. But if you join me," the vampire continued, his smile widening, "I can give you power beyond your imagination. Power enough to destroy your supposed 'friend' forever."

Drake suddenly clutched at his head, digging his long fingernails into his scalp. He fell to his knees, a searing pain roaring through his brain. A drop of blood fell from his nose and splattered on the ground, making a little red indent in the dust.

"What...are you...doing to me?"

"Helping you to a conclusion," the vampire said, swiftly crossing the room. He knelt down in front of Drake and spoke again, his breath smelling of rotting flesh. "Blade will hunt you down and kill you. He won't think of your former friendship. He won't see you as a former partner. He will only see you as a leech. A bloodsucker. You will be nothing more to him than a death-bringer." Reaching out, the vampire wrapped Drake's long hair around his bony fingers. "Listen to me! I can help you. I can protect you from Blade. If you don't join me now, I guarantee you shall recieve your final death at Blade's hands very, very soon."

Spittle flew from Drake's mouth as his entire body shook and convulsed under the vampire's psychic assault. It was if someone had dropped his brain in a vat of acid and allowed it to sit there, burning, until there was nothing left.

"ALL RIGHT!" Drake bellowed, wrenching free of the vampire's grip. He fell back against the wall, panting, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. "You didn't...have to...do that," whispered Drake, opening his eyes. "It was unnecessary. I'll join you, as long as you can promise me protection from Blade."

"Very well," the vampire said, getting to his feet. He gave his suit a look-over, dusting it off with his pale hands. "I can promise you protection, and so much more." The vampire turned away from Drake, at the same time fixing his tie.

Drake nodded. "Who are you?"

Smiling, the vampire turned around. "My name is Ra-Tet. But you may call me master."

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