#13 - Sword Of Darkness

By Adam Koeth

New Orleans, Louisiana

Darkness settled over the city, caressing the myriad cemeteries and revelers with shadow, blotting out the sun until the next morning. Party-goers began to emerge from the houses and hotels, looking for some fun; pickpockets and thieves also descended upon the city, looking for some fast, easy pickings. They wouldn't have to look hard.

In an alleyway, cloaked in inky blackness, three figures stood, contemplating their next move. One, a huge, shaggy man-wolf, had a disgusted look on his face. The other, a woman with short, fiery red hair, leaned against the wall of a nearby building, her eyes closed. The final person, her jet black clothing making her disappear in the darkness, was crouching close to the dirty ground.

"This is gettin' us nowhere," Corrigan, the large werewolf, growled angrily. "We've been huntin' this Jean-Paul for three whole nights, and we've come up w'nuttin'. Nuttin'!" Overcome with rage, he slammed his closed fist into a nearby trashcan, almost destroying the object. "Totally worthless."

"Calm down boyo," said Erin, the fiery redhead. She opened her emerald eyes and glanced at her huge companion, noting with a cursory glance the battered trashcan. "We'll be findin' 'im soon enough. 'Ow many times 'ave I told ye to 'ave some patience, aye?"

Corrigan roared. "Ferget patience, Erin. I wanna see some fightin'."

"Now I know what t'get ye fer Christmas this year," Erin smirked, her green eyes twinkling. "A great ruddy punching bag with sharp, pointy canines."

Elizabeth Van Helsing glanced up from her crouched position, a look of intense concentration on her face. She seemed intent on listening to the myriad sounds that surrounded them: the honking of a car horn in the distance, a couple arguing three doors down, a mewling kitten lapping milk from a saucer on the front steps of a mansion.

"There," she whispered, rocketing to her feet. She whirled around, drawing an amused glance from Erin, before her dark eyes settled on a manhole a few yards away. "Can you hear them?"

Erin smirked. "Aye, ah hear 'em Lizzie. What's that they're saying?" She cocked her head to the side, the smirk lingering, pretending to listen to phantom voices. "'Lizzie's a nutcase!' That's nae very nice o'em, is it now?"

Corrigan and Elizabeth glared at Erin, their eyes flinty and hard. The female werewolf's smile faltered for a brief moment, but she shrugged the glares off and turned away.

"If you're finished," Elizabeth muttered through pressed lips,

"We can get back to the business of getting that sword back. Need I remind you that--"

"All humanity's at stake, right right," Erin growled.

With one last, withering look at Erin, Elizabeth crossed the short distance and crouched down in front of the manhole. She pressed her ear to it, the look of intense concentration reappearing.

"I can hear them scuttling about," whispered Elizabeth, her eyes closing. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of the city around her. A whiff of something familiar temporarily caught her mind, but she blocked it out and returned to the task at hand. "They think they're safe. They think that now, since Jean-Paul has the sword and Blade's blood, that we won't dare attack."

Standing up, Elizabeth nodded at Corrigan. "If you would."

Grinning, Corrigan reached down and, with one hand, wrenched the manhole free from the street. Tossing it away, he jumped into the tunnel below, closely followed by Erin, then Elizabeth.

As soon as Elizabeth's feet hit the rancid water, she knew that everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong. The trio was suddenly surrounded by a vast horde of vampires, all scratching with their claws, gnashing their teeth.

"Corrigan, clear us a path, NOW!" Elizabeth barked, rattling off successive bursts with the submachine guns grasped in her gloved hands. The vampires fell like wheat to the reaper before her onslaught, but still more took their place. "Corrigan, dammit, get us out of here!"

Whirling around to see what was happening, Elizabeth suddenly halted. Where her partners had been mere moments before stood a writhing, seething mass of vampires. She could just make out one bloody, hairy claw sticking out from the middle of the heap and immediately recognized it as Erin's.

"Get OFF!" Elizabeth roared, opening up with her guns. She emptied the clips, her eyes prickling with tears, but the vampires still formed an undead pile on her friends. A terrifying, high-pitched howl quickly turned into a gurgling death-rattle. Whipping out her daggers, Elizabeth tried to hack her way through to her dying partners, but was knocked back by powerful hands.

Suddenly, she felt a quartet of wiry limbs wrap around her body and haul her forcefully away from the mass of vampires. She kicked, she screamed, but she couldn't break free of the vampires who were holding her.

"You should've brought more pups with you," came a sinister voice.

Finally wrenching free of the clawing hands, Elizabeth turned, coming face to face with Jean-Paul himself. The glittering sword was held in one white, wrinkled hand; a vial full of red liquid hung on a chain around his neck. Elizabeth eyed it carefully.

"Eyes up here, love," Jean-Paul hissed. "You won't need to worry about Blade's blood right this moment. In fact," the vampire continued, his eyes briefly flickering to something, or someone, behind Elizabeth, "You won't need to worry about it ever again."

Catching the movement of Jean-Paul's eyes, Elizabeth whirled around, stabbing a lunging vampire in the neck. While the hunter was distracted, Jean-Paul took the opportunity to slam the hilt of the sword into the back of Elizabeth's head, knocking her into the murky water. Jean-Paul's minions took full advantage of Elizabeth's position, brutally kicking and punching her until she was unconscious.

"Disarm her," said Jean-Paul, fingering the vial around his neck with long, withered fingers. Crouching down, Jean-Paul smeared one of his fingers through a thick pool of blood on Elizabeth's face. He licked his finger clean, making a small clucking sound as he did so. "Delicious. I can taste the family resemblance." Standing up once more, Jean-Paul regarded his followers. "I want you to search every nook and cranny of her body for weapons. Anything you think she can use, take it from her. I don't want any nasty surprises once she wakes up."

The vampires nodded dutifully. A trio bent down and scooped Elizabeth out of the sewer water, dragging her away to a dark cell further in the recesses of the tunnels. Jean-Paul watched them slink into the darkness, his fingers once more wrapped around the vial. A twisted smile crept slowly across his face, his eyes twinkling with malice. "Soon, then, I shall be rid of two curses. Very soon."

Paris, France

Deep beneath the city of love are networks of dank catacombs, left over from an age long past. These catacombs house not only the bones and belongings of hundreds of people, but also are called home by a group of ancient vampires known as the Archivists. Mainly scholars, these vampires have undertaken the gargantuan task of chronicling vampire history past, present, and future. The catacombs of France are a haven, a sanctuary for the Archivists, who for all intents and purposes wish to be invisible not only to the humans but also their vampire kin. This night, their sanctuary has been violated by one older than many of the Archivists themselves.

One lone Archivist, once a native son of Rome, pored over a thick, leather-bound book, his concentration focused intently on the words in front of him. He did not hear the other vampire come into the room, nor did he hear that vampire creep up behind him, his red eyes piercing the gloom.

"Chronicler," the vampire whispered.

The Archivist jumped off of his stool, whirling around with a frightened expression on his face. The look of fear turned to a look of pure terror when he realized who was standing before him.

"You!" the Roman Archivist exclaimed, backing as far away from the other vampire as he could. He soon bumped into a wet, moss-covered wall and could go no further. "H-How...how can this b-be?"

"The world is full of surprises," replies the Moorish vampire, a wicked grin growing on his face. He took a few steps toward the frightened Archivist, one of his hands resting upon the hilt of his scimitar. "Indeed, the world has changed much since I last walked it. Tell me, what are the strange metal objects that soar through the sky like birds?"

Momentary confusion passed across the Archivist's face before he realized the new arrival was talking about airplanes. "Th-They're called airplanes, lord. They carry people and goods through the sky from one place to another."

"Ah," murmured the Moor, his eyes moving over the dozens of shelves in the room, all stacked high with books and scrolls. "And what of our vampiric brethren? How have they fared during the century that I was asleep?"

"A powerful threat has arisen in the United States, lord," the Archivist stammered, shrinking his body against the slimy wall. The Moor had seemingly stopped paying attention to him, but he knew that the other vampire was still listening. "A man named Blade, imbued with both the best qualities of humans as well as those of the vampire."

The Moor paused in his search, his hand casually resting atop a tattered copy of the Bible. "A threat, eh? Even to one such as I?"

"None could hope to stand against you, lord," said the Archivist.

"Of course not," purred the Moorish vampire, smirking evilly.

He pulled the Holy Book off of the shelf, flipping through a few of the thin pages. Suddenly, with a guttural growl, he tore the book into pieces. "Perhaps I shall have to seek out this Blade, and test his mettle. We shall see just how much of a threat he truly is."

Blade swam into consciousness for a brief moment, long enough to realize that he was looking out at a city skyline. Bright lights twinkled in the massive tower across the street, and jets could be heard passing overhead.

"Go back to sleep, Blade," the vampire hunter heard a voice say. He suddenly felt a sharp prick in his arm, and understood that he was being drugged. "Just go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when I'm ready to kill you." As Blade sank once more into the darkness, he heard the mysterious voice laugh...

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