First Blood

First Blood

Awakening

I sat in the warm; the piping food stirring my senses while the aroma of stale smoke surrounded me. Around me people were talking happily, laughing and joking within the warmth of the small café. I should have been happy with them, being mere feet away, but I wasn’t. No one took notice of me, sitting at the corner of the room, eyes out of focus and the words of my friends washing over my head.

Earlier they’d been talking about the night before, and other things that came naturally in conversation, but I no longer knew what subject they were on, and didn’t care. For a while I had been content sitting in silence, thinking to myself and in a trance like state of concentration, but now I was growing agitated and moving around uncomfortably. It had been a number of weeks since the strange nagging feeling at the back of my mind had started gnawing at my thoughts, but tonight it seemed to have intensified tenfold and my mind was racing.

I glanced around the room absently, shifting in my seat with unease, pondering how one could feel uneasy in such a place. I sighed, wondering whether the strange feeling in my gut had anything to do with the waves of rain hammering on the windows. I glanced upward to the small windows high up the wall of the basement café and watched the water stream down the pane in one fluid motion. I began following the windows around the room, seeing if the view from the others were any different from the first. They weren’t, but something else caught my eye.

Although distorted through the heavy rain, I found myself staring directly at another person. The silhouette of a crouching figure seemed illuminated by a halo from the orange lamplight and although the figures face was shrouded in shadow, I had an intense and certain feeling that the figures darkened eyes were looking straight into mine. But as soon as it had come, it left leaving no indication of its existence. It could have been anything, in fact it could have been my imagination but that brief image nagged at the back of my mind. I had to leave, take my mind off the strange sensation stirring my thoughts and abolishing my concentration, I felt bizarre.

‘Where are you going?’ asked one of my friends, drawing away from the conversation at the sight of me rising from my seat and heading for the stairs.

I shrugged, unsure myself; assuring them that I was all right and that I’d talk to them later. They seemed satisfied with that answer and turned back to the topic at hand as if I’d never sat down with them. Normally, I may have noticed, may have felt anger and sorrow as they forgot me, but my mind was elsewhere.

The incessant haze of rain beat down on me as I turned down the road away from the café, running in trickling waterfalls off my hair. It had been a long, tiring and boring night out; no matter how lively the atmosphere, how good the company I always found myself apart from the rest. Even amongst my closest friends I felt separate.

I reached up and absently touched the back of my neck, running my fingers along the image I know was there, hidden by my hair. The series of strange black markings had always looked like words to me, though I never understood what it meant or where it came from. I let the thought slip from my mind as my arm fell to my side once more, and I headed across the piece between the Grafton centre and the sprawling town.

The familiar tree in the middle of the path was welcoming in my rift of loneliness; strange that even the simplest kind of life can help you remain afloat when you’re drowning alone.

The path was bare save for a few fleeting appearances from umbrella hidden clubbers. For a Friday night it was barren here. But off to my left I heard the recognisable sound of feet dragging through puddles, and turning towards the noise I found myself looking at the bulky silhouette of a man attempting to find his footing beneath the pools of lamplight. I could smell the beer in his breath even before he was in front of me, and although I’m not short, I felt small in comparison to the man before me. He was just another drunken guy who’d had one too many and was after a fight, and it looked like I was on the hit list that night as he made towards me.

’You got a death wish?’ he spat, coming forward as I felt myself edge away. I didn’t see the point in trying to reason with him; the way his arms were flailing to keep himself erect made it clear to me that he would be off the charts on any breathalyzer test. An absent voice at the back of my mind wondered how he was still conscious.

I took another step backwards as he lumbered towards me, and my foot went straight into a puddle. The freezing cold water oozing into my shoe suddenly brought me back from the absent, hazy state that I had been in most of the night. I blinked back the water in my eyes and winced at the sudden dull and unexplainable ache tearing at the back of my skull. It was not a physical pain that I had ever experienced before, and seemed to me that it was part of my mind, not my brain, trying to tear itself out of my head.

‘Your dead mate,’ breathed the intoxicated hulk before me.

He swayed, clearly past his tolerance of drink, and breathed a heavy putrid wheeze into my face. Before I could force myself into retreat I saw the fist arched in a wide punch, coming towards my face. The rasping at the back of my mind suddenly took over, my own will no longer able to force it back and before I could contemplate what I was doing I had dodged his punch, feeling the disturbance in the fall of water as his knuckles passed my cheek.

No longer in control and watching my actions through my eyes, knowing exactly what I was doing and yet deeply confused, I felt my fist launch and land square on the bridge of his nose. Knuckles numb to the contact I stared as the man flew back and crumpled into a heap at the base of the tree, in the centre of the nearly flooded pathway. He heaved himself up and looked up at me, his face a mess of blood and his nose totally crushed.

I stared, unable to believe what I was seeing as he swayed dangerously before reaching up to his tattered face. It seemed that he was thinking along the same lines, his eyes wide in shock and terror, his hands shaking.

Amongst the mess of crimson covering his face, I felt compelled to watch as it slowly congealed like a rich, melted chocolate, to run down the contours of his hollow cheeks and collect beneath his unshaven jaw. My eyes followed a plump droplet of rich, red blood fall from quivering chin, and I heard the inaudible splash as it hit the sodden gravel.

Watching that blood caused a series of happenings I never thought would happen, and in that moment something overtook me, coursing through me like electricity. It was as though a great fog had suddenly been lifted and for the first time in my life I was seeing with clarity.

The world focused again and again, a 100 times sharper than before. I could hear, feel everything and I tingled with power. I felt my pupils stretch, the muscles in my eyes contract, drawing back to reveal things that were once hidden.

Unable to help myself, in control but completely possessed, hypnotised by the sight of the red liquid, I launched myself across the void between us to grasp the giant by his throat, and slammed him into the tree like a doll. I heard wood splinter, but a primal hunger in my belly told me that the sound had also been the breaking of his spine.

His eyes pleaded mercy through the drunken blur. I barely contained laughter as my body totally overcame with a series of emotions so powerful I felt stronger. I felt my vocal chords rumble as my mouth opened and a dull ache passed around my canines. His Jugular tore open and sprayed us both in a shower of blood as a river formed in the wet ground beneath us.

I felt lust dominate me as I drank more and more of his blood until his lifeless body hung limp in my vice like grip. I let him drop, wiping the blood from my eyes.

I felt so unbelievably different, my entire body sharp and alert to everything around me, perfect vision piercing the fog, muscles totally obedient and ready. I clenched my hands, stupefied by what I had just done and yet compelled by the pleasure it had given me – I wanted more.

It was only when I looked up that I noticed a loose assembly of people circling me. At first I felt my mind telling my legs to move, to lunge at the strange armoured men and quench the thirst that was threatening to envelop me. But from somewhere out of the blue, something returned. Something held back the thirst long enough to take in what was happening.

I stared wildly at the tight circle of men surrounding me and my eyesight took in everything about them. They wore armour with high neck guards and an ornate crucifix on the chest plate. They carried a bizarre assortment of weapons. A crossbow, a long, diamond sharp silver stake and others I didn’t recognise. They all looked like something from a high budget horror movie, their armour too pristine, too untouched to show use.

Realisation slowly hit me – I had just drained a man of his blood and felt more alive than ever. What was happening to me? And now why were these…. Strange militants heading for me?

I didn’t have time to ask as a crossbowman launched a bolt at me. My mind once more slipped, and I slid aside like a serpent, coiling and spinning to grab a blade armed man by the wrist as he approached from behind me. His sinews, tendons and bones cracked and oozed a concoction of fluids that although not long ago would have made me sick, now seemed as appetising as a three-course meal.

I wrenched the sword from him and, with only my clenched free hand, smashed his head from his shoulders in an explosion of gore. I was no longer in control, something had happened to me, something unexplainable, and somehow my mind had slipped. The real me, the one with morals and ethics, floated in the warm, safe abyss of my mind, while the other me controlled the chaos outside.

Sword in hand I turned to face the five other combat-armed assailants. I turned on them in a blur, my sword destroying life and flesh around me as I sliced a man in half before rounding on his companions. My mind seemed to move long before my body, as I walked on the fabric of existence slipping between this life and the next, passing through an underworld of shadows and high winds.

I was done in a flash and stood head down in the rain, while their still warm corpses slumped to the ground. I saw the crossbowman struggling to reload and, showing no mercy, turned to throw the sword a good twenty meters, embedding it to the hilt in his neck and pinning him to a tree.

Now through with the task that had taken my sanity, it returned in a tiny glimmer sending a chill down my spine. I noticed figures in the dark, more of them; it became clear I was being hunted.

I darted into a side street and, slopping through the rain, I ran and ran. I could hear sounds of fighting approaching as my newly controlled body carried me, swiftly, through the blackened alleyways of the crescent. Rounding a corner I looked up to see an entire unit of the soldiers being massacred by two black-cloaked figures, flashing long edges of silver as they cut down their enemies.

Shocked and terrified, I took another path, the lust of earlier had left me dishevelled but something continued to fuel me as I ran, effortlessly, through a narrow cut through. Two men dropped down, in front and behind me, both bearing the cross of my previous assailants. I threw my left arm at the one in front, drilling it clean through his body, feeling the cool night air on my fist and realising his body was at my elbow. I tore myself free and, swinging the ridge of my hand into the others neck in a large turning arc, dropped him to the ground as well.

I ran on, the rain washing the blood from me as lightening streaked the sky. I turned a corner and came across a huge battle in the plaza before them Grafton Centre. The lights from the large domed glass roof of the shopping emporium illuminated about 5 of the mysterious cloaked figures taking on what seemed like an army of the special soldiers on the already blood stained marble compass.

Blood sprayed all over the square as the figures danced around their cumbersome enemies in an almost effortless yet bestial display of death dealing. I slid into an alcove and tried to disappear, but could see more units arriving and marching through the streets in disciplined rank. There would be no escape for me.

I wondered why the bloodbath had not attracted any of the nocturnal partygoers and hard working coppers; but had the police even showed up, could they had done anything at all?

I pushed my forehead against the cool wall, finding that my skin had not risen in temperature at all. Although I had just witnessed myself kill dozens of men my body still refused to show any signs of physical exertion, quite the contrary my legs seemed to urge me to run on and my fists were still clenched. I wanted to be revolted, but I could not even bring myself to be disturbed. That was perhaps most disgusting of all.

Suddenly a hand from the darkness grabbed me in an inescapable lock. The alcove I had stumbled into was barely large enough for myself, and it seemed as though my assailant had emerged from the shadows at my back. My arms were pinned easily to my side with one arm, and the other held my head back, pressing on my throat and giving me the distinct impression that should I move my neck would be broken. Despite that I struggled but could not break the hold.

‘Stop it I’m on your side,’ breathed a deep yet friendly and calm voice into my ear. ‘If you can relax I’ll let go and explain all of this.’

Though I had no reason to believe the man or anything he had to say, there was something about his strangely gentle grip and soothing voice that made me want to believe him. My wide eyes flittered to the scenes of battle on the blood soaked cobblestones before me and the harsh reality of the events my despicable actions had created dawned on me.

I managed to incline my head.

‘Good,’ said the figure, releasing me. I turned and was facing a tall, well built bearded man with bottomless black eyes, his features sharpened by tribal tattoos that played across his brow and cheeks. He didn’t appear more than a few years older than I, maybe 20. He too was wearing a long black coat and had a long black blade attached to one forearm, though I noticed other weapons, mainly blades, holstered on his torso.

‘What’s going on here?’ I stammered. ‘Who are you people? Who are they? What’s happening to me?’

He hushed me and replied. ‘All you need to know is that they are trying to kill you, and anyone dressed like me is on your side and trying to help you escape.’ He risked a look out of the alcove. ‘My Brothers and Sisters are creating a diversion whilst I lead you away, follow me and stay close. Use this.’ He said and handed me a small wickedly curved dagger, before turning down a route I hadn’t seen in my fit of despair.

I ran after him as we followed a route leading down towards the river. We turned under the Elizabeth way bridge, into the darkness that echoed with the sounds of roosting pigeons, and he ripped open a hatch and bundled me inside. As I looked up from the gloom of the tunnel I could see him at the lip of the hatch turning his head to listen to the wind, before letting out a long, piercing whistle. He turned to me with a glint in his eye, the moonlight catching his blade-like teeth.

‘Welcome home’ said my rescuer and we tumbled into darkness.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the plaza, the cloaked figures were slaying more and more of the soldiers, but the imbalance of numbers was beginning to tell. A long whistle pierced the night and with a glance at one another they finished with those around them, a tall slender girl wrenching her blade from the shoulder of a soldier, and darted into shadows.

A single bolt rang out through the cacophony of disorder and panic to catch one figure in back of the shoulder. As the force of the arrow drove him towards the nearest wall, he twisted himself around but did not have the might to force himself away in time, and instead landed at an odd angle with the arrow only imbedded further into his flesh. He let out a shout in a language unknown to the soldiers before another bolt lanced through his leg. Steam escaped from the wounds along with thick, dark blood as he turned to see his captor.

Steel boots crunched over the hundred odd dead in the plaza as a huge, fully armoured figure crossed the plaza to his catch, gold armour glittering in the argon glow of the streetlights. The struggling figure in black looked up to see the monumental figure approaching.

He had known what the cost of saving the boy could be, but he also knew that in the long run, his sacrifice might save his kind. A shadow loomed over him as he struggled against the searing silver bolts. He tilted his head upwards to give a dark look to his oppressor.

‘Lord Salem,’ spat the captive at the large figures feet. He was met only with a callous stare that burned cold fury.

‘I will only ask once,’ the fearsome figure replied in a deep, rumbling voice. ‘What do you scum want with the boy and, of course, where is the citadel of the night?’ The stare was unmoving.

‘You will never grace the hall of the cursed; the god of death will see you fall into the deepest hell before that. The boy will send you screaming to your ancestors!’ cried the trapped man before curling his free hand behind his back to grasp a weapon, only to plunge his blade into his own heart. A crimson fire wracked the pinned body before it disintegrated into dust.

‘So be it’ said the High Vampire Hunter, Lord Salem, to the unforgiving night.