Blood Knights : Hunters Hunted (Not a zombie story)

[necro3570]

I saw that a few of you like the good'ol zombie story, so I thought I would toss you this. The 1st 2 chapters of a 378(so far) novel I am working on.

If you hate it its ok, I can take the hit.

!!WARNING SOME STRONG LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE!!

Working Title: Blood Knights : Hunters Hunted

Chapter1
“Rather lifelike for a dead man”.​

To most people the saying “Some day you’re going to wake up dead” is cliché. To be quite honest, I thought it was just a saying too, until it happened to me. Yes, I mean literally wake up dead. And whomever said “no pain, no gain” needs to be kicked in the ****ing balls, but that’s all beside the point.

And the point is? The point is I am dead. Yes D E A D, dead. Dead in the sense that I no longer have a heartbeat, produce body heat, eat food, nor am I required to breathe. But not so dead that I am in a grave all rotty and corpsie.

Fact is that I am rather lifelike for a dead man, if you will pardon the irony. Tactically this is a substantial advantage over the three incredibly ill fated bastards I am currently working my way up behind.

Now why would this be such a tactical advantage to me, in comparison to the three most unlucky individuals in all of Colombia you ask? Well that’s very simple; I will give you a few examples.

One: I do not produce body heat that the numerous thermal imaging cameras currently aimed at the waterfront would be able to detect. Consequently our three friends will get no warning I am here, or any form of backup until it is far too late to be of any help to them.

Two: I have been submerged here under water for the last 75 minutes waiting till all three guards have settled in for their shift, and are getting bored and maybe nodding off.

Not needing to breathe means no bubbles from a SCUBA rig to give me away, or the possibility of running out of air if things do not go on schedule. The only thing being submerged for this long has done, is made me very wet and cranky, and left me wondering if all my water-tight containers are sealed well enough to actually be water-tight.

Three: And most importantly is the fact that I am already dead. This means that I have little fear of the guns the three of them are clinging to for security. Now don’t get me wrong, getting shot hurts like all hell and really pisses me off.

Also getting shot by the big bored CETME .308 caliber assault rifles they are carrying would be just the kind of ****ing test on my immortality I don’t want to deal with at this point in my little evening adventure.

(Yea I’m dead but bullets still cause the kind of trauma that can really **** things up at a time like this, bullets break bones, rip muscle tissue and sever nerves, all of which can hamper ones ability to function, let alone be a stealthy engine of carnage.)

At this point I should tell you the story of just how I became a Vampire. Ok there I used the V-Word, deal with it… As I was saying, I should tell you. However, I am not going to, because I just saw ****-head number one prop his feet up and open a magazine of some sort, Oh bad call for him.

Poking my head up out of the water here under the dock that I have come to know as my watery vacation home, I can see that his amigo, I call ****-head number two is rummaging around in a small pouch for something. Moreover, ****-head number three was taking his turn patrolling down to the end of the long pier, and should not return for at least five minutes, that is if he does not hear his two compadres die.

Now this is where normally I have to make the kind of choice that in truth can make or break a mission like this. Nevertheless, on this particular night the decision was being made for me. ****head number two stopped rummaging around in his bag and produced a funny looking little cigarette and a pack of matches.

He then placed his tightly rolled little smoky treat in his mouth, stood up and walked damn near right up to me, he was now looking out over the water. Now I hate to do the stereotyping thing, but a Colombian drug lord’s guard loafing off and lighting a joint on duty, come on… This ******* was making this too easy. He readied his match to light and I quickly closed my right eye and diverted my gaze with the left so my night vision didn’t go bye-bye like Senor Pothead’s was about to.

As expected, he lit his joint and extended his arm out to drop the match in the water, I caught the match denying him the satisfactory hissss he was expecting. The look on his face was pure incomprehension as he looked down to see what happened to his match and ended up staring right in to a set of lightly glowing eyes. I kicked, surging up from the water, I reached out and grabbed his throat tight, crushing his larynx and closing it off to prevent any sound from escaping. He groped wildly at his shoulder for his rifle, which was still leaning on the crate he had been sitting on. His mouth gaped wide for a breath that would never come. Some part of me felt good for him as his joint hit the water with a little hiss, there was the closure he had needed.

With one clawed hand wrapped tightly around his throat and the other with a firm grip on his crotch I lifted him quickly off his feet in a military press and drew him down under the water with nearly no splash to announce his untimely demise. I scissor kicked dragging him to the bottom. Down deep under water I used my Ka-Bar 1213 Fighting Knife to let the air out of his lungs witch promptly addressed the buoyancy issues I was concerned with, also ending the last of his twitching.

Satisfied with the weight of a few rocks that I borrowed from the bed of the harbor, I stuffed them in his pockets to hold my new friend down on the bottom. Then I moved back to the dock to check on the status of dear old ****head number one.

I found him still engrossed in his magazine that I could now see was a Spanish language copy of Cosmo.

(You know it’s sort of sad, maybe reading that crap could have helped him get laid… now he was just ****ed.)

I debated waiting until the mucho grande cup of coffee at his side worked on his kidneys and brought him to the water to relieve him self. The only problem with that stroke of genius is that I could not count on ****head number three not noticing the lack of his marijuana-loving friend when he returned, also I didn’t have a clue as to the capacity of Senor Sensitive’s bladder. Therefore, I didn’t have a choice. I had to act now and before our roaming gnome returned to the party.

(In truth, I was also happy that I was not going to have to risk getting pissed on taking him out.)

In most situations I would much rather do things like this with my own two hands but in this case that just wasn’t an option. Now my AWC Amphibian II .22 Caliber Suppressed pistol would have to do the job.

Yes it’s a .22 and there is nothing wrong with that. At this range, about 3.5 meters it would more than do the job, and the fact that I can pull a trigger much faster than anyone with a pulse, it’s a non issue. Ok look, a favorite quote from an arms dealer I know is “Is the .22 a good caliber slug? Ask Bobby Kennedy…well…better ask a history book”.

I guess it’s a macabre fact that the .22 is a favorite of many Mafia assassins for a reason. Statistically the .22 is most deadly round on the planet, that little slug tends to enter the body and then bounce off bones and travel all over the place doing bad things on the way.

Hey sorry for going on the rant there, its just that there are way to many guys out there with that my dick is bigger than yours, bull**** ego thing going, and they are either too stupid or macho to admit that the .22 is a good round.

(For the record, my dick is just fine thank you.)

Anyways: Senor Is Your Man A Good Lover was about to find out just what I was talking about when the wandering guard came sprinting back one minute to early. I slid my barrel back off the wood of the dock and backed away from the planking just enough to be cloaked in shadow again.

After a rapid exchange in Spanish, I have no clue they said, about all I can say in Spanish is “¿dónde está el cuarto de baño?” where is the bathroom? (The sad part of that is I have not needed a bathroom in eighty three years.) But for some reason I remember it. Either way I was rather sure they were not talking about the location of the nearest potty. What was my first clue? Oh the fact that they were both now on their feet and holding there weapons in a ready action position and were looking down the dock the direction the roamer had just patrolled.

I am guessing the name of my dead friend in the water is Alejandro because they seemed to be calling out to him over there shoulders waiting for him to come running to back them up. I didn’t think my opportunities were going to get any better than this, and I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I was in motion up out of the water and moving up behind them rapidly but not anywhere near the speed I am capable of.

(I see no need to exert yourself when your victims are waving you up behind them.)

Something had them spooked, and it was not me, and that bothered me on a few levels. If this mission did not require the utmost in stealth I could have just leapt on them from behind and tore them apart; all claws, and fangs very splatter movie like, but the chance one would get a shot off with their rifle was too great.

The guard with a tender side, with whom I have spent so much quality time, reading and growing together into caring and compassionate men, would receive the quick way out.

Namely, around five or six .22 rounds to the back of the head at the base of the skull. As fast as I could pull the trigger with out jamming the weapon, which for the most part was full auto. A buzz issued forth from the receiver as the action cycled, the bolt cycling faster than the eye could see as a stream of seven small pieces brass sailed off into the water.

Senor Cosmo shrugged his shoulders and krinked his neck back like some one had just blown on the hairs at the back of his neck, a little moan escaping from his lips as he slowly sunk to his knees and fell face forward on the old wood planks.

Miguel must have been his name because my one remaining playmate called that name out as he looked down at his fallen compadre, he then swiveled his head to look to Alejandro for help. A look of shock and terror spread across his face when he saw me standing there and not his friend. He had been trained in proper gun safety and his weapon was on safe, finger resting on the side of the trigger guard but not in it, too bad for him.

That was all the help I needed, my left hand shot out in a flash, the butt of my palm striking his trigger hand as he turned it towards me trying to level his weapon. I heard the bones crunch against the metal of the receiver and the injured hand recoiled away from the trigger group all together. My right hand, pistol still ready for action went forward driving the suppressed barrel up into his open mouth to the roof, stifling the yelp of pain for his wounded hand. Click click click and the three remaining rounds entered the brain of the last of the dock guards. He convulsed, his knees buckled and he started to fall backwards.

I grabbed him and flung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Stooping down I also took hold of Miguel and hauled them both back to the water. Alejandro would soon have company.

 

[necro3570]

Blood Knights : Hunters Hunted (Chapter 2)

Continued from previous post

Chapter_2_

“ the best laid plans of Mice and Vampires.”​

I really wanted to know what it was that had the guards on alert, but I could not risk a trip down to the other end of the dock past more security cameras. As it was I only could hope that who ever was watching the monitors on the other end of the cameras was as diligent in their duties as the three amigos here. If I had to guess, I’d bet that right now the security guard supposed to be looking at the monitors was either, leaned back with their feet propped up on a desk sleeping or engrossed in some bad horror movie, not even glancing at the monitors.

Ok let me explain a few things about why I would assume either of the two scenarios, and again resort to the stereotyping I normally try to avoid.
Reason one: on average security guards are typically paid far less than what they deserve for the danger they face. Or reason two, they are placed in jobs or locations that are extremely boring, like guarding a rock quarry or as in this case, staring at a wall of monitors, resulting in massive eye strain. Things like this are never a very good way to inspire diligence or loyalty in your employees.

Now in this case the fact that the guards were part of a Colombian Drug Cartel, that would most likely kill members of their staff that failed in their duties would increase the job performance of the guards, but not by much. They are still security guards. We won’t even talk about the average job performance of sentries on the military bases of the world.

Either way I was about to find out just how well I did on my guess, the control room was the next stop on my little nocturnal outing. Sliding my AWC back into its storage case, I moved in behind the buildings.
So far the layout of this place was exactly as Tamara had said it would be, even the location of the ****ing water cooler I just about knocked over.
“Don’t knock over the water cooler that’s right behind the big door in from the dock”

(God I hate it when she does that **** to me.)

Tamara is what I call a F.C.P. “****ing Creepy Person” and bear in mind that’s coming from a guy that’s been dead for the last eighty three years. Our Dear Tammy (it drives her nuts when I call her that) was once a guinea pig for a CIA in a project called “Stargate”.

As I understand it the CIA rounded up a few psychics and “mundanes” and set about the task of trying to get them to “Spy with the minds eye”
I didn’t come up with that, Tamara has a T-Shirt with it across Her boobs…

(Yes I looked, I’m dead, Not DEAD!!)

The technical term is Remote Viewing, look it up. Any way the CIA dropped the venture and let the failures go to live their lives in silence. A few started doing the talk show circuit, and the few Real Psychics went in to hiding. Hiding from the CIA, and more so hiding from the things they saw. Hiding from the “Real Monsters” that really exist.

(Monsters like Me.)

Stopping just inside the heavy door in from the docks, I looked on the hand drawn map Tamara had made for me, she had laminated it with matte finish plastic film, and fitted it with Velcro to attach it to my gear. The layout was all there; the hallway, the doors, that goddamn water cooler, the chair half way down the hall.

(Creepy)

From the map, I knew that door number two on my right was where I needed to be. Checking my FN P90 was ready for action I moved into the doorway from the pier. In a low crouch, I moved to the door. Then all the hairs on the back of my neck started doing a Mambo.

The chair half way down the corridor was leaned back against the wall like some one was still sitting in it, now I don’t know just why that bothered me, but it did, it did in a big way. I froze… hand on the handle of the door, my muscles coiled like a viper ready to strike and a few other analogies.

I let my senses loose, I reached out with all I had, and there it was. How I missed the smell when I stepped in the passage is beyond me. Blood… the smell thick and metallic, coming from just beyond the door to the control room, but something was wrong with it. Now trust me on this one, I am something of a connoisseur on the subject of blood, and I can tell if something is wrong with it, it smelled… soured.

Soured, not rotted, or decayed. Sour like milk in the back of the icebox. Along with the smell was the sound, or lack of it. No sounds of basic movement, no sounds of breathing, no heart beats.

(Yes, my hearing is that good if I need it to be.)

At all times my senses are twice what they were when I was alive, but when I concentrate, I can pick up the most minuscule sounds, perceive movements, pick up odors, and sense vibrations no living human can.
Senses that a predator can utilize to track prey, the same senses I use to survive, the senses that were screaming at me to run. Something was wrong, very ****ing wrong, and I didn’t have a clue what it was.

I didn’t have long to wait to find out what it was that had my internal warning alarms going crazy, WHAM! The door burst outward across the hall, this was a problem for me due to the fact that I was on the other side of it holding the knob. I was slammed against the opposite wall with a wet smack and I both heard and felt the bones in my left shoulder fracture.

Something BIG was on the other side of that door, something that had just batted my two hundred and fifteen pound, six foot tall, Kevlar clad ass across the six foot span of the corridor like a ball at a cricket match. With the heavy steel door now lying on me, the seal holding the smell of sour blood in the room was broken. A stench filled my nostrils causing me to gag and retch. As I tried to choke back the wave of nausea washing over me, I more felt than heard the thing take notice of me. As its interest focused on me, a cold that penetrated right through the steel of the door fell on me. It was looking at me, through a steel door… Oh ****.

It moved to the door much faster than my mind was willing to accept, and I felt it take hold of the three foot wide seven foot tall shield I was rapidly becoming very fond of. In a rush of activity, I braced my back against the wall and put my feet on the door, and with all my might I slammed my arms and legs out away from my body.

The effect I was hoping for was that what ever it was on the other side of that door would take a hard shot in the nose (if it had one) and I would have a chance to put some distance between It, and myself.

(Ahh the best laid plans of Mice and Vampires.)

The result I got was rather different… I slammed outward with all the force I could muster and the creature on the other side of the door didn’t budge, I mean it didn’t give one ****ing centimeter. I on the other hand shot myself out through the wall like a bloody cork out of a champagne bottle… I pushed, the door held, the wall gave way, and out I went.

Tumbling ass over elbows backwards, down a seven foot drop, and then rolling farther down a steep slope into a slime filled septic trench. Yuck! I righted myself in the gunk, mostly standing. I whirled around to look back at the new Me shaped hole I had just put in the building. I saw the hole, I also saw the door flying at me like a ****ing giant and deadly Frisbee.

The only reason my head is still attached to my body was pure primal instinct. Raw animal fear took hold, I folded my self backwards, cracking joints lose that are not meant to bend that way. Now I know it looks really cool in the movies when the hero does the limbo thing, and dodges the bullets flying at him, but that **** hurts. And he is bending at the knees. I didn’t have that option, my legs were sunk deep in the muck of the trench.
The human body, living or otherwise is not meant to do a right angle backwards just above the hips.

(Its times like this that I am glad I am already dead.)

The hurled Door of Doom streaked past me at about the point my sternum had been a fraction of a second ago, its protruding doorknob just skimming the tip of my nose. I leaned my head back forward to see if anything more was on the way to mangle me. That was my first look at my assailant, a near human looking thing, only in size, and shape, that’s where the similarities ended. It was about six foot tall, a head like lump on what appeared to be shoulders, and a few arm like things poking out, ( yea I said a few as in more than two ) the only problem was that its arms kept sort of melting back into its body. It was gelatinous, and dark like congealing… Oh ****, blood.


I may release a bit more if you all like it, but not to much, I wanna sell the damn book.

And I know there are spelling and grammar errors... thats what my editor is for. He yells at me all the time for it

Hope ya liked it
Todd

 

[hacksaw]

Well, we're waiting!............

 

[necro3570]

Chapter_3_
“I knew it was going to end this way”​

This ****ing thing was made of blood, and I could only guess where the blood came from. Maybe I was not quite as stealthy as I assumed. While I was on the dock attending my three late acquaintances, this thing was killing the guards in the control room, or someone was killing them to form the creature.

The Blood Beast (ok ok, I know, but Blood Monster was way too easy, bite me) fixed its sub-zero gaze on me again and hissed a long rasping noise. A clarion call to the primal senses deep with in me, I hated it, It hated me. One thing was very clear from the way the Beast looked at me, it was hungry.

I straightened my self with a snap, and a few crunching noises, willing my body to heal the damage I had just done to it. I readied my self to fight, and so did the beast. It hissed out its raspy note again, and my blood crawled in my veins in response. This Beast was nothing new, it was ancient, it was evil, it was hungry, and it had killed vampires before, and enjoyed doing it.
I watched transfixed with horror as the Beast oozed down the seven-foot drop from the hole in the wall, like a slow-motion fountain of ichor it puddled on the earth. Reforming its self on the dirt, the beast hissed at me again as if gloating, and started moving my way slowly.

I tried drawing my legs out of the fecal bog I was sinking in. No luck I was stuck and moving down, not up.

(Somehow I knew it was going to end this way…ass deep in **** and sinking.)

Ok **** stealth! Lacking a better plan I leveled my FN P90 at the beast and let loose about half the magazine, in just over a second around twenty-five rounds of steel core 5.7x28mm roared out of the stubby muzzle, and ripped through the beast at about seven hundred and thirty meters per second.

The reason I carry the FN P90 Tactical is that this amazing weapon burps out the super fast round that FN Herstal developed at around nine hundred rounds per minute, and will defeat about any body armor that is on the market today. Kevlar body armor, and helmets, are nothing to this nasty little bastard. It can blow through fifteen plus layers of Kevlar like tissue paper, and when it hits soft tissue the slug will tumble like a Chinese Acrobat in random directions, it’s just plain ****ing nasty. The 5.7x28mm can pierce the hides or carapaces of most of the demons one may encounter on a nightly excursion.

The reason I took the time to tell you about my main battle weapon and what it can do, is that in this case it didn’t do a ****ing thing. When you stitch something with a sub machine gun, it is supposed to fall down, or at least have the courtesy to scream and flail about a bit. But No, not even an acknowledgment that it had just been shot, so I gave it the rest of the magazine just for the hell of it.

(Not that I thought it would do any good at this point, but more because it made me feel better.)

Moving toward me with a maddeningly casual pace, the thing rattled out another hiss as if telling me to wait, it would be with me soon. The Beast was right, I waited looking at the rolling blackened mass of blood as it gained on me, there was really no need to struggle, it would all be over soon. As I watched the Beast amble closer, a four inch fissure appeared in about the center of what would be its head (if you could call it that) then another a few inches lower, and one more just off a bit to the left. Then I heard and felt the reports. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

“Simon!, SIMON!, What the **** are you doing? Move!” Paul’s voice tore through my head. The radio implant pickups are attached to my External Auditory Canal.

(That’s the channel through which sounds pass from outside your head to the middle ear… you know the waxy place you stick things in when you are trying to stab your brain)

Good question… what was I doing? I was just sitting here looking at this thing and I was…

”Holy ****! I was waiting for it to eat me!” I gasped.

It took me less than a second to shake my brain loose from the influence of the Creature.

The Barrett M107 Semi Automatic .50 Caliber Sniper Rifle that Paul was employing tore two more smoking holes into the Beast as it howled in rage.
“Oh sure for him you react.” I growled.
“Hey what can I say, I’m just good” came Paul’s reply over the radio.
“No yours is just bigger” As my teeth slammed shut over the words; I knew I would pay for that for the next few years. (if I lived that long)
Paul’s next two shots went wide to the left, and I knew he was laughing, that just served to make my fight to escape from the muck all the wilder.

A rope was thrown over me in a cowboy type lasso, I craned my neck around to see who was playing Bonanza and caught a glimpse of Karra, in her full seven and a half foot tall she-werewolf form drawing up the slack on the rope. I braced for what I knew was going to be a very painful trip.

In an instant, the rope jerked tight around me, and with a sucking sort of pop, I was free from the filth. Free, but with my arms bound to my sides, I was ripped up out of the ravine, and bounced onto a gravel path, she dragged me much farther than I thought necessary. Karra ran on about a hundred feet before stopping. I groaned in pain but kept my temper.

(At least she didn’t weave the rope around, over, and under **** like they do in the cartoons. I’m sure she thought about it, I would have)

I think now would be a good time to tell you that all that stuff on the late night movies is true. Vampires, Lycanthropes, Demons, Ghosts, Witches and Warlocks, and most of the other **** that goes bump in the night.

In actuality, that is the bulk of my job; I am employed by a secret order in the Vatican that works to keep all of the bad things in check. Through out history the Knights Templar has never had what anyone would call a good reputation.

From the ending times of the first crusades the Templar have taken steps deemed by others as blasphemous or heretical to achieve their goals. Also a large part of this bad reputation is due to the jealousy of others, mostly caused by Pope Innocent II exempting the Knights Templar from all authority except the Papal Throne. The fact that the Templar became extremely wealthy, and powerful did not help the order gain friends. In the Thirteen Hundreds the King of France, Philip the Fair while influenced by a demon used his power to move against the Templar; thus forcing them underground. Though, many did not escape and found themselves lashed to the very pyres that had once served them.

At the same time disciples of the demon Baphomet voiced more of the rumors spreading around Europe about the Templar to discredit them further. However, some of it was true, the Templar did fraternize with Creatures of Darkness. Take my team and me for example.

Now that Karra had loosed the rope that she had tried to tear me in half with, I was able to use my arms again. The steady Waaaaaaahhhh of a siren started to sound as lights began turning on all over the compound.
Sounds of machine gun fire in the night, punctuated by the thunderous report of Paul’s .50 Cal most likely woke up every single person in the compound, if not the surrounding few miles.

Transforming back into the five foot three, one hundred and twenty five pound, green eyed, freckled, and naked red head fireball that was much nicer to look at than her other form, Karra pulled me to my feet. She is a lot stronger than she looks.

“Simon, what the hell is that?” Karra asked as she pulled a black spandex bodysuit on.

No ****ing clue, were the first words to pop to the front of my brain, a demon sent to eat me was the second.

(I didn’t like either choice)

“A magic construct of some kind, but I’m still working it out just what” I lied. Parts of me felt guilty about lying to her, but I didn’t want to tell her that I thought it was some nasty demon sent to devour me.

For that matter I didn’t want to tell me that either, but it was too late. My brain locked on the thought and started trying to work out the who’s, and how’s, the why really didn’t matter.

I have made enough enemies over the years that it could be dozens of suspects, some more likely that others, namely the survivors of past encounters.

(But not necessarily survivors)

I could figure out the who later. Right now the How, and How to get rid of it were higher on my list. Two questions did require attention soon however, one: how did it know I was here? And two: who summoned it?

Things like this don’t just appear, they are summoned from the places that bad things live. If the drug lord that I am here to kill summoned it, He is probably already dead, but I do not think even he would have the power or the knowledge to call up something like this. And even if he had somehow managed to call it, there was definitely no way he could control it. In cases like this, no control or containment means you get the pleasure of being the first meal for a newly formed and hungry demon.

Paul’s voice appeared in our heads again,
“Simon, Karra, move!… That thing is still…um, alive.” He said.
I looked back to where I had just been rescued from and I knew that thing was still looking for me, I could feel it looking. The Beast knew me, at least in the sense that it knew I was the prey, the target. In the seconds it had its peculiar cobra like hypnosis over me. I had looked into its mind, just a glimpse but enough…enough to realize that thing and I had something in common, we were both assassins. I was sent here to kill a drug lord for messing about in the black arts, and the Beast was here to kill me.

(Now don’t ask me how I knew, I just did.)

A warm fuzzy feeling slipped over me, something like the combination of a favorite blanket and a mothers hug. A shield of magic had descended over Karra and I as the teams witch had turned her attention to our wellbeing.
“Ok Ladies and Gentlemen it appears the stealth portion of this operation has concluded” Emily’s warm tones purred into my head as the last of the team checked in.

 

[supraneurotoxin]

whoa.
nice story necro. definitely worth buying, let me know when you're finished and where I can pick up a copy.

 

[necro3570]

Chapter_4__
“the desire to see dead people”​

“Hi Emily” perked Karra with a squeek that spoke volumes of the affection the two felt for each other.

“Hi Karra, Simon I think we need to be leaving about now.” Emily spoke in a soft measured tone that told me she was frightened but not willing to let it show.

“Negative this is a job from the top and you know it.” My reply was just as measured as hers, though I don’t know if she picked up on it, she didn’t argue.

“Regroup, we move on the hacienda, all other targets are a wash.” I growled.

“All of them?” Emily asked quickly.

The sound of real fear moving into her voice. She had a very good reason to fear missing our second target. Target number two was a warehouse full of a very nasty form of cocaine that the drug lord we were here to kill had come up with, aided by a few demons no doubt.

The nasty part is how the cocaine was cut. About one percent of the volume was exhumed, and powered cursed human bones. Cursed in a necromantic ritual, in this case bones bathed in blood of children born from drug-addicted mothers. The Necromancer had infused the bones with a dark and terrible power. The power to see into the neither realms, the realms of the dead. With the trace amounts of bone in the cocaine the sight is only a glimpse, but enough to see lost relatives, passed lovers, perhaps a dead child. The fleeting visions fade rapidly leaving the victim feeling empty, and alone, but all jacked up on the coke to act out there frustration.

(An addiction far worse than the cocaine alone, as if the drug needed any help.)

In the full ritual, the Necromancer swallows a piece of the bone that takes quite a long time to pass through the system, granting them long lasting sight.

(I have never really understood the desire to see dead people. I am one.)
“Right… Ok Paul think you can get some charges into the warehouse while everyone is chasing me?” I asked.

“Umm? Just what do you mean chasing you?” asked Paul cutting off the girls as they spoke up together.

“I mean that every drop of security is going to be heading to protect the boss. Whom tonight just happens to need protecting, because I am coming to kill him.” I said.

As if on cue a wet gurgling scream came from back by where the Blood Beast had been, punctuated by a burst of full auto fire.
“And we have that thing to deal with” I said

“No no no we don’t!” sputtered Karra
“We didn’t make it, We don’t have to deal with it, let it eat the bad guys!” she managed all in one breath.

“Sorry lover, no can do. Most of the population on this island are Roman Catholic and it would look real bad if we left that thing wandering around.” I said
“And Even if they were not all Catholic, We would still put that thing down to save the people from it. Right Simon?” Paul Scolded.
“Yes Brother Paul if we have the chance” I replied
He Started to say something and I cut him off
“It will probably go away when I hit the mark, so its bottom on the list.” I said in my best End Of Discussion voice. I heard his teeth click shut on what ever else he was going to say.

Our teams official link to the Vatican is Brother Paul, and as far as the church is concerned he was the leader of the team. The team seems to think differently, as well as our order of the Templar. We went through numerous (leaders) before we got Brother Paul. Paul was a troublemaker in the church; he expressed independent thoughts, drank, smoked, and had sex with women.

Being a Monk and not a Priest that was all within acceptable limits, well, everything but the independent thoughts. He spoke out against the old repressive ways of thinking, helped to find food and clothing for unwed mothers. He also developed quite a habit of beating the living **** out of pimps and abusive boyfriends if he saw them hurting a woman. Being the leader of our team had proved to be rather fatal to many of the men that Cardinal Rothschild has sent to control us in the past. Brother Paul was a Prime Candidate for our order, the only problem is that he fit in, and with us and has proved to be rather hard to kill.

(Not that Cardinal Rothschild would ever wish him ill… heavens no.)
“All right, Paul is going to blow the drugs.” I said and heard the click click of the mic as Paul’s response.

“Karra is going to clear our way out of here, and Emily start locking down the power of our scum bag,” I continued and Karra nodded and moved off into the darkness.

“I am going to go kill me a necromancer.” The cold of the night air returned sending chills down my spine as Emily’s shielding spell she had placed on Karra and I dropped, her energies refocused on her new task. We all moved off to different destinations, listening to the panicked cries of the Colombian guards.

Staccato beats played in the night as the guards opened fire on the Blood Beast that was, unwittingly helping me closer to my goal. I moved rapidly towards the main hacienda, the guards were all running now in the direction of the dock.

(Rampaging Blood Beasts are much more interesting to shoot at, then say black jammy clad vampires skulking in the dark.)

I had the very bad feeling that the Beast had noticed I was moving away from it and was coming for me, and the guards were sacrificing themselves to slow its path to their boss.

(Saving me from dealing with them for now) I was rather sure that after I killed the Cartel Head I would have to sort out that thing, but for now, I had another goal.

The Hacienda was awash with glaring light, its white paint amplifying the startling effect. It loomed up out of the Rain Forest canopy, a grotesquely beautiful monument to the pain and suffering caused by the drugs its inhabitants distributed around the world.

Far more guards than I would have expected seemed to have abandoned their posts. I assume their absence was to aid their compadres attempting to deal with the Beast, or more wisely, they may have fled for their lives.

(For their sakes, I hoped it was the latter)

I keyed my mic by tightening the muscles in my jaw.
“Karra, need your help” I said in a flat tone to avoid spooking her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, tension welling in her voice.
“I am going to make a great target in all this light, can you hit the generator?” my best calming voice in full force.

(An ability of the vampire often over looked by the horror books, is a talent for controlling others emotions, or issuing simple commands with just the voice, very useful to calm prey, thus turning them into a willing victim walking happily into the shadows we like to lurk in.)

“I’m on it” came her reply, “Simon, there are also power lines running in from the far side of this place.” Emily added.

“Yea I saw, but no one is going to the inland side of this place if we can avoid it, I am hoping that the main house will have switched to emergency power when the alarms went off.” I said, looking up as a small indication that what I had just said was intended as a prayer.

“Its when I heard the gennys kick on” Paul keyed in.
“There is more than one generator Karra, I can feel them” Emily said with a distant quality to her voice, she was using magic to locate our target, and was in tune with most sources of active power in the vicinity.

Click click was Karra’s reply.

Now would be a good time to turn into a bat and fly unobserved into a window some place, and I would do just that, if it was not total movie bull****.

(I have never seen another vampire turn into any thing but a pile of ashes or dust depending on what I had killed them with.)

A word to the wise, do not get your information about supernatural beasties from tabloids, or late-night movies. Many years ago, I almost died because I was in a bad spot, and some **** I had seen on a black and white B rate movie was all I could think of at the time.

(I’m not telling you what it was… or you would not respect me in the morning.)

A rending screech sounded from far off to the east of me, as I looked I saw what looked like a large generator fly through the air a good hundred feet, and land on the hood of a very expensive looking little red Italian convertible. The lights in the big house stayed on, but almost everything on that side of the compound went dark.

“Enzo forgive her, she knows not what she mashes” Paul whispered in his mic.
“A 550 Barchetta, only four hundred and eighty eight ever made.” He continued, for a second I thought he was going to cry.
“Well, there are a few more pasta rockets around here…To bad you have that vow of poverty thing going or we could take one home for you mate” I said with a smile… Brother Paul said bad words, quite a few of them in fact.

“Simon, Karra is not going to be able to get to the main house generator without getting very much in the light” Emily said
“All right then, **** it, that’s out” I spat. “I’m going in, you have a fix on our target Emily?” I said
Emily’s voice came drifting airily into my head .
“He is on the third floor in there... but Simon, something is very wrong, and I don’t think he’s alone…” her voice trailed off as she zoned back out to monitor my target, she would alert me if he was casting a spell, or tossing up wards to shield him self.

(I hate wards, not only do they hamper ones progress towards ones goals, they ****ing hurt! Wards are the magic equivalent of a Trek like force field, but add the fact that most often some sort of horrible magic fire, or lighting is bound in to them, just waiting to flambé what ever stupid bastard tries to cross the ward. Oh did I forget to add they are almost always invisible. Like I said…hate them. )

I did not relish the idea of moving in on the house with it all lit up like it was, but I had little choice, without putting Karra in what I felt was unnecessary danger. Now don’t get me wrong if circumstances warrant it I have no qualms with sending team mates into situations where they may be injured or even killed. However, I would not do so just to save my own ass, or as in this case make things easier on myself.

I removed a bit of black torn cloth with a olive drab patch sewn to it from a small cargo pocket on my left forearm, and hooked it on a jagged edge of the fence rail I was snuggled up against. The patch hung there, as if it had been ripped off a passing uniform sleeve. A flag to mark the passing of an unwanted intruder, it waved in the light breeze displaying its lettering proudly, DEA. With satisfaction that the planted evidence would have the Colombians blaming the US DEA as the accountable parties for the assault, I looked for a clear path to my target.

Not that I thought the survivors of tonight would figure we were a covert cell of supernatural assassins. Sent by the Knights Templar, one of the most secret orders in the world with ties to the Vatican. Directed by orders of only the highest ranking members of the catholic church, if not the Pope himself. Sent to invade their homes in the night and slaughter their leaders, and any one unfortunate enough to be in the way. But… better safe than sorry, is a good motto to follow.

Ok… rampaging Blood Beast aside, most people just do not want to believe that the things they have seen are real and will make excuses in their minds to avoid dealing with reality. So, a little planted evidence gives just the right spark to fuel the imagination, or to lend itself to prove a theory

 

[necro3570]

Hope you are all enjoying the story... I cant post much more, the guy that is editing it for me is a well published author and hangs out around here apparently, cause he just called me and tore me a new ass for "giving it away"... I can only put up a few more chapters.

But I hope ya liked what ya saw. I will post a few more and will have to call it quits on the post. but hey with luck it got ya hooked. and I will let ya know when and if I can actually get it published.

Heck I may field some ballistic / caliber questions your way.

Todd

 

[supraneurotoxin]

yes, for sure let us know. I for one am certainly going to get a copy. the title looks as if it'll be part of a series. am I assuming correctly?

 

[trickyasafox]

I liked it. let me know when it comes out

CAUSE some of us are still waiting on MHI

 

[necro3570]

supraneurotoxin, you are correct Sir. I plan on a series of 3 - 6 books as long as I can keep the brain cramps away.

Todd

 

[bulgron]

Necro,

Just a comment. All the parenthetical text bothers me and tends to kick me out of the story. You might want to work on blending that information into the protagonist's commentary so that it doesn't stand out so much.

The main premise of the story seems real solid. I'd definitely keep reading if I had it here to read.

Also, I don't think that giving away chapters like this is necessarily a bad thing. But if you're going to do something like that, I suggest you wait until you have the book sold and publication is imminent so that you can drive sales with the freebies. Free chapters should be offered as a loss-leader, which is to say you give a few chapters away for free in the hopes that it prompts people to go buy the book. Free chapters plus an Amazon.com link is your optimum angle, I think.

Good luck with the book....

 

[Big Boomer]

not to criticize too much, but I am missing the pictures that are in your head. Give a bit more detail to paint a picture When this starts off I have a few senses being hit but not many my eyes being the worse. Paintings are to be looked at, movies are to be watched and heard and last of course a book is to be eaten, tasted, and digested like a good meal.

For instance, keep the senses going, in the first chapter ****head number 1-2-3 are they fat, skinny, what nationality, how are they dressed? Are they clean cut military or slobby mercenaries? How cold is the water? What is the smell? Is it rough wave pounding coastal water, or stagnant stinky swamp water? Does it taste salty or taste like sewage washout? Is it clean spring water that we want to bath in? How dark is it? Are the shadows flickering? Is the sun gleaming causing you to squint? (being a vampire I bet it's night but you never know. Add more depth to the narration.

What age were the victims, how were they dressed? Some of us have never been to columbia, is it winter, summer, what?! Just a few helpful hints...

 

[necro3570]

Hey thanks for the advice, it all helps. the book is in 2nd draft phase so there is a lot of work left to do. As for the being more descriptive thing... It was in the first draft but the editor and some of my proof readers said it was to "Steven King". So I backed it off, maybe to much, I will see what I can do to flesh out the world a bit with over doing it.

The "thoughts" in the parentheses are in Italics in the manuscript and blend in better, but the system here stripped all styles and fonts.

And I do agree about chapters being a loss leader, I didn't see anything wrong with it but its advice from an author that has 6 books in print and I don't have any. Its the I differ to the expert thing, but honestly its not like this forum is read by millions like amazon. I don't think it will hurt my market and it does make contact with people like me. I will post a few more, at least to finish the scene in the Columbian compound.

Todd

 

[necro3570]

Chapter_5__
“Fueled by death and pain”​

“Oh god Simon, Children!… He has children in there” Emily’s voice cut deep into me, the one thing I did not want to do was hurt a child. Tight fire control was now a must, one problem was the 5.7x28 ammo I was loaded with was that it had the ability to pass right through doors and walls, or in some cases through bad guys. Basic firearms safety tells us that we should always, know not only ones target but what may be behind that target. Only one problem with that is, tonight my targets will want to shoot back and are the kind of blokes that will not worry about whatever they may hit when the shooting starts.

“He’s hurting them!” Emily gasped as if she was feeling the pain of the children herself. I looked towards a wooden lattice covered in thorny plants according to Tamara’s map it was a hidden door with stairs leading down from the top floor. A secret escape route no doubt, one that I had planed to use as my exit. Now it would be my entrance, plans of clearing most of the guards for safety reasons now gone.

The Door was unguarded from the outside but my map indicated a chair on the inside of the door. Tamara could only see the present with her remote sight, when she had drawn the map that chair must have been empty, but I could not count on that now.

I sprinted to the hidden door, moving at speeds that only register as a blur to the human eye, the map had no information on how the door was secured or mounted. Only a foot from it I could now easily see the door, the lattice was cut in a outline of the opening. I grabbed a hold of the lattice and tugged lightly, the woodwork held fast, and the door moved slightly on the left side.

Now knowing the hinges were on the right I backed off a few steps and aimed a boot at the place where the latch seemed to stop the door when I pulled on it. My aim was true and the door and frame splintered inward under my boot, allowing the rest of the door to fling back on its hinges revealing a very startled guard.

He was an old man, most likely posted at the hidden door because it was certain to be a quiet post. He still sharp at his age and looking at me he knew he had no chance to survive a confrontation. As the elderly guards eyes met the glow of my eyes in the darkness he began to tremble, the aged man never made a move for the revolver in the worn holster on his belt. He slid from his chair and sank to his knees.

Whispering “la Madre del Dios me ahorra” over and over. Madre del Dios, Mother of God, Spanish is close enough to Latin in that regard, enough that I can recognize it prayer when it is uttered in earnest.

I stooped and removed the battered Smith and Wesson revolver from the old man’s holster. Bending the barrel in a U shape with my hands as the old man watched gibbering his prayer into the night. I dropped his only weapon in front of him on the floor, and he took the hint. He crawled out the door and around the corner, pleased that I would not need to kill the old man, I moved up the stairway.

Loud and rather festive music came filtering down from above me as I scaled the stairs. Either our scumbag enjoyed tremendously inappropriate music to torture children too, or he some how knew the people coming for him would be able to hear his movements from a distance, and use them against him.

(Neither possible reason for the music pleased me, but one of the possibilities scared the **** out of me. If someone up there knew about the hearing abilities of Karra or I... What the hell else did they know?)

At the top of the stairs the second of my senses was assaulted, the scent of blood filled my nose; this blood was fresh, and young. Blood of a child had been spilled, and a lot of it. I reached for the doorknob and would have wet myself if I was able. Just as I took hold of the knob the entire building shook. A crushing impact of something, rattled the whole structure.

(I fought off the flashbacks of being slammed around by the Blood Beast with the thought that it was presumably, what had shaken the structure. The Beast was here and I had little time to waste.)

The blaring Cumbia music continued its pounding rhythms, making it all but imposable for me to use my predators hearing to locate the children I needed to avoid harming, or the bad people I needed to harm with extreme prejudice.
One advantage of having my communication system implanted in my head is that it’s not actually affected by outside noises, gunfire, rending limbs, or in this case earsplitting Latin rhythms do little to hamper my teams ability to get vital intel to me.

Emily’s voice forced its way through the beat of drums and a ripping trumpet solo to call my attention,
“Simon he is casting something offensive, I can feel the hate in it…But I don’t think it’s aimed at you.” Emily informed me.
“That’s good news I think, I don’t believe he knows where I am” I replied
“Emily, I need to know where the kids are, and is the bad guy alone?” I asked
“Simon! That thing just bashed the front door down!” Karra blurted in a frenzied tone.
“Yea I felt it hit the first time, it shook the entire building.” I said calmly, trying to assure my team that I was still safe if only momentarily.
“The first hit took out the shields and wards placed on the front door… Simon, It shook off that ****ing ward like a paper cut.” Emily spat savagely, the acid tone of her words disturbed me deeply.

(Necromantic wards are some of the nastiest one can encounter, fueled by death and pain they are an extremely potent form of dark magic, and often have enraged wraiths bound in them to cause extra mayhem.)

That ward apparently bothered Emily, and if the Beast was able to shrug off a like it was nothing, then I was in trouble… very, very much in trouble. A ward like that would have most likely killed me in one shot. Not that I am easy to kill, but necromantic magic is exceedingly dangerous stuff to everyone and everything.

The kind of magic that Emily uses is powered by nature; she reaches into the earth to the ley lines that run around the globe for her power. Life and the elements are the energy pouring from the lay lines. A necromancer kills for his power, the brutal acts of torture, and murder are the fuel of the necromancer. The energy produced by a tortured soul leaving the body is ensnared by the necromancer, and then almost always along with the very soul of the victim forced to the serve the casters will. The dark magic is made all the more repugnant by the power given to the necromancer if he destroys the souls he snares and enslaves.

An intense burst of scarlet light flashed around the frame of the door I was crouched by, the building trembled again in response.
“Simon he blew it out the door… but its getting up again” Karra stated, she had apparently taken up a position where she would be able to send situation reports (SitRep’s) to the team.
“The kids are on the top floor Simon, our target is on the bottom.” Emily informed the team.
“Well that’s great news and ****ty news all at the same time.” I swore in the dark, I could get the kids out easy if they were up top and hopefully unguarded. Another flare alerted me to the magic spells being tossed around down stairs.

“Any luck taking some fire out of our targets bag of tricks?” asked
“Simon I stripped his power twice and he got a surge back fast both times, in like less then a minute” Emily replied, as she said the words disturbing images formed in my mind and I put the links together… I didn’t want to think about it.
“I’ll draw him down again in a moment Simon, I just need to get ready.” Emily said
“No!” I shouted, “Let him deal with the beast for now I need to get the kids out of here” I ordered.
I didn’t want to tell her where I thought he got his reserve of power.
“Click click” came her reply.

The smell of fresh blood, and a supply of children along with the need for fast and brutal power… He had murdered at least two children to fight the beast, likely more when Emily had drained his power and in all probability more to fuel what ever he had been up to when we first showed up.

Necromantic power does not last long, it bleeds away from the caster and like a leaky tire, they go flat; so they have to keep killing to re-supply.
(I have had a slow leak in a tire before and it made me want to kill people… I didn’t, and therefore I am a better person than a necromancer. I just mashed the cars hood in and threw a few engine bits a hundred-ish feet.)

I slowly turned the knob of the door with my left hand, holding tight I readied my self for combat; I drew my FN P90 up into ready action position. I thrust the door inward allowing it to swing wide; I scanned what I could see of the room from the doorway. With no targets in sight I sprinted into the room, a blur moving to the far corner to gain access to the rest of the room and opening my field of fire.

The vacant space was apparently a bunkroom for hacienda staff; most likely guards. I took my clue from the weapon rack on the wall, half-full of short-barreled AK47’s. I disabled the weapons by bending the barrels in a ninety-degree angle thus making them rather less accurate, and rather more likely to explode than normal. Six unmade beds in the room, a table with cards and money scattered over the surface, over turned chairs, and half-eaten plates of food, gave evidence that the room had been evacuated with haste.

I could now see the source of the pounding music, an exceptionally oversized boom-box sat on a rickety looking table, and had been wired to an array of speakers that hung on the wall. I debated turning off the music so that I could use my hearing to my advantage but doing so would alert any guards that still may be in the area. I could likely count on engaging up to six of them at any time, if the old guard from downstairs slept here that left five but he didn’t seem the bunkroom type, more like someone’s Grandfather.

I moved to the only other door in the room, the building vibrated under my feet once more as the violence downstairs resumed. I repeated the same procedure opening this door, as it swung open I could hear the bursts of gunfire that had been covered by music, and the closed door. An empty hallway lay before me with doors spaced evenly on both sides of the narrow corridor.

I had little choice but to check every room, with the music blaring behind me, and gunfire erupting below. I realized I had no hope of hearing the children if they were not outright screaming.

(Although I would not be surprised if they were, if a child has ever had reason to scream in horror it was now)

The first and second doors on the left were empty; the first door on the right however was locked.

(Note: people do not often lock doors to empty rooms.)

If this door was locked then there was something worth securing in there. I could only hope it was a room full of children, I put my ear to the door and listened as intently as I could against the thunderous background noise. A rather futile exercise on my behalf but it seemed like the thing to do at the time, I was just realizing how dim-witted my idea was when I heard it. The hushed but unmistakable, the voice of a frightened child.

I could not make out any words but the voice in the room was in extremely close proximity to the door. I readied myself, with my door opening foot standing by to launch for the location of the locking mechanism. I paused as I saw the shadows of small feet moving just on the other side of the heavy wood, I was not going to do to a child what the Blood Beast had done to me.
(Getting your ass batted across the room is not a pleasant sensation; trust me, it hurts.)

I reached out and took hold of the doorknob, there was no deadbolt on the door so the knob was my only obstacle. Opening the door without hurting the kids inside would be no problem, getting the jump on any one in the room guarding the children was a different matter. I debated using a flash-bang grenade but my conscience vetoed the consideration almost instantly thinking of little eardrums bursting.

Pouring my strength into the handle, the brass crumpled in my hand, I could feel the tumblers strain in there slots. Just as the pins began to pop loose in the lock I thrust my shoulder high into the door, I would enter standing but prepared to tumble if required. The doors lock burst allowing me rapid entry, I scanned the room quickly from left to right pushing the door open with the stumpy muzzle of my FN P90, I swept the room back from right to left my barrel panning across the faces of fourteen horrified and famished looking children.

A few of the children gasp at the sight of me but they did not scream, as in reality they should have. They have likely been exposed to much worse at the hands of the necromantic drug lord than having firearms waved in their faces by a six foot tall figure dressed all in black, wearing a spandex mask that only showed two eyes that glowed a dim green in the darkness.

(When I get my claws on that unholy bastard, I plan to do things that will keep Brother Paul in confession for a week, pleading for forgiveness on behalf of my soul. I would go myself, but the last time I attempted to I set off a number of smoke detectors. I am told it took six days to get the stench of charred Me out of the Papal apartment.)

I motioned for the kids to follow me and said,
“I am here to rescue you. Stay close and low.”
Turning I moved back out into the hallway and made ready to move the kids to the bunkroom… not one of the kids followed me. I blinked at the doorway a few times, not comprehending why the children were not flowing out in a steady stream so I could direct them to safety. It finally dawned on me that the language barrier was going to be a problem.

I poked my head back into the room and looked at the children, who in response looked right back at me. I waved my hand in a drawing motion, again trying to indicate that they should follow me, not a one of them moved. If they understood what I was after they were not going to make it easy.

 

[necro3570]

Realization forming that after what they have likely been through, the chance of the children trusting me was close to nil. I doubtless was going to need too physically carry them from the room.

I reached out to take hold of the closets child he stood there wide eyed grasping the hand if a smaller girl next to him. I fully expected him to recoil and attempt to flee, he just stood there. Grasping his hand I pulled him lightly toward myself, he didn’t resist stepping forward, and the child he was attached to with the other hand stepped forward following me as well. Experimentally I drew them both to the door. I could now see that all the kids were paired off holding hands.

(Oh **** me… The Buddy System from hell, they were kept matched up for use, apparently the son of a bitch liked to murder children in pairs.)
I dropped the hand of the boy I had guided to the door and stepped back into the room. I pulled another set o’ children up behind the first duo at the door, I then took the little hand I was holding and placed it in the hand of the boy waiting at the door. With a little tugging I could see that they were now linked as well, in under a minute I had a chain of young ones.
Like a circus elephant mother I directed my string of babies out into the hallway and back to the bunkroom. Circling the room I came round to close the door behind us, just as I was swinging it shut I saw a man with a Uzi submachine gun round the opposite end of the hall.

He did not seem to notice me or the door moving shut, or if he did his reactions were slow enough that I didn’t not have a chance to observe them as the door closed. With no lock on this door all I could do was to prop a chair under the handle.

No matter how secure that seems to be in the movies, the truth of it is that with one good kick on the opposite side of the door and most doorknobs will either bend out of the way or pop right off the door. Either way the chair will only lend me a few seconds if someone on the other side really wants in.
I circled my conga line back around and went out the door to the stairs, if I could just get the kids outside then another team member might be able to get them some place safer. So I could set about on my murder the bad guys for fun and profit trip that I had planed at the top of this evening.
“I need a pick up for fourteen kids at the back door” I said on my way down the flight of steps, kids in tow.

“My Lord, that many.” Paul said
“Their were more before all hell broke loose” I spoke the words mechanically not really wanting to think that we could have been the cause of the death of children.

“I am on my way lover” Karra said softly in her mic
“Clear, and Emily I think you may want to look at the kids if you can they seem to be under some enchantment.”

“If its necromantic, it will fade when we kill the caster” Emily replied.
I moved the children off to a shadowed area away from the entrance, turned and headed back up stairs. “I am going back up to see if I can sneak up behind El Dirt’o Bag’o”I said, and a rapid “click click” came back to me.
Back at the top of the stairs I peeked around the corner of the doorway looking through the holographic sights on my FN P90 to see if my security chair was still guarding my back. It was still there, but had slid a couple of inches and the doorknob was bent slightly upward.

(someone kicks like a little girl.)

Now that somebody knew I had invaded the Hacienda I could terminate the music. With no further reason to attempt being stealthy I fought back the urge to crush the boom box in to a few million bits and settled for pulling the plug.

(Some times I hate self control)

With the music off I could clearly hear the chaos that was ongoing downstairs, bursts of gunfire, screams of men, roars of rage from the blood beast, and the sound I was hoping to hear, spells being chanted by the necromancer. It should be easy to locate him if he continued his chant.

The information I know about magic is totally academic, due to the fact that I have no magical abilities or powers of my own besides being a vampire. However what I do have in regards to magic is a rather large amount of knowledge on the subject, gained from the countless books and tombs I have stolen from the Vatican vaults over the decades.

(All of them returned mind you)

One fact that remains a constant in the church is; they do not like to admit that there are things that go bump in the night. Since the inception of the church all levels of the holy hierarchy from the Pope on down have spent considerable energy and time denying the supernatural.

Hoarding, locking away, and aggressively discrediting any proof or significant information that has surfaced over the centuries.

It is that vast collection of forbidden knowledge that I have used as my personal library for the last sixty-ish years. The way I see it is that I am one of the things that go bump in the night and therefore I have the right to read about myself, and anything that may be out there waiting to eat me.

The steady rhythmic chant of the necromancer made me think that he was actively maintaining a shielding enchantment to hold off the beast. If I was right that shield could be a problem for me as well depending, on how he had crafted the spell. Most shield spells are made to hold out certain things; other magic, demons, vampires, wraiths, and any host of other creatures. But some crafty or scared ****less casters plow massive amounts of energy into shields that are intended to keep out everything, including bullets.

Moving down the hall I could smell the blood of the fallen guards wafting up from below, along with that came the foul odors of sulfur. The stuff of Fire and Brimstone fame, a smell that was just one more reminder to me that I was up against dark magic.

Where ever the guard that had tried to force his way past my chair-braced door had gotten to was a mystery, which I didn’t have time to solve. More screams came rolling up the stairs from the embattled guards below and the shooting stopped. I could only guess that the guards were in retreat, pulling back to take up safer positions. The necromancer started chanting louder, and faster; he must be holding the beast off while the guards moved.

I checked the map velcroed to my gear, according to my diagram of the landing ahead it told me that the staircase would descend in a large open square and wrap around down to the first floor. Taking the stairs down would open me to possible fire from all floors should I get cornered on them. I moved to the railing at the top of the stairway. Peering out over the edge I could see straight down to the first floor, everything looked clear.

(My little voice inside me that tries to keep me from doing stupid or self-destructive things expressed strong protest to the plan that was forming in my head)

Never being one to willingly listen to little voices, I grasped the railing tightly with my left hand, the right hand on my FN P90 drawing it up and ready I thrust with my legs going up and over the banister.

(The little voice swore loudly as I dropped)

 

[necro3570]

Chapter_6_
“its the little things escape your notice”​

As my feet hit the floor I revaluated the wisdom of my little voice. (The little voice was smarter than me.) I realized that I had made a huge tactical error, and now I was looking straight into the eyes of the necromancer. I was supposed to be behind him, and my landing zone would have been perfect if the blood beast had not killed a mass contingent of guards, and pushed the necromancer back past the center of his house. Now I knew why the shooting had stopped, the guards were all dead; killed by the beast. As if on cue that horrible hiss came from behind me.

I had landed in possibly the worst place I could have, between the necromancer and the Blood Beast. The necromancer looked surprised to see me to say the least. In his astonishment his chanting paused and the shielding spell faded for just a few seconds allowing the beast to move back into the house. A much closer hiss than the last drew my attention to the immediate threat behind me, FN P90 held tight in my right hand, my left hand striped an American made M59 fragmentation “Baseball” grenade, from the trio hanging at my right shoulder. I hooked the pin with the little finger on my right hand and pulled it free.

(Ok lesson time, the Safety Pin in a grenade is there to keep it from going BOOM at a bad time, like while its hanging on your chest. The fact that is that it’s a safety device, its made so it’s not that easy to remove, attempting to pull one with your teeth will end bad for you, and pay for a new boat for your dentist.)

The necromancer saw the grenade in my hand and twitched, he kept his chant going as strong as ever but he was apparently unsure of the ability of his enchantment to protect him from a blast. I grinned under my mask, his obvious fear bolstered my courage.
“Ssssiimon” hissed the beast.

(My courage ran away and hid.)

I felt the cold stare of the thing burrow into me again. I swung my left arm down, lifting my fingers to let the “spoon” fly loose, I flicked the grenade out behind me with my wrist. The motion arching it through the air to land at the feet of the beast. I dove to my left and up onto the stairs, sheltered by the corner of the wall I was debating whether to run all the way back up.
WHOOM! The grenade detonated, its concussion stunned me, blurring my vision and leaving a high pitched ringing in my ears. Shaking my head to clear the fuzz out I scrambled to my feet, turning my head to look and get my bearings, plus see to how many pieces my grenade had blown the beast into. I may as well have tossed fire crackers at it, the beast stood there smoking from the fire but still straining to get farther into the house.

The necromancer didn’t fare so well, the beast was not the only one smoking. Apparently his shields were not able to block out fire or shrapnel, he was burnt and bleeding. The necromancer extended a hand my direction, I snapped my FN P90 up and was flung back against the wall of the stairway, my arms held above my head. Bands of icy cold wrapped my heart like fingers closing around it, if I still had a heartbeat I am sure it would have stopped right then.

My vision started to tunnel going red around the edges, a crushing weight pushed in on me from all sides. The eyes of the necromancer started to bleed as he strained to rip the life from me, something I didn’t have.

“Why won’t you die!” He screamed with a thick Irish accent, the son of a bitch was not even a Colombian.
“I am already dead you ****ing mick *******!” I screamed back. He shook under the strain of the hex he was using to try to kill me with, along with the shielding spell he was holding to keep the beast restrained from killing me. He blinked and stared into my eyes unable to understand how I was resisting him.

The beast pressed forward seizing the opportunity as the shields weakened, the necromancer panicked as he saw the beast move. He let the spell he was holding me with drop and I fell ten to twelve feet to the floor. I hadn’t even noticed him lifting me up while he was crushing me.

(Being overwhelmed by magic forces is funny like that, its the little things escape your notice.)

I tightened my right hand bringing it up planning to fire the gun that was no longer there. My weapon had fallen from my hand at some point after the necromancer had cast his hex on me. I looked and saw my FN P90 laying out in the foyer approximately five feet from the beast. What looked like tentacles lashed out from the legs of the beast groping towards my weapon, it could feel something of me on it and was trying to capture it.

The mass of blood fought against the necromancers spell struggling to accomplish its goal, the objective was to kill me. Howls of fury expressed the frustration of the beast, while it lashed frantically at the invisible forces holding it back. With power running low for the necromancer the beast was able to push yet farther into the house. It turned to make its move for me, leaving no question as to its intent, ropey tendrils leapt off the surface of the congealed blood reaching for me. I looked at the necromancer and saw the realization dawn on his face, he now recognized that the beast was not here for him.

A Cheshire grin split the face of the necromancer, as he stopped his chant. The bonds holding the beast snapped and it surged forward toward me. With my back literally to the wall I had few options, be ripped apart by the beast, or escape up back the stairs. Run away screamed my little voice, and this time I agreed. I was twelve steps up when another voice caught my attention “I’m with you Simon.” It was Emily.

The beast shrieked in rage and agony as it lit up with green and blue lighting. Steam rolled off the beast as it sizzled, sparks were leaping off it to anything made of metal in a ten foot radius.

Not knowing how fast the necromancer would be able to react, I crouched and leapt forward at him, my legs launching me airborne the full twenty-five feet separating me from my victim. Appropriate to the situation the necromancer watched me sail through the air straight at him with wide eyed terror, he screamed like a little girl.

I hit him full force my claws sinking deep into the flesh of his shoulders, my weight driving him to the ground. He cried out in pain as we tumbled, carried by the momentum of my leap. I ended up on top of him pinning him to the ground. The necromancer snarled out the words for a hex, I ended his casting with a savage knee to the groin, followed by another two in rapid succession.

(The first knee to the balls had stopped his spell, the other two were for trying to kill me.)

His eyes bulged as he gasped for breath, and looked as if he was fighting back the urge to vomit. I tightened my grip on him sinking my claws deeper into mussel, he screamed again.
“Please! Please no more!” he begged, trying to draw him self away from me.
“Did the children you murdered get mercy from you?” I snarled, he just stared back in silence tears running from his blood shot eyes, I glared at him for a few seconds.
“Didn’t think so.” I said as I pulled my claws loose from the muscles in his left shoulder. Another scream paid some of the debts his crimes against the children had earned him.
“Just shoot me and get it over with” he spat at me.

(I wanted to take my time with this hunk of human rubbish, except there was still the blood beast to deal with and Emily would only be able to hold it so long.)

Necromancers can be very hard to kill, one of their twisted dealings with death is they often strive exceedingly hard to avoid their own mortality. They cheat death and that’s part of what drives them mad, delusions of grandeur.

I had a little item with me that I had barrowed from the Vatican vaults, it was made approximately four hundred years ago, the head of a spear called the Soul Lance. The spear was supposedly made by a Templar designed for killing a lich. A lich is a necromancer that has died from old age, disease, or some other natural cause but is remaining animate as a result of dark magic, not unlike a vampire I guess. The lance is said to strike the soul, no matter where the necromancer may have hidden it.

I pulled the blood encrusted spear head out from the knife scabbard strapped to the left side of my tac-vest. At some time in the existence of the spear it had been broken. The head of the spear was six inches long, it still carried four inches of blood stained wood shaft to act as a handle.
The necromancer looked at the blackened blade as I drew it above my head. He actually smiled when he saw I was going to stab him.

“Fool” he whispered. As I slammed the blade down into his heart blood sprayed out like a fountain showering me. A shriek of anguish escaped him as his body convulsed beneath my mass, wide eyed panic flashed across his face.

“That’s right *******, I just killed you.” I spat back at him as I rode out his thrashing, looking into his eyes I watched them cloud over and roll back in his head. He tried to speak possibly to curse me but only coughed up blood. An evil man’s rein of terror ended in gurgling sobs.

I drew the blade out of the dead necromancers chest, and following a tradition started long ago I slid the blade back into the scabbard with out wiping the blade. I stood up and looked down at the corpse, I was dripping blood and it was still flowing steadily out of the wound creating a massive puddle around the corpse.

“What the ****? People don’t have as much blood in their entire body as what I am wearing.” I said out loud, broadcasting it over my radio.
“Simon there could be any number of reasons if there seems to be a lot of blood.” Paul said very professor like
“A lot of blood? Paul there are gallons here and more keeps flowing out.” I said flatly
“Beats me then” Paul said.

(My comments about beating him were cut short as I watched the blood pooling on the floor flow in a little river between my legs and snake out behind me)

Emily had managed to draw the beast outside, also I could hear Karra’s howls and barks as she harried the beast. I watched the blood flow as it headed for the door. I used my foot to smear the head of the stream, it split into two streams and kept flowing. I took a tapestry down off the wall and threw it in front of it to soak it up, it made a right angle turn and started to go around. “We have a problem, the blood from the necromancer is flowing the direction of the beast.” I said to the team.

“Simon we have learned something about it, its blood… heat clots it” Emily informed me.
“Did any one bring a flame thrower?” I asked as I looked around for something more to try and stop the blood with. Spotting a pair of old style oil lamps on a table I took my team members advice, I poured the lamp oil out onto the floor and all over the blood as it slithered away.

I picked up my FN P90 from where it had landed and drew a micro flare from my tac-vest. As I jogged out the shattered front doors of the mansion, I ignited the flare by banging it on the doorframe. I looked back into the foyer, and tossed the flare in the door. I watched the oil go up in flames, and saw the blood caught in the fire writhe like a salted leech.

Most of the court yard of the hacienda was scorched to some varying degree, massive hunks of clotted blood lay scattered about. Karra was in wolf form dancing around the enraged mass of blood, darting in and out taunting the beast. As Karra would dash in Emily would strike the beast with small gouts of flame from her hands, searing the beast as it lashed out at Karra.

The beast moved slow and jerkily, the demon inside it was struggling to maintain control on the body it had made for its self. Demons cannot just cross over into our world and go tearing about as they please. As I told you earlier they must be summoned by a powerful caster, however the summoned demon is brought to our world as only a spirit, albeit an extremely powerful one.

A body must be supplied for them to remain in our world, most often the caster has one ready and waiting, or they at least supply the materials and the demon will form one to its own liking.

A brilliant flash of yellow light lit up the night sky stinging my eyes, a fraction of a second later the earth shook accompanied by earsplitting BOOM, I watched a gigantic mushroom cloud of fire roll up into the night sky about a hundred feet.

“I presume the warehouse is no more?” I asked.
“Warehouse go boom.” Brother Paul stated blandly
“Umm…How many charges did you have?” I asked shaking off my second concussion of the night.
“Just the four we started with… but ether is used in the process of making cocaine and they had a lot of it.” Paul declared, I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Simon it seems like it keeps healing any damage we do to it” Emily said loud enough that her mic was not needed.
Karra barked her agreement. I looked at the surreal seen as it laid out before me, with my predators eyes I saw the earth crawl. The ground was soaked with blood from the fallen guards, it was all flowing to the beast. The creature had not been forced back… Each time, it retreated it was rebuilding itself.

“Emily its drawing the blood of the dead guards up out of the ground.” I shouted back to her, thinking fast I keyed my mic and informed the team,
“We can’t kill this one like this, get ready to move out.” As I said the words Karra stopped dead in her tracks and looked at me in disbelief. The beast took the opening, a devastating blow landed on Karra’s left side her shoulder buckled, she yelped in pain and crumpled to the ground.

“Incendo” Emily screamed in Latin as columns of fire erupted from both of her hands, engulfing the beast. I rushed forward and was met by a wave of searing heat. The beast was driven back away from Karra before it could land another attack. Swooping down on the run I lifted Karra and ran on with her, she was alive but unconscious.

“We leave now!” I ordered into my mic vampiric voice on full power,
“Gather evac point in five” “evac in five roger” came Paul’s reply
“Enroute” Emily said ending her assault on the beast, and running behind me designed for the location we had planed as our point of egress the night before.

The use of power in my voice had compelled my team members to follow my order, but they were still clear minded and I was waiting for one to object.

“Just asking, but what about the beast?” Paul asked as he ran, “I think I have that figured out, tell you on the boat” I replied, and hoped that the truck we had parked just outside the compound was still where we left it.

I slowed my pace to let Emily catch me up, with both arms full of injured wolf I would be rather worthless if someone showed up intent to cause us harm. Emily ran up beside me, and looked at Karra’s limp body in my arms.
“She’s alive.” I said with a slight smile
“It got her in the head” Emily said smiling back. I cringed, my memory reliving far more hangovers than I would care to admit.
“Gonna be a nasty headache” Emily supplied the words for my thoughts, I nodded in agreement and ran on into the darkness.

I was not worried that Karra would not recover, her lycanthropic body was incredibly resistant to damage, she had sustained far graver injuries sparing with me. Nevertheless laying out cold at the feet of a monster you have just been annoying for the last five minutes could prove fatal, in this case however she would live. It hurt me to see her like this, my lover beaten down by a beast that was there to kill me. Added to the fact that it was my words that startled her, made it all the worse.

(I forced my self to look at the entire situation from the team leader point of view. If I let my feelings for the injured werewolf in my arms get in the way I may start questioning her role on the team. If I hesitated to send a team member into a bad spot due to our relationship, it could kill every member of the team.)

She is still new to the assassin game, and some mistakes are bound to happen. However this slip-up could have cost her, her life. Karra’s body was able to heal almost any wound within half an hour, depending on how dire the injury was. Pain was an entirely different story, she would suffer this for a few days, the hurting would drive the lesson home. Karra whimpered softly as I ran on.

The truck sat rusting quietly waiting for our arrival. We clambered into the old GMC pickup truck unmolested. Karra and I would ride in the back obscured from sight by moldy looking cardboard boxes. I stroked my lover’s hair avoiding the large goose egg that had formed in the mess of red hair, her body had changed back to its natural form as we ran. Paul drove and Emily would work on enchantments meant to make people want to look at anything but at us.

(I assume the effect was like the choice of staring at your feet or looking at the naked, and sweaty three hundred and fifty pound sumo wrestler, blowing you kisses from across the street… I like my feet.)

We headed for the port of Coveñas fifteen minutes away where a vessel disguised as abandon fishing boat waited.

 

[necro3570]

Ok gang, the team is heading off the island, and like I said, I would get them out of the compound.

Now feel free to give me all the advice you want, it all does help. This is my 1st attempt at something like this and I have never taken even one formal writing class. I just have a few friends that are authors and they said I should give it a try. Problem is that they all have vastly different writing styles from each other and from myself.

Thanks for letting me post all this and thanks for the advice so far.

Todd

 

[Simms65]

This story is gripping! I hope you get this book published soon so I can read the rest of it.

David

 

[Phaetos]

Great writing. It has me hooked, but I love vampires anyway. I love the way you have personalized the main character and tell the story from his point of view and not an outside 3rd person as most novel's are written. Though I have one small gripe, don't only use a spellchecker, can't someone invent a good grammar checker? Particularly the use of like sounding words in the wrong context. Chapter 4, talking of the necromancer you put "see into the neither realms,". I believe that you meant "nether realms". It might have been your brain working on instinct to type "neither" since they are so close in spelling. Please please please, whatever you do, make sure your "to", "too", "two" all come out in the correct places Otherwise, fantastic story telling. Can't wait for the book, be sure to give us enough headstart to pre-order.

 

[CK]

Let me know when book is published.

 

[necro3570]

Phaetos,

I know my spelling is horrible and my grammar Ain't so great either
But I figure thats what the editors are getting paid to do. Like i said above the manuscript is in the 2nd draft, so there is still a lot of trimming to do. I keep getting yelled at for " 10 mile long chapters " I guess people like shorter chapters so they can put the book down while reading and still feel like they accomplished something.

I have never taken any writing classes for I am just sorta muddling my way through the proses. Thats why I welcome any advice people wanna toss my way. It all really does help, unlike a few authors I know, they ask people to read there work and ask for comments, and then get bent out of shape if any one says anything negative. I'm not looking for someone to toot my horn, I want to make the story the best I can, and to do so that takes input from the people I want to read it.

And for the guys asking to be informed if I can get the book published... If I can, you all get autographed hard backs Even if you have to ship it to me for me to sign it I will.

Again thanks much, and keep the advice coming, if you think of any.

Ya know what. I forgot to post the progouge... cant forget something like that. Damn the establishment, I'll send you all a few more scraps.

 

[necro3570]

Prologue​

Cardinal Rothschild glared out his window at the Vatican, angrily drumming his fingers on the sill.
“They have been in the vault again Thomas, I just know they have” He said by way of a snarl.
Shifting his eyes to the young priest standing in front of his desk. Thomas squirmed under the oppressive gaze of the elderly Cardinal.
“Yes Sir, But I don’t know how they could have sir.” Thomas said sheepishly.

He fought back the urge to run from the room, and spoke again.
“Sir, no one is allowed into the vault without permission from either you, or The Holy Father.” Thomas spoke the last few words with a reverence the Cardinal could not ignore. The boy was loyal to the church, and to the Pope, if not to himself, a loyalty the Cardinal could use.

“Yes Thomas, I am aware that they are not allowed to enter the vault, the rules however seem to be little deterrent to thieves.” The Cardinal said blandly, if he could control his anger he could control the young priest, and another pawn in his war against Cardinal Gaston would be won.

“Surely not thieves Cardinal, The Knights are part of the Mother Church, there must be a good reason.” Father Thomas said in a scandalized tone. Cardinal Rothschild looked away from Thomas rolling his eyes at the naiveté of the young man.

“Thomas don’t be gullible, The Templar have never served the interest of the church, they ally themselves with creatures of evil. They claim to have control over their creatures or that the beasts have repented and come to love God. However, I often wonder who really is in control in that sect. Why is it that they are so secretive and evasive, their movements guarded and elusive. Rothschild turned smiling silghtly at Thomas.

“It is my belief that when Pope Clement betrayed The Templar in 1307 to King Philip ,they swore revenge. They should have never been asked to return to the Church, and I feel that seeking them out was the worst mistake Pope Pius the Fifth could have made.”

“Either way Thomas, Should not a member of the church in a position such as mine, be at least informed, if not consulted on the actions of what amounts to Papal Commandos.” the Cardinal questioned as he placed what he felt was a fatherly hand on Thomas’s shoulder.

Thomas paused as he felt the trap close around him; no matter how he responded, he would some how be showing a loyalty to one side or the other in yet another internal war.
“Sir I am not in a position to make comment on that” Thomas stated carefully, confident that he had avoided the situation.

Cardinal Rothschild furrowed his brow, he could push the subject but it would only make Thomas more cautious, and that would yield him few leaked secrets.

He would have to move against Cardinal Gaston alone for now, he would find a way…

......................................

Note: I never wanted to write this but I did under protest, "Its called foreshadowing" I think it gives clues away and kills part of the mystery.

 

[CK]

yep, you are right. It does kill the mystery.