Blackness without total blackness, for the stars were shining in their energetic fluorescence. He took in the mild winds of cool air as they crept like murderers around the corner, stirring a sense of natural excitement in his bones. A sky after his own heart, endless curiosity to be perused with awe. After all, the latent wanderer wonders how the next void will be filled, what glimmer beckons from beyond the next border, concealing something unwanted until defined. Though his heart was with the celestial spirit, his feet stomped the hardness of a road paved. So he looked down at the bricks, then at the full street ahead of him flanked by a minor steel fence demarcating the brook of celestial blue. He continued following that rail, paying little head to the entire community of houses to his right. They were all of them symmetrical and pleasant in their own way, with metal bars around their humble yards of grass presently without green, and daunting windows with vestiges of the heavens reflected. Each estate borrowed its own nuance from the atmosphere, themselves adding to its gothic aesthetic, but not bright at all. Strata of shade by varying degrees as manipulated by moon light. What made this aspect of the city fit the Seraph was simply the essential element of silence. Only, he could not control the inevitable sound of his footsteps. So his eyes turned to the road once more. “Hmm.” A step here - soft sound. A step there - harder. Once more, an echo. “Hmph.” Another. “That’s not an echo.” The Seraph lunged his gaze in several directions. “You don’t need to hide,” he called out. It’s weird.”
Now, he could hear the series of steps not his own. Closer and closer came the gait until the individual masqued by darkness was out of his peripheral vision and stepped softly on the paved road, opposite of him. The stranger was robed and curious looking--some might even say suspicious, with steady poise as he stared down the Seraph. 513Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ06plHjZo2m
“Did I do something to spark your interest?” Sven casually asked. But the figure made no response or movement, staring at him under the moon light. That’s when he heard the steps from another pair encroach some ways behind him. There on the moonlit pavement, Sven, knowing something was awry, sighed. He closed his eyes and imagined himself somewhere else. That’s when the silence was broken by the sound of running. Uncanny running, the steps tapped the pavement faster than a human’s feet could. He had only a second after opening his eyes to see the bodies on both sides of him surging forward with outstretched claws. That’s odd, he thought a split second before they made impact.
The hooded attackers, with their odd razor sharp claws, missed. Sven had dodged by backing away just a few quick steps. Swiftly, the dark attackers resumed their forward lunges. “No,” Sven uttered. Their claws deflected off the steel that was Sven’s left arm. Stunned, even seemingly in pain following the deflection, the attackers backed away. Utilizing the moment of surprise, Sven unhinged the sword on his back and quickly drew it from its sheath. With his right arm, he wielded the long sword to reflect the tinge of the moon. The sharp sneer from the hooded assailants signaled their disdain toward such a weapon. They began backing away, and as they did so Sven threw his blade betwixt them. After dodging in opposite directions, they resumed their forward advance, or so one of them did. Too late, the other attacker glanced back and realized that his accomplice was stabbed in the hip, cued by a high-pitched wail. But when he returned his attention forward, Sven punched his mug with his left arm, thus slamming his attacker head first on the ground. It was at that point he discovered the pale face with dark hair and fangs.
“Vampires,” he muttered. “How is it vampires are involved in this?”
Both opponents lay on the ground, one trying to lift himself and the other moping over the sword still lodged in their hip.
Lifting his metal arm, Sven pointed it in the direction of his sword. It was then the other vampire began screaming, the sword slowly edging out of their hip. Angered, the first vampire growled and flashed his fangs as he lunged with bloodshot eyes. By the time he reached the Seraph, however, the sword was in his left hand.
As a result of the vampire’s speed, Sven felt the cold touch of his clawed fingers wrap around his neck. Expediently, he gripped the pale hand with his right one of metal, crushing it to the bone. The move both stunned and horrified his ambusher, letting him watch as he fell to his knees in writhing pain. A mistake on the part of the vampire; Sven, wasting no time, bent his elbow and immediately sliced horizontally. Only the vampire’s surprised expression remained as the head fell from its shoulders.
Without so much as batting an eyelash at the decapitated body, Sven continued to the other assailant he’d left wounded on the pavement. Seeing him, the vampire tried crawling away. To no avail as Sven grabbed hold of the stranger’s leg with his metal hand and pulled. That’s when the hood came down and he beheld, first, the vampire’s long black hair. After turning around, he beheld the vampire’s pale and youthful countenance: A woman.
“I was not expecting that!” he exclaimed.
“Get your hands off me, filth!” she kicked.
Casually looking from his hand to her long and slender leg revealed under the robe, he let go. Quietly, she kept her head down and her hand over her wound. Apparently, it had left her too weak to run off.
“Why am I not healing!” cried the vampire.
“Because you don’t believe in yourself!” answered Sven.
She glared at him with total resentment.
“Okay,” he resumed, kneeling down next to her, “it’s because my sword is coated in, well, let’s call it anti-skin treatment.”
“What heinous-“
“Ah, ah, ah! I’m asking the questions! Depending on your answers, you get to live or die. Question one-”
“I am willing to tell you if you just come closer…”
“You mean you want to put your fangs on me, probably so that you can kill me. But, my blood would kill you.”
“What are you supposed to be?”
“Let’s worry about that later,” he insisted “Here’s my question-”
She spat on him.
“I’m assuming that headless thing over there was your lover,” he said, wiping the spit off his cheek.
She hissed.
“Who sent you? This could have been a casual outing for you two, but, for some reason, I doubt that. You had a mission, you and mister headless over there.” Her eyes and protruding fangs demonstrated that she was about to hiss again. Suddenly, however, he planted his sword in the ground next to her, and it literally broke through the stone. Once her expression was horrified enough, he smiled and continued in a loud yet happy tone, “Please answer!”
Initially hesitating, the vampire mistress begrudgingly answered, “A man hooded, wearing blue velvet attire, arrived among our Society seeking hands for a contract he deemed would be ‘easy gold.’”
“Asking to do what, exactly?”
“Dispatch a man who was snooping around the governor’s office. He only mentioned the metal hand and nothing else, except that you would stand out.”
“Because of how handsome I am, correct?”
The vampire mistress kept the pressure on her wound as she beheld his patient look. “That’s one of your questions?”
“Of course!”
“No.”
“On to my next question.”
“If I answer truthfully,” she snapped, “will you let me leave?”
“Such is the plan…”
“Fine…”
“What did he look like?”
“Aside from his attire, there was nothing he revealed beneath the hood. Simply, he spoke with an air of urgency.”
“Did he sound human?”
“It"--moaning for the wound--"was my impression. Listening to his voice, I guessed he was near the middle of his life.”
“Speaking of!” Sven replied loudly, “what constitutes ‘middle age’ for a vampire, anyway?”
“You really care to know?” she sighed painfully.
“I asked. If I knew more about vampires, I wouldn’t ask.”
“Three-hundred and fifty years, give or take.”
“So, that’s how old you are!”
“I’ll have you know, my four-hundred years of the blood have not changed the countenance of my twenty-year old self!”
“You are very pale,” Sven casually commented.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving!”
“That was the promise.”
As the vampire mistress lifted to her feet and began limping away, Sven stared with absolute scrutiny. But, she did not see the rage manifesting in his irises. “Four-hundred years…” he repeated.
The woman ignored him.
“Most people don’t know this, but the color of a vampire’s complexion results from the kind of blood they drain.”
Suddenly, the woman stopped walking. Slowly peering over her shoulder, she realized that Sven’s expression was one of utter resentment.
“A vampire can go, at most, a week without feeding. And when they take their victim’s blood, particularly a human’s, they regain their pale complexion.”
Quietly, the vampire mistress turned around. Even as she did so, she continued backing away nervously and stared at the sword lugged over his shoulder.
“Thus, even if it were one human a week,” Sven continued, “after four-hundred years, that is thousands upon thousands of bodies drained.”
“W-What are you?” she asked yet again.
Regaining his grin, Sven stared the frightened vampire woman in the eye and replied, “I am a Seraph. I’m going to kill you.” With the tip of his sword leveled, Sven tossed the weapon at his victim with bullet speed.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
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