View Full Version : Late Night Rumble
A shudder rolled down Ziggy’s back as he felt a bitter wind rip along the street. The entire street died as soon as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. It was instinct for most people to run for cover as soon as the shadows began to move about within the ally’s. Where as, when it came to Ziggy, it was the same at night as it was in the day time. Most people avoided the trench coat figure as he walked along the cobble stone paths, avoiding people he met, and sticking to his own business. He could tell the people that wanted to be inside, by the paranoid shifting of their eyes. Everyone was their enemy, and when it came to the night streets of Rasadanth that was not to far off the truth.
When it came to Rasadanth, murder was a normal part of life. If a person were to be out at night, they risked being attacked, and possible killed. Rapist and thieves alike preyed on anyone that they could sense weakness in their movements, or voice. Keeping on his toes, Ziggy was always ready to defend himself whenever he was in the streets alone. People could not be trusted, and therefore he would rather see them dieing on the cobblestone, then for him to be taking his last breath. It was a dog eat dog world when it came to Rasadanth. Either you killed someone, or they would not hesitate to run a blade over your neck, and leave you to bleed out.
Seeing the outskirts of town, Ziggy picked up his pace. His short strides became long strides of longing. He hated the city, and simply longed to be out among the fields and forest that surrounded the large population. There was less chance of being attacked in the open, where your attacker had no place to hide. Every alley was a death trap waiting for an innocent person to walk into. Holding one hand under his coat, Ziggy gripped the hilt of his dagger, ready to arm himself in a moments notice.
“Five seconds, and I will be out of this god forsaken place.” As he mumbled to himself, Ziggy heard the one sound that he could not ignore within the city. A scream bounded off the walls, echoing from within the city streets. It was a woman, probably caught on her way home, and not would be dragged off into an alley to be raped then murdered. Taking another stride, Ziggy blocked the image out of his mind, until the piercing scream came again. Unable to block it out, he spun on his heel. As the scream died away, he chose which way he figured it was coming from. Pulling free his dagger, he sprinted along the cobblestone, leaving a light echo of footsteps.
“You chose the wrong night tonight you sick son of a bitch.” Gritting his teeth, Ziggy pushed his body to go faster. He knew the woman was in danger. It would only be a matter of time before she would be unable to resist, and would fall captive to her assaulter. Not tonight though. That woman’s life would be spared, and the bastard who tried to take it would soon be lying on the ground, with a neat slash across his neck, and Ziggy glaring down upon his dieing face.
A rodent scurried down a dark alley of Corone’s capital, its shrill squeak echoing upon the stone walls of lined identical dwellings with darkened windows. The sun had forsaken the city for another night, leaving its citizens to put their faith in torches and candlelight. Several such fires were placed fifty feet apart lining the cobbled streets of Radasanth in an attempt to allow safe passage to whoever was forced to roam the unsafe thoroughfares at night. One such individual found herself blessing the flames that kept the shadows at bay, filling her heart with the will to carry her home. The fair youth was a washerwoman, leaving her work late by the wish of her cruel master, who had made her wash more loads than usual. The work paid well, though, as she worked for a wealthy family. If rats scampering to their holes were all she met tonight, it was well worth it. She was taking a seldom-used path in the backstreets and meeting not a soul. Still, she wished her footsteps did not reverberate so upon the hard stone below and hoped it was her paranoid mind imagining that the torch flames were flickering more than usual.
She turned a corner and decided to quicken her step. With a rush of wind, she heard the unmistakable sound of a dying blaze and felt a shiver run the length of her spine. Slowly turning, she found the torch she had passed moments ago had died, leaving a dark gap at the corner of the street with a well-lit path ahead of her. She stared at the darkness left in the light’s wake, the sense of uneasiness welling within her as she failed to discern any shapes in the shadows. Resuming her homeward trek, she doubled her previous pace, her quick walk making her steps louder upon the stone. As she left another torch’s protective halo in substitution of the one ahead, she heard the same unnerving hiss of a doused flame just behind her. Not bothering to turn around this time, she abandoned all pretenses and set out at a brisk run, part of her panicking and another still thinking her foolish for fearing what might be the wind’s labors. As she approached the next torch’s luminescent aura, the light around her vanished with a now familiar hiss. In desperation, she ran full out toward the lit area just ahead of her. She felt a wave of cold swallow her heart when that fire too was swiftly engulfed in darkness.
Her scream carried far across the city, no doubt reaching several ears. This did not worry her hunter, however. Human self-interest was as reliable as the sun’s setting. It was unlikely he would be interrupted before he could perform his deed. As the washerwoman shivered and turned in the encompassing darkness of the side street, looking everywhere in vane hopes of spotting what danger stalked her in the night, he maneuvered effortlessly in the shadows, positioning himself behind her. The maiden’s heart was racing, her breath now fast and obviously troubled. Just as he thought she might let another cry escape her nubile lips, he put a stern, pale hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened as she felt a pair of long fangs puncturing the right side of her throat and piercing through to the vein. Wracked in pain, she was unable to put up any resistance as her assailant drank deeply from her gushing wound, not a sound escaping either of the two in thrall.
“I adore the taste of youth,” the night stalker thought inwardly as utter ecstasy spread throughout his entire body while he fed.
His felt his heart hammering against the ribs that protected it. Each step he took brought him closer to his target, for which he both wanted to reach, and at the same time wanted to avoid. There had been no second scream from the woman, which meant either she was dead, or unconscious. Dodging around the odd person, Ziggy could see darkness at the end of the street. Every other torch was untouched, causing it to appear awkward, and troubling. Gripping the hilt of his dagger tighter, Ziggy plunged into the surrounding darkness. Not knowing what was on the other side; he kept silent, and controlled his breathing despite the stress he had placed on his body. The smells of both fear and blood flowed into his nostrils as his vision switched over, allowing him to see in darkness as if it were a room filled with light.
Taking an unsure step into the darkness, he scanned the back street, looking for any sign of the woman that the scream had come from. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as Ziggy took step after step leading deeper into the surrounding darkness. Perhaps he had taken a wrong turn, and was no where near the scene where the woman now lay helpless. Cursing himself, he was about to turn around, abandoning hope when he saw a shadow flicked a little further down the alley. Swallowing the lump of fear that now swelled in his throat, Ziggy slid against the wall. Whatever it was, it now clutched woman in its hands, and appeared to be draining every drop of her precious life liquid from her neck.
Vampires had been seen in Rasadanth before, but they usually would not prey on people in the streets. They prepared to attack when no one could possible cause them any grief. They may be immortal, but vampires were no better then any other piece of scum that wondered the streets, and they could be brought down just as easily. One stake into their volatile heart and they would disappear into a cloud of sand and dust. It was these creatures that made Ziggy want to hunt every last one of them out of existence. Sliding along the wall, Ziggy could not make out the figure as clearly as he wished. It had already killed the woman; at least it appeared that way by the amount of blood that ran down her neck.
A pang of regret filled Ziggy’s heart as he looked into her empty eyes. If he had of been faster he could have saved her poor soul from the demon that now had its fangs dug into her neck. Gripping his twin daggers, Ziggy slid off of the wall, facing the creature he would now snuff out of existence. Heart racing, and blood rushing through his body, Ziggy could feel his emotions taking control. Not fighting against the urges, his instincts took hold of his body, controlling his movements. A grimace snaked its way across his face, as hatred poured out towards the hidden face of the hunter from the shadows.
“Your gunna wish you hadn’t hunted tonight. For now, that hunter has become the prey for the next creature up in the food chain.” Crouching slightly lower, Ziggy transferred his weight to his back leg, ready to evade or lunge forward if this demonic monster made any sudden movement to attack or run.
Arawn’s head snapped up from his nighttime meal and his eyes fell on the defiant being against the wall, blood dripping from his sinister fangs to the ground below as the soft trickling sounded in the alley. He was startled it had gotten there while he fed. It was a weakness of the vampire that he often lost himself in his feeding sessions, drawing too much pleasure from the act and forgetting to pay heed to his surroundings. Fortunately for Arawn, this particular human was either an imbecile of a tactician or an arrogant fool for having announced his presence. Either way, the balance of mental capacities was in the pale one’s favor. He released the washerwoman’s corpse from his grasp, letting it fall to the ground in an unceremonious heap of contorted flesh. Licking his crimson-soaked lips, the white warrior retreated a few steps from this new presence in the darkened alley and spoke with a sneer.
“What do you know of the chain of life?” he laughed patronizingly as he stepped a little further back in the shadows.
What a magnificently impudent creature this was to assume so inattentively of his abilities as compared to the nosferatu’s. It was a comical flaw in most mortals for them to believe in such a thing as an absolute good and evil. They had faith that rewards were granted to those who aided others, as if a righteous act, in itself a subjective concept that varied greatly from one individual to another, somehow had a greater chance of success than a sinful one merely for their fundamental intent. Here this human had come in the defense of a woman who now lay dead between him and her aggressor, a situation that was all but alien to the vampire. Many sought to hunt the undead, abhorring them for their choice of prey, but by mere logic this human facing the white warrior had to realize that Arawn was alive because he had murdered and fed on his kind countless times before. The so-called food chain was plainly laid out before them and it would allow only one outcome for their confrontation. Whatever abilities the human possessed, his actions in the name of a cause he believed just would not provide him with any divine aide in their achievement.
“You speak of the hunter to one whose life is naught but an endless stalking of greater quarry,” Arawn went on. “Your presumption is like of trying to instruct the sun in the creation of light. If you are fortunate, you will come to fully understand your folly before your end.”
With this pronouncement, the shadows all around the vampire suddenly contorted and shifted silently until he was lost among them. The effect was quite absolute, obscuring Arawn from sight completely. It was a gift of his kind to use shade so advantageously, almost as if it naturally balanced out with their extreme vulnerability by daylight. This concealment would only last as long as he did not make any great movements, however. With this in mind, the vampire kept his gaze on the fully visible sword-bearing youth as he shifted slightly toward the right, lest the human attack the last place the undead stalker had been standing. Quietly unsheathing the curved daggers at his waist and grinning imperceptibly, his every motion was calculated. He knew he would be lucky to get a single chance to strike from the haven of invisibility, so there was truly no other option left to him but observe what the foolhardy mortal intended to do next.
Each step that the monster took back, Ziggy matched with an equal stride forward. There was no way that he would allow this creature to evade him and escape into the city. It had taken a life of an innocent woman, and he could not let it have the same opportunity again. For all he knew, it might be Ziggy himself that the vampire preyed on some dark night in a couple of days. Gripping his dagger tighter, the young bandit prepared to lunge at the demon Ziggy’s spine. Each word that the creature said chilled Ziggy to the very depths of his soul. It was mocking him. It had made the first mistake of the night by killing the woman. It had now just made its second mistake, by taking Ziggy as a mortal who had no clue n how to deal with soulless beings. The words brought the first smile to Ziggy’s lips since he had appeared in the alley.
“The overconfidence of your entire race causes me to smile every time I meet up with one. Every single monster like you thinks they are unstoppable, and that they cannot be killed by a mere mortal. Well, just like them you will learn a lesson that you can keep reliving as you dwell in hell for the rest of eternity.”
Ziggy was shocked by the coolness of his voice. There were no emotions escaping his mouth, despite the stench of blood, and the mangled corpse on the ground. Masking what you felt from the enemy was the first step to their defeat. If they could not exploit you, then anger would soon set in, leaving them wide open for a mistake. Seeing something flicked around the vampire made Ziggy tense, preparing to strike if need be. As the shadows swirled, the demon slowly faded from view. It was being masked by the very darkness within the alley. Blinking, Ziggy tried to find the creature, but even his enhanced vision was unable to see through the wall of darkness.
Instincts kicked in, willing the bandit to run head on incase the creature was attempting to escape. However, as he took a step, his body froze as he allowed his mind to begin to think outside the box. The vampire had killed on mortal tonight; one more would be nothing to it. Not to mention it had already threatened to end his life. Controlling every movement, he stood completely still, trying to head any sound that would give away the location of the invisible enemy. Unable to pick up on anything, Ziggy looked towards the area that the vampire had been when it had disappeared.
“You want to play in the shadows, then so be it.”
As he spoke, the shadows in the alley began to swirl once again. This time, they began to mask the young rogue. As his physical appearance disappeared into the darkness much like the vampire had, Ziggy smiled. In most cases darkness gave him an advantage, however, this time it simple leveled the playing field. “Let the game begin.” As he spoke, Ziggy shifted against the wall to his right, keeping his breathing controlled, and dagger at the ready. He would remain hidden as long as he stayed in the shadows, and did not attack the creature. The only catch was, in order to attack it; he would have to find the pale killer.
“You’re out of your league, child...” came Arawn’s disembodied voice from the darkness, shifting his position continuously as he spoke to avoid detection.
It was an odd situation that had arisen in the alley. The scene, as it would appear to anyone who stumbled upon it, consisted of a crumpled corpse lying abandoned on Radasanth’s cold stone backstreets amid extinguished torches. Yet, in the quiet of the night, one could hear breathing. Yes, the human still had to breath to bring oxygen to his animate cells and organs for them to function. His heartbeat, too, resounded clearly in the alley. However, no heartbeat or breath was loud enough for a one such as Arawn to detect their origins with any sort of accuracy. The incorporeal noises of the rogue’s body did not betray him to the undead, though they were eerily augmented by the acoustics of the stone passage. Though sight and sound would not be the vampire’s allies, there were still other avenues of attack left to him.
As the pair of combatants hindered either one's attempt to draw first blood by their obfuscated forms, the pale being began to sniff the air. The vampire was still the natural predator, no matter what odd talents this boy possessed, and no amount of stealth would shield the bandit. The aroma of the washerwoman's corpse permeated through the air, overwhelming most of his olfactory senses, but there was another scent emanating from across it. Knowing his cloak of shadows would not sustain him once he struck, he took some moments to better ascertain the smell's source. It was unmistakably that of the living sentient that had interrupted his frenzy, the same scent he stalked whenever feeding in lands of humans. Aligning himself with his objective, Arawn silently unsheathed his curved daggers, grasping one in each hand.
"...and here's why!" he finished his prolonged declaration suddenly, in hopes of having his mark turn and provide a wider target at the chest to strike as he launched his left weapon blade-first at the insubstantial smell which was all he could use to detect his foe. His was consequentially exposed, as if he had been hidden behind a dark glass and shattered it with his throwing arm.
~*~*~*~*~
During this tactic, another significant event was taking place in the darkened corner street of Radasanth. Discarded by the vampire and plausibly unnoticed by its defender, the body of the young washerwoman began to undergo rapid changes. In the shade of the darkened flames, her skin began to grow pale at unnatural speeds. Her eyes, too, lost their luster and grew utterly white in seconds. The breath of life had left her and the taint of undeath was rapidly taking hold. Not having tasted the blood of the one who sired her, she would not, as he, become of the vampyr, but rather a mindless servant of her master. Yet, Arawn seldom cared to remain around his victim's long enough to see their turning, not caring for their often ineffectual aid, and thus overlooked the circumstance.
Slowly, without a sound, the young woman's right index finger began to twitch.
[ooc]Arawn's not necessarily anywhere near dead-on, but I do have an advanced sense of smell listed as one of his skills, just in case what I did here seems rather farfetched.[/occ]
Ziggy’s face remained emotionless despite the fact that he was facing a deadly creature that had already killed one person only minutes ago. Although the situation was tense, Ziggy could not help but smile on the inside as the shadows in the alley continued to mask both members of the darkness. Neither could see one another, but Ziggy had other ways of finding an enemy that was invisible to vision. When in battle all senses must be used in order to survive, especially when it came to this magnitude, where one move could easily lead to a swift death. Every sound meant something, whether it be a steady dripping of water that suddenly stops because something blocks its path to the street below, or a sudden rush of air from a swift movement around you. Regardless of all these possibilities, no sound or sight could help Ziggy find out where this creature was hiding.
Listening to its voice was the only way he could possible find out where it was hiding. Somewhere within the countless shadows, a voice kept reaching out to the rogue. Every word changed position, as the vampire continued to shift around the alley. As the voice faded, and no more words came to him from the abyss, Ziggy tensed. It was a common mistake that seemed to always happen when hunting for prey equally as vigilant as you. Something so simple as to stop talking told Ziggy that an attack was probably on its way. Silence either meant the creature had decided to flee, or it was trying to get close enough to strike.
Heart pounding, Ziggy looked for any sign that would reveal the position of the monster. Seconds seemed to pass like days, as the rogue waited for the attack, or to be sure that the demon had indeed fled the alley, in order to save its own skin. This question was answered soon enough though, as three words shattered the silence, and finally revealed the position of that which Ziggy was fighting to find. Caught slightly off guard by the attack, Ziggy stepped back as the shadows disappeared revealing him to his attacker. Even though he was quick, the dagger was quicker, scraping across his chest, drawing a thin red line through his white T-shirt, and onto the tanned skin below.
Gritting his teeth, Ziggy ran his hand over the wound, which was deep enough to draw blood, and send pain through his lower body. As the blood trickled from the wound, Ziggy looked up at the pale creature that he could now see as plane as day. Gripping his twin daggers tighter, to attempt to hold his anger in, Ziggy was finally able to swallow the lump of emotions. “Your sneaky, I’ll at least give you that.” Smiling, Ziggy looked the undead creature straight in its black pools for eyes. No emotions were flowing from the potentially dangerous creature. “My turn!”
As he spoke, Ziggy lowered his body into a slight crouch, springing forward off his right foot. Using his momentum to carry him, the young bandit zoned in on the target at which he wished to hit. Closing into striking range, he brought his right hand out, slashing in a horizontal slash towards the undead’s chest. Keeping his left arm tucked in, he kept it close, ready to counter any movement that this crafty figure tried to pull off to either avoid, or counter his attack.
“First blood to me,” the vampire sneered as the reticent specs of blood seeped from the human’s chest.
Another of the clumsy race seemed fated to meet its end at Arawn’s hands that night. Then again, perhaps not. The being reacted quickly with a lunge toward the vampyr, slashing across the taller creature’s chest. With a sharp intake of chilling breath, Arawn felt the cut pierce into his undead skin, stopping inches short of his heart. For the first time in the confrontation, the pale drow’s eyes widened in surprise. It was only a flesh wound, a fitting twin to the one Arawn had inflicted, but the unexpected speed of his opponent’s lunge had brought it dangerously close to the nosferatu’s sole weak point. Stumbling back, Arawn raised his left arm to cover the fresh incision on his upper body, leaving the bandit some feet in front of him.
“So the little boy has some bite to back up his bark,” he hissed disdainfully.
At this point, Arawn noticed something. From behind his assailant, the woman’s body was moving. A wide grin of elation suddenly spread across his face. She was awake. In his haste to eat and run, the vampire hadn’t stopped to glimpse the beauty of his contaminating undeath in so long. Her limbs twitched, uncertain at their ability to hold themselves up. She was not herself anymore, but something approximating an immortal, though only barely sentient. Her individual thoughts and memories were gone, replaced now with a simplistic will bent only on obeying its master. For this night’s events, that master would be Arawn. With only a moment of eye contact, the cloaked vampire sent his telepathic command.
“I wonder…” he said to the human as she slowly rose behind it, keeping attention on him. “How do you justify attacking me in your ingenuous mind?”
The reborn female got to her knees as Arawn continued, breathing deeply as he lowered his now bloodstained arm.
“Do I offend you as one who kills to live? You surely know that all creatures do so. They choose their prey and strike. Is it because my victim was innocent of obvious crime? How is a hunter’s fawn any different?”
At this point the woman was on her feet.
“Perhaps you need to rethink what you are fighting for, child.”
Once again falling seamlessly into the shadows, the vampire stepped backwards in the darkness and vanished. At the same moment, the woman he had bitten wrapped her hands around its master’s attacker’s neck. She was pale and her eyes were a dull white, her former beauty only alluded to in the contours of her decaying skin. Still, she sought to fulfill the simple objective given her. Tightening her grasp from behind the human with all the strength she had before death, she began to moan dully in exertion. In the meantime, Arawn watched from the shadow, silently cheering on his creation.
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