Hunter

By Dawnwalker
 

Chapter One


        Brant looked about the ruined city of vampires, his keen eyes picking out the decay caused by the cursed Lord Of The Vampires, Kain. His crossbow felt heavy in his hands, its strong wooden frame lick with the incessant rain that befell this nightmare kingdom. He remembered when he was a boy, when the vampires had sacked his homestead and killed his family. Now he hunted them with vengeance in his heart, his every fibre burning with hatred for the creatures. It was their blood he would spill, it would decorate his steel armour in patterns, as he used his crossbow's spike to ram his vengeance down their cursed throats; to weaken them enough so that his blessed bolts could send their black souls into Oblivion. Already today he had killed two of their kind, vicious creatures whose tongues were like iron spikes and limbs heavy set with hell spawned muscle. Both had met their end due to Brant; his ironwood quarrels piercing their dark hearts and giving them the release they had earned, a bitter one. He'd make everyone of the hellish monsters
suffer.
        His armour creaked and quietly squealed thanks to the rain, only the thick oil stopping it from rusting. He had been in the vampire city for three days, his body sustained by the pungent rain and the meagre provisions he had packed. Already he felt fatigue setting in, the very atmosphere of the place soaking into his flesh and bones and making him feel very weary indeed. He laughed to himself; he would probably have to shoot some of the death-birds that circled the
place for food soon. He tried to imagine what their meat would taste like, then stopped when he thought of them feeding on his people's corpses. The faint sun was beginning to set, its dim light casting long shadows that made Brant suddenly fear for himself.
        He took out his tinderbox and crouched over it, hoping to gain a spark. His small pile of firewood was protected from the rain by the fortunate shelter of a broken wall, its stone providing an excellent shelter.  The tinderbox burst into life, the flames licking greedily at the wood, then they began mercilessly devouring it. The warmth only stilled the cold in
Brant's bones a little. As he let his armour dry he thought back to times before the vampires arrived at his home; their terrible power a distant dreadful rumour. Then he had awoken under the bodies of his family's servants, their hearts torn out and their throats cut. His family had fared no better, their dried blood covering the stoop and doorways. He was
left alone, in the ruins of his home with only the company of the dead. He hoped they had crossed into a better plane than this.
        It was that day, as the survivor of a family vanquished, that he began his journey to the last human fortified city, one protected by holy waters and brave men at arms who stood defiant against 'Lord' Kain. Two weeks later, starving and bedraggled from his journey, the City took him in. It was there that his training had begun, his body honed and trained, his martial skills practised and practised until he became a worthy warrior. Yet the humans knew that they were no match for Kain's legions, that their only hope lay in guerrilla warfare. Vampires were caught alone and exterminated by fire and bolts, or drowned in their own effervescent agonies in what became holy rivers and lakes. He himself had held one of the muzzled creatures by its throat and plunged its head into the water; its flesh dissolving like it was in acid. The smell forever etched itself upon him, one of stinking, burning meat and ash. It made his hatred calm a little.

        His shook his head and sat in the shelter, the fire illuminating the surrounding area in shadows. Brant carefully cleaned his weapon, smoothing the mechanisms with viscous oil, sharpening his iron stake with a whetting stone until its edge was as keen to cut human hair. Yet it would not be used for such a parlour trick, it would be used to separate foul vampire heads from their bodies, to impale them against the same stone that his ancestors had died building. The demons would pay for their crimes against his blood by spilling theirs; he would see how much of his own blood a vampire could bear to lose. He chuckled dryly to himself, the echo startling him and causing Brant to bring his weapon to bear. Yet it was simply an echo. The darkness was thick now; the only sounds his own breathing and the occasional drip of water. The scent of ozone was ripe in the air. Good, Brant thought to himself, a storm would be good for hunting.
        For the vampires hated the rain, it burned their flesh as if it were caustic. To Brant it was the sign of the angels that had once lived here on Nosgoth, the same angels he prayed to during the day when he could sleep in relative safety.
To look upon the hunter you would see dark-rimmed eyes and numerous scars and nicks. Deep sleep was a stranger to him, his only chance of sleep between dawn and noon. Then the sun was at its highest, its rays lending him ethereal support that came down upon the vampires like celestial death if they so much as were brushed by it. The sun rose early, its wan light illuminating the soiled courtyards, and it was then he slept. His fire ever burning and with one eye still
open. Never was the safety catch on his weapon, each bolt primed to fly at a dark heart. He would sleep in a few hours, when his watch was done and the sun raised its heavenly face. He fought with his body to keep awake.
 

Chapter Two

        Brant awoke to the sound of something scraping on the stone floor, accompanied by a rasping sound. Yet he didn't fly awake with his crossbow spitting wooden death. He waited, and silently cursed himself for falling asleep during the night. He opened his eyes slightly, seeing two pairs of carmine eyes looking at him. Then, to his surprise one of the creatures spoke! Its tongue speaking the common word, yet with a snake-like quality.
        "There is the one that killed Hamuar, Daziel," it said barely above a whisper its maw wouldn't quite allow.
         The second creature narrowed its crimson eyes and bared its grey fangs and razored tongue. "So let us taste his blood brother Tyrel," it said with utter menace. "And avenge Hamuar".
        The two vampires stood ten feet from him, and Brant's muscles tensed as they drew close.
        "Watch that weapon Daziel," said the one called Tyrel, a hint of warning in his voice.
        Daziel hissed back. "But he sleeps like a human babe, brother. He is no threat to us"

        Brant's hands slowly caressed his weapon, his hands ready to administer the justice these demons deserved.  The larger Daziel drew close to where he lay, avoiding the fire's embers with a crab-like movement. It was at this moment that Brant saw his advantage, suddenly stirring and bringing his right foot into the embers, spraying the monster Daziel's face with burning charcoal. The monster uttered an inhuman scream as his face burned with agony, but Brant did not let it stir him, as he had the second vampire approaching quickly.
        He pulled the crossbows trigger, the mechanism making a smooth clang sound as the quarrel flew. And missed the vampire's heart. Still, the one known as Tyrel grunted in pain as the quarrel bit into his monstrous flesh. Then he launched his razor-tongue at Brant, scoring the hunter's armour with a jagged cut.  Brant activated his crossbow's mechanism to reload a bolt, and then lunged at the vampire with its stake.
        The vampire laughed and dodged the strike, responding with its own backhanded blow that sent Brant and his crossbow sprawling in two different directions. Brant looked about in panic, and the vampire grinned its terrible grin. In the background the wounded Daziel stood up groggily, his own dark red blood mingled with the grit of the courtyard in what Brant deemed a very painful combination. It seemed as if the vampire had tried to extinguish the flames by rubbing its face into the grit. It removed its talons to show a face that made the hunter gasp. Its left eye was melted beyond recognition and that side of its ruined face was impregnated with grit and dust. It opened its maw in a silent roar; showing of its sickle-like teeth, then it uttered a simple message.
        "Now you die human."
        Brant panicked, he was weaponless facing two killing machines. Yet he didn't lose hope. He made a quick prayer to the Seraphim, and then dashed towards his weapon. The two vampires came to meet his run, one with claws outstretched and the other with a vicious looking spear in its grip. Brant met their challenge with utter defiance, and in one superhuman effort dodged both the claws sweep and the bite of the spears point as it plunged into the stone, then used the grit to slide beneath the vampire Daziel's legs. As they wheeled around and cried out in frustration, he began
to run to his weapon, its firing mechanism still primed and ready. As the vampires drew near he dived, seizing his weapon in his hands and instantly wheeling around to see that Tyrel was leaping for him. He pulled the trigger.
 
 

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