BLADE
in
THE BLOOD GAUNTLET
By C. William Russette
PROLOGUE
Tome of Sorcerer Supreme: Strange, Stephan
I had little choice in making my departure from The Avengers, this dimension's primary team of heroes. Only so much time can be allotted away from my duties as the Sorcerer Supreme. Some matters of the Prime Material Plane require my complete attention. Such was the case in Philadelphia.
The matter of the dimensional rift was being dealt with by the city's sole superhuman protector: Nomad. I had given him my word that I would watch over his city while he was away and I am a man that likes to keep his word.
While observing the city that rarely shows up on the metahuman malevolence meter I find there is much here that requires my attention. Nothing on the scale that I as Keeper of the Realm would normally involve myself in, but where there is suffering of the innocent from the malefactor, so must I intervene.
It was a matter that Nomad might have been able to handle were he still in this dimension but I knew that another, more suited to the work at hand, was en route to Philadelphia. In truth he might not have come directly through the city but when introduced to the scent of his prey, in part due to some simple magics, the substitute would feel compelled to visit the City of Brotherly Love.
My body occupied a magically shielded penthouse at the Four Seasons while my astral form followed the newly arrived on his motorcycle through the streets. Such a tragic history the man has had. One that I have manipulated in the past, were I to be honest with myself. The greater good must be served. I didn't alter that which drives him this time, I merely focused his already heightened senses. This was the first link in the chain that the hunter would follow to it's dark master. The road ahead would not be a pleasant one but it wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with before.
He drove through the impoverish streets of Northern Philadelphia until he arrived at his mark. Other matters demanded my immediate attention or I would have enjoyed watching the driven man at his work. I had my word to keep. There are affairs other than those mystic that required my touch.
Take care, hunter.
END PROLOGUE
The hunter stood beside his jet black Daytona T595 and sniffed the air. The prey's close, he thought. The final blood-choked words of Zeke the scumbag vampire was that there was going to be a gathering of his kind in Harrisburg soon. It seemed like a good city to set up camp in for now. You follow the infestations, wipe them out and move on to the next hive of blood-suckers.
Such a goal as killing each and every vampire on the planet was an impossible task, the hunter knew, but far too few people were on his side of the war. Too busy playin' super-hero while the little man gets bled out, one by one. That was the fight, one night at a time, one dead sucker at a time. People were being saved. Vampires were being put down. That was the mission.
The hunter checked his weapon's rigging under his leather trench coat. Set. Traffic? The nearest street was quiet. Minimal. The alley only a few feet away from him wasn't one vehicles generally used gauging by the amount of refuse spinning around in the miniature twisters. It was below-freezing tonight. Strange that I caught this scent from the highway, he thought. His senses were inhumanly acute when it came to tracking the prey but such long range recognition was unheard of. How he picked up the scent wasn't of paramount importance. Making his mark in the undead underworld of Philadelphia was.
The hunter peeked around the aging brick wall into the alley where shadows played upon shadows and all would be invisible save for one who could see in the dark. Three bodies. One, with a fast dropping body temp, lay on the trash laden asphalt. Two standing. A living adult female in the clutches of a vampire. The woman was dressed like so many underground, vampire posers of Seattle. Torn fishnet stockings, leather mini skirt and little more despite the freezing weather. The hunter could see the aura of the vampire slowly increasing in brilliance and color as he fed on the female. He moved ten paces into the alley.
"Drop the woman."
The vampire, a long haired blonde male, whose fashion was stranded in the 80's metal movement turned his yellow-red eyes on the hunter. He didn't stop feeding at first. The hunter stepped forward and the vampire released his prey. She stumbled against the alley wall.
"What the hell do you want?" the vampire asked.
"What do you think I want, vampire?" the hunter said and launched a silver throwing knife.
The vampire side-stepped and swatted the projectile aside sending it into the brick wall a foot from his dazed prey.
"Who the hell are you, man?" the vampire asked, drawing a twelve inch hunting knife from behind his back.
The hunter tilted his head. Is he kidding? Are there pockets of blood drinkers that haven't heard of me? The hunter drew his silver longsword from the inside of his leather coat and ran for the prey.
Incredibly, the vampire ran to meet the hunter fearlessly. Sword clashed with knife in a rapid five strike sequence leaving neither combatant injured. The hunter stepped into a seven strike series of kicks and slashes that the vampire blocked and parried save the last that cost him his right eye.
"Bastard!" the vampire barked and began his attack volley.
The vampire was better than most the hunter had faced in a near century of elimination. Like many martial artists with egos once they had enough wins under their belt they simply stopped studying, assuming that they were never going to need to be that good. The undead had an additional disadvantage of being slow learners after the change. The hunter analyzed his prey's ability level and stepped into his rhythm. After a thrust of his sword through the vampire's heart and a follow up slash, the foe was decapitated. The prey burst into ash and merged with the swirling trash twisters.
"The name's Blade, sucker," the hunter said.
Detecting movement behind him he spun to see the formerly dazed, female victim charging toward him with hell's fury in her eyes and his silver knife in her hand. Blade barely had time to register the image as she drove the silver coated knife into the side of his head.
"You psycho! What have you done to Johnny!" she shrieked as Blade's world shot into blinding light and quickly faded to black.
Hodge advanced on the inattentive master, carrying his two short swords. The seven other students milled about the practice floor of the refurbished gymnasium. Some sparred bare fisted, others with an assortment of weapons. What each carried depended on what the master had decided was their strongest tool. Shaman Gibson, the Baron's second in command, had all of the master's attention. Everyone else was too enthralled in their practice to possibly guess Hodge's intent. The master would die for the humiliation of last night, Hodge thought.
Having spent an entire decade training and sweating blood, eating pavement to perfect his weapons of choice, Hodge had decided it was time for the final test. The only true testing of his skills since he agreed to bow to the Baron in all ways fifty years ago. The result of the match would determine if Hodge was ready to start his own crew and stake out a city of his own. He was ready. Even Gibson had told him so.
The rest of Hodge's generation had graduated and moved on to high fame and fortune. It was time.
Hodge had made the request amidst the circle of the senior pupils as was proper. Baron Changadai refused the match. Hodge wasn't ready, he claimed. Some nonsense about humility and controlling his anger. It was insulting. He was senior student, he followed the doctrines and made all the sacrifices. Hodge immediately decided that the refusal of the match was an affront and stepped into the center of the circle.
"I call the entreaty of blood, Baron," Hodge had said. It was a once in a lifetime request that a student of the blood could ask of his maker. It had to be granted or the master would lose a great amount of face.
"Reconsider, pupil. If you fail in your challenge against me, you may not ask for another decade. You are very close to being ready for the pilgrimage. Show patience," Changadai had said.
"I have shown patience, master. What's your answer?" Hodge felt his fangs begins to extend on their own.
"I take no joy in granting your entreaty," Changadai said and entered the circle. He drew his curved longsword, an ancient Chinese beidao.
Hodge bowed his head low and was answered with a nod from Baron Changadai as was proper. Hodge drew on the power flowing within his blood, enhancing his body to speeds the human eye could barely track. Still, the fight was considered to have taken a long time, almost thirty seconds. Dozens of strikes and slashes were redirected and blocked. Changadai's defense was perfect, Hodge realized and his hopes began to drop. To lose was to be reduced to senior sifu for yet another ten years. Hodge drove forward, fueled with his anger. Each time Hodge thought he had the advantage he found another slice of his flesh sailing through the air. After the tenth such slicing, Hodge had had enough and poured all his rage into a charge. Changadai's steel flashed in front of his eyes and his face registered pain.
Students cringed when they looked at Hodge. He dashed backward finding a hole where his nose once was. The nose lay a few steps away from Baron Changadai who neither smirked nor looked remorseful. That was the final insult. To literally take Hodge's face took all precepts of humanity from the vampire. Hodge charged with his swords at the ready. Changadai stepped forward into the opening Hodge's wide attack posture allowed and extended his arm. Hodge impaled himself on the sword and stopped immediately. The Baron hadn't impaled his heart. Hodge could still win!
Baron Changadai made a slight flick of his wrist and the heart of Hodge was severed though it remained in place. Hodge frowned, foamed and collapsed.
"Aid Hodge into his room." Changadai accepted a silk cloth from another student and cleaned off his beidao.
The humiliation of being carted off by inferior, younger students after being defaced was a shame beyond anything Hodge could fathom. With nothing to feed on, confined to his chamber, it had taken much of his own stores to remake the flesh that was removed or severed. The mending took three nights under an almost coma-like meditative state.
Tonight, immediately after dusk, Hodge had finally left his room and hunted under the night's sky. The four college girls that he had torn to pieces mere hours ago hadn't known what hit them. Broken laws and oaths be damned, Hodge thought, drawing closer to his master.
Now, well fed and completely healed, forcing all his energy into his undead muscles, Hodge charged with greater speed than he had ever before mustered. He was at Changadai's back in less than a blink and his swords were in motion. Where there should have been a decapitated Changadai stood only the face of a stoic master. His sword was somehow now in his hand.
"You have failed on so many levels, Hodge," Changadai said.
Hodge felt the wind and the pain beginning to grow in both his forearms. Changadai glanced at the floor between them at Hodge's severed hands still holding his swords. Shaman Gibson stood to Hodge's immediate right, sword in hand, the blade color a dark red.
A glint of metal and Hodge's insides spilled out onto the stone floor. He tried to stem the falling flesh but he had no hands to catch with. A second flash and Hodge watched as the world tumbled over and over. It was almost comical, Hodge thought and expired.
"Clean this up and leave it on the roof for the sun," Master Changadai said frowning. "I will be in my chambers, Gibson. See that I am no--"
"Changadai! Baron Changadai!" Yvette shouted as he she shoved her way through the troop of vampires.
"Yes, child? Calm yourself."
"I can't. A vampire slayer killed Johnny!" she shrieked.
"Are you certain? Johnny is an astute fighter." Changadai arched a brow.
"Yes, Baron. He was cut down, very quickly. He-- Johnny an I, we were..."
"You gave of yourself, go on."
"And this guy with a sword just showed up out of no where. And he... he..." Yvette covered her face as bloody tears washed the make up off her face.
"Did he give his name? This man?" Changadai asked.
"He said his name was Blade, acted like we shoulda known him. I staked him in the head." Yvette wiped her nose on her sleeve before continuing, "Blade's dead."
"You killed the slayer?" Gibson asked from behind Yvette.
"Hey, man, get up, you ain't dead," a voice met Blade's consciousness.
Where am I, Blade wondered. Somewhere hard, on the ground... pavement. He knocked away the stones embedded in the side of his face. There was a fight... a vampire. There was a vampire killing a young girl. I stopped him. Pain lanced through his head faded to a weaker but quite tangible pulse. That bitch hit me in the head.
"Come on, man. Get up, I dunno how much time I got and you gotta save my girl," the annoying voice said, closer this time.
Blade tried to make a fist. The message was slow to get a reaction. The sharp, blazing pain the back of his skull was anything but.
"Crap! I saw that. man! I knew you was alive! Come on, get moving! Time's a wastin'."
Blade rolled over onto one side and slapped his palm to the ground then eased the other hand beneath his body getting into the push-up position. From the waist down he felt shaky. Definitely not the best time to hit the streets, Blade thought.
"Come on, come on. You can do it, Blade," the irritating voice ran on.
Blade finally got to his feet and stumbled as he tried to maintain his equilibrium. He bounced his head off the unforgiving brick of the alley wall. His skull ached from a second direction.
"Dude, watch yer head. You gotta be careful, man."
Blade leaned against the wall and faced the voice that was far too interested in his well being. His eyes perceived little more than a fog some ten feet away. He switched out of his night vision and beheld something he had rarely seen through the years of hunting the undead.
A man, the left side of his head deformed, as from a serious and likely lethal blow, stood over Blade's longsword. The ethereal and ashen remains appeared in jeans and a tee shirt. Blade saw the man as well as the traffic that passed on the street behind him. The man's outline was out of focus but only just. The thing's general attire matched that of the dead male in the alley before him.
"What do you care bout my head, wraith?" Blade asked.
"Well, if you'd fallen the other way... it might have been driven in further," the wraith said.
Blade was about ask what the freak was running his mouth about when his right hand sought the right side of his shaved head. Something was sticking out of it. Blade realized it was one of his own silver coated stakes. Snarling, he gripped it and tore it free easily. Blade stumbled and just managed to remaing standing.
"Geez, you got stones, man. I know that hurt," the wraith said covering his mouth.
"Why are you here?" Blade asked and immediately wished he hadn't. The more important question was why could Blade see the wraith? It wasn't something he had ever been able to do in the past. He looked down at the red-tipped, silver stake. Lucky that bitch didn't drive it any deeper. My healing might not have been able to hold me together.
Still, there's the matter of the pain in the ass wraith. He's got to serve some purpose. Why else would he have been put in my path?
"Yer not even listening to me, are you?"
"I don't got time to listen to whining ghosts. Lay it out straight or hit the road, Casper." Blade retrieved and sheathed his sword.
"I told you, that damn vampire freak used his mojo on my girlfriend and she's his slave now. I finally found her and confronted him."
"Gettin' in a vampire's face. That's bright."
"I didn't know he was a vampire for Christ's sake."
Blade headed for the mouth of the alley. The wraith coasted more than ran through the air until he reached his corpse.
"Look at what he did to me! I'm dead now! I'm dead for trying to rescue my girl! Don't you care?"
Blade stopped. His head tilted slightly to better view the body. He cracked his neck and turned back to his motorcycle.
"You're a vampire hunter, right? Aren't you supposed to go avenge me or something?" the wraith wailed.
"You got me confused with the tights and capes crowd. I kill vampires. Your vampire is dead."
"Your work ain't done here! You gotta save Yvette, man!"
Blade mounted his ride and fired it up.
"There--there's more of them!"
Blade turned to the wraith.
"Ya, man. That dude Johnny, he ran with a crew. There's at least four, maybe six more of them."
"You better not be playin' me. There's sufferin' left for you yet, wraith."
"The gang leader, they call him the Baron."
Blade.
Quite possibly the world's most famous vampire hunter. If the word is true he has even slain the great Dracula more than once. As impossible as that sounds every couple of years we hear the same rumor. Dracula, the greatest of us from the modern age, escaped the grave once more. Months or sometimes years later, we hear the great one had fallen to Blade's teak daggers. What mortal in his right mind would attack one of the night-bound with a wooden knife? Yet the tales of undead falling under this Daywalker's sword grows year after year after year.
Why haven't any of us ended this threat? Granted, many of my brethren are little more than empowered teenagers allowing their lust and cravings to rule them. Drunk on power, untrained, few would be a match for the obsessed Blade. What of the likes of Dracula? Certainly no fool and even he has fallen.
Baron Changadai turned and faced the guardians of his barony. Two less now, he thought, saddened. Johnny now swims the Styx with our ancestors. Blade will not quit if he thinks there are more of us residing in my city. Will he seek vengeance on Yvette? He must know she's not one of mine. She couldn't possibly have killed him. Not when so many, so much stronger than she, have failed.
I must assume Blade yet lives. To assume is a dangerous thing. I thought that because he had yet to visit my city perhaps he hadn't heard of us. None of my barony kill their prey. None reproduce without my leave. There is no threat to humanity here. Indeed, some, like Yvette, gladly give of themselves to the master predators. The majority feast upon on the criminal element. We provide a service for what we take! This is the ideal he seeks to disrupt! Humans and vampires existing side by side.
Of course there are instances when a member gets carried away and some purse snatcher dies but of whose concern is that? Blade's? How dare he question my will. He knows nothing of the work and blood I've put into building my barony.
Do we hide? Should we slink away into the shadows until some greater vampires draws the Daywalker's attention? Baron Changadai noticed his grip tightening on his sword-handle.
"Baron? We are yours to command. What is to be done about the slayer?" Shaman Gibson asked, bowing slightly.
"Blade dies." Philadelphia's Baron of Blood frowned. " Before the sun rises."
To be continued...
