Marvel Comics and all Marvel characters and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks of Marvel Entertainment Group, Inc. C1998 Marvel Entertainment Group, Inc. All rights reserved. (In other words, I don't own Blade, Bible John, Frank Drake, Deacon Frost, or any other Marvel characters that should pop up in this little vampire story.) Blade created by Marv Wolfman and Gene Colan.
BLADE: Last Resort
Prologue
Five years after the events of Bloodhunt (Blade II)
New York
A black Dodge Charger rumbled its way through an industrial park just outside of New York City. It was followed by a large White box van, and pulled to a stop behind the car. Blade and Whistler exited their respective vehicles. As Blade jumped out of the car, he grabbed his sword from the back seat, and swiftly placed it into the scabbard attached to his back. He remembered for an instant the moment the blade was snapped by Nomak's very bare grip as he then proceeded to slam the broken blade into his chest further—piercing the heart, and ending his miserable existence.
His mentor had folded him the new blade for weeks, stronger than the first: coating the titanium, acid-etched blade for days with a silver and garlic compound.
The gray-haired man casually limped to the back of the van, and opened the door as Blade opened the bay door of the warehouse. Whistler flicked his cigarette, and hopped inside the van, and began to extract the weapons and equipment from inside.
Blade looked at his partner, his mentor, and smiled as he saw an image of an old man, with the strength of an immortal. The cancer that was once killing him destroyed by the new blood that coursed through his veins. He was grateful to have him by his side after what Deacon Frost and his goons did to him. He was a vampire, but he was glad he was still alive.
Whistler spotted Blade looking at him, and decided to break him out of his day dream.
"What the hell are you looking at?"
"Nothing," Blade replied with a cocky smirk, and then removed his long, leather coat and sword.
They killed about thirty suckheads tonight, give or take a few, Blade thought. Not a bad night's work. Blade seemed to always have things under control when hunting by himself, but with Whistler there, the kill ratio doubled, every time.
The warehouse was not at all unlike the one in Los Angeles that they had occupied for about two years. Two stories and plenty of space. Wide open in the middle for them to park their vehicles after their nightly patrols was a plus to remain hidden from the outside world.
Vampire hunters the world over were being systematically destroyed nightly since the infamous 'Vampires' Night Out'. Their beloved Dr, Karen Jensen, was found viciously murdered in LA a year ago. Dr. Jensen had helped in slowing Whistler's change, but eventually, the vampiric disease had total control of his body.
Again, it seemed Blade would have to save the world, again—but from what?
Half and hour later, and it seemed the dynamic duo would have some rest. But that's never the way it goes, is it? The two heard the suspicious sounds at the same time. Footsteps.
Blade grabbed his sword and holstered his modified Mac-10 to his hip. Whistler reached for an assault rifle, and headed in the opposite direction. Seemed once again their base was being infiltrated.
Six bodies dropped through the glass ceiling and landed softly on the dusty pavement. Whistler took out three of them before they made it to the ground, leaving only fiery ashes to fall with the breeze.
Blade had met the other two with his gun, only getting one vampire. The other two darted into the maze of the warehouse. Four more vampires entered either side of the warehouse—Whistler was grabbed from behind, and taken to the middle of the warehouse. They kicked both of his knees from behind, and he dropped limp to his hands.
On the other side of the warehouse, Blade had drawn his sword from his back, and quickly decapitated the first of the offending immortals.
The other was infinitely more skilled than his partner. Blade wanted answers.
"You here to offer another truce? Need me to fix another mistake by the Vampire Nation?"
The ninja clad vampire answered after a few slashes at Blade's head.
"No, no truce, only your death."
Blade heard Whistler's yells of agony in the other room. Blade was having a struggle catching this warrior off-guard. With a clever swing, Blade's sword was knocked down to his side leaving him—and the warrior—open to attack, but Blade was the quicker to advance. From his left thigh he removed a silver stake and stabbed the vampire in the front of the face, and let it drop with the ashes and bones.
Blade ran quietly to the other room, but was not in time. He saw something he hoped he would never have to see, but not before Whistler said his last rights: "I'll see you fuckers in Hell!" A gun was pointed at the back of Whistler's head, and a three-shot burst of bullets exited the gun and into his skull. Before his body could fall he was nothing more than ashes.
There were about twenty men—all vampires—out there. Blade would not chance it. He couldn't chance it. His revenge would wait. First he spotted a few glyphs on the back of a couple necks. There were different clans here.
One was Ashe, another Cianteto, and another Dragonetti, and yet another was Faustinas and Lobishomen. Something had to be going down. Tribes never worked together, only in offices—never in the field.
Blade dashed across the warehouse and hopped into his Charger. Behind him several shots entered through the back window, and took out his taillights. The sun would be up in less than an hour, and he would go back, and grab the weapons and some equipment.
Whistler was dead. A man who raised him like a father, for the second time had died at the hands of the things he hated. A sick and evil circle this was. He was tired. Tired of the fighting, tired of the killing, tired of never getting anywhere with it—as soon as he killed twenty vampires, it seemed as though a hundred more humans had been turned.
Why was he fighting them? To get back for his mother being bitten, and making him the monster that he was? Nothing would ever come of it, he thought as the helplessness finally got to him. There is such a thing as too much. And Blade had had too much.
Prague
Damaskinos' frail body lay in the blood pool soaking up the sustenance making him strong again. His body had been placed there five years ago by an old apprentice, though it looked like he would never rule the Vampire Nation again. The Vampire Udokeir knew there was a chance Damaskinos the Overlord would not survive even after the blood had been transfused. But he kept hope alive, as he headed the Counsel until another leader challenged him. And it was bound to happen one day, and it did.
Actually several vampires tried to take the seven hundred year old vampire Udokeir down, but they all failed, and three separate houses were formed. The majority of former houses stayed under Udokeir's leadership—knowing he was treating Damaskinos. Dragonetti, Ashe, Cianteto, Kobejitsu and the twin houses of Faustinas remained in the House of Erebus under Udokeir.
The first House to be formed was the House of Shadows comprising of Lemure and Ligaroo. The second; Lobishomen, Pallintine, Von Esper and Upier tribes created the House of Ancients.
A war was initiated this evening by Udokeir. It was declared on the hunters, the House of Shadows and the House of Ancients. Soon, the former houses under Erebus would be extinct, Udokeir thought silently to himself in front of the fire erupting in the hearth.
He had sent his best warriors to kill the Daywalker and his mentor, the other hunters and all leaders of the opposing Houses. As he drank the blood from the centuries-old goblet, he smiled in anticipation of bringing the war to the mortals, and eventually ruling over them.
Udokeir smoothed his long, shoulder-length moonlighted silver hair—that almost matched his hazel eyes—back along his head. He looked at his hands which looked a little older then they did the day he was made in the early 12th Century by a nobleman in Greece. His mentor died before he had the chance to learn the ways of the vampire, but found Damaskinos hunting in his city. The then eight-hundred year old vampire pureblood was incredibly strong and powerful.
Damaskinos would feed in the open and laugh as he was attacked sometimes by ten men at once. They were all dead in seconds. And he would feed, gluttonously on their corpses. One evening after Damaskinos tired of the voyeur, he summoned Udokeir with a simple gesture. Udokeir, seemingly without control of his own body, was walking to the pureblood vampire.
"I can control your thoughts as well as your actions, young Udokeir. And in time, you will learn to do the same to others—especially to our food," Damaskinos said without looking at the other vampire. He spoke in a language Udokeir didn't know—the Tongue of the Ancients—but understood when he spoke with his mind.
Ely Damaskinos' hair was thick and full and blond and long, rapped in a pony-tail behind his neck, draped over the burgundy robe he wore in the chilly Greek winter.
Udokeir laughed silently thinking back on the young looking Damaskinos, and the now feeble and crippled body of the Elder.
He was brought back to the present when the phone by his side rang. It startled him, and he thought for a moment of throwing the shiny silver cell phone into the fire, but decided to answer it after curiosity got the better of him.
"Yes?"
The voice on the other line told him of Abraham Whistler's death, and that the Daywalker had managed to get away. Udokeir wasn't surprised in the least. Blade has managed to fight an army of vampires, and come away without any dust on him. The man fought more like a god than a mortal. Must be the rage of his mother falling to the vampire's habits as all turned vampires eventually did due to the uncontrollable thirst.
He closed the phone and placed it back on the table and stood up, ready to check on Damaskinos' body. He was sure nothing would be different, but he always checked.
Upon entering the medical-looking room, the smell of the blood invigorated Udokeir. He walked over to the vat which Damaskinos lay in, and talked to him with his mind and Udokeir demanded he be strong enough finally to wake and again rule over his kind, and as if the message had been received, the white and blue arm of the Elder reached out form the vat and grabbed Udokeir's left arm, and pulled himself up from the pool of blood.
"My lord!" Udokeir said enthusiastically. He instructed for one of the guards to grab a robe for the Overlord. He noticed how the Elder looked centuries younger from the blood that had sustained and rehabilitated him for the past half-decade, though he looked a bit swollen, like a tick, from the consumed blood.
In Damaskinos' chambers, Udokeir walked in silently, and sat in a chair directly across from the still healing Elder. He looked him up and down, and saw that he was still quite frail, but the blood once again healed him so that he would be able to walk again shortly, and make an appearance at the Counsel. This would further his cause of eliminating the other Houses, and would thus begin a war with the mortals—their food.
"Damaskinos, a lot has changed since your…demise," Udokeir said while crossing his legs.
"How long has it been, young Udokeir?" asked the Elder.
"Five years, lord."
"Five years . . . mere moments. So, what has changed?"
"The House of Erebus. I tried to keep some order, but some of the other Houses felt they could do more without an Overlord, and two other Houses were formed by the Lemure and Ligaroo, and another by Lobishomen, Pallintine, Von Esper and Upier tribes. They lost their faith in you, lord," Udokeir said looking out the window.
"Sure, I was dead."
"But I don't think they will be joining under Erebus, even though you have returned, lord."
"All's well that ends well, Udo."
"Well, that is true, Damaskinos. I have begun to destroy the hunters around the world. And the other Houses have also suffered major losses, lord."
"We are at war with each other?"
"We were not the first to take a casualty, lord...but we take the last."
Chapter 1
Fifteen Years later
New York 2022 A.D.
The tall, black man, formerly known as Eric Brooks, formerly known as Blade, or the Daywalker, stared at himself in the mirror for a moment. He was looking for the man he used to be—or the monster. He couldn't see either.
The blood he now consumed slowed his aging that the serum had not been able to control. No, he didn't drink from live humans, only blood banks and animals. He and his companions have been shacked up in this inner-city basement for the past three years. They were always on the run. During the day, they walked free men; at night they were prey, nothing more than cattle. Sometimes, they would fight back, the humans, and other times they go without so much as a flinch.
Blade protected his two companions when the need arose—and it did often. Rossi, and his father Maximilliano, traveled with Blade for the past fifteen years. Rossi was five years old then, and Blade had saved the two after a horde of vampires had begun the war with the mortals.
It was helpless, and even Blade knew it. Thousands, maybe millions had begun the assault in America alone that evening, and the rest of the world followed. During the night, the world officially belonged to the vampires; the day, well people could only drone around like lifeless, soulless people waiting to die. Some wandered to other territories looking for weapons to fight back with: silver bullets, silver stakes, UV lasers, UV bombs, silver-coated swords.
But the vampires were just as clever, and still hired familiars to turn on their race, and though most were never rewarded—they just became a meal—they helped in capturing thousands of humans for slavery.
Blade's mind wandered back to his two companions. Rossi; he's got heart, and he's a little too brave, but wants to defend his human brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers. His father wants the same, but feels just as helpless as the mythical vampire hunter whom they both now live with, who saved their lives a decade and a half ago.
Rossi, now twenty years old, was becoming quite the ego—thinking he could change the world. The older he got, the bigger he got, and the bigger his crazy, suicidal thoughts became. During the day, he would wander the streets, talking with other so-called vampire hunters, collect weapons, and would train with other fighters. He was becoming quite proficient in the use of several firearms and weapons, and in martial arts. The kid was now a man, and along with Rossi's father, Blade protected him like a son.
Rossi's father would just go with the flow, he figured it was just a phase he was going through, and would eventually give up on the notion of taking on the Vampire Nation. But he didn't get over it; instead, his will became stronger. It consumed the young Italian as he witnessed men and woman and children dying in the streets to the vampire plague.
The small, but built Rossi walked in the room that was rather lavishly furnished, considering most material things have been hopelessly lost for mortals. He carried with him a handsome samurai sword, a katana. Blade noticed a handgun holstered by his shoulder.
It seems as though Rossi is in a bit over his head, Blade thought as his eyes met the boy's father, and thought the same thing.
"What have you got there, Rossi?" asked his father, Max looking again to his old friend Eric.
"It's a sword, pops. What do you think it is?" was the cocky reply.
"I mean what's inside your jacket there?"
"Looks like a gun, doesn't it."
"But you don't go out at night, son. Why would you need a gun?"
"Because I'm tired of not going out at night, dad."
"Rossi, your dad's right. You don't need a gun, and you're not going out at night," Blade interjected for his father.
"Wrong, Eric. I go out at night; I have the past three nights. And you know what? I've bagged two of the bastards on my own, with this piece right here, turned the fuckers to ashes," Rossi said triumphantly.
"You've left here, at night, and risked your life, to kill vampires? Have you lost your mind?" asked his father.
"No, I've not lost my mind, I've just gained the will to do something that everyone should've done a long time ago—fought back!"
"You'll die. You're not a hero. You're a human and you will die, if you're lucky. Just because you have a gun and a sword and know how to throw a punch, does not mean you are a hero," Blade said becoming furious with Rossi's disrespect.
"I can kick ass, and I have. And at least I'm doing something. You two run around during the day, and hide like mere rats in the sewers at night. Pathetic! And for the past fifteen years, I've had no choice but to live that way with you. But there are others out there like me, who are making a difference, and one day, we'll change things. The meek shall inherit the Earth."
"We're surviving, which is more than I can say for you. Each time you go out there to "change the world," you're just asking for a suckhead to bite your ass!" Blade said.
"I'd rather die than become a slave, or a rat, or a vampire. And don't think about trying to stop me!"
"Hehe, ok tough guy, ok. But first, why don't you show me what you're made of? C'mon, don't look at your dad I'm talking to you! You wanna fight vampires, how 'bout you show this old man what you're going to do to them when you're unarmed," Blade said with a smirk to the blushing Rossi.
"I'm not gonna fight you, Eric. You're family. Besides, you're old."
And with that Blade smacked Rossi across the face, and a second later did it again, and then again, until Rossi threw off his jacket and gun, and threw some punches of his own, which Blade blocked easily enough.
Rossi attacked repeatedly, using different techniques, all which Blade blocked and struck with his own offense. The kid, becoming distraught, lunged at Blade and was thrown clear across the room, landing on some boxes hitting the wall.
Rossi came back again, and used a different technique, a Shaolin fighting style—that surprised Blade he knew, but was quickly tossed to the ground once more.
The shock was clearly present on his father's face, as well as Rossi's. Then it all came back to Rossi, that night so long ago. He remembered the black-clad man who came to rescue him and his father from the gang of vampires who began to attack humans on the street everywhere.
He realized that the legend has lived with him and his father for fifteen years, silently protecting them whenever the need arose.
"Blade. Blade? You are Blade. You're Blade! I remember the night you came to our aid in the street and destroyed the vampires. They were everywhere, and you took us with you to your warehouse, and you never fought again. Why did you give up?" Rossi asked.
"Because they are an entire race, and I am one man. All of the other hunters are dead, or turned. And I had had enough. I couldn't fight anymore."
"You gave up on humanity, not just yourself!"
"I wasn't fighting for humanity! I was fighting for revenge—for my mother!"
"You were fighting to destroy all vampires, and in effect, you were fighting for us, for the humans."
Blade only nodded, with his head down slightly.
"Blade, you can never have your mother back, or anyone else you've lost, but you can help other people before they have to lose someone to this disease that rules the Earth now. You can help make things the way they were, and put the vampires underground where they belong, like the rats and worms," Rossi said, praying silently that he was getting through Eric's, Blade's thick head.
Blade turned around and walked away, fast.
Rossi shook his head, feeling Blade was lost to the world. He was too cold, too distant.
Blade walked further into the depths of the building's basement. He moved more swiftly with each step he skipped. The last four stories he jumped, and landed without a noise. He looked around, and then walked too a large, black chest, and blew an inch of dust off.
It creaked as it was opened—for the first time in almost fifteen years. Inside was a shiny Titanium, acid-etched sword. He picked it up, and flicked the safety switch off. He unsheathed it, and with a swirl, he cut it the air making a sound cutting through the quiet of the subterranean room.
He sheathed the sword, and placed it on the side. In another drawer was his flat black Mac-10. The flashbacks came to him in a torrent of images. His days with Whistler, killing Deacon Frost, and Nomak, and the thousands of other bloodsuckers over the years, and then it all came to an end with the death of his best friend and mentor, and the invasion of the vampires onto the streets.
In the bottom drawer he removed a black vest, and long leather trench coat with red lining.
After placing the vest on, the coat was next, and he holstered the Mac-10 to his hip. With another cut of the dusty air, the sword was placed behind his back. He grabbed a couple of other weapons; stakes, extra ammo, and a shotgun. He grabbed a picture of Abraham Whistler.
"This is for you, old man."
He began to ascend the stairs, but stopped, as if he forgot something. Walking over the chest again, he lifted a cloth, and removed a pair of black Oakley sunglasses, and put them inside his coat pocket, and again trotted up the stairs.
Blade entered the first underground floor where they were staying, and stood in the door frame for a minute, until Rossi and Max looked at him. And when they did, the looks on their faces were priceless, Blade thought.
"Sun goes down in twenty minutes. You wanna kill some suckheads?" Blade asked.
"Yeah! Hell yeah!" Rossi answered.
"Then I'm gonna show you how to do it right," he said as he looked at Max. "You in?"
Max nodded. "Someone's got to look after you two."
Blade tossed the modified Benelli shotgun to Max, and he cocked it.
The three men exited the building, while the sun hung lowly in the horizon. Blade placed his glasses on his eyes, and slammed a clip into his gun. The few remaining people hanging in the streets stared at the three men with firearms and weapons preparing for war.
Blade handed a bag to Max.
"UV bombs. You find yourself being swarmed by the fuckers you start poppin' those things. It'll fry 'em like the sun. Always keep a few stakes with you in case you run out of ammo. And you, don't get cocky. Don't ever think you're too good. You do, and you're dead. Always watch each other's backs."
"I'm not cocky, I'm just good," Rossi said with a smile.
Blade gave him a dirty look.
"C'mon! I'm kidding. Besides, I'm just tryin' to lighten the mood. Dad, you up for this?"
"Yeah, son. I'm up for it. Maybe this is something that should've been done a long time ago."
"So, where are we going anyway, Blade?" asked Rossi while putting his katana around his back.
"I know where the Counsel's HQ is. Where gonna send a little message to the Vampire Nation."
"And what's that?"
"That the baddest mutha fucker they ever faced is back." And with that, Blade turned around and launched a silver projectile at a man about forty feet away, landing directly in his forehead, and the vampire crumbled in a pile of bones and ashes.
"Nice shot!" said Max.
Two other men sprang from the door of a building, and with a quick draw of his Mac-10, both were rendered corpses.
"Let's go—it's in here, probably top floor. You stay behind me, and shoot anything that moves," Blade demanded.
"What if they're humans in there?" Rossi asked.
"The day they decided to work with vampires they lost all rights to call themselves human."
"Hey! They're probably just trying to survive—like us!" Rossi retorted.
"Damnit Rossi. It's either them or us! You want to change the world, remember? Well, tonight we start. And if a few people get in the way—remember—it's for a bigger cause." Blade said waiting for Rossi to shake his head in acceptance.
The trio entered the building, and the vampires could only look on in horror as they were all destroyed. One here, two there, five there, and so on. Security was obviously going to be minimal—who would challenge a building full of vampires? No sane person for sure.
Blade grabbed a vampire by the shirt collar, and asked where the Counsel resided. Top floor like Blade thought. With the answer, he was shot point-blank in the face.
They took the elevator up to the fortieth floor. When the doors opened, three men dropped their jaws as a sword was swung taking all three of their heads off. Blade put the sword behind his back, and grabbed his machine gun once more.
Rossi made his way to try to go first, but Blade stopped him.
"Behind me."
Blade led the way down the hall, and a man stood frozen in fear for a moment, but realized he had to get help. He ran down the hall and began to scream in the archaic vampire language.
"The Daywalker—he lives! The Daywalker is here! The Daywalker is—,"
As the man was close to the large wooden open double doors, Blade pulled the trigger, and the silver bullet entered the base of his skull—his ashes carried into the room by the momentum, spraying across the shiny marble tiles.
Blade followed the ashes into the room, and kicked the first vampire to protest the entrance in the forehead, and backhanded another against the wall. Rossi and Max stood at the doorway for a moment, and watched the mythical god work. They were in all of the man they once knew as Eric Brooks.
A roundhouse kick took out another vampire, and a knee followed by an elbow dropped another one. Blade was having fun. Rossi entered the room first and fired three shots—killing each vampire. Max followed his son and took out another two, and finished off the vampires lying on the floor. It got a little hairy for a moment when a vampire grabbed Max and nearly ripped his throat out, but a silver stake came slamming down through the back of his skull, and was reduced to nothing in front of Max's eyes.
Blade looked down the long, narrow table at a man he recognized. He saw Criville, an Ashe tribesman, and head of the Counsel in New York. Blade hopped on the table and walked slowly to the man sitting and trying to keep his composure.
"Criville, it's good to see you again, I have a message I want you to give to your boss, whoever that may be," said Blade while holstering his gun.
"Blade, shame I can't say the same about you…my, how the tables have turned since our last meeting, what, two decades ago? What's this message?" he replied burying the fear.
With a kick to his jaw, the Spaniard fell from his chair, and Blade hopped off the table, and kicked him in the ribs. He picked the vampire up by his hair, and punched him in his mouth. He then tossed the body against the wall—he landed and spit blood from his mouth.
"Fuck! What the hell is the message already!" he cried out in pain.
"I think you already know what to tell 'im."
Blade, Max and Rossi cleared the rest of the floors throughout the night.
Blade stayed on the second floor, and sent Max and Rossi to watch the front door. 1, 2, 3…10, 11, 12…they kept coming and Blade kept killing them. And then he almost made a mistake. He brought his blade down and barely to a halt in front of a female's head. A beautiful Asian female, as Blade looked her up and down.
"What are you doing here?"
"I have to be here, I'm a slave in case you haven't noticed," she replied shakily.
"What are you doing here so late?"
"Well, I just don't do paper work; I'm also a whore now by profession. It's not like I can help it. Why are you killing them?" she asked.
"Maybe a better question is why shouldn't I kill them? C'mon, get up. I'll get you outta here."
"And where should I go? I'll be dead if I leave with you. This is my life now…they've practically raised me to be a slave. Nothing's going to change."
"Yeah, wanna bet? You can stay here an' be there slave, or you can come with me an' be safe. Your choice. Make it quick."
"Why do I want to trust you?"
"You have no choice. I'm here to save the world…again."
He stuck out a hand to her, and she hesitantly accepted. He pulled her off of her knees, and down the hall they walked to the elevator.
"What's you're name?" she asked looking at him trying to pierce through his dark glasses.
"Blade."
"Just Blade?"
"Just."
"You killed a dozen of them, and you made it look so easy. Are you one of them, a vampire?"
He didn't answer; he just looked at her, and then heard the commotion and ran to see Rossi and Max taking care of business. It seems as though the word was out, and everyone wanted a piece of the Daywalker. They entered the building by the dozens, only to be obliterated by bursts of UV bombs.
The sun was almost up, and the attacks ceased. They were hiding, asleep now. Blade instructed that they grab as many weapons as they could carry. You can never have enough artillery.
7 o'clock. The sun was shinning bright. Blade, Rossi, Max and . . .
"I'm Monica, by the way," the pretty Asian introduced herself.
. . . Monica exited the building, and then she knew for sure that he wasn't a vampire.
"I thought for sure you were one of them, Mr. Blade. You move as fast as them, and as strong as they are."
"It's just Blade, and I'm not a vampire. I'm a monster, but not a vampire," he replied as he began to pick up the pace.
Rossi was grateful to see the humans walking and talking again under the sunlight. It put a smile on his face, as it did on his father's.
Back at the building, Blade began to make silver bullets, and more stakes. He sent Rossi and Max to get some more supplies to make better UV bombs, and some carrying cases for all the misc. weapons and tools. Blade quietly continued to work, but Monica had questions.
"Why do you fight them?"
"Who else is goin' to?"
"I don't know. I thought we would have had a bigger uprising by now, but everyone seems to have lost hope."
"Everyone who opposed the vampires is dead. I'd say losing hope is the least of their worries now."
"You're so cynical."
"I only speak the truth," he said looking over to her through his shades.
"You know, I have heard of you before. Everyone has. But everyone thinks you're just a myth, nothing but folklore, like we thought vampires were before twenty years ago. So where were you when this whole 'war' went down? Did you try to help?"
"I moved around, here and there. One man can't fight an entire race. So I did what everybody else did—I hid during the night, and tried to protect those close to me. Something I failed to do long ago."
"I thought you lost someone special to you. Nothing else could make a man fight with such ferocity unless they were hurt deeply by something."
Again, Blade looked at Monica, and for a moment, it felt that his heart missed a beat or two. He tried to take his mind off of it, and continued to pour more silver into the shells. He noticed she got closer and kept staring at him.
"It doesn't make you mad that I had to sleep with them, does it?"
"It's none of my business what you do for a living, is it?"
"No, I suppose it isn't. But they're strong; they can have anything they want. They threatened to kill my entire family if I didn't work for them. I was left with no choice."
"I'm not judging you."
"But it bothers you that they use us, humans, that way, doesn't it?"
"I wouldn't take it personally."
"I don't, but it still hurts, being nothing more than something to fuck, and something to eat! They all deserve to die," Monica said almost coming to tears, and Blade wanted to comfort her by holding her, but he did not want it to become personal. He could not become attached.
"Yes, it bothers me. They're animals, dead animals with only the desire to feed and destroy. A vampire bit my mother while she was pregnant with me, and gave birth to a monster. I have their strengths, but not their weaknesses. I can walk under the sun, but I must also feed," Blade said hurtfully.
"You don't look like a monster."
"I drink human blood. What would you call it?"
"I'd call it living—you have to drink human blood. But you're not like the vampires."
"No? How am I not like the vampires?"
"You're fighting them. You're trying to save the humans from this ugly existence."
"I'm doing the only thing I know how to do—fighting. It's what I've done since I was a child. Fight and kill."
"You are giving, or were giving, hope to people who have none."
Blade gave her a look, and managed to crack a smile, and Monica returned with one of her own.
*****
Prague
Damaskinos crawled his way into the large, cathedral of a room and made his way to the end of the table, to sit where a king would. He could feel there eyes trying to pierce his mind, trying to find anything that was different, anything that they could hold over the ancient Overlord.
No one had trusted the Elder, not in hundreds of years, especially how he threw his daughter Nyssa to the wolves, so to speak. But the vampire Damaskinos has ruled over the Nation for longer than most vampires were alive, and no one dared question his ways, until now.
"Damaskinos, it is good to see with us once again," said a familiar voice.
Damaskinos looked over and saw Keogh.
"But, I must confess. Faith in your ability to rule over our kind has greatly diminished," Keogh said.
"You judge me by my appearance, Keogh," Damaskinos replied without looking back at him.
"No, I judge you, like the other members judge you, by your actions. And your servant boy had divided the House of Erebus into three segregated entities, and now not only are we at war with the humans, we are at war with each other."
Udokeir gave Keogh a strong look, but Keogh ignored him, and let it sink in.
"We are not at war with the humans, Keogh. We rule them. As for the other Houses, they will once again join Erebus, or be destroyed. We are the Vampire Nation, and I rule over it. As for Udokeir, he was excellent while I was predisposed."
"Damaskinos, we feel that your time has come, and gone. You have disgraced us with your secret vampire creations that almost led to the destruction of our race—and the Daywalker of all people—our most feared enemy became our savior," Keogh ranted, trying to unnerve the Elder.
Udokeir stepped closer to the table as Keogh talked and talked, while Damaskinos only tried to become comfortable in his chair—throne rather. Damaskinos looked to Udokeir as if to calm him, and assure he would have things under control. Udokeir backed off like an obedient guard dog, and moved into the shadows of the room.
"And what is your proposal, Keogh? Who should lead the Vampire Nation in this next millennium? You? You think you can lead this great and mighty race to even more greatness, Keogh?" Damaskinos asked without changing his tone.
"Yes. Yes I can lead our kind, to much bigger and better things. I can lead us without treachery and deceit! And when we were clandestine, mythical, we had a better chance of survival, Damaskinos, but your power-hungry servant Udokeir changed things for the worse in your name! He disgraced all our kind—," he was cut-off by a sharp, shiny blade that pierced his heart, and came through his chest from the back.
His ashes and crumpling bones fell across the dark oak table and chair. Another member of the House that sat across from the former Keogh stood up at once and protested Udokeir's actions.
"This is how you plan on controlling the Vampire Nation, Damaskinos? With fear and force!"
This struck a cord with Damaskinos—he realized they would all turn on him, and Udokeir could not stop them all. Eventually the word would spread among the vampires everywhere, and they would send killer after killer to dispose him.
With a wave of his hand, Udokeir was telekinetically sent flying through the air the distance of the room, sliding on the smooth floor and stopping only when he hit the wall—the sword still in his hand. His grey hair covered his face and hung messily over his shoulders and neck, until he shook his head and cleared his face in disgust and shame.
"That will never happen again, Udokeir. Is that understood?" Damaskinos asked his servant as he made his way back to his feet, dizzy from the flight.
"Yes, lord. It is understood," he replied.
"I rule the Vampire Nation until I am no more. Only then will a new Overlord reign. And the other tribes will once again join us, or perish. Any objections?"
No one raised a hand.