Eldritch Rites
Chapter 1
An Ill Wind Burns Brightly
All copyrights, characters, settings and official locations are owned by Pioneer and not the author
A black, unmarked van pulled to a slow and easy stop outside a dilapidated cottage along a rarely traveled road about three hours outside of Telford, England. The back doors opened on well-oiled hinges and a brace of men climbed out, kitted up in high-necked Kevlar vests, heavy jumpsuits and riot helmets.
With quick, practiced movements they checked their equipment, double-checking their side arms and primary, patting down their pockets and making sure their spare clips were in easy access. Their heavy boots made little sound on the dew-dampened grass as they lined up outside of the vehicle, weapons shouldered but ready.
The squad leader stepped down from the back of the van, the embroidered tag below the black and red kite-shield badge on his shoulder read 'S. Thompson'. He unzipped his vest and pulled out a thin gold chain with a locket attached. Briefly, he flicked it open, a photograph of his late daughter inside showing her clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit close to her as she smiled happily.
He felt his lips twitch into a tight smile before his expression grew cold. He jerked his hand up and held up two fingers, making a quick circle as he zipped his vest back up, tightening the Velcro straps. His squad spread out and took up positions around the house, the men and women moving like shadows in the almost palpable darkness.
Thompson checked his weapon; a standard issue blackened steel MP-5, the bolt sliding home with oiled ease as he loaded a bullet in the chamber. The squad moved with slow, controlled ease born from years of experience, a swelling of pride warming his heart as he watched them. Within moments the cottage was surrounded, all points of egress covered by no less than three members of the silencing team.
Katherine Winters, known as 'Snow Kat' to the rest of the squad, lifted her visor and shot a glance at her leader, and the two exchanged a knowing look. With a brief nod from Thompson, Kat dropped her visor, snapping her fingers and pointing to the two men on either side of her. She clenched her fist violently and made a sweeping motion, silently telling them that it was time. Within moments the silent code had made its way around the house and the air of tension that drifted like a cloud over the squad suddenly became a pinpoint of focus.
As one they converged on the cottage, working swiftly to strike, preparing to break in windows and bring the unholy beasts within to God's grace. As the first blow fell against glass the front door burst open, a pale, slender young man in dark makeup stumbling out, gasping and panting as the music of tinkling glass echoed into the empty night. His gaping mouth showed a pair of extended fangs, his face glistened with tears and mucus as he rushed out into the chilly night.
He sobbed for breath as he half-ran, half fell down the stone path, his dark makeup running down his cheeks as he chanted something under his breath, repeating it with each ragged inhale of air. "I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't…" The words flowed together in a mad, panicked rush.
The closest members of the squad opened fire, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets onto the youth, silvered bullets tearing holes in his flesh as he jerked and twitched in the gunfire, still forcing himself down the path. The lower half of his right arm was blown away in a shower of gore and his kneecaps shattered inward as a burst of screaming bullets swept across his legs. In the deadly rain he collapsed, his legs bending in the wrong direction with a sickening grinding noise.
Gritting pointed teeth, the darkly dressed young man used his one good arm to drag and pull himself along, still chanting his shuddering, gasping mantra. "I didn't know…I didn't know...I didn't know…"
Thompson moved to stand over him and shouldered his primary and slipped his sidearm from its holster. He cocked his .45 caliber service pistol, aiming down the bead directly at the youth's head. 'I do this for God…I do this for you…Elsie…Never again…´
With a grunt of effort, the pale young man turned himself over with his remaining arm, chest heaving as he looked up at the squad leader, black mascara trails webbing over his cheeks. "I didn't…I didn't…I…I'm sorry."
The shot echoed out through the night, bouncing back to wash over the squad several times before dying out into the night. "In the name of God, impure souls of the living dead shall be banished into eternal damnation. Amen." Thompson's gravelly voice spurred the squad to repeat the prayer as he let out a sigh and holstered his gun, the young vampire reduced to whispering ash, floating away on the night breeze.
"Everyone, let's round up. This situation is neutralized." The tense feeling in the men drained away as they gathered together, heading back toward the van.
With a sudden rumbling the ground shook, throwing some of the squad members to their knees as a thunderous explosion sounding within the house. A terrible light shone out through the windows as the foundation shook, the sound of splintering timbers echoing the gunshot. With a sound like the crash of thunder, arched supports of the ceiling snapped in a line, causing the roof to buckle and fall with a resounding crash into the house.
Pulling back to their feet and coughing as dust and debris filled the air, the warriors of the Hellsing organization readied their primary arms, snapping their MP-5's to their shoulders and flicking the safeties off.
The light from within the cottage grew stronger, flickering and turning the small portion of Telford from night to day. "Steady men…" Thompson intoned, aiming his own firearm towards the light, unable to keep the slight quiver of fear from his voice. In his brief relief he had partially unzipped his Kevlar vest, the golden locket now glistening in the dancing radiance.
An unholy voice began tumbling out of the open door, a dark, oily sound that seemed to soil the very air in its speaking. The words were in a tongue unheard on this green earth in millennia, and while not understood by the men present, spoke to something deeply seeded in their bones. The chilling, arcane jumble of syllables and phonetics told them without a single doubt; you shall die.
The inhuman voice rose to a crescendo, sounding like gravel and broken glass being tossed together in a burning crucible. The paneled siding of the cottage began to smolder and curl as flames licked at the inner walls of the cottage, leaping up past where the roof once sat to dance against the night sky.
With a clatter one of the men threw his gun to the ground and turned to run shrieking into the forest as the voice rose to a deafening roar. Swallowing hard the remaining officers stood their ground, the front of a jumpsuit or two darkening slightly as fear ripped through their bodies, their firearms weaving erratically as even the hardest of the squad felt bile rise in his gullet and cold, stinking sweat break out over his skin.
"Engage!" Thompson barked to the squad, squeezing his trigger as his obedient cadre unleashed hell on the house, attacking from all sides.
Silvered bullets blew holes through wood, siding and insulation, exploding into the cottage like some deranged fireworks display. A soul shattering laugh echoed into the night as the windows of the cottage exploded outwards, flames streaming up past the walls to waltz their destructive glory through the darkness. The inferno swelled to engulf and blacken the lawn, blowing the walls of the house outwards as a column of fire burst upwards and into the night sky, looking nothing less than an order of damnation from the heavens.
The last thing the Thompson and his squad knew before light and heat enveloped them was shadow and flames, and the certain knowledge that their God could not help them now.