'What if' Scenario #2: Blade v. Sterk
"And what do you plan on doing about it?" Sterk asked sarcastically, with the biggest sneer on his face. He ran his tongue over his dry lips one quick time before setting his jaw hard. With a hidden button press, the five mechanical straps on his back released their hold on the 135 pound claymore, which fell directly into one of Sterk's strong, gloved hands. He spun the sword once over his head and then leveled it at his foe, challenging him.
"You don't want to die here." Blade spoke, calmly, yet with a menacingly violent threat implied. He too, extracted his weapon, taking special care to remove it from its extraordinary sheath on his back. Blue flames were already wafting in waves off his body. Sterk had to be completely oblivious to them, as no naked eye would be able to detect their iridescence.
"Make your move Daywalker." Sterk provoked, and Blade flew at him so quickly that his trench coat billowed straight behind him in the wind.
The blue flames became wispy arrows that shot out from his back, until the chi in his body overflowed. Blade pulled back his sword to strike, and put all of his might into his swing. Sterk was faster. Impossibly, with his armament weighing at least three times more than Blade's, Sterk's counter cleaved him directly into two halves. That was after he'd vanished cleanly.
"Deadly Sword Technique Number One: Residual Moon." Blade called, appearing in Sterk's blind spot. He curved his blade upward for a neat shot at his opponent's back and neck, but Sterk jumped straight up, ending his move with a solid parry that forced Blade to back up a few steps. It was an impressive feat, for many a vampire had gone down with the first technique alone.
"Yagyu Shinkage-Ryu Style, I've already fought it. I can beat it just as easily as any other Dragon style from the Great East. Unless you've trained under another master, your techniques will be useless against me." Sterk drummed his greatsword on the ground as a distraction, pounding Blade's jaw with his elbow. With all the reaction time in the world, Blade still took the full force of the blow, which cut open his cheek. Blood flowed inside of his mouth, and the taste was maddening. Anger brought his blood to a boil, tightening his muscles. He was losing control of his body, he could feel it. Blood. If he couldn't have any, then he would have to succumb to something greater, something that was capable of drawing blood. Blade reminded himself that though he may become deranged, it was all for her sake…
Sterk watched the horrifying change before him. He'd known the Daywalker had human emotions, regrets, and dreams, but the mutation before him didn't reflect any of that. The Daywalker let out a demonic scream and fangs literally ripped out of his gums, dropping a few of his square teeth on the ground below. What remained of his teeth, sharpened themselves into razor sharp dentitions that gleamed in the moonlight. Sickly yellow nails blended into his fingers before being covered in a layer of blood, and then a translucent shield of black gloss, which quickly ate up the entirety of his form. His eyes had changed from brown, to black, to yellow, and finally red with an orange tint that glowed consistently. Blade's ears became sharp and gargoyle like, and finally, a great brown wing erupted from his right shoulder, coated in a sticky black substance reminiscent of childbirth. That's exactly what this was, a monster being born. Sterk thought, staring now. Instead of feathers, there were many dagger tips coming from the appendage, each moving independently, having minds of their own. Blade shook his wing once out of reflex, and three of the knife tips clanged to the ground, thicker than Plexiglas and sharper than razors. New edges replaced the ones he'd lost instantly.
"What the hell is this?" Sterk asked, unable to form an intelligent sentence. Blade's growl put a sliver of terror inside his heart that he was unable to shake. Sterk held his sword with finality, knowing that it was the current guardian of his life. Nevertheless, there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind, clamoring above the rest. Should he lose, what would happen then? No matter how hard he pushed it away, the thought grew in intensity. Blade was cracking newer, stronger bones, testing them, while smelling the air around himself. He snarled small, guttural noises to the atmosphere, as if communicating with the night air itself. Sterk could not bring himself to take a step forward, but attributed it to tactical prudence rather than fear.
"Your poor arm, I believe it is broken." Blade grinned, sharp teeth scraping against his own gums, which had blackened with the transformation. Sterk couldn't reply, for he'd been swiftly tackled, and was now being dragged along the ground by his hair at a speed that blurred anything he could see. Blade dragged him so roughly that his clothes tore multiple times. An abnormal sized rock slashed a bloody line down his forearm, making Sterk cry out, but that was only the beginning of his anguish. Blade picked him up by his neck and slammed him into the body of a tree. Sterk's back never touched the bark though, instead, his entire weight pushed back against the locking apex of his elbow, straining it to its limit, and then destroying it with a gut wrenching snap. Bone shrapnel and the grisly remains of the carnage either stuck out from beneath his skin, or bled down to the forest floor. The pain brought Sterk to his knees, where Blade already had a plan for him. With a disorientating cackle, he stomped down on Sterk's head until his face hit the ground, coloring his teeth with dirt and making him choke on dust. Blades of grass poked his eyes and enhanced his discomfort, forcing his body to tremble even more. He hadn't gone into shock yet, but Sterk was in more pain than he had ever felt.
As tranquil as if lighting a candle, Blade extracted one of the weapons from his singular wing, which flapped around excitedly, no longer coated with the sticky substance. Its strength kicked up small zephyrs of its own, creating a rustling in the leaves meters away from where he stood. The piece of dagger cut through his new flesh easily, spilling bright red liquid over Sterk's back, and he wasn't even gripping it tightly. Blade took the new weapon and pinned Sterk's sword arm to the ground, kicking away his massive claymore. He had been reduced to a pathetic heap, a waste of human flesh. "You can tell me where she is now." Blade commanded, leaving no room for opposition. The power in his voice made a nearby flock of bats shriek and fly into the sky in a swirling cloud. The air around them was completely devoid of sound. The world was holding its breath for Sterk's response.
"Go to hell." Sterk pulled his working hand free from the jagged dagger, mincing the center of his right hand. Without struggling, he stood to his feet and took two unsure steps forward, slugging Blade directly in his face. Even though it made his hand burn white hot, mostly due to the protective outer skin that Blade now had, Sterk still knocked the Daywalker over. He had retrieved his sword in the next few moments. "Go to hell!" Sterk screamed, launching his assault on Blade. Blade's massive wing covered his body, and was split open four times, slashes running through the entire length of the wing, which steamed and oozed with black blood. As soon as he had an opening, Blade whipped around the greatsword and backhanded Sterk into the air, crouching before bounding into the sky, propelling forward like a bullet. When he met Sterk airborne, he cuffed him again, sending him falling downward. Sterk fell like a rock, but broke his fall with his thick weapon. Still, the crash was terribly painful, especially since his limp, broken arm hadn't ceased to ache. Using the remainder of his jacket, he bound the damaged limb together, taking the pain like a champion. He'd fought vampires on this skill level before. Blade was not the best. However, the inkling of fear and doubt inside his mind was growing, like a twisted, malevolent embryo. Sterk was afraid of what the doubt would hatch into, noting that at the very least, his mind could be completely destroyed. Fearing the unknown wasn't helping, but instead making the dread inside of him increase. Sterk was ready for the mental destruction, for vampires were all cunning, sensual, and mental creatures. What he wasn't ready for were the additional effects that were sure to come. He knew that any affliction coming from Blade of all people, would be the mother of them all.
"It's time to feed." Blade whispered, forcing the air to become tangibly thinner. Frost sparked up from the ground, turning their surroundings into a frigid nightmare. The temperature complied with the change, dropping a heartbreaking forty-five degrees. Sterk's labored breaths were thick and cloudy, huffing up huge mists of vapor. Fatigue would settle in soon, Blade knew, because it was the weakness of all humans. His fangs dripped with an acidic saliva that hissed like grease in a frying pan when drops of it connected with the earth. He raised his sword over his head, and the eight spires blew out of it. When this happened, the weapon took on a sinister blue tint. He pulled it back behind his hip and then stabbed it at Sterk, launching deadly projectiles of blue-black flames through the air. "Great Methuselah Style, First Technique: Bloodlust."
Sterk dodged the flames, which blackened the frosted grass. He jogged at Blade to make an attack, and swiped for his head, missing by a few inches. Instead of countering, Blade chose to dance out of the way of Sterk's moves, avoiding any damage. In the meantime, Sterk began bleeding more and more from small cuts that opened up on each of veins in his body. Sterk launched a kick that Blade caught without thinking, returning the favor with a crushing kick to the ribs. Sterk weaved, his consciousness going out for only a second before adrenaline and battle focus returned to him. Blade was getting stronger. He couldn't understand it, but none of his efforts were doing any good. It was like running a race and heading in the exact opposite direction of the finish line, hoping to win. He felt that only if he managed to circumnavigate the entire globe, that he'd never be able to catch up to Blade. The reality threw him entirely off his game, because he knew that he had the potential to beat Blade. He knew it. He was stronger, his weapon was better, his endurance was superior. Why was it that he felt as if he'd already lost?
Sterk's mind was absolutely delicious. Blade couldn't get enough of the agony, of the doubt, of the fear, and of the frustration. While Sterk may have been assuming that his blood was on the menu, it was not, even though he would pass out soon due to the Methuselah technique. Blade cracked a sharp toothed grin. The fight would end on a full stomach.