Paladin Project 8 - Population Increase
"Whooe! We're going to party tonight!" Shark felt on top of the world. In the one hundred and forty years since he'd been turned he'd never felt this good. A week ago the traitor William the Bloody had been slain and the Summers Slayer had left town. There some rumours about new hunters in town but who cared?
Shark grinned as he looked around the twenty vampires who followed him. As their leader it was his responsibility to provide for them and he'd found a frat house stupid enough to hand out party flyers stating 'Open House', and that was enough to get them in. Oh yes, it was going to be one hell of a night; he could almost smell the blood and hear the screams already.
His smile withered and died when half a dozen cloaked figures stepped out of the shadows to block his group's way. Shark glanced behind him to his companions, they had the newcomers out-numbered three to one but there was an aura of power of them that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle uneasily. After a few tension-filled moments he spoke, his tongue suddenly thick and ungainly. "Get out of the way."
"I'm afraid not." Shark's mouth dried as the lead figure threw back his cowl to reveal the coal-black face and elfin features of a Drow. "Kill them."
The last syllable of the Drow's hiss had barely left his mouth when the dark elf's comrades sprang into action, their pairs of matching scimitars slashing through the cold night air as they glided into action. Shark watched in terror as the battle raged around him, his gang effortlessly torn to pieces while their attackers remained unharmed. Finally it was just him and the six Drow and their leader turned his cold eyes on him. Shark forced his voice to remain steady as he drew his sword. "You don't want to do this. I'd make a good minion, I know things-."
"I don't deal with your sort," the Drow interrupted, his tone disdainful. The dark elf exploded into action covering the distance separating them in a single bound and swinging his scimitar in a slash that he barely managed to block even as he spun away from the other blade. He attempted a counter- attacking thrust that his rival slid smoothly away from before retaliating with an overhand slash that ripped a white-hot furrow across his chest. Letting out a gasp of pain he staggered backwards, blood drenching his shirt. The Drow followed relentlessly, advancing at a blistering speed. He attempted a feint that his adversary ignored before replying with a slash at his knees that he just managed to leap over. He'd barely landed when the Drow thrust one of his blades into his stomach. He let out a scream of pure pain as the blade tore through him. Immobilised by agony he was helpless to prevent the Drow's other blade from entering his throat.
* * *
Sophia watched with interest as the already busy bar was suddenly filled by another hundred or so extra men all bearing the look of men of action, warriors. "And what would such a group be doing in Sunnydale?" she muttered as she watched the men bully the bar's patrons into abandoning their tables and spaces by the bar.
She'd arrived in Sunnydale three days ago via private jet. Since her arrival she'd observed Sunnydale's underworld denizens finding out who the players were. What she'd discovered amazed her. Apparently the vampire William the Bloody was dust, slain by the legendary Blade no less, and the Summers Slayer and the Wicca Rosenberg run out of town leaving the Project as the undisputed rulers of the Hellmouth.
Until now at least. Sophia stared thoughtfully at the group's leader, a huge hook-nosed man with an almost visible air of evil, he'd make quite a vampire. She smiled inwardly as she saw one of the newcomers head towards her, here was a chance to find out who the interlopers were and why there were here - this many of this sort of men in Sunnydale had to impinge on her business.
"Right luv," the man growled, "want a drink?"
Sophia took a second to inspect the man before replying. He was a tall hefty man in his late forties with a silver goatee, shaven head and piggy grey eyes who judging from his accent was a cockney. She smiled winningly. "A drink? Why bother, let's just leave."
The man's eyes filled with desire but he shook his head. "Can't luv," the man glanced over is shoulder and towards the hook-nosed man, "boss says we can't leave. Got to stick together."
"Oh please," she pouted even as she turned the full power of her hypnotic gaze on her victim. "A big strong manly man like you can protect yourself against little me. Besides," she fluttered her long eye-lashes at the wavering thug, "what I'd like to you we can't do in the public."
The combination of her physical charms and powers of mesmerism were more than enough to snap the man's resolve. "Let's go," he grunted. The man grabbed her by the arm, his grip strong enough to bruise a normal woman. After glancing furtively to the right and left before dragging her outside and pushing her against the club wall, his hand sliding up her mini. "I'm going to enjoy this."
"Not as much as me," she morphed into her vampiric face, after a second savouring her victim's look of stunned terror, she grabbed him around the throat, spun him round and slammed him into the wall before covering his mouth with her free hand and dragging the struggling man into a near-by alley. Once there she released her hold on the man's mouth, grabbed his arm and pulled, yanking his shoulder out of the socket. The thug opened his mouth to scream but it turned into a moan when she grabbed his jaw and slammed his head into the wall behind. "Now why are you here?" she demanded.
The man shook his head. "I can't tell you."
"Are you sure?" Sophia released his grip on the man's jaw, and grabbed his balls, squeezing until they ruptured. She let out a laugh as the man's mouth opened to scream, cutting him off with a fist to the throat that caused him to fall to the ground. "There's muscles, tendons, ligaments, and bones to break, tear, rip, burn, and cut - I can't wait to get started." Crouching down she grabbed the man's arm at the wrist and elbow and pulled it backwards, snapping the elbow and tearing the biceps tendon. "I'm afraid you're going to die," she whispered in the sobbing man's ear. "The only question is slow and painful or quick and painless."
Ten minutes later and she'd drained the man. After dropping the dried out husk to the ground, Sophia rose, a thoughtful expression on her beautiful face. What the thug had told her was worrying. He'd claimed to be part of Satan's Soldiers, a mercenary group that had taken over from the Order as the top soldiers for hire after the Order had been wiped out by Demonsbane. More troubling still was the addition of Hans Axel as their temporary leader. The assassin had a terrifying reputation even in the demon world. She had to inform the Hunt. On the other hand, she smiled slowly; De Morte was one of the few vampires more favoured by Lucis than her. If he died in a three-way between the Project, the Hunt, and the mercenaries then her own influence within the Clans would only increase. "Everything's got an upside."
* * *
Lance watched as the two vampires strode past his position, oblivious to his presence in the shadows. He glanced across the sparsely lit street to the hulking warehouse they were guarding. Just hours earlier he'd watched as a dozen or so vampires had claimed the building as their base. There was something different about these vampires, they were somehow more organised than others he'd hunted over the centuries.
He stepped out of the shadows and cleared his throat, the two vampires spun round to face him. He smiled at their surprise that a normal human could get so close to them without being detected - but then he was hardly normal. "Hello gentlemen."
His words broke the spell. Snarling the two vampires sprang towards him even as his hand dropped to his broadsword. He twisted away from the left vampire even as he drew his sword slamming his right elbow into the other vampire's face, causing its unfortunate recipient to screech in pain. Taking advantage of the respite gained by his actions he completed his draw before stepping back and smiling at the two vampires. "En garde."
His challenge was met with twin howls and the two vampires leapt forward. A grin on his face, he raced to meet them, his sword flashing left and right as he bounded between his rivals. Spinning round to face his two adversaries he smiled at their looks of disbelief at the ugly matching wounds he'd left on their chests. He could have easily gone for the kill but where was the thrill in that?
The two vampires started towards him, more cautiously than before. Seeing the one to his left was fractionally ahead of the other he sprang to meet him, his sword flashing. The vampire ducked beneath his blade and straight into his fist. Stunned, the vampire staggered backwards. Lance made to follow his prey only for the other vampire to dart at him from the side. Without deviating from his course he snapped out a side kick and grinned at the sound of bone cracking and the vampire's resulting scream before decapitating his target with a mighty swing.
Spinning round he coolly surveyed the vampire lying on the ground, cradling his shattered leg in his hands. The wound would be healed in a few minutes - it was just a shame the vampire didn't have that time. "W..who are you?" the vampire demanded.
Lance smiled, he knew what the vampire was trying to do, buy himself some time to heal. A smart strategy but one doomed to failure. "Lance Amore."
"The Knight Of Death?" the vampire's face greyed. "T..that's impossible, you're just a legend."
"And yet," the vampire screamed as he pressed his gold cross on its face, the demon's flesh sizzling and burning under his assault, "I'm here," he paused for a second. "Now unless you wish for me to continue tell me who you and your companions are."
Once the vampire had finished his babblings he nodded and stood. "Thank you." After slicing the vampire's head off, he crouched in the street, his lips pursed in thought. What the vampire had told him was most troubling. He was tempted to attack, but fourteen Master vampires on his own was beyond even his capabilities. Still, he smiled to himself, at least by slaying the two vampires he'd left them a message. Chuckling softly he slid into the shadows and disappeared into the darkness.
* * *
"They are here?"
Caleb bowed his head in supplication. "They are here master."
"Good. Here is what I want you to do." Caleb listened as his master gave him his orders. "You understand servant?"
"Yes master," throughout the entire conversation he'd kept his head down.
"Then go and tell the others."
After standing, Caleb hurried out of the chamber to the larger cavern beyond, grateful to be escaping the First's over-powering presence. Once in the outer room he quickly inspected his fellow Fallen members, his eyes first falling on a short, rotund balding man in his late forties with muddy grey eyes and benign features that Caleb knew hid a rare brutality. The man was Rabbi Moses Cohen, a Polish Jew who'd used the dark magics to battle the Cossacks of Bohdan Khmelnytsky in the 17th Century. He turned his gaze to the next figure, a tall hawk-featured man with dusky skin and haughty manner. This man was Mullah Kareem Ackbar, an Islamic holy man who'd ridden by the side of Saladin in the 12th Century using sorcery to help his lord fight the infidel invaders.
The third and final figure in the room was another tall man, perhaps six and a half feet in height, with a lean face ravaged by pock-marks and staring black eyes. He was Father Jose Santos, a Roman Catholic priest who had organised mass crucifixions of Aztecs in the 16th Century.
His inspection completed Caleb gathered his thoughts. All of his fellow Fallen members were far older, more experienced, and had been chosen by their master for much fouler crimes, his were merely a string of executions of wanton hussies in the southern states during the mid fifties. Due to his proximity to the Hellmouth he'd been chosen as their leader, but if he failed again. Finally he began to speak.
"Whooe! We're going to party tonight!" Shark felt on top of the world. In the one hundred and forty years since he'd been turned he'd never felt this good. A week ago the traitor William the Bloody had been slain and the Summers Slayer had left town. There some rumours about new hunters in town but who cared?
Shark grinned as he looked around the twenty vampires who followed him. As their leader it was his responsibility to provide for them and he'd found a frat house stupid enough to hand out party flyers stating 'Open House', and that was enough to get them in. Oh yes, it was going to be one hell of a night; he could almost smell the blood and hear the screams already.
His smile withered and died when half a dozen cloaked figures stepped out of the shadows to block his group's way. Shark glanced behind him to his companions, they had the newcomers out-numbered three to one but there was an aura of power of them that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle uneasily. After a few tension-filled moments he spoke, his tongue suddenly thick and ungainly. "Get out of the way."
"I'm afraid not." Shark's mouth dried as the lead figure threw back his cowl to reveal the coal-black face and elfin features of a Drow. "Kill them."
The last syllable of the Drow's hiss had barely left his mouth when the dark elf's comrades sprang into action, their pairs of matching scimitars slashing through the cold night air as they glided into action. Shark watched in terror as the battle raged around him, his gang effortlessly torn to pieces while their attackers remained unharmed. Finally it was just him and the six Drow and their leader turned his cold eyes on him. Shark forced his voice to remain steady as he drew his sword. "You don't want to do this. I'd make a good minion, I know things-."
"I don't deal with your sort," the Drow interrupted, his tone disdainful. The dark elf exploded into action covering the distance separating them in a single bound and swinging his scimitar in a slash that he barely managed to block even as he spun away from the other blade. He attempted a counter- attacking thrust that his rival slid smoothly away from before retaliating with an overhand slash that ripped a white-hot furrow across his chest. Letting out a gasp of pain he staggered backwards, blood drenching his shirt. The Drow followed relentlessly, advancing at a blistering speed. He attempted a feint that his adversary ignored before replying with a slash at his knees that he just managed to leap over. He'd barely landed when the Drow thrust one of his blades into his stomach. He let out a scream of pure pain as the blade tore through him. Immobilised by agony he was helpless to prevent the Drow's other blade from entering his throat.
* * *
Sophia watched with interest as the already busy bar was suddenly filled by another hundred or so extra men all bearing the look of men of action, warriors. "And what would such a group be doing in Sunnydale?" she muttered as she watched the men bully the bar's patrons into abandoning their tables and spaces by the bar.
She'd arrived in Sunnydale three days ago via private jet. Since her arrival she'd observed Sunnydale's underworld denizens finding out who the players were. What she'd discovered amazed her. Apparently the vampire William the Bloody was dust, slain by the legendary Blade no less, and the Summers Slayer and the Wicca Rosenberg run out of town leaving the Project as the undisputed rulers of the Hellmouth.
Until now at least. Sophia stared thoughtfully at the group's leader, a huge hook-nosed man with an almost visible air of evil, he'd make quite a vampire. She smiled inwardly as she saw one of the newcomers head towards her, here was a chance to find out who the interlopers were and why there were here - this many of this sort of men in Sunnydale had to impinge on her business.
"Right luv," the man growled, "want a drink?"
Sophia took a second to inspect the man before replying. He was a tall hefty man in his late forties with a silver goatee, shaven head and piggy grey eyes who judging from his accent was a cockney. She smiled winningly. "A drink? Why bother, let's just leave."
The man's eyes filled with desire but he shook his head. "Can't luv," the man glanced over is shoulder and towards the hook-nosed man, "boss says we can't leave. Got to stick together."
"Oh please," she pouted even as she turned the full power of her hypnotic gaze on her victim. "A big strong manly man like you can protect yourself against little me. Besides," she fluttered her long eye-lashes at the wavering thug, "what I'd like to you we can't do in the public."
The combination of her physical charms and powers of mesmerism were more than enough to snap the man's resolve. "Let's go," he grunted. The man grabbed her by the arm, his grip strong enough to bruise a normal woman. After glancing furtively to the right and left before dragging her outside and pushing her against the club wall, his hand sliding up her mini. "I'm going to enjoy this."
"Not as much as me," she morphed into her vampiric face, after a second savouring her victim's look of stunned terror, she grabbed him around the throat, spun him round and slammed him into the wall before covering his mouth with her free hand and dragging the struggling man into a near-by alley. Once there she released her hold on the man's mouth, grabbed his arm and pulled, yanking his shoulder out of the socket. The thug opened his mouth to scream but it turned into a moan when she grabbed his jaw and slammed his head into the wall behind. "Now why are you here?" she demanded.
The man shook his head. "I can't tell you."
"Are you sure?" Sophia released his grip on the man's jaw, and grabbed his balls, squeezing until they ruptured. She let out a laugh as the man's mouth opened to scream, cutting him off with a fist to the throat that caused him to fall to the ground. "There's muscles, tendons, ligaments, and bones to break, tear, rip, burn, and cut - I can't wait to get started." Crouching down she grabbed the man's arm at the wrist and elbow and pulled it backwards, snapping the elbow and tearing the biceps tendon. "I'm afraid you're going to die," she whispered in the sobbing man's ear. "The only question is slow and painful or quick and painless."
Ten minutes later and she'd drained the man. After dropping the dried out husk to the ground, Sophia rose, a thoughtful expression on her beautiful face. What the thug had told her was worrying. He'd claimed to be part of Satan's Soldiers, a mercenary group that had taken over from the Order as the top soldiers for hire after the Order had been wiped out by Demonsbane. More troubling still was the addition of Hans Axel as their temporary leader. The assassin had a terrifying reputation even in the demon world. She had to inform the Hunt. On the other hand, she smiled slowly; De Morte was one of the few vampires more favoured by Lucis than her. If he died in a three-way between the Project, the Hunt, and the mercenaries then her own influence within the Clans would only increase. "Everything's got an upside."
* * *
Lance watched as the two vampires strode past his position, oblivious to his presence in the shadows. He glanced across the sparsely lit street to the hulking warehouse they were guarding. Just hours earlier he'd watched as a dozen or so vampires had claimed the building as their base. There was something different about these vampires, they were somehow more organised than others he'd hunted over the centuries.
He stepped out of the shadows and cleared his throat, the two vampires spun round to face him. He smiled at their surprise that a normal human could get so close to them without being detected - but then he was hardly normal. "Hello gentlemen."
His words broke the spell. Snarling the two vampires sprang towards him even as his hand dropped to his broadsword. He twisted away from the left vampire even as he drew his sword slamming his right elbow into the other vampire's face, causing its unfortunate recipient to screech in pain. Taking advantage of the respite gained by his actions he completed his draw before stepping back and smiling at the two vampires. "En garde."
His challenge was met with twin howls and the two vampires leapt forward. A grin on his face, he raced to meet them, his sword flashing left and right as he bounded between his rivals. Spinning round to face his two adversaries he smiled at their looks of disbelief at the ugly matching wounds he'd left on their chests. He could have easily gone for the kill but where was the thrill in that?
The two vampires started towards him, more cautiously than before. Seeing the one to his left was fractionally ahead of the other he sprang to meet him, his sword flashing. The vampire ducked beneath his blade and straight into his fist. Stunned, the vampire staggered backwards. Lance made to follow his prey only for the other vampire to dart at him from the side. Without deviating from his course he snapped out a side kick and grinned at the sound of bone cracking and the vampire's resulting scream before decapitating his target with a mighty swing.
Spinning round he coolly surveyed the vampire lying on the ground, cradling his shattered leg in his hands. The wound would be healed in a few minutes - it was just a shame the vampire didn't have that time. "W..who are you?" the vampire demanded.
Lance smiled, he knew what the vampire was trying to do, buy himself some time to heal. A smart strategy but one doomed to failure. "Lance Amore."
"The Knight Of Death?" the vampire's face greyed. "T..that's impossible, you're just a legend."
"And yet," the vampire screamed as he pressed his gold cross on its face, the demon's flesh sizzling and burning under his assault, "I'm here," he paused for a second. "Now unless you wish for me to continue tell me who you and your companions are."
Once the vampire had finished his babblings he nodded and stood. "Thank you." After slicing the vampire's head off, he crouched in the street, his lips pursed in thought. What the vampire had told him was most troubling. He was tempted to attack, but fourteen Master vampires on his own was beyond even his capabilities. Still, he smiled to himself, at least by slaying the two vampires he'd left them a message. Chuckling softly he slid into the shadows and disappeared into the darkness.
* * *
"They are here?"
Caleb bowed his head in supplication. "They are here master."
"Good. Here is what I want you to do." Caleb listened as his master gave him his orders. "You understand servant?"
"Yes master," throughout the entire conversation he'd kept his head down.
"Then go and tell the others."
After standing, Caleb hurried out of the chamber to the larger cavern beyond, grateful to be escaping the First's over-powering presence. Once in the outer room he quickly inspected his fellow Fallen members, his eyes first falling on a short, rotund balding man in his late forties with muddy grey eyes and benign features that Caleb knew hid a rare brutality. The man was Rabbi Moses Cohen, a Polish Jew who'd used the dark magics to battle the Cossacks of Bohdan Khmelnytsky in the 17th Century. He turned his gaze to the next figure, a tall hawk-featured man with dusky skin and haughty manner. This man was Mullah Kareem Ackbar, an Islamic holy man who'd ridden by the side of Saladin in the 12th Century using sorcery to help his lord fight the infidel invaders.
The third and final figure in the room was another tall man, perhaps six and a half feet in height, with a lean face ravaged by pock-marks and staring black eyes. He was Father Jose Santos, a Roman Catholic priest who had organised mass crucifixions of Aztecs in the 16th Century.
His inspection completed Caleb gathered his thoughts. All of his fellow Fallen members were far older, more experienced, and had been chosen by their master for much fouler crimes, his were merely a string of executions of wanton hussies in the southern states during the mid fifties. Due to his proximity to the Hellmouth he'd been chosen as their leader, but if he failed again. Finally he began to speak.
