Long, cold fingers crept from under the ground, out of nowhere, barely few feet from the fire. It struck him how the creature was fearless of flames; while at most times they fled from it or turned and twisted in loathing of it, this one - whatever it was, he had yet to find out - was apparently unconcerned. He made a quick mental note to scratch fire out of the list of possible means to destroy the opponent.
There he stood, unmoving, holding his breath. His back pressed firmly against a tree, he watched the pale-skinned hand as it emerged, slowly, behind a fallen tree trunk. Black soil stained the long, bony fingers; inch by inch it moved slowly towards the fire, towards his hiding place. He noticed how, in an instant, his heartbeat had quickened; and he marveled for a split second at the reactions of his own body.
It felt as though he didn't know it anymore, as though he knew himself no more. Unable to trust his body to stay calm when calm was what he needed to come victorious out of that encounter, he felt strangely naked, exposed to the enemy's cunning traps. Strange, how fear struck him, how it was eating him down to the bone, gnawing at his stomach. As though his calm mind, dead-set on more than merely staying alive, was suddenly imprisoned in a disobedient shell.
His dark, hazel eyes followed the gray-skinned hand as it crept on the ground, never halting, never lingering a second on its way to the place of encounter. It seemed as though it knew what it sought, while he was not yet sure what it was that awaited him. Knowing this only made his uneasiness grow stronger. It had always been that he knew what he would deal with, that he had been prepared. Now, a quick thought brought two potential turns he could take - he could either emerge from his shadowed place at once, attacking fiercely and praying that he proved stronger - or more cunning - or he could barely wait for the situation to unfold. For the time being, he chose the latter.
Soundlessly he shifted his weight, his right hand reaching to his side, where he knew his sword had been strapped. He heard a soft sound just above his head, and looked up.
Suddenly he felt he could move no more, nor lift his hand, nor even draw a breath. Eyes shot open wide in surprise, he would have gasped had it not been for something clutching at his throat, digging sharply into his skin. He felt his left hand being dragged behind his back, then his right, and between one attempt to catch his breath and another, he discovered that he could do nothing about it.
He looked ahead, the only direction where he could turn his sight while being held firmly by the ice-cold fingers. The hand that crept the ground had meanwhile reached its destination. He bashed himself in his mind for letting that slip his attention; now it was too late, the body part halted in front of him, as though it was watching. Now he could see it right for what it was - a hand, a single limb, parted from the body that must have once belonged to a large man. Just above his head, another alike limb crawled down, he felt it in his hair, long fingers running through the dark, wet strands.
He felt droplets fall on his face, as the other hand slid down his forehead, swung in front of his eyes and clutched at his temples. Now, he could see no more. He could only deduce that what stopped him from breathing was yet another hand, alike to those that he had noticed, for the grasp on his neck and the small cuts in his skin felt like fingernails, he could make no mistake about it. He felt a run of shivers pass quickly down his spine at the thought of it; once more, an alarm went off in his mind, for his body disobeyed him again. All attempts to stay calm and try to wriggle his way out of the grasp proved in vain, while his body grew weaker with the lack of air.
Black spots began to dance before his covered eyes. The fire searing his lungs, longing for even short, shallow breath, became far too intense to allow him keep his mind clear. He struggled, with the remnant of his strength, to break free from the bonds, yet all he could do was feel as his eyes watered under the holding hand, and tears stained his face, mingling with the rain.
At once, as the grip on his throat loosened but a little, he screamed, on top of his lungs, desperately drawing a spasmodic breath. Eyes shut tight, he shook his head, then froze to a voice behind him.
"Gabriel!"
In a chorus of whispers around him, one voice rose up, clear yet faint, calling out to him. It sounded familiar, the very sound of the voice, its pitch, how it reverberated in his mind. One word - a familiar word, a name that meant something and yet nothing at all. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy and refused to obey the orders of his mind. In a split second he wondered whether or not it was really his will to see whence the voice came, and whom it belonged to - he sensed evil, yet it was within him, somehow it found a way straight into his heart, speeding up its race…
His eyes shot open in a split second; to what, he was not sure. Holding still, he looked around, listening intently to the sounds of a peaceful night. Around him, all seemed tranquilly quiet, disturbed by nothing save his unobtrusive presence. And yet, something had brought him back to his senses, and he knew it was not the dream that found him trembling, chilled down to the bone.
Shrugging off the invisible remnants of restless sleep, Van Helsing forced his mind into full focus. Something was down there - or someone - he could feel it, the air of disarray around him, a scent he could not recognize, though he had not yet seen its source. Bewildered a little at how sharp and clear was his vision despite the pitch black darkness, now, when his mind was on its peak of alertness, he soon saw it - a faint shadow, merely few feet to his right. As quietly as he could he prepared to leap while the shadow moved slowly towards him, yet for the time being, he remained unmoving.
A dark, tall figure, clad in black with a hood hiding the face in shadows sauntered forth, steps unwavering, making nearly no sound at all. The man's muscles tensed as the stranger approached him; in his mind, he counted to three before he leapt up rapidly, drawing the long, double-bladed knife from its sheath.
Just as he landed on his feet in front of the assailant, the other leapt backwards, sinking into a stance. The dark hood fell back; for all Van Helsing could see, it revealed straight hair reaching the person's shoulders. At a distance, and judging solely by the garb he could perhaps have been mistaken, yet a look so close left no room for error - the soft curves of that face told him it was a woman. Furthermore, she appeared to be studying his figure with care, a smirk now evident on her face.
They strafed around each other in a wide arc, both cat-like, regarding one another warily, eyes never leaving those of the other. The woman swung her blade, locking her both hands on the hilt and setting the rapier vertically in front of her. Eyes glued to her opponent, the hunter paced slowly around him, fully focused, watching out for every slightest twitch of his muscles that would signify a sudden assault.
Losing patience at last she lunged forward, advancing on him swiftly yet warily. Van Helsing met her blow with ease, his block countering hers from the right. Blades clashed loudly, echoing in the otherwise quiet woods as she swept his counter blow aside, now fiercely staring into the man's eyes.
"Van Helsing. We meet again," she hissed, slowly taking a small step backward. She lowered herself, sinking into a waiting stance and swung her rapier mere inches from his face. The sharp blade cut the air with a loud swish.
The man did not move. "Evening," he nodded his greeting, not without a dose of mockery. "Fruitful chase?"
Two more quick steps backwards took the bounty hunter in a sword's length distance from her duelist. Far enough, she mused, an instant before she leapt up, and came down on him with a straight downward strike.
Van Helsing ducked, spinning away quickly, but the hunter wasted no time. She went in for another swift strike. This time, caught in a sword lock, they struggled for a while, staggering back and forth whenever one of them applied more force into pushing the other off balance.
"At last. You sure as hell are hard to track down," the woman breathed, putting all strength she could spare into pushing him away.
Van Helsing backed away, breaking the lock and ducked with a quick whirl. The momentum sent the bounty hunter forward, nearly sending her onto the ground. Had he not moved away in time she would have, in all likelihood, landed on top of him. He pondered it for an instant, eventually deciding against it. This close a contact would give the hunter advantage of him; an advantage she would most certainly use against him while he meant not to kill her. All he had to do was create an opportunity for himself to vanish and stop her from following him, if only for some time.
Casting a hateful look in his direction, the woman reached out her left arm to regain balance. Quickly she drew a deeper breath to steady herself, and inclined her head, albeit slightly, in respect to the cunning trick.
The man's face was set, eyes fixed upon her when she met them. Van Helsing caught her movement out of the corner of his eye, and bowed back with a smirk. "Truly, Leah. Some things never change," he spoke softly, his right brow furrowed and climbing into his hairline. "You still have a knack for bad timing."
With a smirk still painting his face, he advanced on her, whirling gracefully with his blade raised, halting abruptly right before her. Instinctively, Leah ducked the blow that never came. Head tilted, she glanced at him with her narrowed eyes. "It's nice to see you, too. Again," she scoffed.
With that, she let loose a slash aimed at his neck. Van Helsing caught the blow with his own, much stronger, and leapt backwards short ways away from her. Once more sent off her balance, the bounty hunter landed on her knee with a quiet groan. She rose quickly, shrugging her shoulders.
Van Helsing waited as she sauntered forward, her legs bent slightly in her knees. The fallen leaves rustled under her feet as she paced around him, her eyes fixed upon his face. He turned soundlessly along with her, keeping eye contact, seeking opportunity to issue an efficient, yet not deadly strike.
He would not kill her, he couldn't. Even in the darkness he could see her aura glowing crimson red. Wrath drove her, yet the inflamed air about her was not stained with black. In a way he understood her; the bounty hunter's life was not so much unlike his own, only now he happened to be the hunter's prey.
It had been a while since their last encounter; Van Helsing tried to remember how much time had passed - three, perhaps four years. He barely remembered meeting her for the first time many years before; yet he could tell that she had since lost her blithe manners, her eagerness had grown into anger. Yet at once he perceived that it had made her nigh reckless. No less vigilant, no less acute, yet much more daredevil.
Nonetheless, that was how it went - he always remembered - the hunter could turn into prey, only he could not afford it. Whatever she had planned for him this time, whether to take him dead or alive, he had no choice but to make sure she would not succeed without doing her harm.
Leah darted in and out of his space, her light steps now quieter on the ground. He had to stop her, although he knew well that it would enrage her the more, urging her to seek him again in due time. As she advanced on him once more, striking with great force, he went in for a quick riposte. She darted towards him, and he met her half way in a flurry of blows, faster and faster, forcing the woman to back away with every precise strike.
Around them, all had suddenly grown quiet as Leah could move backward no more, her back pressed against a thick tree. She held him at her blade's length, breathing hard. Arm trembling slightly, she brushed the back of her other hand across her face, holding up her opponent's gaze.
"You're getting old," Van Helsing slurred as if to himself, yet made sure she had heard him well. He lowered his own blade to the ground, watching the woman cautiously as she used the precious seconds to steady her breath and regain some strength. It might be a big mistake, he mused, to let this drag for too long, yet now it was no longer his choice.
"So are you," she retorted, pulling herself away from the tree. "What brings you here?"
She darted out of his way in a low whirl, swinging her blade against him. Metal clashed against metal as Van Helsing took a quick turn, sweeping the blow aside. She countered that from below, forcing a lock and pushed on, her both hands locked upon the hilt of her weapon.
The duelists halted, looking each other in the eye. Van Helsing pushed the woman away, this time him being the one keeping his opponent at a distance. "Business," he said, as matter-of-factly as he could. He felt a strange shiver run down his back, uncanny fear shot straight through him. A sudden, strong blow of chilly wind pulled him out of focus. His eyes darted around, meeting only pitch black darkness, lit by the moonlight only where the thick branches let a faint beam of light fall upon the land.
Leah lowered her blade, letting its tip rest lightly on the ground. "Then we're here on common purpose."
"Quite contradictory, I daresay," the man muttered, "Unless, of course, I'm wrong, and it's not me you're after."
"I hate to have to disappoint you, but you know what they say," she paused, letting out a slow breath, "Third time's the charm." The bounty hunter's eyes narrowed as she studied him, half-expecting to meet a sudden blow, half-hoping it wouldn't come. She threw back her head, letting the wind remove the short strands of her hair from her face.
The man smirked. "Last time I checked, I wasn't the most wanted man in this part of the country."
Wasting no time to wait for his answer, Leah lunged forth, coming down on him with a right-sided blow. Van Helsing could see her strength was failing her, for he found her easy to counter. Both of them halted again, Leah drawing a short breath, her duelist bowing out of the encounter as he sank, cat-like, into a relaxed stance. The woman rolled her eyes, and said, "Up north you are. But it's all the same to me, Van Helsing. Let's see who'll get their business done."
Just as he prepared to intercept another blow, a quiet, hardly distinguishable rustle in the treetops far above them drew Van Helsing's attention. In an instant he was back by the tree where he had stopped for the night, the crossbow in his hands, armed and ready to shoot. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Leah back away slowly, trying as she might not to make a sound. He shot her a quick look, pointing upwards as he pressed his back against the tree.
They made their appearance quietly and without drawing too much attention; for an untrained ear, the soft sound of their wings could pass for the treetops moving slowly on the wind. Van Helsing counted the shadows as they grew longer; one, two, three, too big for a bird, too small for a…
"Gangrels!" hissed Leah, ducking behind a tree, a small crossbow in her hands. She aimed and launched a bolt towards where the shadows had landed, yet soon a soft sound could be heard as it fell limply onto the ground, missing its aim, utterly harmless. The hunter cursed under her breath, dropping quietly to her one knee as she drew a fresh supply of bolts. As she was ready to join in the fight, everything fell silent.
Peeking from behind the tree where she had last seen Van Helsing, Leah found him staring into darkness, his own deadly weapon ready in his hands and aimed at something far above his head. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed three shadows, distancing themselves at a fairly great speed. She arched an eyebrow, tilting her head left a little as she tried to process what had happened.
"Wraiths on wings…"
Van Helsing's quiet whisper broke the dead silence, pulling Leah out of her reverie. Greatly bewildered, she paced back and forth, now and again glancing towards the edge of the forest. "Vampires. Damned creatures, hell-spawned blood-suckers," at last she spat angrily, still carefully studying the treetops for any signs of movement. She knew better than to trust the vampires to be gone. Not when she failed to understand the reason they had fled; as did Van Helsing himself, who sent her a faintly puzzled glance as she turned once more to face him.
"You could hunt down those, rather than waste your time on me," Van Helsing smirked, yet upon seeing the mixture of both anger and confusion painting the woman's face, his own went back to apparent indifference. "Something's made them flee…" he trailed off, looking to where the creatures had gone.
His words were more of a statement than a question. Yet Leah, angry as she was, read it otherwise. "Beast hunter is your damn cover, Van Helsing, you tell me,"
Some things never change. Van Helsing's face twisted in a wry smile, "I hate to have to disappoint you, but in fact I was counting on getting that answer from you," he riposted, allowing a brief thought linger in his mind that the woman still held to her belief that he was nothing but a liar, murderer, of the sort she hunted down for a living.
Her rapier raised, Leah leapt forth, forcing the man immediately into a defensive stance. She knew all too well that her chance was not in making him weary, yet rather in catching him off guard - if that was even likely to happen, she did not know. "Whatever it was, it bade them gone. But we're not done yet," she called out to him, resuming their duel.
Countering her blow with his own, Van Helsing shook his head. "My, Leah, you will never change. Has Ireland run out of villains to chase?" The question was rhetorical, yet in all likelihood the bounty hunter would not leave that unanswered. The game had begun a long time ago, their dance, the contradiction of purposes and yet their strange similarity was too strong a driving force to resist it.
With a small nod, Leah's face grew solemn. "I'm just short on money. Nothing personal."
Once more she stroke, yet by then Van Helsing had realized that time was running short. The sky had already begun to clear up, here and there the white strands of clouds stained the shadowy blanket of the firmament, the first glow of the rising sun shining in the east. He knew he had no time, and while the game was far from over, it must now be stopped or else delay would cost him more than he was willing to pay.
Few quick steps forth, flawlessly synchronized with swift blows - of which all could have been deadly, had Van Helsing wished to bring death upon his adversary - found Leah backed against a tree, with his blade less than an inch off her throat. Their gazes locked for a split second, a passing trace of regret reflecting in one hunter's eyes, a hint of fear and disbelief in the other's. She knew better than to struggle, he knew better than to think she would risk her life more than she already had.
But the game, their game, it was not yet over.
"You've gotten good," Leah breathed, trying not to move needlessly, for the sharp edge of Van Helsing's blade cut her skin if she did. Her own sword dropped to the ground; she would not dare move when that man, that murderer, held her life in his hands.
Long silence followed, broken only by the quick, rhythmic pounding of the hunter's heart. He could hear it, its sound clear, beating to the song of death she was sure would echo among the trees, them being the only witnesses to mourn her passing. How he hated to taunt her, make her believe she would die by his hand, as had many she knew he had slain. After all, it was but a game, one they both had agreed to play. Yet, only Gabriel knew what truly was at stake. That game, begun years before, was their slippery slope - at that point, the only way was down. He had no choice but to play along.
"Disappointing you in every field would be far too easy," he said carefully, voice saturated with unnatural glee.
"Enjoying yourself, Van Helsing?" Leah spoke slowly, closing her eyes for a brief moment. There was bitterness in her voice, unlike in those he had killed, who believed until their last breath escaped them that they would not be conquered. "Savoring the last moments before you put a tick next to my name on your to-kill list?" she continued meanwhile, her eyes shot open but it took a while before she looked back at him, straight in the eye.
He let out a small sigh, releasing his grip on her a little. "I have no reason to trust you'll believe if I say its not on it," he said in tone of infinite patience, and mentally crossed fingers that it would be convincing. He stared into her face, yet his eyes unfocused and for an instant, he saw her no more. A memory flashed in his mind of a dream, a faint voice calling out his name rang in his ears. Yet it fled before he could focus on it enough to recall any detail, nor was it due time for cloudy memories.
"What's all this for, then?"
Leah's voice pulled him out of his reverie. Their eyes met, Van Helsing's flickering around before he gazed down at his own blade at the woman's throat, her finger pointing at it significantly. "Your protection," he spoke quietly, as with one smooth, quick movement, he drew something from his coat.
Before she knew what had ensued, Leah collapsed onto the ground, utterly senseless. Van Helsing caught her gently, and carried her numb body deeper into the forest. He knew that, at least for now, she was better off as far away from him as she could be, unaware as she was of what would come to pass in the coming hours. If truth be told, he was not sure either - but, at least he was aware of what he was going to have to do. For her, hunting him was merely a job. Another name on the list of most wanted men in Europe. Perhaps a way of life.
For him, hunting evil was, among other things, both all his life and his greatest curse. A burden he carried, and though at times he objected to it, he knew it was his path, the only way to redeem himself in his earthly life.
A warning flashed in the back of his mind. Leaving the woman alone in the woods while she stood no chance against any enemy was cruel, he knew it all too well. He looked back at her, a sudden sting of sorrow piercing his heart. Yet he knew, it was greater purpose that drove him, and there were times when in order not to fail, the lesser wrong must be chosen, a sacrifice must be made. For all he knew, the hunter was well aware of the perils of a life such as that they both led, and took it into account, as did he.
He turned around once more before he took to leave. The memory that troubled him was yet again present in his mind, yet too brief, too fleeting to know what it meant. Frowning, Van Helsing let out a small sigh. "Nothing personal," he whispered to himself, and vanished amid the waning night.
Author's Notes: I would like to thank very, very much to everyone who's reviewed - especially to Wonda, who took so much time to write her review, apparently - must be the longest review I ever got on FFN. Wish every reviewer had so much to say, lol, but then again, I'd probably get ever fewer reviews than I do now ::snicker:: Aaand, to Artemis, who bothered to review both chapters at a time - thank you! ::bows::
Now, as far as the story goes… you might have found some things here that are not familiar to you from the movie. I will not explain this in detail here, since I believe a better and more interesting explanation of these things will come with the next chapter as a part of the story. Now, allow me only to give credit where credit is due - the Vampire clan Gangrel, as well as other proper names and the clan abilities used in this story are property of White Wolf Game Studio, and are part of the Vampire: The Masquerade RPG system. Good stuff =)
As for the length… I know some of you are terrified by long chapters. I myself am not - honestly, what's the difference between one long and consistent chapter and two or three parts of one chapter posted separately ;) So I hope you had enough faith in my poor writing skills to read through this chapter, and yet once more, than you enjoyed it. 'Til the next time =)