Disclaimer: I don't own Blade, Whistler, Nyssa, Nomak (though I would like to have him) or anyone else from the movies. Anyone or anything you haven't seen interacting with Blade before is mine, if not stated otherwise. Don't suspect, don't sue – I have a good lawyer, besides all you'd get is a half-empty bottle of nail polish and some leftover cookies.

Author notes: Blade II ended like it did, but Blade: Trinity never happened, that's why this story is Alternate Universe. Magic and mystery will be included, probably blood as well.
I'm afraid I don't know all this American badass vampire hunter dialect very well; all comments and suggestions would be appreciated.

PANDEMONIUM
Prologue – A New Era

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The sword cut through the air with a smooth swish. Its owner kicked the vampire in front of him, flipped over the demon's head and shot it while landing on feet. The silver bullet pierced the vampire's chest; it went up in flames and turned to ash. Blade stood up, put his sword into the scabbard on his back, turned on his heel and walked out of the door. Another vampire hideout was cleansed.

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Blade was driving in the chilly winter-night of Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic. The crisp air was blowing in his face, brushing off the slight sweat on his forehead that had gathered there from the previous fight. His Dodge was fast approaching his headquarters, which had been moved since the 'Reaper-era' – as Whistler liked to call it – had been over.

He rubbed a hand over his head, half-registering that he needed to cut his hair, and sighed softly. At times like these, when he was driving home alone, where there was no one but the old man waiting for him, he felt as though he was getting tired of such kind of a life. Sometimes he wished for a quieter period.

Not that it hadn't been quiet enough in the under life of the vampire population. After he had killed Nomak, the vampires, or what was left of them, had pulled back and tried to lay low as much as possible, hiding in their underground safe houses, keeping from any greater bustle.

Though some of them still couldn't quite understand what 'lay low' meant. Blade grimaced and turned down a dark alley to the old industry district. How else to explain that they still held raves in darkened warehouses, where blood flew and vampires could be smelled, even by humans?

He didn't complain though. It was work, and work was known to be the best means of occupation from troubled thoughts. And these he had lately had lots of. He was unable to get Nyssa out of his mind. She was constantly there, while he was awake or asleep, always somewhere on the border of his thoughts.

Blade shook his head in irritation. He couldn't allow himself to linger on her, lest he should get in trouble. He had been sloppy recently; careless even, letting some vamps go or turning away from humans in need. He had to get back on track.

The engine roared as he turned out of an alley between two high buildings and drove toward a warehouse. It looked burnt and abandoned, almost like it were to crash any moment. Really, it was clichéd; all of their quarters had been more or less the same looking. No wonder everyone knew from where to look for him.

Blade stopped the car in front of a metal door, which opened with a loud racket. He shook his head, Whistler had to do something about it. Pushing in a lower gear, he manoeuvred the car in. He stopped in front of an elevator and switched off the engine. Jumping out of the machine, he collected his bag of 'goodies' and entered the ancient looking elevator.

He swore, the lift was a real bother. In fact, Blade was sure he would have gotten upstairs faster if he had taken the stairs instead. But now he had to suffer the slow ride, which didn't improve his already crappy mood one bit.

Hitting the second floor, he pulled up the screen-wall, and climbed out. He passed Whistler who was sitting behind the computers, with an irritated 'humph' and grumbled, "The door needs oiling."

"A shitty night?" Whistler asked, barely keeping the amusement out of his voice. He stood up from the groaning stool and limped after Blade, who had gotten off towards his bedroom.

The only answer he received from the Daywalker was yet another grunt.

Whistler shook his head slightly and went to the small kitchen next to the two rooms that had been arranged into bedrooms, which weren't used too often. He opened the fridge and, after examining the contents, decided that an apple was really all he would like at the moment.

He slammed the door shut, twirled the apple before taking a bite, and sat on the edge of a kitchen counter.

"How'd it go? Any problems?" he yelled at the open door to Blade's room, swallowing a piece of the fruit.

Blade's head emerged from the room, his sun-glassed eyes observed the withered man before him, and replied, "Another of the rat-houses' clean." Blade disappeared into his room again; the sound of a bag being zipped open could be heard.

"Wanna talk about it?" Whistler pushed off the edge and threw the core into the trash bin in a corner, waiting.

Blade stopped in mid-air, putting away his sword. He hesitated for a moment, then the weapon was placed in its spot and the bag zipped closed. "What's there to talk? Went in, killed the vamps, got out. The end."

Whistler appeared in the doorframe, he leaned his right shoulder on the cool metal, and looked at Blade with half-closed eyes. "You know fuckin' well, that's not what I meant."

The Daywalker gifted the other a stubborn stare before dismissing his sunglasses and pulling off his leather coat. "There's nothin' to talk about. I'm going to bed." He threw his jacket on the only chair in the room and approached Whistler to close the door. "D'you mind?"

Whistler got the message and shrugged. "Not really. I'll be oiling the freakin' door." He nodded towards the front door and limped off, whistling slightly.

Blade watched him descend the two steps separating the living side of the warehouse from the area where the computers and Whistler's tools laid. He sighed tiredly, shook his head while turning and kicked the door closed behind him.

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In an entirely different area of the city, two shadowed figures were crouching on top of a great building. On the roof there was a helicopter-landing place, the once-white letter 'h' was worn, the paint had come off from here and there, a sharp eye could distinguish splashes of red.

One of the figures stood and walked towards the broken windows on the same level. The glass had been shattered; pieces of metal were seen lying about the floor. The figure, dressed in all black, its cape billowing in the breeze, sniffed the air and beckoned the other to follow.

Together they entered the old building, carefully avoiding stepping onto shards and fallen trash. Disaster was all around them, signs of battle were scattered on the floor; ash lay in a heap in a corner.

The first of the beings put its hand up in warning, and the other - smaller one - stopped. A gust of wind entered through the smashed windows, lifting the hems of their cloaks; it blew softly around in the room, insufflating paper and swirling flecks of ash in the air.

The first figure reached its hand into the cloak and pulled out a vial. "We have found what we've come here for." Its voice was paper-dry, lacking any emotion, when it knelt next to the pile of ash. It started whispering in a language as dry as its voice, words flew from its lips and landed on the heap, which started shaking, the tiny flecks becoming like alive.

The being placed the vial on the floor and swishing its hands through the air, gathered the ash into the vial. It bobbed up in the air, twirled and landed with a clink. The figure corked the bottle and, standing up, carefully hid it in its robes.

"Our work here is done, come!" It ordered and exited once again through the windows, not waiting for the other, who gave the room one last glance, turned and jogged after the taller being.

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In the vampire hunters' headquarters Blade woke up with a jolt, Nyssa's name on his lips.