Hey all, this is the new chapter of Children of the Night, up for your enjoyment. It's more of a chapter that sets up what is to happen in the one after this, if you know what I mean. So this one will defenitely not be to the quality of my last chapter. But the next one should be pretty good.
Enjoy as you see fit. My beta reader Lain is on holiday, so this has not been Beta'd. Forgive any mistakes.
Chapter 18 – Interference.
Pain. A swirling aching torture that spread throughout her body, an unknown weakness that seemed to be eating at her strength. Movement, she could sense movement in the room, nearby, oppressing. And yet she could not move. Instincts kicked in, her breathing slowed, creating for her a mask of sleep. Good enough to fool even the best.
The movement stopped, a blurry shadow near one wall seemed to slump back into a chair. Through her almost closed lashes she could not make out much of the room. It was dark. The only light coming from a window which had thick and heavy curtains pulled closed over the tarnished glass.
Where was she? Where had she been. Memories were swirling in her mind, failing to form any coherency as the pain induced dizziness wracked her body. She wanted to empty her stomach, to wretch and curl into a ball to minimize the pain. But not with someone watching. For her own safety, until she could change the situation to her advantage, she needed to remain still.
Doing so gave her plenty of time to experience the fiery pain wracking her body from the inside, seemingly eating away at her. It was coming from her chest, and emanating around her body in pulsating waves. Each new wave forcing her to fight the urge to scream. It felt like molten lead was flowing through her veins, streaming around her body, down her limbs and up to her heart, where it burned away angrily. Like a raging fire.
She didn't think she had ever felt such pain before. She had been shot, stabbed, beaten and tortured. But that was always a transitory pain, one that could be ignored with an effort of will. But this….this was too much, even for her.
A moan escaped her lips.
A rustling sound, footsteps, someone was standing over her, it was dark. But now she knew why she couldn't see the figure, it wasn't because of the lack of light, there was enough for her to see by. Her vision was swirling like her mind, spots and blotches forming together at any distance.
"Kirika, are you awake?" The voice was feminine, and yet it was not the voice she wanted to hear so badly, she knew that. Memory crashed into her mind savagely, wracking through her brain with a ferociousness that threatened to send her under. Mireille…. She had failed to save her. Failing to free her from the grasp of Millennium, and instead allowing her to fall into the hands of a true Nosferatu.
"Kirika?" The voice was worried, insistent. Kirika could make out a short form, with a mop of reddish blonde hair. She assumed it was Seras Victoria. But she had no time for this, she had to save Mireille, even though she knew not where her love was. Even though she not how she was to kill such a creature and win her back. Even… if Mireille was no longer human.
A cold hand touched her brow gently, searching for a fever.
She exploded into action. The figure cried out as she was dragged forwards by Kirika's feverish grip, flipped quickly and deposited harshly onto the floor. A moment later and Kirika was on top of her, her legs locked around the vampire's chest and immobilizing her, even as her hands gripped her neck.
She was not an enemy. But she was in her path. And to save Mireille, all obstacles were to be removed. A snap, a cry cut off and a slumped form on the floor. Kirika was glad that Seras was not human, she would survive, though when next they met she had a feeling they might not be friends.
The dizziness hit again, harder. Almost knocking her backwards with the pain. She gritted her teeth as she rose slowly to her feet, the change in altitude making her want to be sick. An arm was tightly wrapped around her stomach, in a futile attempt to lessen the burning pain.
She was not in the basement she realised, as she looked around the room, this was her own sleeping apartment. It was daytime too, judging by the thin stream of light that was filtering through a gap in the curtains. Seras' master would be asleep. There had never been a better time.
It was now or never. Her Beretta M1934 was sitting on the bedside table, the dull metal darker than the room. She lifted it carefully in one hand, the weapon had authority in her grip, the heavy weight telling her it was fully loaded. She would need more than this, even loaded with silver as it was. But she had money, was able to draw directly from her shared funds with Mireille.
She would need more ammo, explosives, a close combat weapon. Already she could feel the illness festering away at her, the poison that had killed Mark working it's purpose inside of her. She didn't know how much time she had left, but she knew she had nothing to lose. Like a cornered wolf protecting her cubs, the vampire didn't realise how dangerous she was now.
Pip sat in his couch by the television, idly puffing on a small cigarette as his other hand stroked the black kitten that lay snuggled in his lap. It was hard not to succumb to the kitten's charm, he had to admit, the little ball of fluff just had to look at you to make you want to stroke it.
There was of course nothing worth watching on the telly. Not that he could understand what was on anyway. So smoking and petting was all that was available at the moment anyhow.
He still didn't know what had become of Mark, though he could make an educated guess as to the young man's final outcome. If the young assassin had barely survived, there was little chance for his rookie mechanic.
Another body to add to the ever growing list.
And it seemed there would be more to add soon. Alucard had expressed his desire to hunt down the vampire who had attacked them, to silence him. A true Vampire, the FREAKS took their toll on his forces, how would just him and Luke fare against one of the true undead?
At least they would have Seras for backup. Something they had not had in the previous encounters. And maybe even Alucard would lend a hand?
Legendary trained assassins and immortal vampires. All of a sudden, Pip felt very small.
It was an itch. Very much like an itch. A small scrabbling in the back of her mind. That she felt, even through her dizzy haze, her mind currently foggy with painkillers. Distorting her thoughts even as the drugs made her high.
The pain had lessened now, the overdose of pain killers having taken quick effect. She was armed too. With another Beretta M1934 at her waist, ammo included. It was regular ammo, not enough to kill a vampire, but it would slow them down enough for her to close in with them. And with her new long knife, made of silver alloy, she was pretty sure she could finish any errant undead off for good.
Explosives, including C4 charges, as well as high explosive and incendiary grenades were clustered in a bag strapped around her back. She was more than ready. Unfortunately she was running out of time. Although feeling pain was beyond her at this moment, the fatigue and heavy limbs were felt tenfold, dragging at her feet and making her weapons feel unbearably heavy.
She had left the city now. Was in the countryside around it. She didn't know why she had chosen to believe he was out here, with his abilities, there was no guarantee he was even in the country. But that itch she felt. It told her that Mireille was nearby.
She would not backtrack now. She didn't have the time to do so. Even if this illness could be staved off with rest, as she believed it could be. Mireille didn't have the time. The vampire had not abducted her for the sake of it. Mireille was either a meal or a potential fledgling. Neither of them being in Kirika's interest.
As she trekked towards the west she wondered whether it had been wise to attack Seras so, and to shun what help the Hellsing organisation could have offered her. At the time it had been a moment of instant clarity, but now Kirika knew that the clarity might have been more due to the state she had been in, rather than any true wisdom. Still, there was nothing that could be done about that right now.
The sun was setting already. Kirika did not know what time it was, nor what the time had been when she had awoke. Had Seras recovered? Had she even been discovered? Laying broken on the floor like that. Was Mireille still alive?
Night time, whatever was to happen, Kirika felt sure it was to happen at night. That didn't give her much time.
A strange eerie tune….. an organ….. playing deeply in the background….. where was she….. who….was she?
Where she was sleeping, it was dimly lit. A small torch brazier was set into one wall, offering very little illumination into the small stone walled room. She was in a bed, a very large bed, covered by only a thin white silken sheet.
She examined herself carefully. Pale skin, long blonde hair. She knew that she had light blue eyes. A name came to her…. Kirika….. Was that who she was. No, she was Mireille.
But then….. who was Kirika? She searched for the information within her mind, but seemed to strike a barrier within herself, a small shock racing through her mind, punishing her. She dropped the investigation immediately.
Rising slowly to her feet Mireille took stock of her clothing. She was in a long black satin dress, pitch black, with a revealing neckline and a large bodice. Her high heeled boots she still wore, but hidden by a long black skirt, she did not recognise this dress that she wore.
Something seemed to be calling to her, drawing her towards the wooden door. Before she realised what she was doing, she was closing it behind her and entering the new room. A wide large hall like room. The sounds of the organ were stronger here, washing over her and dimming her senses with it's soft music.
Her eyes were drawn to the source of the music, a figure was hunched over an old church like organ, playing on it slowly. Drowning the room in it's mournful melody.
The building that stood before Kirika could only be called huge. Tall, dark and abandoned. Made of darkened wood and seemingly falling apart from disrepair, the place almost screamed of Mireille. As if calling out in pleading to Kirika, begging her to rid it of the parasitic vampire within. Kirika knew this was the place. There was no doubt in her mind, no confusion.
Mireille was here.
Even if Kirika died, even if it all went wrong and Mireille was not freed, at least Kirika could tell the blonde her feelings. Let her know that Kirika loved her too. That much would have to do.
But not until her last breath. Not until her heart was pierced or her throat choked from poison, not until then would Kirika stop fighting, and not even then! Until she was no more, until her soul was cast into hell, even there she would fight on.
She closed her eyes. Listening. There was no sound, no movement, no life. But still she would not take the front door. Mireille would call her a fool to take such an expected entrance. It would be heavily guarded. Her eyes wandered.
A balcony, perhaps sixty feet up one wall, a nearby tree, a ledge and a gargoyle clutching the wall. It was all too easy. And she could see dim light coming from that balcony.
She began her climb, a Beretta at each waist, her bag full of explosives dangling from her shoulder, a dead weight.
Already she could feel the painkillers wearing away, her mind fighting the instinct to curl into a ball, even as her muscles cramped painfully. Now was not the time for surrender.
The man had risen from his twisted organ, a dark black suit he wore, with a pristine white shirt underneath. Dark black hair, with not a trace of grey and storm grey eyes met her own. They swirled, becoming a deep red. Mireille had to fight past a block in her throat to speak.
"Blake?" She thought she remembered the man from a restaurant somewhere, whilst she was shopping for clothes for-
"Ahhh!" She cried out in pain abruptly, her train of thought cut off savagely by a jolt of lightning. Tentatively she released her head, which she had clutched between her hands, and looked back at the man. He was smiling.
"Blake is but a name I sometimes use, my love. My true name is Gilles de Rais." The name meant nothing to her.
"Who are you to me?" She asked, wondering why she could not move away. Memories were still slow in coming to her, she knew she was an assassin. Noir. The man, now identified as Gilles smiled warmly at her, cocking his head to one side.
"Me? Oh Mireille. I am your lover, and soon to be your master." Mireille's face crinkled in confusion. Her lover? She felt nothing for this man, was he telling the truth to her? And what did he mean by master? She bowed to no one!
"You do not believe me?" He made it more of a statement than a question. Mireille did not disagree. "Here, let me remind you." Visions assaulted her mind, racing through her vision.
A woman running towards her, light purplish hair, a cold gaze. Mireille instantly recognised the woman as the Italian brutal princess, the Intacobbile. A knife flashed in the reflected light, plummeting towards her stomach. She couldn't move, the fear immobilizing her.
A gunshot sounded out. Far away on top of a hill a man had shot the woman's dagger, breaking it near the hilt, saving her. It was Gilles.
Another vision, Gilles injured and captured in a desert landscape. Her looking after the injured man, rescuing him from a band of rebels.
More, visions of them laughing, visions of them eating together in her small apartment in Paris. And yet throughout it all, Mireille felt that something wasn't quite right. Like he was but a shade of the visions.
"Still you doubt? Come to me, let me remove your doubt." He held out his hand, a will not her own clamped down on her consciousness, muffling her thoughts as she stumbled towards him. She collapsed into his arms, his finger traced her neckline, above her breasts. He smiled, and long pearly white canines greeted her, his breath tickled her throat as he leaned closer as if to kiss her.
"Become as me," He whispered in a seductive voice, "Join me in eternal life Mireille Bouquet, my lover."
The mouth closed over her neck, making her shiver in apprehension.
There was a flaring pain in her neck. Her head lolled to the side, as the man she now knew not to be a man began his dark feast.
Dum-dum-dum. Am I going over the top with the cliff hangers or what? Sorry about this chapter being; small, less good than others and unexciting. There is no real need to complain, as I know.
However the next chapter should be HUGE and full of ACTION, and ROMANCE, and SUSPENSE! And not so many capital letters. Oh i have plans, i really do. I foresee only two more chapters. Yes, i am sure of it. But i foresee the next one being as mentioned above, colossal!
By the way, the character Gilles de Rais, is a historical reference, which was provided to me by Cabeloe. Who keeps telling me off for not mentioning him.