DARKSTALKERS: THE NIGHT WARRIORS

Chapter 6: Demitri's Game

Fanfiction by Louis the Rogue

(Original story by Capcom Inc.)

Jon felt a sudden wind blow through the indigo cloth surrounding his flesh as he walked down a dark hallway, the one meant for him, alone. Though he could scarcely see around him for the darkness, he knew that he was walking on a cobblestone floor, and that the air was damp around him like a cave, or… the inside of a sewer.

His keen senses couldn't get over the trace of sounds and smells far past what the light that surely waited at the end of the tunnel could yet show him. So familiar was that smell in the air – it wasn't ale, no he smelled that too, but what made his mind swim was the scent of excitement in the air. The kind that permeated the atmosphere around a place where the party never ended and the drinks were always on the house. He'd been to a place like that once back home, and he had to remind himself that it had been a long time ago when he was a younger man with dreams left to burn.

"Still", he whispered to no one, "It's just like I remember!" Before he could catch himself, he was running; not as a man runs, but like a dog on all fours, his mouth open wide and panting to keep up with his elevated heartbeat, and his eyes as wide as a child. The light came into view around a turn, growing nearer and nearer as he ran.

And then he fell, tripping on a raised stone and rolling into the street with an umph. As he braced himself on an arm and looked up, he swore it had to be a dream. The Clachan Hotel, name boldly displayed above the skinny windowed wooden double doors leading into the intricate three-story cul-de-sac stone hotel that spanned a block back from the main street, every balconied window alive with a yellowish light from within as the various, scantily dressed denizens danced, drank, and carried on, was here. The party had long since spilled out into the streets of the modest little suburb, the snow collecting on the tops of the various brick and wood townhouses congregated together below the full moon barely deterring them all from their lewd activities.

The full moon. Jon Talbain found himself gasping for air as he leaned against a bronze streetlamp with a colonial ball cover at the top for support. He was taken aback as a cute, redheaded woman with a flush on her face, the remains of her fur coat barely covering her, stumbled up with the sickening smell of beer all over her and clung to his side, "Ooh, you look like a mess; too much to drink tonight hunny?"

He was sweating now, and the tipsy brode had nothing to do with it. As the light fell upon him, he had felt his muscles begin to tense and spasm, his blood literally boiling inside him as he clung for dear life to the metal post, his nails beginning to dig into it as they hardened against his will. It was all he could do to throw the woman off of him, sending her skidding across the street harshly. He looked up with the pale yellow eyes of a wolf and a horrified expression on his face, and screamed, "Get away from me!"

In her drunken stupor, the woman had been left speechless, and she watched in terror, a hysterical fit of tears overcoming her as the man began to change before her very eyes in the golden light of the hotel accented by the rays of the pale moon.

Clutching at his chest for air, Talbain screamed a futile prayer for sins he had only committed in his mind, but only an agonized howl escaped in its' place. Completely ripping off his shirt in the frenzy, the poor man arched back impossibly far for a human spine, his legs beginning to bend with new joints like the hind legs of a canine. His hands were growing into elongated claws at the same time, his eyes wide with the pain as his own face stretched out into a lupine muzzle. Finally, as his ears grew up around his dog-like head, his silver hair grew out into thick fur all around his body, separating into rings of blue and white that beautifully framed his form, marking him as a beast most rare.

Garbed only in a pair of ripped indigo trousers tied at the top with a golden belt, the lycanthrope stood on his hind legs, looking down at the woman who had long since become too shaken to move, utterly mesmerized by her own terror.

A whimper escaped past sharp yellow fangs as what was left of Jon Talbain gripped the woman at the shoulders and shook her violently in a desperate attempt to snap her back to reality. As her head hung back and her racing pulse began to ebb, he dropped her, looking around frantically like an animal expecting to be hunted.

And that's when he saw him. Standing atop the hotel itself, his ebony cape pulled tightly around as he watched the spectacle through his fiery red eyes, was Demitri Maximoff. For only a moment, the beast below showed a fierce and judging anger in his eyes as Talbain took control and growled up in a deep, strained voice as if a dog was speaking, "Damn you!"

The little mouth on Demitri's angular face drew up in a smirk on one side, and he threw the cloak behind him to reveal he was wearing his traditional nobleman's garb as he readied a mid-stance where he stood, "How gracious of you, Mr. Talbain."

With a single bound off his powerful legs, the wolf had just missed clearing the climb up the building entirely, his razor sharp claws making sparks as they dug into the stone until he clung securely to the edge. Pulling himself up by arm strength alone, he landed in what resembled a crouch stance on the roof.

On the opposite side of the building from him stood Demitri, his back turned as he looked up into the sky, "You'll forgive the unannounced variable of your room; I insist on fighting my opponents at their best advantage so they will know when I crush them with my own two hands!" With a fierce turn, Demitri's right hand ignited with a spark drawn from the fires of the Makai itself, and he threw it in a ball that twisted into the shape of a horrible face as it screamed headlong at his opponent.

The wolf's eyes widened as the chaotic flare slammed into the center of his chest. It would have succeeded in knocking him from the roof had he not clung to the edge with his hind paws using every ounce of strength in his toes, and yet the black burn remained where it had struck him, smoke trailing away slowly.

Demitri drew his cloak around him, fading away momentarily like a ghost before reappearing beside the wolf, pulling back the cape with his left hand, and launching another fiery cannonball at the balancing lycanthrope.

But this time, it was different. With a sudden agility, the wolf sprung upwards off what appeared to be the feet alone, the heat of the flames barely singing his fur as he completely leapt over the dark lord and landed on his front paws, raising the hind paws in a swift kick to the noble's backside.

Knocked from the roof, Demitri vanished once again in a fade, this time reappearing in a downward spinning heel kick that knocked the wolf onto his back as he himself landed on his feet where the wolf had been and closed his eyes, "It would seem that even in your most primal form you have a grace about you. Impressive so far, but can you continue?"

With a flare of his evil eyes, Maximoff raised both his hands, balls of flames beginning to form in the palms.

Felicia had found herself roaming in a fog since she left the room that her hallway led into. That room was pleasant; a Vegas casino with countless lights and a host of accommodating gamblers and performers to interact with. She almost missed it now as she wandered aimlessly through the cool, smoky gray mist surrounding her.

Clinging her arms around herself, she wished she could go back there; with nothing but her fur for cover, the damp night air was biting at her already. It probably hurt more than it should have when she suddenly tripped over a large flat stone and fell harshly onto her face over what she recognized as grass.

Looking up with a pained groan, she saw her assailant for what it was; a typical tombstone. However, she hadn't been prepared for the name on it, a name that brought forth a frightened shriek from her lips – her own name.

Scrambling to her feet, she looked around, her lips trembling as she recognized a name or two on the various stones in the grass, all of them the same basic size and in three rows of three with one stone at the front. Names such as "Jon Talbain" and "Demitri Maximoff" rounded out the macabre list of possible denizens in this graveyard.

Behind them all sat an old, gnarled tree with a long branch that stretched out like a claw into darkness. Laying back on it in the pale moonlight was the ivory skinned man with the long lavender hair and strange eyes, his coat removed to reveal a pair of black jeans accented with a black leather codpiece held up with a black leather belt, Union Jack patch and spiked steel leg cuff on one leg.

The man held something over his chest which his fingers, covered with fingerless black gloves, strummed a slow acoustic melody resembling a sitar's lament on; a customized Schecter electric guitar with a built-in gimmick resembling a mechanical jaw filled with sharp teeth and a black-on-red paintjob.

His bony frame could not have looked more relaxed as he swiveled his head in the direction of the girl, smiling almost drunkenly and nodding a hello before strumming a final, echoing rift and sitting up to face her, "Lord Maximoff has my thanks; he couldn't have given me a more accommodating place to play, hehe."

Felicia shuddered, "You call this accommodating? You're crazier than I thought."

The minstrel hopped down from the tree with a soft thud, slinging the guitar over his shoulder as he casually strolled about the stones, "To each their own, kitkat – if you ask me, sanity be an illusion I'm better off without."

The catgirl was growing impatient now, and her tone betrayed a hint of annoyance, "Enough with the drama already – just who the hell are ya pal?"

His back to her when the words reached his ear, the man stopped as if frozen, and took the guitar into both hands as he turned around with a vicious grin, "Who the hell am I? I'm the devil, of course!" With a lightning fast leap, he was on the stone next to her in a crouch, his eyes giving off a feral glint of hellfire as he leered down at her perversely, "An' the first number goes out to you, little sista!"

Though her claws were out as she readied a mid-stance, Felicia was subconsciously backing away, "You don't scare me!"

Rearing back, the evil bard began to round his nimble fingers over the strings, a high rolling solo beginning to echo and distort, sounding as if it were coming from the clouds gathering ominously overhead. As the fog began to swirl around him on the stone, Felicia looked up to see the approaching storm produce a hail of lightning headed straight for them.

She ducked and covered as the lines of electric fire came hurtling towards her like thunderbolts, looking through her paws in surprise as it arced up past her and struck the horrible man with the guitar again and again, each punishing blow stripping flesh away violently as he raised his guitar in the flashing light, the solo becoming more of a grind now. It seemed to the frightened girl like a nightmare that wouldn't end, but the whole thing was only a few flashes in real-time.

And end it did. The clouds receded almost as quickly as the high-voltage lightshow faded away, the dim-lit darkness revealing what was left of the death rocker; a skeletal creature with ivory skin stood in the clothes he had been wearing, his spiked hair still smoking wildly in the fog as he lowered back into the crouch and dropped the guitar, eyes flaring like two red coals and his jaw dropping in a mind-bending smile, "Oh, don't I, Miss Kitty?" With that, a shrieking cackle escaped as he dived after her, his yellowed fingers extended like talons, "C'mere!"

Rolling sideways in a funny ball, Felicia surprised her ghoulish assassin when she suddenly produced her long, well-toned leg in a sharp kick to his jaw, springing like a ninja off one hand and landing in a readied crouch, "Please control yourself! We've barely met, after all!"

His grotesque head almost spun round from the impact, the creature took the bottom half of his face into his hands and put his neck back into place with a sharp crack, "Cheeky little thing, arencha? The name's Zabel; acquainted enough to fight now?"

The girl smirked and rose up into a fighting stance, her claws outstretched as she began to rhythmically move her arms and hips in small circles to show that she was ready and alert, "I'm Felicia, and all you had to do was ask!"

Aulbath had found his surroundings pleasing to behold, the scene resembling the lush rainforest he knew back home in the Amazon. Strolling jauntily along through the sweet-smelling trees, he had completely lost track of time and failed to notice that this place was forever locked in the noonday sun.

However, he did note that there was a high, deep brown mountain with a strange snowcap in the distance, and as he had decided upon that as the focal point for his walk, it grew steadily closer with every step, soon becoming large enough that he could make out how glaringly out of place it was.

Several feet from the mountain, the merman stopped and tilted his head with a puzzled expression, "Curious; what sort of creature could live in a place such as this?"

No sooner had the words escaped his lips than did his world come spinning around him as a white behemoth with overly large fangs and fierce red eyes came thundering out of a bush and slammed his body hard enough against the mountain to crack into it with a noticeable indent.

His eyes feeling like they would pop out of his head, Aulbath gasped for air as he fell forward onto his knees, looking up sharply with his keen eyes and wholly expecting another attack by now. Of course, he was taken completely by surprise when the attacker, a furry white sasquatch, sprang back and did a crazy little victory dance resembling a jog in place accompanied by flailing of the arms, "I got you good!"

A nearly horrified look came over the face of the noble sea creature, "You are my opponent? There must be some mistake; clearly you are a jester, not a fighter…"

The bigfoot crossed his long arms and laughed, his large furry belly shaking with the effort, "You're pretty stuck up for a guy I just knocked down!"

"Stuck up?", he was taken aback as he stood and crossed his webbed hands over one another, narrowed blue eyes shimmering above them, "I will acquaint you with up!"

With a tremendous shout that shook the trees, a literal wave of sound cascaded forth from the fish creature's mouth, the golden light catching on it with a shine as it slammed into the sasquatch with enough force to lift him off the ground and slam him face down back into it with a thud. Aulbath lowered his hands and gave his opponent a confident smile, "What do you think of my Aqua Spread?"

The yeti got up, dusting himself off with a humph, "I think that's the dumbest attack name I've ever heard. Try my Big Freezer on for size!"

"Big Freezer?", Aulbath was suppressing a grin, but it vanished to a look of surprise as the large ape inhaled until he was swelled up to twice his size, his cheeks red, and exhaled in a thick line of ice as big around as his oversized mouth, literally freezing the fish man fast against the side of the mountain.

Aulbath winced, "Ok, maybe he isn't a pushover after all. Time to get serious!"

"It is remarkable; despite the fact that it was built eons ago, this Demitri Maximoff has accomplished the impossible and reconstructed my tomb", Anakaris noted to himself as he stood in the golden chamber, arms crossed.

"Still, I digress", he continued his monologue, "While Maximoff is clearly worthy to kneel before me, he appears to have the illusion that he is the master and I his guest. This is a dangerous delusion that must be remedied."

"Fool, you seek to command the power of a demon?" Anakaris' attention was drawn upward to a being floating in the air high above him. It appeared to be the skin-headed man with the short but flowing white beard from before, his white breeches upheld by a golden sash that set off his sandals, bracers, and the gold trim on his black vest.

The pharaoh looked to the intruder with an unwarranted measure of disdain, "Interfere not with the Anakaris the Chosen; those who interfere with the will of God are burned alive for their impertinence."

His eyes burning gold like the sun, the strange man glared down at him, "I am Abadi Khan, Grand Caliph of The Four Elements, and I have no God." As a sound like the roar of a wildfire emitted from deep within his chest, a sphere of fire the size of a small car appeared above the djinni's head. Outstretching one arm and turning the palm up, he motioned forward, directing the ball of fire toward the mummy in a straight line, the flames skewing in that direction like snow blown to the will of the wind itself.

Anakaris uncrossed his arms, his jaw extending sharply downward to stretch his mouth to an impossible length as he inhaled, the fire rushing down his throat until he was bent backwards with the effort. With a single step toward the man in the air, he lifted himself up swiftly and threw his crowned head forward, returning the fire in an equally straight line at the creature that had opposed him.

Eyes burning a brighter blue than the sky on a cloudless sunny day, the genie clapped his hands together with a loud thud, a showering of tiny ice crystals exploding forth from his person, negating the flames like a makeshift sprinkler upon contact.

With a sudden wind spinning around his legs in a momentary whirl, Abadi Khan lowered from where he had hovered, his feet clicking down on the ground. He stared at his opponent piercingly, who in turn returned an imperious glare. The lines had been drawn. The first shots had been fired.

And the game was only beginning.