DARKSTALKERS: THE NIGHT WARRIORS
Chapter 7: Swords Crossed, Swords Dropped
Fanfiction by Louis the Rogue
(Original story by Capcom Inc.)
It was all a blur to him now. The beast that was Jon Talbain had lost all sense of time, direction, and identity. There was only the fight now. Live to fight and fight to live; this was the closest to a plan he had. The majority of the fireballs, which came hurtling at him one after another from odd directions, missed by a long shot, the agile lycanthrope dancing around them on the rooftop as if he could predict where they we going to arrive as soon as they came into being. Every now and then, the shadowed silhouette of Demitri Maximoff would throw a more or less literal curveball, and every time he miscalculated the difficult dodge the beast felt the hellfire comets rip through his indigo fur with incredible ease, leaving behind a smoky trail and a burning sting that wouldn't quit, as if it were fed by a bone-chilling darkness in a vicious cycle. He couldn't keep this up forever.
For his part, Demitri was perplexed, and his mind was beginning to wander as he would absent-mindedly jaunt through the shadows into the most advantageous angle and throw a Chaos Flare at his opponent, the procedure second nature to him by now, "He moves with a precognition I have not seen for some time, and yet the beast has taken him over completely. Where have I seen such a creature before…"
The coal black mountains of the Kreutz homeland had begun to spew with volcanic liquid, the land barely capable of sustaining the combined rage of its' inhabitants. It was in this inhospitable locale, magma rivers flowing between the massive crags, that a tremendous battle took place.
The opponents were two nobles. One was from the proud house Maximoff, his angular young face with slicked brown hair in a confident smile atop a white shirt with cuffs that had an equally white neckerchief tied over that, the top tucked into tight black pants with calf-high boots, the ensemble divided in the middle with a red sash.
The other was a werewolf in a pair of form-fitting pants of a midnight blue hue with red stripes adoring the sides, his fur ever-shifting between warm and cool colors to mark him as a member of the house Kreutz. The nobles Demitri Maximoff and Baraba Kreutz had a gamble to settle, the prize was to boast of a victory in this final showdown, and in this land of noble warriors, victory was everything.
Baraba fell from the sky, a geyser of lava gushing up behind him as he landed on his feet in a crouch to create a dramatic effect. "The coward has gone into hiding", he growled to himself.
His ears perked as he felt a sudden chill, Demitri's shadowed form behind him, whispering a malicious taunt in his ear, "Let us end this game, Kreutz; compared to me you are at a clear disadvantage."
The Wolf Lord was not a creature of petty words; with a lightning fast turn, he struck out with his clawed hands in a grab, but the dark lord had faded back into the shadows from whence he had came. "Madness…", he told himself. And indeed it was; they had been fighting for days, only now reduced to this novice-like behavior.
A pretentious laugh rang out as Kreutz stood fast where he was, not moving a muscle save for his twitching, dog-like ears, "I am forever waiting at the corner of your eye. I can look into your weakness and exploit it. I will haunt you until you die, Baraba Kreutz. Do yourself a favor and throw your body to the flames!"
Baraba smiled on the inside, "So, you do make mistakes." Thrusting his elbow back, he heard an oomph as it came slamming into the rib of his opponent, who impacted himself on it at such a speed as to break his own bones.
"How?", Demitri bellowed with a rasp, blood trickling over the edge of his lip.
Kreutz closed his eyes, "You're too loud. Work on it and I'll see you tomorrow."
Demitri's pride would not allow him to forfeit. With the last of his strength, he reached out to grab what seemed like a shape, but fell onto his knees as his hands passed through the lingering trace of an illusion. As he braced himself up onto his elbows and looked into the flames, he could not help but smile, "Tomorrow then, my nemesis…"
A slash to his face brought him back to his senses; he had somehow let the beast get close enough to attack. A swift slap across the muzzle combined with a spinning fade put the creature in his place and gave him the room he needed to think.
Across the roof, Demitri held his cheek, surprised at how slowly the wound was healing. He smiled, a real smile, as he realized what this meant. Baraba, the only person he felt anything resembling respect for, had been lost to him. But if the noble had sired an heir, there was a chance to revive the old flame. This Jon Talbain was clearly not aware of the sleeping power within; he fought like a child. But he could be shown…
As the visage of the wolf appeared in a charging slash, eyes wild with fury, Demitri nimbly dodged and went on the assault, his hand lunging under the creature's snout as he swung his body around, locking hands in a strangle hold.
The beast felt a sudden numbing cold, as if the life within was being slowed to a halt, and his limbs grew heavy. Demitri's eyes flashed with a warm light, "You have a most unusual gift, Mr. Talbain, yet you are spoiled and pathetic…"
"He could be taught, you know", a woman's voice broke in. Stunned, Demitri looked up to see the blonde woman in the satin dress sat on the roof's edge, looking over her shoulder through her glasses at them.
In his momentary surprise, the nobleman let up on his grip a bit, and before he could remedy his mistake a white-furred foot came flying across his face hard enough to turn his head to the side, the wolf executing a beautiful spinning roundhouse kick and springing over the rooftop.
With a raged expression on his usually subtle face, Demitri glowered at the woman, "And who are you?" His tone was impatient at best, but even in his anger he was calculating enough to make sure he was not walking into a trap.
The woman gave a small, cultivated chuckle behind her beautiful hand, "Always with names and titles; I chafe at such things." She raised herself up into a mid-stance.
As a golden light shimmered from beneath her skin, the lady's form began to shift into that of a voluptuous, bat-winged woman with mint green hair and emerald eyes in her favorite black and red outfit. She smiled whimsically at the noble's reaction, noting it as surprised, but her tone was mostly business with a hint of condescension, "I am a lady of the house Aensland and the daughter of Archlord Belial. Will that suffice?"
Demitri could not have found a more suitable target for his sudden explosion of anger. He followed suit, assuming a stance of his own as his expression returned to the amused smile it had formerly attained, "Indeed."
Jon Talbain regained his mind for a moment as he landed knee-first on the hard ground below. He looked up at the building one last time, his keen eyes catching the strange woman on the roof with Demitri. He panted for breath, "Who was that woman. I've seen her before. It's not important now. I have to heal. I have to find the girl now!" Holding his shoulder, still black from the burn it had received, he limped down a street in search of something only he could smell.
Felicia twirled to the side as the ghoulish assassin's rising leg expelled an overly large chainsaw through the knobby heel, missing her face by so little space that she was seared across the eyebrow from the sparks.
She mentally checked that off as one of the many deadly devices this "Zabel" was capable of throwing out of his volatile body at will. "What are you, the appliance store from hell?", she screamed as she sprang back to avoid five knife blades coming out of the creature's hand.
The monster only giggled like a stoned teenager and jumped forward in pursuit, twisting his legs into a freakish weapon resembling four mace heads caught in a blurry whirlwind. The randomness of the technique caught the catgirl off-guard, one of the stone blocks slapping her hard enough across the face to send her reeling over a tombstone and onto her back, where she gasped for air.
The smoke seemed to part for Zabel as he rested a hand casually on the tombstone and struck the end of a large cigar alight as if it were a match on his jeans, lifting it into his vicious teeth that always seemed to be in a menacing smile and taking a puff. He raised his bony brows up and sighed, "That all babe? Ah well, fuck it. At least I've got the blood flowin', hehehe…" The shadows made his face seemed all the more horrible, like a hollowed skull twisted into a dementedly apathetic grin as he leaned a butcher knife in one hand over the stone further and further, closing in on her.
However, Felicia didn't just see Zabel, and Zabel didn't see a tall, muscle-bound figure in a green jacket with pale blue skin and spiky blonde hair standing silently behind him, still as a statue until his large, firm hand gripped the murderous criminal by his neck and yanked him back to meet his grimacing face. "Real men don't pick on little girls", the scarred, puggish face of the man growled through his teeth.
With a reflexive move, Zabel reached his arm around and jabbed the knife into the vigilante's eye, forcing the ugly man to release him as he gripped his face. He sneered as he landed on one hand and spun his legs around like a break-dancer, swiping his opponent off his feet in a trip, "Where'd you fall off the short bus?"
Victor Von Gerdenheim simply plucked the knife out, letting his face bleed a strange blue ichor down the cheek as he stood, "Short bus?"
Zabel shook his head sadly and lunged again with his claw-like hands, but was knocked off balance and sent careening face-first into the dirt as Felicia suddenly entered with a flying kick to his ribs, springing off her hands and landing beside her rescuer.
Victor looked down at her solemnly, "You should run."
Felicia resumed her readied stance and smiled confidently, "You run; now that we're even, I've got a fight to finish!"
Zabel slowly stood, the dust flying off him in a cloud, and turned around with a sick smile, "What's this? You two kids gonna gang up on old Zabel? Dun think so!" A trail of smoke rose up around his bony frame, concealing him; as it faded, he was nowhere to be seen.
Felicia looked around frantically, "No way! That was too easy!"
Victor only grunted in response as they stood helplessly in the fog.
Blasting up from the dirt behind them, Zabel screeched like a vulture as he latched onto Victor's back, tearing his claws into the giant's shoulders and throwing his head forward to savagely sink his teeth into his victim's neck muscles.
Victor cried out, his eyes wide, as he began to lumber around in a panic, trying to shake his attacker off.
Felicia looked pretty surprised herself as she watched the spectacle, "Hold still big guy! I can't get a clear shot!"
"Hit anywhere!" Victor screamed, Zabel's repeated biting beginning to strip the flesh from his bones now.
"Here goes", Felicia winced and leaned back on her elbows, throwing her legs up into a massive uppercut. Her aim couldn't have been better; the attack caught Zabel right under his bony backside and catapulted him into the air with a yell.
Victor sunk to his knees, gripping at his neck and shaking. Whatever that monster had done to him, it was more than a bite; he felt himself becoming stiff at the shoulders.
Felicia looked over at him pitifully, but froze when she saw Zabel's gaunt silhouette walking forward from the mist at a dramatically slow pace.
Zabel had something in his hand now that resembled an oversized buzz saw. As he lunged at her in a swing, Felicia reared back and brought her knee up, slamming it into his groin, but the ghoul just laughed again and belted her across the face with the blade, slicing her open just below the cheek.
She was on her back again, this time with his knobby knee at her throat to hold her down. Zabel raised his blade high in the air and smiled wickedly, "You're a sweet little piece o' meat, but I like my meat rare. You understand…"
A maddening howl rang out, seemingly from the distance, and Zabel looked up. To his surprise, two yellow eyes and a dog-like snout full of razor sharp teeth came bounding out of the fog with a flurry of blue and white fur attached…
A thunderous crackle rang through the trees. Aulbath sprang into the air above the sasquatch and stopped in midair just below the green canopy over him, stretching his arms out above his head in a crisscross at the wrists to give himself a more aerodynamic posture as he came down in a spinning dive, knocking the furry ape asunder with the balls of his feet.
Catching himself on his large feet, the bigfoot threw his massive fist forward and hammered the merman with a roar, sending his agile body skidding across the earth and crashing into a large tree.
Aulbath had barely had time to stand when he caught sight of the behemoth charging his way, leveling trees in his path. With a nimble spring, he was perched in a high branch a few feet away, watching as his opponent came to a stop and visored his hand above his eyes, looking around in confusion.
The regal sea creature could see farther now than when he had been on the ground, and he scouted the area while he still had the chance, "There must be a water source around here somewhere…"
Then he spotted it; a pristine lake of a sparkling blue coloration lay conveniently less than a mile ahead. The fish-man smiled thoughtfully, "Perfect."
The sasquatch looked up with a start as he heard a rustling above him. "Dumb animals", he muttered to himself, "I'm letting my nerves get to me."
Then, a few feet ahead, he caught something he couldn't pass off as a typical forest creature; a flash of green and gold scales in the shape of a sprinting man came bounding through the canopy in a short burst. He growled as he realized his folly, "Hey you! You can't run away! It's not that easy!"
With a red fluster on his furry face, the yeti came lumbering forward faster and faster, charging through the trees after the occasional glint of scales from within the trees, seemingly in a straight line but further and further away each time.
He was so focused on the sky above that he was taken completely by surprise when the trail suddenly ended, sending him splashing over a bank into the water. As he came to the surface sputtering, he saw the mercreature sitting cross-legged in the middle of the lake with a smile, waving casually at him. The sasquatch narrowed his beady little eyes and huffed through his furry jowls, "What's the big idea! You some kind've prankster?"
"Heh", Aulbath stood atop the water, barely making a ripple as he watched the bigfoot climbing noisily out of the water, "Our battle continues in a location more favorable to me. Are you ready?"
The sasquatch thumped his chest, "Born ready! Bring it!"
The mummy pharaoh and the noble genie stared each other down from across the room, each fighter assuming a fluid, readied stance as they began to pace around the crystal blue fountain in the center of the tomb, gazes locked.
"You can't win. I can't let you", Abadi Khan's temperament was even and assertive, his expression matching.
Anakaris was not so calm, "Of course I can! I can do anything!" With a sudden stop, the pharaoh pointed an accusing finger at the perceived infidel and muttered an echoing chant in a language lost to time.
Khan had no time to dodge as a large golden sarcophagus, not unlike those presiding in the tomb, came falling out of the sky to crush him. The hit would have been direct if the elemental lord had not assumed a smoky form and filtered out around it, solidifying on his feet in a poised stance atop the coffin. He outstretched a hand, his eyes burning with a malicious fire, "No more games!"
Without warning, the linen encasing the body of Anakaris burst into flames. The mummy king threw his head back and released an unearthly roar as the primordial fire began to consume him. From within, a blinding white light began to show through, and the flames began to die down, reducing to a harmless smoke as the remaining strips of parchment began to wind around, stretching to fill the exposed places on his body until he was good as new. Anakaris resumed a straighter pose, "A frail attempt."
Abadi furrowed his sharp brows in thought, "He possesses the ability to regenerate himself and is thus oblivious to my attacks. My attacks…" He smiled to himself, a plan formulating, and leapt from the sarcophagus to the ground, kneeling, "I admit I was wrong. I surrender to you, oh Great Pharaoh. Punish me as you will."
His confidence swelling, the undead inhaled, his eyes glowing a bright red, "The punishment for insolence is death, but you will die a penitent man and see some reward in the next life." As he exhaled, a strange dust escaped his mouth, rolling in a controlled ball toward the kneeling Khan.
However, as the dust was nearly upon him, the djinn looked up with a shining white glow to his eyes and gave a swift exhale of his own, turning the wind to his favor and backfiring the dust at the pharaoh. In a flash of smoke, all that was left in the mummy's place was a large golden tablet with a hieroglyphic image on it resembling a man kneeling and declaring in more hieroglyphics, "Pride goeth before the fall."
Pointing his hand toward the tablet, Abadi Khan's eyes again burned with fire, the tablet beginning to melt into a puddle before him, "There. You are immortalized as gold that will remain gold in the eons to come. Be careful what you wish for."
With a turn, he exited the tomb through the sliding door he had used to enter it. Of course, he could not have known that the pharaoh's technique was a temporary one. It didn't matter. By the time Anakaris was himself again, his opponent would be long gone.
As he drifted there, his mind swimming along with the rest of him in that golden ooze, Anakaris the Chosen dwelled on his defeat, "Clearly, I am defeated. But how? I should have been ready. I have failed to champion my people. I must not repeat this mistake; I must know, who is Abadi Khan…?"