The rain was heavy, streaming from the sky in great torrents, striking the
pavement with a low hiss. My long black hair clung to my face, the rain
clumped my eyelashes together, ran down my already soaked and torn black
clothing, and dripped to the ground, noiseless in the storm. In many places
around me, the ground was rent and up heaved, as if something had ripped a
giant gash through the earth. I faced my pursuer now with grim
determination, long having decided that the second I had killed the last of
these things, I was hightailing it back to the L.A branch of Wolfram and
Hart and taking a long, long leave of absence. Those God forsaken Tahmrof
demons. They had to come in droves, thirsting for essence, and they proved
damn near impossible to kill. The sword this one wielded seemed to be made
of pure energy. Perfect. My own sword shone with the grey of mortal steel,
seeming pretty dull next to his weapon.
But after months of fighting these things, I still got off on killing them. Still quivered each time I delivered the killing blow. Cause it doesn't matter how much you try and quash it, or how much you deny it, or how much bloody pig's blood you drink... The demon inside you still bays for blood. And I love it... Fighting. The only time I'm sure of who I am and what I want. Who am I? I am the Huntress – Master vampire. What do I want? To survive this fight. There is no heroism. Bravado, definitely. But absolutely no hope for redemption. I am well aware of what I am, maybe not who, but what, and what's in store for me. And, truth be told, there are times when I wish things could be different... But what can you do? You play the buggering cards you're dealt. But that doesn't mean you still can't enjoy it. The fight, the kill, the rush... If the weapons proved inadequate, and they sometimes did, they would be tossed to the side, and the fight would descend deeper into the savageness better known to nature and the human soul. Those were the fights I revelled in. The ones I lived for.
He was walking towards me, with slowness of one who knows his prey cannot run. There were no opening words, there was no need, plus I'm pretty sure they can't talk short of grunting. His blow came at my shoulder, and I managed a quick sidestep, launching myself into a spin, relying on the synergy generated when the adrenaline is pumping, the demon is howling and the human side of you wants this too, and your body becomes a whirlwind of death and destruction. I had had much practice. A hundred and thirty years worth of practice. Too much practice. Sheer rage fuelled force threw my sword into his side, cleanly slicing through plate mail, shearing his body in two. I did not stop, knowing that mere physical damage was never enough to kill one. The wound I inflicted must've healed instantly, as out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of light, too late to react. Pain ripped through my mouth, splitting my cheeks and sending a gush of blood down my throat. The demon inside me screamed. I stopped, and worked my jaw a couple times, focusing on repairing the wound. It healed in a couple seconds, the skin and muscle reattaching itself at an accelerated rate. I spat the out blood, smirked and focused again on my target. He was coming at me again, and this time I was more prepared. His blow this time was directed to the neck, bloody hell, do they learn quickly. It only took them a few weeks to find out how to kill a vampire. Decapitation would end it for me. But it sure didn't work on them. I bent to the side under the blow, caught his wrist with my right hand, and let the force of his blow pull me off my feet. I cart wheeled through the air, and landed on my feet facing away from him. I still had my grip, and using his leftover momentum, I pulled him over my head and slammed him against the ground. I immediately planted my right boot on his chest, my left on his sword arm, and jammed my sword into his neck. There was no attempt to yell in pain, I figured by now they must not have felt any. The tissue instantly tried to heal around the weapon, but I gave my sword another jerk, ripping the new skin apart.
"Bleeding hell! Why wont you just bloody well die!?!"
The heart, Rigan.
Moving my boot down to his stomach, I hacked through his armour and made an 'incision' into his chest with my sword. Before it could heal, I reached my hand into the cavity, and grasped the beating thing. It seared my hand as I ripped it out, and tossed it to the side. He finally stopped moving. I removed my feet, and looked at his weapon. It had lost it's glow, and looked like a normal bastard sword, and the metal was quickly melting onto the pavement. I spat more blood out to the side, and walked away.
"I need a sodding drink."
*~*
But after months of fighting these things, I still got off on killing them. Still quivered each time I delivered the killing blow. Cause it doesn't matter how much you try and quash it, or how much you deny it, or how much bloody pig's blood you drink... The demon inside you still bays for blood. And I love it... Fighting. The only time I'm sure of who I am and what I want. Who am I? I am the Huntress – Master vampire. What do I want? To survive this fight. There is no heroism. Bravado, definitely. But absolutely no hope for redemption. I am well aware of what I am, maybe not who, but what, and what's in store for me. And, truth be told, there are times when I wish things could be different... But what can you do? You play the buggering cards you're dealt. But that doesn't mean you still can't enjoy it. The fight, the kill, the rush... If the weapons proved inadequate, and they sometimes did, they would be tossed to the side, and the fight would descend deeper into the savageness better known to nature and the human soul. Those were the fights I revelled in. The ones I lived for.
He was walking towards me, with slowness of one who knows his prey cannot run. There were no opening words, there was no need, plus I'm pretty sure they can't talk short of grunting. His blow came at my shoulder, and I managed a quick sidestep, launching myself into a spin, relying on the synergy generated when the adrenaline is pumping, the demon is howling and the human side of you wants this too, and your body becomes a whirlwind of death and destruction. I had had much practice. A hundred and thirty years worth of practice. Too much practice. Sheer rage fuelled force threw my sword into his side, cleanly slicing through plate mail, shearing his body in two. I did not stop, knowing that mere physical damage was never enough to kill one. The wound I inflicted must've healed instantly, as out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of light, too late to react. Pain ripped through my mouth, splitting my cheeks and sending a gush of blood down my throat. The demon inside me screamed. I stopped, and worked my jaw a couple times, focusing on repairing the wound. It healed in a couple seconds, the skin and muscle reattaching itself at an accelerated rate. I spat the out blood, smirked and focused again on my target. He was coming at me again, and this time I was more prepared. His blow this time was directed to the neck, bloody hell, do they learn quickly. It only took them a few weeks to find out how to kill a vampire. Decapitation would end it for me. But it sure didn't work on them. I bent to the side under the blow, caught his wrist with my right hand, and let the force of his blow pull me off my feet. I cart wheeled through the air, and landed on my feet facing away from him. I still had my grip, and using his leftover momentum, I pulled him over my head and slammed him against the ground. I immediately planted my right boot on his chest, my left on his sword arm, and jammed my sword into his neck. There was no attempt to yell in pain, I figured by now they must not have felt any. The tissue instantly tried to heal around the weapon, but I gave my sword another jerk, ripping the new skin apart.
"Bleeding hell! Why wont you just bloody well die!?!"
The heart, Rigan.
Moving my boot down to his stomach, I hacked through his armour and made an 'incision' into his chest with my sword. Before it could heal, I reached my hand into the cavity, and grasped the beating thing. It seared my hand as I ripped it out, and tossed it to the side. He finally stopped moving. I removed my feet, and looked at his weapon. It had lost it's glow, and looked like a normal bastard sword, and the metal was quickly melting onto the pavement. I spat more blood out to the side, and walked away.
"I need a sodding drink."
*~*