In Articulo Mortis
Part 4: Chupa

Chupa was fine with the smell and the damp of the sewers. Reinhardt was right, it was the perfect place. The Daywalker was god-knows-where with Nyssa and Asad, far away from the trio. He couldn't come running to save Whistler when the old fart started screaming for help. And when they regrouped, he could just say he wandered away and became reaper fodder. A simple half-lie, because if the old man wasn't dead by the time he was done with him — and maybe even if he was — the reapers would be attracted by the stink of their pheromones.

"We're trying to attract them, not scare them off," Reinhardt said, grabbing the barrel of Whistler's gun and flipping the UV filter back onto the light.

The old man was livid. He hadn't been happy about teaming up with the Bloodpack in the first place, and he especially hated Chupa and Reinhardt. Chupa had good reason to hate him too, but he had to keep himself in check in front of the Daywalker. Nyssa would have his hide if he endangered the so-called "truce" between the Vampire Nation and Blade.

"Well, some of us can't see in the dark, you fucking nipple-head!" Whistler yelled at Reinhardt as he moved off. Chupa yanked the heat-vision goggles off his rig and handed them gruffly to him.

"Bifocals, grandpa. Try to keep up." He grumbled something in reply as he went on ahead.

They went some distance, eventually finding themselves in a large junction, where the tunnel they had been following stopped and joint with a few others. They were knee-deep in murky water when Chupa chose to make his move. "Let's do this."

A subtle nod from Reinhardt showed his approval. Chupa went to put down the bag of UV grenades while Reinhardt grabbed the goggles from Whistler. "Hey hillbilly."

"The fuck you doing?" he demanded. Chupa came up to him, glad he could finally do something that would make him happy.

"Ain't nobody here except you and us, buttercup," he growled. He grabbed him by the front of his jacket and threw him over his shoulder with a yell. This is for Priest, bastard, for my best friend. "We lose a partner, and Blade loses one!" A savage kick to the gut, and a cry from Whistler as the other Bloodpack member threw the goggles into the water.

He advanced on him. He couldn't see what the old man was doing, but he looked like he was fumbling with something. A gun, maybe? He could easily unarm him, no problem. He was bigger and younger, and definitely pissed off.

Reinhardt picked up the grenade-bag and stepped past them. "I'll leave you two lovebirds time to yourselves."

He took great satisfaction in hearing something crack in Whistler's jaw as he hit him again. Reinhardt had kept his end of the promise: Chupa would get his revenge with no intervention or interruption. Chupa reckoned he was allowed to do because Reinhardt, even though he could be an asshole, felt for Priest's death. The redhead had been an inaugural part of the Bloodpack; it felt different without him.

The way Blade had just killed him, in cold blood...it was typical of the Daywalker. The murderer of humonis nocturne, single-handedly eradicating dozens of their kind. Priest wasn't going to be another number. He was Priest, his best friend. He'd promised his friend to kill him before he became a reaper, but he'd failed. The Daywalker had stolen that from him. Whistler would pay for that.

Some of vicious kicks and punches, and Whistler was down again. Chupa loved the feeling of being able to beat up someone; it'd been too long since he had the chance to do so with his fists. With the Bloodpack it was always guns, swords or giant war hammers. A pity, because Chupa and Priest had both been able to throw mean right hooks.

"No one gets away with messing with one of us," Chupa informed him, punctuating his point with a another kick to his gut. "We're like the fucking mob, man. You don't mess with us and expect us not to fuck with you back." The other man made to fight back, but he slugged him and Blade's father figure went down with a grunt. "Your Count Chocula took Priest out, I'm just returnin' the favor." Whistler groaned in response as he tried to get up.

Damn, he hadn't had so much fun in a long time. This was his chance to get back at the Daywalker for all that he'd done to the Vampire Nation and to Priest. He didn't like the hillbilly either, so it was a plus. He would've taken the Daywalker on directly, but he was no match for Blade. He knew Nyssa and Asad would never have allowed him to touch Whistler or the punk; they really thought the Bloodpack needed Blade's help to get rid of the reapers. If you asked him, they could do that perfectly well on their own, thank you very much.

"I told Blade, dammnit," Whistler coughed. "I toldhim you assholes would fuck us over the first chance you —"

He snarled loudly. Whistler stood up, and he slugged him again. He grabbed the base of a big hydraulic wheel behind him for support but slumped down anyway. Chupa went to get his gun — it was time to finish this.

"What the hell is this?" He held up the pheromone spray. It was empty. "You trying to stink me to death, old man?"

Nyssa's voice came over his headset. "Chupa, get out of there now!" He ignored her. He'd finish him off, and then he would regroup. Whistler had the heat vision goggles again; he must've found it floating in the water. He's not gonna need it anymore.

"All units, regroup, regroup!" Blade called into his ear. Chupa ignored him too. What he couldn't ignore, though, was the reaper that jumped him.

He was able to throw the first one off, and he got a pretty good hit on the second...but then they just kept coming. He struggled — shit I'm fucking screwed! — but there must have been a dozen of them — get off me! — and they were hungry — No! I won't end up like Priest! — and then he knew he was a goner when he felt the tongue-stalk of the reapers latch onto his skin.

He screamed.