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"Go fuck yourself."
-General Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck

Tristan walked down the steps to Saren’s basement, his sword and pistol by his side. He and Joseph brought their quarry back home and chained her up in the basement before knocking Saren and Israel out of their argument stupor and telling them the tale. It was now his turn to make sure she was still alive and to try and ask a few questions.
Tristan semi-cautiously opened the door and stepped inside, scanning for his prisoner. He found her trembling and whimpering where they had set her down when they first brought her into the basement. He had accomplished his goal as far as he cared and turned to leave before he heard a very soft voice,
“Please,” it said, clearly Bismark, “Help,”
Tristan turned back, pausing for a moment to find his conscious, and walked to the prisoner, kneeling beside her,
“Hey there,” he greeted, “You sound like you need something,” he taunted in a hillbilly accent,
Bismark made a noise in vague mockery of a chuckle,
“Douche…bag,” she then seized and grabbed at her shredded side,
“That looks like it hurts,” Tristan commented, “Need something?”
“Blood,” Bismark wheezed, clear desperation in her crimson eyes, “Just…a mouthful,”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tristan stood, “That’s not happening,” he said as he walked to the door,
“Please!” Bismark hissed, “It hurts…so much…Just enough to stop the pain…please,”
Tristan debated with himself before turning back to Bismark and kneeling again,
“What do I have to do?” he sighed,
“Your…wrist,” she rasped,
Tristan rolled up his sleeve and extended his wrist to Bismark’s mouth. Bismark’s eyes flashed with bestial hunger as she bared her fangs, the twin needle-like teeth almost shining in the dinge of the basement. She clasped her mouth on Tristan’s wrist, driving her teeth into the blood vessels. Tristan braced for pain but felt none as the fangs dug into him. He felt barely a pinch before it quickly disappeared and was replaced with a soft numbing tickle. Tristan wondered if the vampire was even getting any blood but his concerns were mitigated as she swallowed after a moment, and then again after another. After Bismark had gulped down five mouthfuls of blood she pulled her teeth out of Tristan’s wrist, leaving two distinct gouged holes before lapping her tongue over them, the holes closing without even a scar.
Tristan stole a glance at Bismark’s side, shocked to see it now completely healed, if not still saturated in her blood.
“Thank you,” Bismark said sitting up and fiercely tackling Tristan.
Tristan’s sword arm was immediately pinned to his side by Bismark’s own arm wrapping around him, but with his other hand he managed to get his pistol out of its holster and against Bismark’s temple. Bismark looked up at Tristan with slight hurt in her eyes.
“What?” Bismark asked looking up at Tristan with slight hurt in her eyes, “I’m just giving you a hug,”
“Oh,” Tristan almost blushed, “Okay then,” he slid his pistol back into his holster as he laid still, hoping the blood drenched vampire would not kill him.
“Your friend with the long hair and the bathing problem is making hashbrowns,” Bismark cheerfully giggled,
“How…” Tristan starred at Bismark, “How can you tell that Izzy’s making breakfast,”
“I can hear the browns sizzling in the pan,” Bismark said, “Your smelly pet dog is next to him, complaining about it taking too long. Now he’s getting yelled at and threatened with a silver cake cutter,”
“You mean Joseph?” Tristan was astounded, “How the fuck can you hear all that?”
“Blood,” Bismark responded in a sing-song voice, “I get kind of high on it for a minute,” she finally released him and sat with her legs crossed.
Tristan settled next to her,
“You’re…,” Tristan stammered, “Awfully chummy for someone we blasted with a shotgun and kidnapped,”
“Yeah, well, you gave me a drink,” Bismark explained, “And you were at least nice enough to not actively torture me,”
“Yeah,” Tristan said, “After we blasted you with a shotgun,”
“Oh,” Bismark snickered, “Would you like it if I bit your throat out then?”
“Nah, this is fine,” Tristan quickly declined,
Tristan idly continued to converse with the vampire before he noticed the small window at the top of the basement wall. It was morning. A ray of sunlight was shining through and onto the nape of Bismark’s exposed neck.
“What the hell?” Tristan murmured,
“What?” Bismark asked,
“Sunlight,” Tristan pointed out,
“Yeah?” Bismark confirmed, confused,
“It’s not killing you,”
“Oh,” Bismark finally got Tristan’s point, “Yeah, so?”
“You’re a vampire,”
“Only on my mother’s side,”
Tristan stared at her for a moment before standing up,
“I…got things to do,” he excused before leaving the girl with a light wave and ascending the stairs. He closed and locked the basement door behind him and entered the kitchen,
“Fuck off!” Israel shouted, throwing a knife at Joseph, missing him by a hair’s breadth and embedding itself in the wall, “I’m making breakfast, and when I make breakfast I use fucking butter not fucking margarine!”
“Philistine!” Saren retorted, pulling the knife out of the wall,
“If you guys are done, I found something out about Bismark,” Tristan nonchalantly said, walking to the counter and helping himself to a plate of bacon and hashbrowns.
“Did she croak something out?” Saren asked, back into her serious mindset,
“Did she croak?” Joseph grimly joked,
“Yes,” Tristan said to Saren, “And no,” he said to Joseph, “I found out that she’s not exactly a vampire,”
“Yeah, only on my mother side,”
Joseph, Israel, and Saren pulled their handguns and pointed them at Bismark, now free and standing in the middle of the kitchen.
“That food smells awesome, can I have some?” She asked Israel, expectantly,
“S-sure,” Israel said, trying not to blush at the compliment to his food, “Grab a plate,”
She did so and happily scooped the food onto her plate before sitting down in Saren’s breakfast nook,
“What the fuck are you doing?” Joseph asked, still pointing his gun at Bismark,
“Eating,” she responded, shoving mouthfuls of potato and pig meat into her mouth,
“How did you get out of the basement?” Saren asked, mirroring Joseph’s attitude with the gun
“Tristan gave me a few gulps of blood and then-,”
“You dumbass!” Saren shouted at Tristan,
“-Then I got better, snapped the chains and came up here for breakfast,” Bismark concluded, barely pausing after Saren’s outburst.
“You gonna start shit?” Israel asked, getting over the prior compliment,
“Me? No,” Bismark clarified through a mouthful of bacon.
A loud thwacking noise came from Saren’s door, followed by the screeching of tires.
Saren darted to the door and threw it open. There was a piece of paper on her door being pinned by a knife. She took both and slammed the door.
“The hell is this?” she rhetorically asked.
“If that’s from who I think it is,” Bismark finished off her food, “They’re the one who’ll be starting shit,”
Saren read aloud
“To those foolish enough to take…,” she paused, “Beatrix captive,” Bismark visibly shuddered at the name, but quickly attempted to regain her happy demeanor, “I will be murdering you and retrieving her tonight,” Saren crumpled the paper, “Sincerely Elvira Dego,”
“Knew it,” Bismark called from the breakfast nook,
“Friend of yours?” Joseph asked, finally putting The Gremlin down on the table,
“My little sister,” Bismark clarified,
“So your real name is Beatrix?” Joseph inched his hand closer to his gun,
“No, it’s not,” Bismark scolded, her smile immediately draining from her face,
“Then why-?”
“Just because I let Elvira call me that doesn’t make it my name,” Bismark harshly Interrupted Saren.
Joseph placed his hand on The Gremlin, a fact that Bismark ignored, “You want to keep me in the basement, right?” she asked,
Saren nodded and Bismark stood up, placed her dish in the sink and went to the basement.
Israel sat in the now vacant seat with his own plate and began eating,
“Did she just get angry and put herself back in prison?”
“Great,” Joseph grumbled, “We have a pet vampire now,”
“We already have a pet wolf,” Tristan joked,
“Shut up,” Joseph cuffed the back of his head,
“You shut up,” Tristan said back,
“Both of you shut up,” Saren calmly ordered, “Tristan, after your done eating go back down and see if you can get anything else out of her,”
“I’m going too,” Israel said, “No offence T, but I’d feel better if you didn’t go down alone,”
“I’ll go then,” Saren said,
“You’re still wearing your leg brace,” Israel pointed out, “Besides, I’m the only one with anything that could slow her down,” he patted his knife to emphasize his point,
“Not anymore,” Saren tossed the knife from the door to Tristan. It shined in the same way as Israel’s. It was silver. He ran his finger along the fang like curve before sliding it into his belt.
“Two’s better than one,” Israel insisted, already walking toward the basement with Tristan in tow.
“And my leg is fine, dick,” Saren called after him.
Tristan pushed the door to the basement open. Bismark hadn’t bothered to close it after she went back down.
Bismark was sitting in the pool of her blood, drearily circling her finger in the crimson fluid.
“This would be kind of charming and cute if it wasn’t a girl playing with her own blood,” Israel commented, getting Bismark’s attention,
“If you guys are worried, don’t be,” Bismark stood up, “I just have to tell Elvira to leave us alone and we’ll be fine,”
“You’re using a lot of plurals there,” Israel stepped around the pool of blood, “Why are you lumping the lot of us together?”
“Because I’m staying,” Bismark happily stated before her expression shifted to worry, “Aren’t I?”
Israel and Tristan looked at each other,
“You don’t want to go back with your sister?” Tristan asked, stepping through the blood puddle,
“No,” Bismark quickly snapped, her eyes flashing panic, “Don’t make me go back,” she pleaded,
“Okay,” Israel held his hands up, trying to calm her down, “We won’t make you go back,”
“This means we really do get a pet vampire,” Tristan began grinning, “Joseph’s prophecy of two minutes ago came true,”
“Praise the oracle,” Israel smiled too, turning to Bismark, “Make sure none of your family drinks us and you stay,”
“New home!” Bismark practically screeched, latching onto Tristan with a spine crushing hug. When she let go parts of her outfit, the parts with semi-wet blood, stuck to Tristan for a moment, “Uh, where is the laundry room?”
“You’re in it,” Israel said, pointing towards the washing machine and dryer in the corner of the room before walking to the stairs, “I’ll tell Saren the good news,”
Tristan began to ask Bismark a question but froze when he saw Bismark blatantly stripping off her outer layer of clothing, down to her underwear. Her jacket was fine, baring the massive hole in one side, but her shirt was completely ruined from the blood and bullets.
Tristan then noticed the collection of vibrant scars on Bismark’s back.
“What the fuck?” He said, incredulously,
“What?” Bismark again asked before looking over her shoulder to him, “You can stop staring now. You’re making me feel self-conscious”
“What the fuck?” Tristan repeated,
Bismark ignored him as she then slid her underwear off,
“What the fuck?” Tristan once again repeated, a small blush going across his face as he did not avert his eyes.
Bismark laid her shredded jacket on the dryer before shoving the rest into the washer along with detergent and starting the wash-cycle.
“My jacket’s fucked up,” she pouted before noticing Tristan’s constant gaze, “Hey, seriously man, quit staring,” Bismark laughed as she noticed the dried blood covering her, “Where’s the shower?”
“Uh,” Tristan stumbled, “Top floor, first door on the left after the stairs,”
Bismark nodded and walked up the stairs. After a moment Tristan heard Joseph shouting a confused expletive. Tristan then walked up the stairs and back into the kitchen once again, sitting down where he ate his breakfast earlier.
“So,” Joseph stared at Tristan, “Care to explain the naked half-vampire that just walked through the kitchen?”
“Her clothes are in the wash,” Tristan explained, “But ignore that. Did you see the scars that girl has,”
“Yeah,” Saren piped in, “Those are her only scars too. No bullet wounds, cuts, or anything else besides those,”
“I have a feeling she has a bad home life,” Israel said, “Dhampir aren’t exactly held in high esteem in vampiric society,”
“And you know this how?” Joseph asked,
Israel threw the vampire journal that he was using as a coaster at him,
“Page twenty-five. Educate yourself. Counts are at the top and dhampir are just above thralls and pet ferals, barely,”
“What the fuck are those scars even?” Tristan interrupted,
“Punishment, most likely,” Israel grimly continued, “Either she fucked up a bunch or her count is a sadistic fuck and did those for fun. Either way that’s what happens when she heals without drinking blood,” he winced at the thought, “It’s, apparently, a common punishment,”
They all quietly contemplated the uninviting thought for a moment.
“So what’s our next move?” Joseph asked obviously directing the question to Saren.
Saren put her hand to her mouth as she began thinking.
“We get Bismark to call her sister and maybe get another day to get some sleep and prepare,”
Israel grunted in agreeance, slamming his head on the table. They had not had a decent night’s sleep since waking up to deal with the werewolf hideout two days prior.
“After that, we load up with all the gear we can get our hands on. Then…” she smiled, “We go hunting,”
“Are you sure ‘we’ is the right word?” Israel complained, not raising his head,
“Fuck yeah it is,” she slammed her fist on the table, “If I’m still hearing your bitching about last time then fuck no are any of us going alone,”
“Fucking A,” Joseph said as they all nodded.
Unsullied Violence

“You can collect your favor when the clock strikes ‘Kiss My Ass’!”
-Harvey Specter

Tristan wordlessly stared at Joseph, who was rummaging through Saren’s refrigerator. Saren and Israel were in the other room arguing about what they were going to do against the vampires. The planning was supposed to include Joseph and Tristan, but they left the room for snacks when Israel and Saren began arguing with each other about whose car to use.
“Are they still going at it?” Tristan said, pressing his ear to the door of Saren’s planning room, which was just a repurposed laundry room, “Christ, they’re like an old married couple,”
Joseph bit a chunk of jerky off of the slab of meat he had gotten from the fridge.
“We’re going be here all day,” He grumbled, “Aren’t we?”
“Uh…,” Tristan pointed out the window and at the rapidly setting sun,
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Joseph threw the jerky back into the refrigerator, “They’ve been arguing for the entire fucking day?” He stared incredulously at the planning room door, “Fuck this,” he grabbed his leather jacket and gear before marching to the front door and throwing it open, “Grab your shit,” he called to Tristan, “We’re going bat hunting,”
Tristan threw on a black long coat Saren didn’t wear anymore, followed Joseph to his car and got in the passenger seat,
“What are we going to do?” Tristan asked as Joseph got into the driver’s seat,
“I still smell the bitch’s lip balm,” Joseph said, starting the car and pulling out into the street, “Strawberry-kiwi with blood and lilac. I doubt that’s something you can pick up at Hot Topic,” he rolled down the window and loudly sniffed the air.
“It still kind of freaks me out that you can do stuff like that,” Tristan complained, loading his pistol.
“You’ll get used to it,” Joseph smiled, “I already have her scent,”

Joseph and Tristan followed the scent into the heart of downtown, a core of humanity bustling with beatniks, transients, and rainbow people.
The scent wafted from a hole in the wall nightclub with the name ‘Blackchurch’ in purple neon over the door. Tristan and Joseph parked, fed the parking meter, and went inside. The second they cracked open the door the heavy scent of incense hit them, disorienting them both and causing them to take a moment to brace themselves before they went inside.
Inside the door was a dimly lit hallway, at the end of which was the door to the club proper. But between the door and the young hunters was a small podium with a bouncer sleeping on a stool behind it with a magazine over their face.
“You still got the scent?” Tristan asked as they began walking to the bouncer,
“Barely,” Joseph snarled, “She’s here but the fucking cheap incense here is so strong. I can barely smell that crappy shampoo you’ve been using,”
“Well excuse me for wanting to save a few bucks,”
“Ugh, shut up!” The bouncer shouted, “I was taking a nap you noisy fuckers,” They stood up and threw the magazine off and quickly shook out their dark gray shag of hair. The bouncer was Irina.
Joseph had his hand around his sword in an instant. Tristan whipped his pistol out even quicker. Irina held her hands up and surrendered.
“Put those down,” she said, “I don’t want to fight,”
Tristan cocked the hammer of his pistol,
“Then stand still as we kill you,” he lined up the iron sights with Irina’s face.
“Wait,” Joseph told him, taking his hand off of the handle of his sword, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I work here,” she stated, bluntly, “I’m a bouncer and I tend bar on the weekends. It’s all I got after a certain group of douchebags killed everyone I knew,”
“Too bad, so sad,” Tristan said, cautiously putting his gun away but keeping his hand on it,
“If you’re not a threat,” Joseph began “Then you might be able to help us,”
“Anything for you, big man,” Irina smiled, sitting down on her stool
“Wait,” Tristan said, confused, “Why would you ever want to help us, of all people?”
“Him,” Irina gestured to Joseph, “Not you,”
“The question remains,” Joseph prodded,
“Well gee,” she said, “Maybe it’s because you killed my boss. That makes you my new boss,”
“’You keep what you kill,’” Joseph quoted, “Richard B. Riddick,”
“Didn’t figure you for the type to like philosophers,” Irina sycophantically praised,
“It’s from a Vin Diesel movie,” Joseph pondered what he could do with a werewolf servant girl for a moment before his conscience brought him back to reality. “Look,” he said, staring Irina dead in the eyes, “I’m not in the market for a pet, just tell us if a vampire chick came in here tonight, her lip balm smells like a fruity flower blood mess”
Irina looked slightly hurt at Joseph’s words,
“Yeah, one came in about an hour ago wearing that crap,” she explained, disappointed,
“Could you give us a description?” Tristan asked, “She was wearing a mask last time we saw her,”
“Sure,” Irina sighed, “She’s got short red hair in a pixie cut and red eyes too. She was actually kinda cute, if you’re into corpses. She was wearing a leather jacket like yours and cowboy boots, but I guess they’d be…cowgirl? I don’t fucking know,” she shrugged,
“Right,” Joseph started to walk past her, “Thanks,”
“Hey,” Irina stood up and put her hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “The two of us still need to talk,”
“No,” Joseph shook her hand off his shoulder, “We don’t,” he motioned to Tristan and they both briskly walked past Irina and into the club.
The club was a dark colored mess of dancers, strobe lights and bad decisions. On the ground floor were the dance floor, D.J. booth and bar, and on the upper floor was a line of booths and tables.
Tristan and Joseph scanned the faces of the club goers for someone with the description they got from Irina. They wandered side by side around the club at a curt pace searching for their quarry. They decided to rest at the bar and get a drink.
“What will it be gentlemen?” The spectacle wearing barkeep asked,
“A glass of something that’ll-,” Tristan paused as he saw who was serving him, “Andre?”
It was Andre behind the bar, cleaning a glass and oddly without his signature feline ears and eyes,
“Oh my,” he said, jokingly patronizing, “I have been found out,”
“I barely recognized you without…” Tristan tapped his ear as he spoke, “You know,”
“I barely recognize myself,” Andre said as he continued to scrub the glass. “But it is necessary in order to blend in. But if it means I don’t have to hear this horrid music my clientele enjoys as distinctly then I welcome it,”
“You work here?” Joseph wondered aloud,
“I own here,” Andre calmly responded pacing three cups on the counter,
“Awesome,” Tristan happily said, holding up his hand for a high-five which Andre quickly obliged and slapped, “You might be able to help us, we’re looking for-,”
“-A vampire girl with red hair and eyes,” Andre interrupted, “A leather jacket and an absolutely horrible smelling lip-balm, Irina texted me everything,”
“Irina works for you?” Joseph asked,
“Why else would she be here?” Andre asked back, pouring some form of liquid into the cups
“But, why hire her, period?” Joseph prodded, taking a glass,
“She’s a stray,” Andre explained, “Thanks to your actions she had no home or family. So, being a natural altruist, I took her in, needing an extra helping hand,”
“The way you say it, it sounds like we did a bad thing,” Tristan remarked, sipping his drink,
“Do not mistake my words for disapproval,” Andre clarified, “Commodus had to die, as did his pack. Irina is simply surplus from a bad deal,”
“Hmm,” Joseph sneered, downing his drink, “Now about the vampire,”
“Upper level,” Andre pointed to the stairs, “Unless she can teleport she’s still up there,”
Joseph and Tristan muttered their thanks and walked to and up the stairs.
“Dude,” Tristan muttered to Joseph as they wandered and surveyed the upper floor, “I ain’t seeing her,”
“Can’t smell anything either,” Joseph muttered back, “Except for the fucking incense,”
“Why are we muttering?” a voice from between them asked.
They both turned to see a girl with red hair in a pixie cut, dark red eyes, cowgirl boots and a leather jacket similar to the one Joseph was wearing.
“Who the fuck-,” Joseph stopped himself when he smelled the slightest hint of strawberry-kiwi with blood and lilac.
Once again the pair reached for their respective preferred weapons but halted when the girl held up her gloved hands.
“Hey,” She calmly started, “If we’re doing this let’s not do it here. I like this place,”
She then walked to one of the booths and sat down, motioning the boys to follow.
They followed her and sat down opposite her, keeping a hand on their pieces.
“So,” Joseph said, “Let’s start with your name,”
“Ain’t you a rude bitch,” she said back to him, smirking, “Not even introducing yourself to a lady,”
Joseph grumbled under his breath as Tristan chuckled at the boldness of the girl’s taunt,
“Joseph,” he introduced, “This is Tristan,”
Tristan playfully waved, smiling at the vampire.
“My name is Bismark,” she responded in kind, “I’ve got to say. I didn’t expect you guys to find me so fast. I wanted to surprise you with another few kisses,” she bared her teeth with a smile and laid her arms on the table, showing off the bracers she was wearing, the same bracers that had spring loaded blades that had already tasted werewolf blood.
“Cut the chatter,” Joseph grimly interrupted, “Name where we’re going to do this so we can kill you and go home,”
“Cut to the quick, don’t you, you rude bitch,” Bismark calmly responded, eliciting another chuckle from Tristan, “Out back, now,”
“What was that about more kisses?” Tristan whispered to Joseph,
“Shut up,” Joseph snapped.
They all stood at the same time and quietly exited the club through a back door and into a drab urban alley. The second the door closed behind them Joseph reached for his sword once again, finally drawing it and swinging in a single fluid motion, but hitting nothing but air. Bismark had sidestepped and punched Joseph in the ribs, meeting the telltale crack of snapping bones. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down as she raised her knee into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to his knees. Bismark reared her knee back again for another strike but Joseph grabbed her arms and swung her back over his head and slamming her onto her back and into the ground.
Joseph cursed as he spun and swung his sword in a downward arc toward Bismark. Bismark rolled, the sword clipping her sleeve. Bismark smirked until she saw the minor cut.
“I liked this jacket, assmunch!” She shouted
Bismark clenched her fist and the same three blade shot out of her forearm bracer. As she reared back to strike she was thrown to the side by the force of a shotgun blast. Tristan stood, holding Commodus’ shotgun from his hip with a smile plastered across his face.
“When did you grab that?” Joseph asked, standing up and snapping his ribs back in place.
“It was in the inside pocket of the coat,” Tristan said,
Bismark sputtered blood, writhed on the floor, and clutched at her hip and lower ribs, out of breath from the force of the blast and the fact that the lower half of one of her lungs had been shredded by the eight-gauge buckshot. Tristan gave Joseph an aerosol can of ammonia, pulling out another so they can contaminate the blood. They both grabbed the heavily bleeding and attempting to scream Bismark and dragged her by her boot back to Joseph’s car, tossing her in the trunk. They wordlessly high-fived one each other and got in the car, heading for Saren’s to boast about their new catch.
The Hunters: Unsullied Violence
Woo! I am cranking these out. The trick is to do a little work with it everyday.

(I don't own the references. Probably never gonna come up, but just to be safe)

Mature Content

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Hitting the Fan

"You're gonna do something? Or just stand there and bleed?”
-Wyatt Earp

It was early morning when Tristan and Israel met Joseph outside a house. The sun was just barely peeking through the mountains, casting a dim blue hue on the town. Winter and all of its accoutrements were gone and there was genuine heat in the air again as the town came back to life. Tristan found out about a straggler from Commodus’ pack that was hiding out in this dilapidated mess of a house and they were here to finish their job. It was simple for them. Go in, shank rush the target in his bed with their new silver knives they had just bought from Andre not half an hour prior and leave before anyone sees them.
It was on the way out that they had trouble.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Israel shouted from the back seat of Joseph’s car as he clutched the bullet wound in his side. He, Tristan and Joseph were driving to Saren’s as fast as they could, without rousing law enforcement. Tristan was hyperventilating as he held a rag on the bleeding gash in his arm. Joseph gritted his teeth as the holes in his abdomen sealed up, trying to focus on which turns to take to get to Saren’s house without running anyone over. After five minutes and a collective two pints of blood out of the three of them they finally careen into Saren’s driveway. Saren limped out onto the lawn, still needing a leg brace, as Tristan and Joseph helped Israel out of the car.
“What the fuck happened!?” She cried out, taking in the sight of her team with multiple bullet holes in them.
“Just help us into the house,” Joseph snapped. He helped Saren get everyone inside the house and began swearing at his luck, “Fucking hell, fucking hell,” he kept repeating to himself.


Tristan slammed his knife into the man’s throat, finishing him, and the remnants of Commodus’ pack, off for good. Israel sighed in relief as he pulled his knife out of the corpse’s chest and wiped it off on the bedsheets. They grunted the standard congratulations to each other, poured a bottle of rum from the kitchen onto the corpse and threw a match on it to cover their trail. They began to hurry out the door before the house burned down and the evidence along with it.
“Fuck, the smell just hit me,” Israel said, covering his nose, “How did that rotten fuck live in this sty?”
“Probably not stabbed twelve times or on fire,” Tristan quipped
They stepped out onto the soon to be cinders porch and froze in their tracks. In front of them were two cloaked figures adorned in billowing black robes and white Venetian doctor masks, with handguns pointed at them.
Tristan and Joseph drew their pistols as Israel dropped to his knees to give his comrades more open shots and drew his own pistol.
Both sides began shooting, gunshots cracking out in suburbia. A bullet winged Tristan’s arm, forcing him to lean against a support beam on the porch as he tried to aim with his good arm. Joseph shrugged off the bullets that hit him and kept shooting, hitting his targets as they kept shooting him as well. Israel ran dry just as a bullet struck his side, above his left hip, forcing him onto the ground on his side as he loudly cursed.
The assailants took bullet after bullet, never doing so much as flinch as they were peppered with lead. After the both of them ran out of ammo they looked at each other before they began to casually walk away, leaving their would-be prey to bleed.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, motherfuckers!?” Joseph rushed forward, slightly transforming the muscles in his legs to give him the speed he needed and grabbing for the sword on his back. It availed him not as the closer cloaked figure grabbed him by the neck, took him over their head and slammed him into the ground. They moved faster than Joseph had ever seen, faster than Irina or Commodus had ever done.
“Look at what we have here,” The voice of the one holding him was unmistakably feminine. Joseph wagered that they were vaguely the same age as him based on that and the height and build of her. She loudly sniffed the air, “I honestly didn’t expect a mutt amongst you,” with her free hand she pulled down the cloth under her mask that was covering her mouth, “But stranger things have happened,” she beamed Joseph a bright open smile. Joseph was taken aback as to how white her skin was, like fresh snow. However, what Joseph focused on much more were her teeth. Her canines were much longer and thinner than the rest of her teeth, but not as thick or robust as a transformed werewolf’s.
She clenched her fist and three dagger-like metal claws sprung out of her sleeve with a mechanical click, protruding over her hand. Joseph was briefly reminded of Wolverine before the assassin punched him in the stomach, driving the blades into him and the breath out of him. “Good bye,” she lowered her face to his. Joseph expected those teeth in his neck but instead he felt a light, cold, kiss on the cheek, “For now,” she pulled the blades out of Joseph’s gut, “Be a good boy and don’t get killed before tonight,” she let him go and stood, “I want to tear your throat out myself,” She and her partner then left, disappearing into the quickly fading dark.
“Fuck you!” Tristan shouted having reloaded and opening fire again at the shadows of the assailants, but to no avail. They were gone, leaving the boys as bloody messes.
“Tristan, Iz!” Joseph got up, clutching his stomach, “Clean the blood, fucking hurry with it!”
Tristan pulled Israel to his feet and sent him staggering to Joseph. Israel tossed Tristan a small aerosol can of ammonia, which he sprayed on all the blood he could find on the porch.
“Fucking get moving!” Israel shouted as Joseph laid him into the backseat of his car. Tristan sprinted to Joseph’s car and got in as Joseph did the same. Joseph started the car and floored it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Israel shouted from the back seat of Joseph’s car as he clutched the bullet wound in his side.

Joseph and Saren had bandaged and mended the more heavily wounded Tristan and Israel and had taken a moment in her living room to let the adrenalin subside and calm down. The sun had risen in earnest and ensured a few hours of relative safety before it set again.
“There was a firefight!” Israel shouted from the couch he was using as a hospital bed, failing to resist the urge to quote one of his favorite movies, “By the way, what the fuck was that?! Besides another item in a long list of things we were not told about, in the least bit,”
“This is unprecedented,” Saren said putting away her first aid kit, “I have fucking nothing on plague doctors with pieces,”
“Well we’ve covered feral vampires,” Tristan pointed out, still poking his bandages, “What are the biggest differences between ferals and…those?”
“They’re pretty much the same,” Saren said, “Stab in the heart and or decapitate,”
“Minus the guns, the ambushes,” Joseph listed, “And the weird murder flirting,” he rubbed his cheek like a little boy who got kissed by his overly affectionate aunt.
“Okay then, pulling out the big guns,” Saren said before going down to her basement and returning with a leather-bound book with faded lettering saying ‘vampires’ on the cover, “Everything we need to know about vampires is in here. If there’s something on assassins like this, it’s in here,” she glared at Israel, “And you didn’t even have to root through my stuff to get it,”
“This time,” Israel muttered grabbing the book and flipping through it, “Aww, no pictures,” he joked.
Saren grinned and lightly punched his shoulder.
“I know for a fact that there are pictures in that,” she laughed, “Get reading, all of you,” Saren said, walking to the door, “I’m gonna hit up Andre and get some vampire specific firepower while the sun’s still up,”
Joseph heard Saren swear to herself after she got in her car. His now enhanced hearing also let him hear her muttering various grievances about it being her fault, again. He sighed as she drove off toward Andre’s storage locker.
“This was…,” He muttered, “What was this?”
“Shit,” Tristan answered, slouching in Saren’s armchair, “This was nothing but shit,”
Joseph nodded
“This is the first time we’ve really come across something that will take up more than one evening,” Israel said, gritting his teeth and sitting up, “The wolves were the biggest thing we’ve dealt with and that only took one fucking night,”
“This will only take one night too,” Tristan proudly declared, “When Saren gets back we’re gonna hunt ‘em down, stake ‘em, and steal those bitching masks,”
While excited at the prospect of bitching masks, Israel did not comment. He laid his head back on the couch’s armrest, held the journal over his face and began to read.
“Hmm,” Israel decided then to help lighten the mood, “There are apparently different types of vampire,” he flipped through the pages of the journal, “Ferals, regular old vampires…holy shit, look at this thing,” Tristan and Joseph crowded around the book to gawk at the picture of the gross mess of puss that was supposed to be a vampire.
“Holy fuck,” Tristan ineloquently put, “Turn the page, let’s keep looking,”
Israel turned the page to an entry about a wizened wing-armed hag with wiry hair and a belly so bloated that it appeared that it couldn’t walk.
“’Winged Shekab,’” Israel read aloud, “Damn that bitch ugly,”
He turned the page again, this time to a mosquito monster from central Africa
“Okay then,” Joseph said, somewhat sickened by the creature, “Let’s not try to pronounce that thing’s name,”
Israel flipped back to regular vampires.
“My guess,” he said running his finger down the page, “Saren is going to get some silver stuff, some garlic, and some fire starters,”
“We still got some silver from before,” Joseph pointed out, walking to the kitchen to make himself breakfast,
“Oh yeah,” Israel remembered his silver dagger that was still on his belt.
“We got garlic in the fridge,” Tristan said, “And I know for a fact that we have plenty of burning stuff,”
“Then why the fuck did Saren go to Andre’s?” Israel loudly asked.
“A booty call!” Joseph japed from the kitchen, taking a bite of his freshly made sandwich.
“Wait, with Andre?” Tristan ask, not quite getting the joke yet, “I thought Saren was a lesbian,”
Israel looked up from the book and slowly turned to Tristan.
“Where would you possibly get that idea?” Israel put the book down on Saren’s coffee table.
“Combat boots, short hair, manlier than all of us,” Tristan listed, “And the fact that I found this,” he pulled a picture out of his pocket and showed Israel.
The picture was of Saren kissing a girl with ginger hair as they both winked at the camera.
“Where did you get that?” Israel disapprovingly asked,
“It slipped out of her pocket yesterday,” Tristan explained, “And don’t you give me that look, Mr. ‘root around in her basement’,”
“Who the hell is that?” Joseph reappeared behind them, happily eating his sandwich.
“Let’s ask Saren when she gets back,” Tristan suggested before his expression shifted to dread, “No, scratch that. She’ll kill us for taking her things,”
“No, she won’t,” Israel picked up the journal and continued reading, “She’ll kill you, singular. Not us, plural,”
“Yeah, great solidarity there,” Tristan slipped the photo in between the cushions on the couch. “Anyway,” he changed the subject, “What the crap would Saren be going to Andre’s for?”
“Nothing,” Joseph said, looking out the window, “She’s parked down the street. She’s throwing another frustration fit. She’s hitting her head against the steering wheel of her car,” he ate the rest of his breakfast, “With how hard it looks like she’s hitting I’m surprised the airbags haven’t-... never mind, there they go,”
Israel sighed, putting the book down and struggling to his feet.
“Tristan,” he rubbed his forehead, “Would you kindly retrieve our intrepid leader from her tantrum?”
Tristan saluted and walked out the door to drag Saren back.
“Ah crap,” Joseph muttered, sitting back down in Saren’s chair and pointing at the television.
A news broadcast had just come on with breaking news about a massive shooting.
“Breaking news,” the clearly balding reporter said, “There are multiple reports of a massive shooting happening on Third Street outside of what appeared to be a burning house,”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Israel groaned as he hobbled to the kitchen for food.
“Witnesses claim to have heard the shooting then see two groups firing upon each other,” The reporter obviously read off of a teleprompter, “Before leaving the premises one shooter apparently rushed the other side and was thrown around with some kind of judo. Both sides then left, taking their fallen comrades and leaving behind pools of blood that the police are not yet able to run proper tests on,”
Israel sat back down, eating a muffin and sighing again.
“Saren’s going to shit a chicken,” he grumbled.
“Girls don’t poop,” Joseph dryly added.
“There are a lot of videos on the internet that prove the opposite,” Israel said, cringing.
They sat in silence, watching the news ramble on about what happened. Putting on whatever political spins about childhood obesity or animal rights their sponsors made them say were responsible for the incident.
“This morning sucked,” Joseph said.
“No argument,” Israel nodded, taking another bite of his muffin as he heard Tristan outside the door, clearly struggling with Saren’s tantrum as she did something that resulted in noises that sounded eerily like someone’s head getting hit with a boot.
“Are those vampires screwed, or what?” Joseph nonchalantly asked.
“Like a pooch,” Israel confirmed, grinning and giving Joseph a high five.

"Either I will find a way or I will make one"
-Hannibal Barca

“Pull!” Joseph called to Tristan, who accordingly, pulled the rope on the catapult contraption he had put together, launching the cinder block straight at Joseph. Joseph reeled back and punched the brick in the air, crushing it and sending the pieces flying across Andre’s practice room. He and Tristan had been playing with Joseph’s newfound abilities under the guise of scientific testing and had bought an afternoon in one of Andre’s many suites for such activities. Saren observed them, her leg still in a massive cast. Israel was sitting with her, perusing one of the many journals she had sanctioned the reading of. Israel was smiling, enjoying the trove of information and the first moment of leisure they had had in months. No stress from work or the lack there of and, with the exception of Saren’s leg, they were in the best shape they’d been in their entire lives.
“You don’t approve,” Israel said to Saren, not looking up from his book, “You think Joseph is dangerous now he’s a werewolf,”
“Wow,” Saren sardonically replied, “I didn’t know I had any psychoanalysis books in that bunch you stole from my basement,”
“You didn’t,” Israel finally looked at Saren, lightly smiling, “But I’m not an idiot, Saren. A blind man could see it,”
Saren sighed in her chair, partially hoping Israel will drop the subject in the next few seconds, but to no avail.
“Yeah, I ‘don’t approve’, as you put it,” Saren said, “I’m trained to kill werewolves, not work with them,”
“You work with Andre,” Israel pointed out, losing his smile, “Andre’s more physically a beast than Joseph,”
“Andre’s different,” Saren began raising her voice, “He’s showed nothing but self-control and patience. Joseph is the poster boy for ‘angry werewolf’. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little concerned for everyone’s safety. Like it or not, Joseph’s dangerous,”
“Your blatant hypocrisy aside,” Israel looked back to his book, “I know that he’s dangerous, but I’ve known that longer than we’ve known you. Joseph becoming a werewolf is not what makes him dangerous. The fact that Joseph exists in the first place is what makes him dangerous, werewolf or no, which is why you keep him around in the first place,”
“Huh,” Saren almost blushed in embarrassment at her bullshit being called out, “I hate it when you’re right,”
“So that’s why you’re such a hateful person,” Israel teasingly jeered,
“Asshole,” Saren said, finally smiling again. Her smile was quickly lost when a baseball sized chunk of watermelon hit her dead center in the face.
“Fore!” Tristan called from behind the catapult, already loading another melon.
Saren looked to her cast then to Israel with rage and doom on her face.
“Hurt. Them,” She snarled.
Israel looked at her then Tristan, then the book, then back at Tristan, then Saren again, then the book, then finally back at Tristan. He extended his hand, pointing his index and middle fingers at the catapult. An orange spark shot out of his fingers, striking and catching fire to the catapult.
Tristan leapt back from the now neon orange burning wreck of his contraption, swearing loudly. Joseph looked on with a cold appreciation of the flames, still smiling from his punching of the watermelon. Israel was laughing like a madman, now standing on his chair in a dramatic pose with the book.
“Kneel before my might!” Israel called from his perch, “Bow you shits!”
Saren grabbed his chair and pushed it over, knocking Israel onto the ground, sending the book sprawling to Tristan. Tristan grabbed the book and opened it to Israel’s bookmark.
“Magic?” he said, incredulously, “We can learn fucking magic?!” he smiled like a child given candy.
“No fucking way,” Joseph rushed to his friend’s side and began reading over his shoulder.
“I know, right?” Israel said from the ground, not bothering to stand or even lay face-up, “Fucking magic!”
Saren laid her head back against her chair.
“This,” she groaned, “This is why I didn’t tell you guys about this. Magic is not a toy!”
“Yeah,” Israel surprisingly agreed with Saren, “It’s a dangerous toy,”
“No!” Saren shouted getting everyone’s attention, “I actually have a good reason for not telling you guys about this one-,”
“Oh here we go,” Israel said finally standing.
“Shut up,” Saren snapped, “Magic is complicated, dangerous, and just plain…weird,”
“You focus on a central point in yourself then literally just will yourself into doing shit,” Israel explained, “It really is all it boils down to, observe,”  he pointed to the wreckage, shot another orange spark out of his fingers, and the fire reignited, just as bright as it was to begin with, “You just gotta want it. There’s probably some bullshit about mana or whatever but who cares? Unless it gives you cancer or some other bullshit I haven’t read about yet, the only problem is that it’s as physically taxing as swinging a sword. Does that sound complicated, Saren, or are you going to make up more bullshit,”
The fire flickered silver-white before suddenly going out, the wreck becoming pile of dust with Saren pointing at it.
“Joseph, Tristan,” Saren coldly said, glaring at Israel, “Go tell Andre that we need some more materials, tell him we need ‘basic silver market goods’ and he’ll know what you mean,”
They did as they were told, leaving the room giving some concerned glances to Israel and Saren.
Israel picked up his chair and set it across from Saren before sitting in it and facing her.
“Did I do something that will actually warrant this scolding?”
“Shut. Up,” Saren snarled through her teeth, “I bring you into all of this, take the time to train and brief you three, give you strict guidelines and you repay me with bullshit like this. If I wanted you morons to know magic I would have told you,”
“Except you’ve actually done fuck-all,” Israel scoffed, “It took you until one almost killed us to tell us how to kill a werewolf. Even if it was common knowledge that still doesn’t constitute ‘training and briefing’ in the least fucking bit,”
“I’m the expert at this,” Saren rebuked, “I know what I’m doing!”
“No, you fucking don’t,” Israel barked, rising from his chair, “An expert doesn’t go off on their own after lying to her team. An expert doesn’t go off like a crappy firework and get hurt trying to salvage their bruised ego, twice.”
“Oh, really?” Saren shot back, “And how the hell would you know? I’ve been doing this all my life and you have the fucking gall to lecture me,”
“Gee, I didn’t know that,” Israel mocked, “I wonder why. Oh wait. I didn’t know because you’ve done almost nothing to say so. If you’re the expert, the gold standard, then a fucking wonder we’ve never heard of any of this, because the people stopping it are so incompetent they die and let the people following them die so goddamn easily,”
Saren reached for her hip, to her holster and gun. She was almost startled to realize she wasn’t wearing it, and that she almost pulled a gun and shot Israel, who saw it all. She and Israel stared at each other for only a single quiet moment.
“Iz,” Saren whispered, “I…I don’t-,”
“Experts,” Israel looked at her with hurt and disappointment in his eyes, “Experts don’t try and shoot their friends, Saren,”
Saren stared at her friend, taking in the fact that she would have shot him. She would have ruined everything if she hadn’t simply forgotten her piece that morning. She raised her trembling hand to her eyes before quietly sobbing into it. She began crying, quietly and slowly working to open sobs.
“I’m sorry,” Saren choked out, “I’m…so sorry,”
Israel slowly and calmly picked up his chair, put it down next to Saren, sat down and wrapped his arms around her. She wrapped her arms around him, “I’m such a fuck up,” she sobbed into his shoulder, barely more than whispering.
“Hush,” Israel said as he patted Saren’s back.
“I am though,” Saren insisted, “Everything I’ve done with you guys has blown up in my fucking face,”
“Hush,” Israel said, far more insistent, “Saren, you’re the biggest badass I know. Mistakes have been made, yeah, but we’re all still here and kicking,”
“Barely,” Saren argued, burying her face deeper into Israel’s shoulder, “Joseph’s not even human anymore and it’s all my fault,”
“Hush,” Israel ordered, louder, “Saren. Did Joseph look saddened by his newfound powers? No, he didn’t. Because he doesn’t view it as a curse, if anything it’s a boon,”
“You don’t get it,” Saren whispered, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He, me, all of us almost get killed every fucking time we do anything. He was the one who paid the most all because I wanted-,”
“Saren!” Israel Interrupted, having lost what patience he had left, “Enough. I get it. You blame yourself for every little thing that happens to us then do the same fucking thing with barely a second thought,” he tilted her head up so that he could look into her eyes “Don’t shut us out, tell us what we need to know, let us do our jobs without bitching about how it’s your fault and none of this will happen again,” he rapped his knuckle on Saren’s cast.
Saren sniffled for a moment before clearing her throat and wiping her eyes.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice still cracking, “Why do you have to be fucking right,”
“It is in errors that we find that we are human,”
“Stop trying to be philosophical,” Saren smirked, “You sound like you’re trying too hard,”
Israel smiled back, breaking his embrace and getting up to get the book.
“Thank you,” Saren said, lightly smiling.
“Oh what’s that,” Israel cupped his ear, “Was that praise I just heard from the mighty Saren?”
Before Saren could respond and hit Israel, Joseph and Tristan barreled back into the room, holding actual barrels under their arms.
“Holy shit,” Tristan remarked surveying the floor, “We’re not slipping on Iz’s guts,”
Israel dismissed Tristan’s words with unintelligible howling, grabbing one of the barrels,
“What do we have here?” he said, eyeing the barrel. He set it down and cracked open the lid with his elbow. He was shocked to find another, smaller barrel inside. He pulled it out and cracked it open only to find an even smaller barrel in it.
“What the hell?” Joseph said, inspecting the barrels, “What the hell are we supposed to do with these?”
“Light them on fire,” Saren said, openly smiling, “Just like Iz did with your mechanical abomination. Basic silver market goods are things to practice magic on,”
Tristan’s and joseph’s eyes lit up with mischief. They scrambled to set them up in a slipshod firing range and scrambled back to get ready to start blowing things up.
Tristan held his fist forward and placed his other hand on his pointing forearm in a clumsy stance. Israel corrected him, making his fingers point, squaring his shoulders and changing his pose to be less like a video game character. Tristan focused, just as Israel instructed, pointed at a barrel and shot a blue spark from his fingers. The barrel he pointed at burst into a bright a vibrant blue fire for a moment before bursting and burning out.
Joseph mirrored Tristan’s second stance, shooting a grey spark, burning and bursting another barrel in a dark grey blast with a smile on his face that none could call good natured.
“There you go,” Saren proudly stated, “You can magically burn barrels,” she and her team laughed, “But. This is the simplest magic there is, blowing shit up is the most artless thing you can do with magic. Also you’re probably feeling that little spike of fatigue, right?” They all nodded at her, “The bigger stuff might knock you on your ass before you’re ready for it,” she lectured, “Simple sometimes is all we need. We can work on teleporting and summoning demons later. For now,” she set a barrel on fire, “Guy who blows up the most chooses dinner, guy who blows up the least pays for it,”
She and her team then played with magic like the toy Saren claimed it wasn’t, all just to not be the last and spend the little hard earned money they had. They didn’t care about anything else, just having fun and enjoying the day. They truly did not care about what was coming, just that they’d deal with it with maniacal grins on their faces.
The Hunters: Adjustments
And here's this shit. Love it, hate it, just tell me and I will try to improve. Holla!
Good Samaritans

“I like a man who grins when he fights,”
-Winston Churchill

Joseph’s car lumbered through the heavy snow on the trail through the canyon. Joseph, Tristan and Israel peeled their eyes in search of any trail that may indicate Saren after they found her car at the opening of the path. The snow fall had resurged and fell in a heavy white blanket veiling any hint that they may have found.
“How long have we been at this?” Israel asked with a tinge of panic in his voice, “It feels like we’ve been at this a while,”
“Dude, calm the fuck down,” Tristan reprimanded, pointing at the clock in the car’s dashboard, “It’s been five minutes, relax,”
Israel sighed as he looked out his window again, wringing his hands in worry and wincing again as he remembered his sore joints. He pulled his lucky coin out of his coat pocket and began fidgeting with it. Joseph snatched it out of Israel’s hands and pocketed it as a way of telling him to ‘sack up’.
Joseph said nothing, possessed of rage as he was. After taking the road out of town he did not speak. He just kept his eyes looking out of his windshield for the one that lied to him and his friends.
A scream resonated out through the cold woods. The boys, having been screamed at plenty, instantly recognized it as Saren.
Joseph slammed his foot on the throttle and careened further into the woods in the general direction the scream came from, actively ignoring the fact that his friends weren’t wearing their seatbelts and honking the horn as they slammed around. The car bashed through a pair of small saplings, into a clearing populated with skinheads, corpses and an ill-treated Saren. Joseph spun out into the snow, careening through the clearing, crushing a corpse and spraying the blood across the snowy forest floor.
Joseph, Tristan and Israel all calmly opened their doors and stepped out of the car, cracking knuckles and loosening their wrists in an attempted to look more hardened and threatening than they thought they were.
“Oh great,” Irina sighed, “The bitch boys are here,”
Tristan whipped the Macedonian out of its holster and shot Irina in the sealed wound in her belly.
“I don’t remember asking for a new team name,” Tristan taunted as Irina clutched her now reopened wound.
“Fuck. You,” Irina snarled, trying to ignore the pain she was in.
Joseph set his eyes on the Alpha, mentally working out the easiest way to kill him and end this debacle. Whatever plans he had never got more than a few seconds of thought as the Alpha stepped forward and pointed at him.
“I challenge you, hunter,” The Alpha roared, “One warrior facing another in a battle to the death and let fate decide who’s will is the strongest,”
Joseph looked to his friends then gestured to Saren’s mangled form. Israel and Tristan rushed over to Saren to provide whatever medical attention they could. Joseph took a second to admire the amount of skulls the alpha was wearing on his person. Several on a neckless, one attached to each of his boots, four hanging from his belt, and Joseph wasn’t sure but he believed he saw the bulge of more in the alpha’s torn and worn leather vest.
“Are you insane?” Saren hissed “He’ll fucking murder you,”
“I think he knows that,” Joseph quipped, “But he’s willing to challenge me anyway,”
“Yes,” The Alpha snarled, barely more than a bestial growl, “Yes! Bravado, pride, and bloodlust that is what I wish to see. When you face your ancestors, you may tell them that it was Commodus that slew you and sent you to them,”
“You talk too much,” Joseph drew his sword and settled into his practiced stance, “Guys, try and…” he fumbled for the right words, “Stabilize Saren,”
“Already on it,” Tristan said as he took Saren’s pulse and ignored her glare, “I know I’m not helping, I can’t do jack shit. Look at your fucking leg, woman! There’s nothing to do,”
Commodus hefted two massive axes, dark steel and caked with gore, one in each hand. He and Joseph circled each other for a few moments before he brought both axes above his head and lunged. Joseph sidestepped the attack, narrowly missing getting his arms chopped off, and swung at Commodus’ back, opening a dark red gash.
Commodus roared and pivoted, extended his arms and swung his axes in Joseph’s general direction. Joseph rolled under the strike and stabbed at Commodus’ exposed midriff. Joseph ran him through to the ricasso of his sword and was knocked aside with a massive arm to the side of the head. Joseph hit the ground and rolled away from Commodus’ general location. When he looked up at Commodus’ his eyes widened at the site of a massive beast of a man barely hindered by the large sword protruding from his abdomen charging him.
Commodus slammed his shoulder into Joseph, sending him crashing through a sapling and face first into the reddening snow. Scrambling to get up, Joseph grabbed a piece of the sapling and drove it into Commodus’ thigh as he grabbed his sword and pulled back with all his might, freeing his sword. He immediately spun and swung it into Commodus’ right arm, embedding itself once again into the massive man and digging into the bone in his upper arm. Commodus dropped the axe that his right arm held and swung his remaining weapon, arcing the flat of the axe-head it at Joseph’s head. Joseph saw stars as the axe struck him, knocking him into the snow once again.
Commodus threw his axe away and grabbed the blade of Joseph’s sword and tore it out of his arm. He inspected the blade, examining the build and make of it.
“This is a fine blade, hunter. After your death I shall wield it to slay other worthy foes,”
Joseph grabbed Commodus’ fallen axe and twisted it so that the bladed edge pointed upwards
“Go to hell!” He shouted as he drove the axe into the much larger man’s left underarm.
Commodus reeled back, bleeding profusely from his multitude of wounds.
“You…have actually caused me pain,” Commodus smiled as she spoke, “I shall grant you…one parting gift,” his body twisted and morphed, becoming lither and lean as well as growing dark red hair. His head and face shaped to that of a beast, then to the obvious visage of a wolf. He roared as the transformation completed, he was his true self, a monster, a werewolf.
Joseph had grabbed his sword during the transformation and once again made his stance. When he swung he hit air, air that once held a colossal wolf beast. Commodus had moved behind Joseph in an instant and swung his great claw, carving open Joseph’s arm and slamming him against a tree. The sound of his ribs snapping could be heard by the stringent crowd.
Irina shouted various praises of her alpha and similar curses of his prey. She wanted to see the beast tear someone apart and add another skull to his collection. She watched with the attention of a child hopped up on ‘learning’ pills at the spectacle before her.
Joseph’s friends, between pretending to provide medical care for the immobilized Saren, were frozen in fear. Resembling the rigor mortis that they’re corpses would gain, that is if the werewolves didn’t eat them before they went cold.
Joseph coughed blood, enough to splatter the front of his coat. He sat against the tree he was thrown against. He barely could think through the sheer agony of his broken bones jabbing his internal organs but he certainly felt the claw around his throat lift him to eye level with Commodus. He smelled Commodus’ foul breath, smelling of rotten meat and blood. Commodus growled in Joseph’s face before parting his great maw and slowly working Joseph’s head into it. Seeing only one opportunity left, Joseph meekly shoved his clutched fist at the wound in Commodus’ abdomen.
Commodus immediately lurched, pausing. Joseph saw something in his foe’s eyes, like those of a beaten dog. Fear, what he saw was pure and simple fear. Commodus suddenly dove and sunk his teeth into Joseph’s non-shredded shoulder. Joseph shouted in pain as dagger long teeth ripped into him, and just as quickly as they entered they exited without any extra damage. Commodus fell backwards, falling on his back and relaxing every strained muscle as he gave his death rattle, dying in the cold snow.
Joseph fell to his hands and knees, still shouting from the bite. He had to breathe between the shouts, the blood pouring out of his mouth further hindering him. The shouts became loud pants, becoming more and more guttural each time, descending into bestial growls. He went dead silent as the blood flow from his mouth slowed to a trickle and stopped altogether. He began to stand, only slightly staggering as he righted himself and looked up at his spectators with his own blood covering his mouth and eyes shining bright yellow.
Saren’s heart sank as she saw her friend rise. Her friend was turned and she was completely powerless to do anything about it in the slightest. She knew that fresh turned werewolves were even more dangerous than a pack of inexperienced youngbloods. The chance of them going feral is at its peak post turn and neither she nor her friends were able to kill one in their condition.
Irina approached her new alpha with a smile. A dead alpha and some dead scrubs were in all a minor setback to the pack but not one that couldn’t be fixed.
“So, new bossman,” she wrapped her arm around Joseph’s bloodied but healing shoulder, “What’s the first order of business?”
Joseph wheeled around and punched her in the face, breaking her jaw and knocking her down.
“Anyone,” he growled, “Who was stupid enough to be loyal to this dead fucker,” he spat the word ‘dead’ as he kicked Commodus’ corpse “Fuck off or I’m tearing you open and leaving you to be eaten by whatever passes by,”
The surviving wolves quickly scampered away, terrified of the person that tore their pack apart.
“Joseph?” Saren said, barely above a whisper. Joseph turned his attention to his friends, who, with Saren’s exception, had a hand on their firearms, “Please. Don’t tell me you’re one of them,” her voice cracked as she spoke, she would later claim it was hoarse from yelling, but the truth was that she was moments away from breaking down and crying.
Joseph calmly walked over to his friends and picked Saren up, bridal style.
“I’m still people,” he said, in a voice that for the first time that night, sounded completely human, “You lying bitch,” Which also meant that he absolutely wasn’t going to let Saren forget this night, not that she needed help remembering.
Israel walked over to Commodus and knelt down, running his hands over the corpse’ eyes to close them,
“May you burn and your ashes fuel the growth of things of greater worth,” he grabbed at the wound Joseph attacked in his last desperate move and pulled his lucky coin out of it, he smiled at the fact that Joseph remembered he called it his ‘lucky silver’, “Rest in chaos, you psychopath,” He pulled out a flask, another thing he found in Saren’s basement, and poured the kerosene contents on the dead werewolf before striking a match, tossing it and lighting the corpse on fire, just as Saren did for the first wendigo they saw.
Saren smiled as she saw her team doing what they should do. Burning the bodies and inspecting what they could use for trophies and death proofs so that they’d get paid for clearing the pack out.
“Joseph,” she whispered again, finally realizing the immense pain she was in from her destroyed knee, “Do you think we could speed things up, my leg is really-,” Joseph just grabbed Saren’s off kilter leg and straighten it with a sickening crunch noise. Saren froze and whimpered through her clenched teeth as Joseph walked to where Tristan and Israel were crowding.
“What’d you guys find?” Joseph asked. He was met with Tristan hefting a large sawn-off double barrel shotgun with a smile on his face, “That answers my question,”
“Small question,” Tristan asked, looking for any ammo in the clutter of what was apparently a storage box, “You’re uh…kinda sounding different man. You’re not gonna turn out to be that big fucker possessing you or anything, are you?”
“I sound kind of off because I’m still regenerating from my ribs stabbing through my lungs. Which, might I add, is a very painful process,” Joseph would have smacked him if he wasn’t still holding the whimpering Saren, “You towhead jackass,”
“Yup,” Israel said, inspecting a dagger, “It is absolutely still Joseph,” when Israel pulled the dagger out of its sheath he found it shined much more than steel would, “This motherfucker had a silver dagger,” he said putting back away, “I totally call it,”
“Why,” Joseph found he had a new natural repulsion to the material, the same as an animal backing away from fire, “Why would he have that?”
“Same reason people make mustard gas,” Israel said, attaching it to his belt, “Kill shit,”
“Please,” Saren sobbed, “Can we please go home now?”
“Sure thing, you lying bitch,” Joseph grabbed one of Commodus’ axes, “Tristan, grab the other axe. Iz, you’re driving Saren’s car home with her in the back,”
“He’s not driving my fucking-,” Joseph shifted Saren in his grip, jostling her leg slightly and making her quiet, “Oh...why?” she whined.
“Fucking hell,” Tristan struggled to pick up the axe with one hand, “How did that guy swing these things? They weigh a fucking ton,”
“Wolf steroids,” Israel said, “Wolfroids,” he was clearly proud of himself for that one.
Joseph dropped Saren into Israel’s less bruised and mangled arms. He got into his car with Tristan, the axes, and the shotgun and began to drive off.
“He’s mad at me,” Saren grumbled as the car lurched away, “he’s so fucking mad at me,”
“Of course he fucking is, you lying bitch,” Israel said, never losing his smile as he trudged through the snow back to Saren’s car, “But I think the bigger thing on his mind is that fact that his last name is now even more fitting,”
“Yeah,” Saren began nodding off, realizing just how little sleep she’s gotten in the last forty-eight hours and just how much she’d done, “Yeah,” she said as she lost consciousness.
The Hunters: Good Samaritans
And here we have the werewolf arc finale! Yay! One off or two to follow then another arc.
It's been a cool minute since I was last on here...huh
  • Mood: Noble
  • Listening to: Stuff
  • Reading: Nothing
  • Watching: Nothing
  • Playing: Heavy Rain
  • Eating: Chicken
  • Drinking: Sierra Mist


Thief of Rage
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
Name's Izzy (7 other known aliases), you don't like me, you can bite me.

I like video games, anything Japanese, music, books, and tearing apart/building things

I hate hypocrites, whores, punchable people, and if i missed anything F&%K IT!

Age:18 goin' on 19 in a few months

Hobbies are but are not limited to: Shooting to thrill playing to kill, daydreaming during class (SUMMER FOR LIFE), writing my own series', watching TV, martial arts(currently street fighting), video games(since I was 2), and building just about anything i have an idea to make

I couldn't care less about what you think of me, if you don't like me you
may call 1-800-EAT-SHIT
Current Residence: F%&$ you Gumby
deviantWEAR sizing preference: If it's comfy enough, I'll wear a mini skirt... That came out wrong
Favourite genre of music: hard rock/metal
Favourite photographer: maes hughes
Favourite style of art: Explosives
Operating System: Windows 7 on a fuckball of a computer
MP3 player of choice: i like the ipod
Shell of choice: I aint no turtle foo
Skin of choice: what/whoevers skin i happen to be wearing
Favourite cartoon character: Deadpool
Personal Quote: All I want out of life is blood, guts, and chocolate cake

My Droogies:


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Tevo77777 Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2014  Student Writer
What kind of writing do you do?
Dragonlord95 Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
used to be horrid fanfics. currently action/adventure/comedy
Lobo-1 Featured By Owner May 18, 2011  Student Writer
thus you shall check this $H!T out.
It is cool.
Lobo-1 Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2011  Student Writer
Check this out!!!
MidsummerDawn Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2010  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
You have been hugged!

Spread the DA love around! (you can copy and paste this message on their userpage!)

1- You can hug the person who hugged you!
2- You -MUST- hug 6 other people, at least!
3- You should hug them in public! Paste it on their user page!
4- Random hugs are perfectly okay!
5- You should most definitely get started hugging right away!

Send This To All Your Friends, And Me If I Am 1, On Second thought, Please give one back.
If You Get 7 Back You Are Loved!

1-3 you're a bad friend
4-6 you're an ok friend
7-9 you're a good friend
10-& Up you're a great friend
Dragonlord95 Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
then you get the hug back then I guess
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Lobo-1 Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2010  Student Writer
sarabudbug Featured By Owner Feb 24, 2010
Dragonlord95 Featured By Owner Feb 24, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
sarabudbug Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2010
whats up whats up whats up??????????????????????????
Dragonlord95 Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
someting just exploded
(1 Reply)
MidsummerDawn Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2010  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fave!
MidsummerDawn Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2010  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fave!
MidsummerDawn Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2010  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the fave! please tell me what you thought!
Dragonlord95 Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
me likey series
MidsummerDawn Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2010  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the faves!
I saw on your profile that you would like to bash sasuke's brains out. May i help?
I assure you that in the apprentice story we cause him a lot of trouble! He he he...
Dragonlord95 Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
tell me when the new one comes out Kay
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