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Burning Belfry

"I’m going to plead with you, do not cross us. Because if you do, the survivors will write about what we do here for 10,000 years.”
-Gen. James "Mad Dog" Mattis

Bismark led her new friends through the sewers that she claimed led to her old home. They had all had a day and a half of rest and preparation. Before sundown the team had approached Bismark for the information on how to get to her coven and what resistance to expect, calling it ‘her first rent payment’. She happily agreed and led them to, and into, a sewer entrance.
“Bismark,” Israel broke the relative silence, “I believe it only fair that you pay for any and all dry cleaning that has to happen as a result of us going through a god damn sewer!”
“Yeah, that sound fair,” Bismark cheerily replied, oblivious to the scorn behind Israel’s words, “But I have, like, no money,”
“We’ll take it from your future paychecks,” Tristan joked,
“That implies Saren pays any of us,” Joseph interjected,
“I pay you guys-,”
Saren scowled at him before turning to Bismark,
“How much further is it?” She asked, “While annoying, my favorite malcontent makes a decent point about the filth,”
“Just a bit further,” Bismark assured roughly three seconds before coming to a hall with a black metal door at the end of it, “Well…here’s home,”
Saren walked past her and threw the door open with all the tactical savvy of a drunk lumberjack, strutting inside with her sword and pistol drawn.
“Right then,” She turned back to her team, “If it moves, you kill it. You kill something big; you get the bounty for it. Sound good?”
They all nodded and looked around at their surroundings. It was barely more than an abandoned sewage plant with tattered, filth incrusted carpets lining the floors and stairs along with old, rusted, oil lamps dimly illuminating the interior. One door was atop a set of stairs with another on ground level.
Saren took Bismark through the lower of the two and gestured to the upper door, telling the boys to go through it as she left.
After splitting up, the boys drew their respective pistols and moved slowly and purposefully through the door and through the halls. The various room and halls all had the same décor in crude mockery of high society that the entrance had.
They came to a fork and went left, finding another door. Inside the door were countless corpses. Corpses of humans, animals, and things that were a familiar, vile, stitched together amalgamation of both.
“Wendigos,” Israel identified, “These fuckers are trying to make wendigos,”
“They ain’t just trying,” Joseph pointed to an empty space in the line of corpses. In place of a wendigo there was a picture of the same wendigo they killed when they were all first introduced to the life of hunting. It seemed so long ago for them. They all visibly shuddered before speeding through the room.
They found themselves in a massive antechamber, or at least the closest a filth encrusted cave can get to one. Full-plate armor made of scrap metal and faded portraits framed in rotting wood decorated the sides of the room. At the end of the chamber was a metal gate, the kind that would have been seen at a medieval castle. They moved slowly, pistols poised to blast the head off of anything that came at them. Joseph attempted to lift the gate open but recoiled when he felt that there was a high amount of silver in the metal. Seeing the room as a dead end, they turned around and began to head back out but someone was standing in the doorway of the exit, wearing a billowing black robe and a white Venetian doctor mask. They shared a moment of realization, that it was Bismark’s younger sister standing in the doorway, the one that sent the letter, Elvira Dego.
“Fuck!” Tristan shouted, already firing his pistol and missing his now beside him target.
“You are a dense one, aren’t you?” she said, with a voice like shattering glass.
Tristan turned, pointing The Macedonian at his target, but as he began to pull the trigger again she vanished and his pistol was now pointed at Israel. He was about to shout something before he felt what he could only guess was a boot impacting with the back of his head. He hit the ground as Joseph lunged, swinging his sword in a great wide arc through the black robe.
“Ha!” Joseph called, “Get fucked you-,” Joseph fell over, one of the swords from the suits of plate jutting out of the center of his back. The blade was not silver but it had pierced his spine and paralyzed him.
Elvira adjusted her mask as she stood above Joseph’s half paralyzed, half trying to writhe into a position to swing his sword again body. Elvira’s outfit was a mix of Victorian fashion and modern convenience, black lace with a corset and red piping. Without the robe to hide it, Israel and Tristan could see her pale blonde hair, done in a tight bun, in stark contrast to Bismark’s vibrant red.
“Hmm,” She scoffed, kicking Joseph in the side, “Animal,”
Israel and Tristan opened fire, finally breaking from their respective stupors. Elvira moved through the bullets with the care and precision of a ballet dancer. Within seconds she was pinning Tristan against a wall with her hand around his throat. She began to laugh as her grip tightened.
Israel extended his hand and grimaced. The light from the nearest oil lamp grew brighter, brighter than an oil lamp could naturally get. It then burst in a vibrant orange explosion, throwing Elvira and Tristan across the room. Before Tristan could stand and recover from the magical blast, Elvira had already darted to the door.
“I don’t have time for this,” she announced as the gate at the other end of the room opened, “It’s feeding time, anyway,”
Out of the gate came a black furred beast draped in silver chains with the muzzle of a wolf. Larger than Commodus, but far more bestial than any creature the team had seen yet. It was a feral werewolf.
“Holy fuck,” Israel barely whispered in shock.
Tristan swung his shooting arm towards the door only to find Elvira was gone.
“Help…me…you…assholes,” Joseph growled. Tristan leapt forward and wrenched the sword free from Joseph’s back, only to be thrown across the room by a backhand from the feral. As the beast began to rear back to charge, Joseph had already slammed his forehead into its nose, knocking it back as he stood and began to fully change. Grey-brown fur sprouted on his hands and cheeks, his frame grew and threatened to tear his clothing and finally his face distended into the continence of a wolf.
He barreled into his opponent, taking them both to the ground. Joseph gripped the chains that stringently protected his prey and threw them across the room, letting him claw and rend the feral to his heart’s content.
“We have to go,” Israel called to Tristan, “The vamp’s getting away. We have to hurry,”
“What about Joseph?” Tristan asked as the wolves roared and threw themselves at each other again.
“He’s having fun,” Israel quietly stated as he walked to the door.
Tristan nodded and grabbed a length of silver chain as he scrambled to followed suit.
They ran down the halls, hoping that they were going in the same direction as Elvira. They ran past the entrance hall, in the direction that Saren and Bismark had first gone.

Saren and Bismark lazily moved through the halls of the hideout. Bismark told Saren that The Countess, her mother, was typically sleeping at this time of day and so long as they moved quickly they could kill her and leave before any problems occurred. They had few hopes that their plan would go smoothly.
Bismark froze and stared at a door in the middle of the hall.
“This is Elvira’s room,” she said, “She should be back here any time now,”
Saren stared at her for a moment,
“You want one of the-?”
Saren handed her a small object that she quickly slid into her pocket,
“Catch up when you’re done,”
Bismark nodded and entered the room. Elvira lived a Spartan life. Her room had a bed, a dresser, a hook for her robe and little else, sans a picture of herself and Bismark on a shelf above her bed. Bismark slowly walked to the picture and picked it up, remembering when they took it.
It was years prior, the first time they were allowed to work together on a mission for their mother, they were to hunt down a rival vampire that could have caused trouble. They took the picture after setting his lair on fire, with him inside it.
Bismark heard a sharp gasp behind her. She quickly put the photo down and turned to see Elvira taking off her mask to reveal her bright, beaming smile and golden yellow eyes.
“Beatrix!” she called before rushing to embrace her sister.
“How’s it going, little sister?” Bismark happily hugged her smaller sister back. The resemblance between the two was noticeable. Despite the small height difference, eyes, and Elvira’s slightly sharper features, it was clear they were family.
“I thought something had happened to you,” Elvira said, breaking the hug, “Your jacket is ruined,”
“Heh,” Bismark was still wearing the jacket that had been shredded by the shotgun blast, “Yeah,”
“What’s going on?” Elvira asked “The message you sent me a few days ago said that you had dealt with the targets,”
“Well,” Bismark hated lying to her sister, “I did,”
“But I just saw them when I went to feed the wolf,” Elvira said, confused, “If you dealt with them-,”
“Yeah,” Bismark technically did not lie, in that she had made a deal with them, “About that,”
“Wha-,” Elvira was confused, “What do you mean?”
“Elvira,” Bismark said, as she turn to face her sister again, “I want you to leave, now,”
“Beatrix, what are you talking about?”
“If you don’t leave now they’re going to kill you and I can’t stop them,” Bismark snapped.
Elvira was stunned before she came to a realization,
“You’re working with them,” Elvira said, stepping back. Bismark only nodded, “Beatrix, how could you?” Elvira began breathing heavily, “What…what possible reason could you have to do this?”
“What reason?” Bismark bit back, “I have plenty of reasons covering my back,” she gestured behind her with her thumb, “Our bitch mother made you give me some of them, if you remember,”
“How dare you?” Elvira said, “Mother has given you literally everything you have and you spit on her by plotting against her,”
“You really don’t understand, do you?” Bismark was fighting back the urge to shout,
“Understand what?”
“Our mother doesn’t give a fuck about either of us!” she lost that fight,
“Beatrix, of course she cares-,”
“Stop calling me that!” she roared at her sister, “I hate that name! That stupid fucking name she gave me. You’re right, she did give me everything I have, and I hate all of it!” she lashed out at a wall, leaving a deep imprint of her fist.
“Is that…,” Elvira whimpered, “Is that why you dye your hair?”
Bismark slowly ran her fingers through her hair, exposing the natural blonde roots in her red hair.
“Elvira,” Bismark stared her sister dead in the eyes, “This is the only chance you’re getting. Leave. Go off somewhere and…,” she stopped speaking when Elvira wrapped her arms around her and began bawling.
“I’m-,” she choked through her tears, “I’m not going anywhere,”
Bismark returned her sister’s embrace, biting back her own tears.
“I’m sorry,” Bismark said.
Elvira gasped as she felt something impact and stab its way into her back. As she fell she felt it slide out and before her vision faded she saw her sister, tears running down her face with a blood soaked wooden stake in her hand.
“Beatrix,” she whispered as it all went black.
Saren slowly prowled through an empty hallway, her pistol drawn and leveled, toward the only door she hadn’t checked in this part of the hideout. She was deep in enemy territory and alone. The boys where on the other side of the hideout and Bismark was doing god knows what in her sister’s room.
When she opened the door she found exactly what she was looking for. A coffin, placed on top of a stone stairway, surrounded by burning sconces. All she had to do was walk to it, open the lid, and drive her stake into The Countess’ heart.
Saren silently cursed the cliché of the coffin that The Countess went with. Vampires don’t need coffins, just so long as they are away from sunlight. She thought it pretentious that her target would have a coffin to begin with. This was one of the reasons she hated vampires.
Saren slowly walked up the steps. She pulled a wooden stake out of her pocket, having bought several. She wrung it in her hand, anticipating the look on The Countess’ face as she feels the stake enter her black heart. She smiled to herself as she forced the lid of the coffin open. Her smile wavered as she saw her target.
The Countess was a stereotype, wearing fine clothing, pale skin, and reeking of blood. Saren raised her arm and brought it down with all the force she could muster but she was stopped, the tip of the stake an inch above The Countess. When she looked she saw The Countess’ hand lightly wrapped around her wrist with The Countess herself expressionlessly staring at her with her blood red eyes. With a small thrust of the wrist, Saren was tossed into the air and fell onto the middle of the stairway, falling down the rest of the stairs.
The Countess rose from her coffin with the elegance of a swan. When Saren stood and gazed at The Countess she thought of her as Bismark’s mirror opposite. In place of Bismark’s vibrant short red hair, punk outfit, happy disposition, and massive smile, The Countess had long pale blond hair, a slim Victorian dress, a cold demeanor, and a face completely without expression or emotion. The only differences between their faces were the light contouring of age under The Countess’ eyes and cheeks, things that not even vampirism can truly get rid of.
“Who are you?” The Countess asked in a dull monotone, “Aside from one of many humans to creep like rats into my home,”
“The one who’s going to make a necklace out of your teeth,” Saren called, full of bravado.
“That does not answer my question,” The Countess retorted, slowly walking down the stairs,
“Ah,” The Countess said, never breaking her monotone, “You are an astoundingly difficult hunter to kill. I’ve sent a wendigo, laid a trap at that worthless farm, lured those werewolves into my territory, sent my daughters, and even called in favors to get a leviathan placed in that lake you trained your neophytes at. I am honestly surprised you’re not dead,”
“I’ll survive this too,”
Saren was already in action, lunging forward with the stake, knowing The Countess would dodge to her right. Saren spun as she drew her sword and swung at The Countess, the tip of the blade digging across her cheek. The Countess’ face was a constant mask of indifference as she ran her finger across the cut. Saren did not openly react to the sight of the bloody cut closing as The Countess ran her finger along it, but silently cursed how little damage she did.
“That has not happened in some time,” The Countess remarked, “While you might be entertaining, if I’m going to be killing those other fools I smell, then I do not have the time to deal with you,”
Growing tired of her voice, Saren rushed forward, thrusting her sword at the vampire’s chest. She felt something suddenly hit her abdomen and she lost her breath. When she looked down she saw the pommel of her sword had struck her solar plexus with The Countess holding the blade between her index and pointer fingers. The Countess began walking forward, pushing Saren back with the sword. Saren was pushed through an archway into a new room. The Countess gave a final push, knocking Saren back into the dark room before walking back into the coffin room and shutting the door, locking it with a loud click.
Saren regained her composure just in time to see that she was surrounded. The room was full to the brim with vampire thralls, humans whose minds have been permanently crippled by a vampire and used as slave labor. Some wielded butcher knives and cleavers, others had their arms removed and replaced with various blades and blunt instruments. They began bearing down on Saren, slowly shuffling toward her with malicious intent. Saren stood tall, cracked her neck, and settled into her stance. This was going to be a long job.
“Fuck all y’all!”
“That was Saren,” Israel and Tristan stopped in their tracks when they heard their leader shouting one of her favorite war-cries.
“Odds are she needs our help?” Israel asked Tristan,
They would have rushed to the origin of the shout if the path was not recently blocked, by an open door and a vampire countess wielding a basket hilted sword.
“Like rats,”

Joseph roared and brought down the silver infused gate onto the head of the feral werewolf, driving the spike into its face. As the beast twitched and died, Joseph began to revert to human form and slumped against a wall, exhausted. He grimaced at the myriad of cuts, scraps, and bruises that, while quickly fading, he felt covering him. The only pain that did not fade was in his hands where he gripped the gate. Burns that looked as though he had placed his hands on a hot stove throbbed before they too began to slowly fade away.
“Fuck,” he wheezed, running his, now clawless, fingers through his hair, “Hope everyone else is having as much fun,”

Israel parried a slow stab from The Countess and caught the pommel of her sword in his gut, dropping him to his knee. The Countess spun and danced away as Tristan shot his pistol at her, removing the magazine and slamming in another. Israel extended his hand and grimaced, focusing on the lamp nearest The Countess, its light shining brighter with each second. The Countess eyed the lamp then turned to Israel. She pulled a wheel-lock pistol out of her dress and fired, grazing Israel’s shoulder. When Israel re-extended his hand the light did not grow brighter.
“What the hell?”
“Magic is fickle,” Israel raised his blade to defend himself but with a single kick it was broken and Israel himself caught the kick in his chest, “As is what negates it,”
The kick knocked Israel against a wall, a loud snap sounding off his arm breaking. The Countess calmly walked toward Israel but was thrown to the floor with a shotgun blast, her sword clattering against the ground. Tristan triumphantly stood holding Commodus’ shotgun, smoke wafting from the second barrel.
“Gotcha bitch!” Tristan smiled as wide as he did when he blew Bismark away in the same manner.
The Countess, staggered to her feet, the shredded meat of her side stitching itself back together. Her face finally shifted from her bored emotionless gaze to pure anger and hatred.
“You have ceased being entertaining,” she waved her arm and a door opened, “Die,”
Tristan expected something to come out of the door and attack him, but nothing came.
“Where,” The Countess’ face flashed a look of panic before reverting to anger, “Where are my thralls?”
“Oh yeah,” Saren swaggered out of the door, covered in blood, “About that,”
“You insignificant-!” The Countess began roaring but was interrupted with another shotgun blast knocking her further back. Tristan had reloaded. He fired again, but The Countess had gone, disappearing in a small black shimmer into her coffin room.
Tristan cursed, running to Israel along with Saren,
“Dude,” Tristan tried getting his attention, “Are you alright?”
“I got wood, man,” Israel coughed and grinned, “Why do I have wood?” he lowered his head, falling unconscious.
“He’ll be fine,” Saren slumped down next to him, “Well go on, you have a vampire to kill,”
“What?” Tristan gasped, “What are you talking about? Come help me,”
“I just killed at least two-hundred vampire thralls,” Saren shook her head, “I doubt I could stand back up even if I wanted to,”
“And I’m supposed to kill a pissed off vampire bitch?”
“You’re supposed to kill a pissed off vampire bitch that you blasted twice with a shotgun,” Saren smiled, “You have all you need to kill that her, now scoot,”
Tristan rolled his eyes and did as he was told, following The Countess into the coffin room.
Tristan slid the last two of his shells into the shotgun, silently cursing how much kick the monster of a gun had. Firing it three times caused his arms and shoulders to burn to the bone, he hoped that all he had to do was put something sharp into The Countess’ heart and be done with it with minimal effort.
Tristan found The Countess draped across her coffin, coughing and bleeding profusely.
“You…” The Countess glared at Tristan, “Insects,” she rose to her feet, “I am Countess Meredith Toreador Dego, I have survived three hundred years and I will last a thousand more! I will not be undone by a paltry mortal like you!”
“You talk too much,” Tristan fired both barrels, swearing under his breath at the strain. His shot blew the coffin apart, blasting splinters across the room. Countess Dego moved like shadow, moving under the shotgun and wrapping her hand around Tristan’s neck.
“Die!” she roared before gasping. Tristan had shoved his sword into her stomach. He pushed with all the effort he could muster, shoving her back and off his blade. Tristan pressed his advantage and swung high, aiming for her neck. The Countess moved back and charged. She drove her nails into Tristan’s shoulder and rushed back out of his swinging range before he could respond. Tristan could tell a pattern was forming and he had to break it before he was drained like a juice box.
He grabbed the silver chain on his belt and whipped it forward, surprising Countess Dego and striking her across the face with the end of the chain. Tristan wrapped the chain around the hilt of his sword and threw it. He swung the chain blade as wildly as he could, taking inspiration from a video game weapon of similar design. The Countess was trained to counter fighting styles, but this mad flailing was unpredictable and could not be so easily countered. With a final swing, The Countess’ arm came off and she was thrown against the broken remains of her coffin.
Tristan panted with exhaustion, seeing his victory.
“Ha!” he huffed, “Gotcha bitch,”
“Oh,” The Countess responded, panting just as heavily, “Have you?”
Tristan knew something was coming so he gritted his teeth and got back into a stance with his sword-chain. The Countess rose to her feet, every part of her becoming off color, to a sickly brown yellow. Her hair grew wiry and completely white, while her abdomen bloated. Her one remaining hand elongated and gained webbing between her fingers. The Countess was a Winged Shekab vampire.
“Fuck me,”
The Shekab made a gurgling noise and spat a torrent of brackish yellow liquid that caught fire on whatever it came in contact with. Tristan threw himself behind the stone pedestal that held the now broken coffin. He took aim and fired with his pistol, but almost panicked when he saw the bullets bounce off her skin as if they were pebbles against concrete. He completely panicked when he saw the monster now staring straight at him and rearing back to spit again.
Tristan scrambled to his feet, running from the foul ichor that sprayed where he once was. He swore again when he realized he dropped his sword before he dashed for cover. He saw his sword across the room, with the silver chain running between him and it. The chain had been hit with the ichor and was now intensely burning along its middle. Tristan saw an opportunity.
Tristan moved as fast as he could to his sword and threw it above The Countess’ neck, wrapping the chain around her shoulder. He again ran to his sword, grabbing it and the other end of the chain. Both ends squarely in hand he began to move his arms in tandem, in and out. The burning chain began sawing its way into The Countess’ collar.
The Countess roared and tried to throw Tristan’s chain off of her, but with only a single arm and Tristan’s speed overmatching her now bloated and sluggish frame, she could do little to stop the chain from digging its way deeper until it finally bit into and shredded her heart. With adrenaline clouding his mind, Tristan did not stop sawing the chain when The Countess stopped struggling. He continued until the chain tore all the way through and out the back of the brutalized corpse, the momentum making him fall backwards.
With the adrenaline finally dissipating in his bloodstream Tristan stood and admired his handy work. The brutalized and eviscerated corpse of The Countess was distributed around the room. Tristan gathered his no longer on fire chain, pistol, and sword and left the room with a spring in his step.
Tristan walked out of the coffin room and found Saren and Joseph idly chatting as Israel used The Countess’ fallen sword for support to stand, having claimed it for his own. Tristan grabbed the wheel-lock pistol that negated Israel’s magic, figuring that such a weapon could be useful.
“Hey guys,” Tristan triumphantly called to get everyone’s attention, a massive grin on his face. “Guess who just killed what,”
He was met with various hollers of praise and back pats from his fellows as he described the sawing of the vampire. He realized that Bismark was not among them and none of the others had seen her since splitting up. They found her sitting in the entrance hall, twirling her pistol on her finger.
“Please tell me one of you killed that heinous bitch that calls herself my mother,”
Tristan raised his hand, grinning again. Bismark almost took him to the floor with how fiercely she embraced him.
“It was in a fucking metal way too,” Israel added in, “Bisection with a burning chain,”
Bismark made a delighted squealing noise as she hugged Tristan even harder. She muttered praises over and over, completely overjoyed to know her lifelong tormenter died in immense pain.
“Congratulations,” Joseph sarcastically said, “Your mother died screaming,”
Bismark began giggling as she finally let Tristan go and began dancing in delight before hugging Israel, then Joseph, then Saren in sequence. Tears of joy were forming in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you all so much,”
“Well, everyone,” Saren strode out in front of her team to address them, “Let’s all go home,”
The Hunters: Burning Belfry
YEAH! End of the vampire arc! Expect one or two one-off before another arc.

Mature Content

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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 conscience, 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.
“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)

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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!
It's been a cool minute since I was last on here...huh
  • 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:19 goin' on 20 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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