On the Battlefield
Warren was poetry in motion with a sword in his hands. Decades of training, both in America and in Japan, made him one of the most dangerous men to ever wield a katana. The fact that he had this blade custom-made with a durable brand of silver made the vampire hunter even more dangerous.
Every time the blade sliced into undead flesh, primal screams echoed into the night. Warren couldn’t even see the carnage he was dishing out, the sword and his body a blur as he spun and ducked, side-stepped and twirled. Warren would’ve been horribly overmatched against two vampires 10 years ago; now, it was just another night at the office.
He felt the blood splatter onto his face, caught sight of a female arm reaching out for him. Warren sucked, glaring at the redhead baring her fangs before sinking his blade into her gut. The monster screamed and doubled over, slashing her long fingernails across Warren’s face. The vampire hunter grunted at the pain, twisting the blade in the vampire’s stomach before yanking the sword free.
The scream grew so loud, it pierced Warren’s ears. The echo bouncing off the walls of the damp alley would surely be noticed. He’d have to hurry this along.
With the female vamp still writhing in pain, and feeling the warm blood trickle down his left cheek, Warren turned his attention to the male vampire. The muscles in Warren’s arms rippled as he tightened the grip on his sword; though the Chicago night was chilly, Warren was without coat or sleeves; the cold on his skin was of little nuisance. If anything, it only fueled Warren’s adrenaline.
Warren saw fear in the male vampire’s eyes, but the creature wouldn’t retreat. The vampire hunter smiled, twirling the blade in his hands so show the monster the sharpened wooden tip he added to the sword handle. Two weapons in one, the height of convenience in a life where seconds matter more than anything.
“It’s okay to be scared,” Warren teased. “Really, I won’t tell anyone how you chickened out to some guy with a sword.”
Warren’s taunting had the desired effect; the male vampire growled and his nostrils flared before the creature lunged forward, flashing his fangs and leaping into the air. Warren rolled his eyes with a smirk, twirling the sword in his hand once more before jamming the wooden tip in the vampire’s chest. Warren removed the weapon almost instantly, ducking off to the side as the male vampire hit the ground on his left side and rolled onto his knees, arms cradled over his stomach.
Warren stood at the ready, catching his breath. He knew what came next wouldn’t be pretty.
As expected, the male vampire began hacking, blood spewing from his mouth onto the pavement. Years ago, the sight made Warren’s stomach turn, and there had been nights where he got sick after witnessing the act. Now, he barely flinched, watching the vampire vomit blood all over the pavement and stealing a glance at the female vampire to make sure she wasn’t trying anything.
She was leaning against the far wall of the alley, her right arm cradling her gut wound and wincing in pain. The silver blade had done its job.
The male vampire was convulsing on the ground now, having flipped over to his back at this point. His skin began to droop and collapse upon itself, before it exploded in a sea of red. All that remained was a pile of ragged denim clothes sitting in a pool of blood. Red splatters littered the walls.
Stepping over the pile of clothes, and silently cursing the mess on his steel-toed boots, Warren approached the female vampire, grabbing a tuft of her hair and tugging violently. The monster whimpered, doubling over more. The only thing louder than her pained protests was Warren’s own heartbeat.
“Have I ever told you how fucking disgusting you are?” Warren growled. “Not you personally, but … all of you. You’re even disgusting when you die.”
Waving the blade in front of the vampire’s face again, Warren laughed when her eyes grew wide and she recoiled – only to howl in pain once more.
“You ever seen a vampire die on TV? It’s pretty simple; you just turn to dust. Poof! Get a good gust of wind, or a Hoover, and it’s like you never existed.” Warren sneered. “None of this projectile vomiting bullshit.
“Reminds me of a frat party.”
Though he was tempted to kill the vampire, Warren didn’t really feel like going through all the histrionics again. Besides, if this girl was out hunting with a partner, there was a chance she was involved with a nest. There were few things Warren loved more than taking out a vampire nest – even if he had a hard time being quiet about it.
When he killed a vampire, it was almost impossible to get rid of the evidence. Warren was just glad vampire killing wasn’t illegal. If he had his way, that wouldn’t change.
“You probably wanna die right now,” he mused, poking the gut wound with a finger to elicit another whimper. Warren then tugged on her hair again, wandering down the alley and dragging her along. The vampire was so weak, she’d put up very little fight.
“But I got better ideas for you. What say we go for a ride, hm? If you behave, I might take care of that wound.