Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter Box Set 1 - Missions 1-3

by Gareth K Pengelly

  “What do you think?”

  “You can’t let a Helsing die, surely? Who’s gonna protect the world if I’m burnt to a crisp?”

  “There’s always another Helsing. Besides, none of the others died.”

  “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not like any of the other Helsings.”

  “Believe in yourself, lad. The ring wouldn’t have chosen you if you weren’t worthy.”

  Heimlich’s words, so ominously echoing those he’d heard standing before Helsing I’s entombed body, sent shivers down his spine, cold and refreshing, contesting with the fierce heat from below. Slowly, he looked up; the next platform was a mere ten feet distant, a distance he’d jumped even as a child. With a final glance down to make sure that the fire was, indeed, still rising, Brian made his decision. He ran. And leapt. Stone, then fire, then finally, stone again. He landed with a roll on the other platform, rising, eyes wide as though in disbelief, before looking back across the gap and giggling like a lunatic.

  “Good work, Helsing. But don’t get cocky. There’s a long way to go yet.”

  Brian nodded; Heimlich was right, his next jump looked tougher yet. A rope dangled between him and the next column, fastened to the side of which was another ladder. Somehow, he had to jump, grab the rope and swing across, to grab hold of the ladder. And yet the rope was dangling some twenty feet away, no way at all that he could make that jump, not in a million years.

  “Any ideas?” Brian called out, ever aware that the fire was rising higher, hungry for a taste of his sweet, quivering flesh.

  “Ever heard of telekinesis, Helsing? Clear your mind, concentrate on the rope. Will it towards you. To put it in geeky terms you’ll understand, imagine you’re Luke Skywalker and the rope is your lightsabre.”

  Brian gulped, before staring intently at the rope. Come ‘ere, he thought. Come on, good boy. The flames were getting nearer still now, his forehead beginning to bead with perspiration. Come on! Wait… did the rope just jiggle? Did it move of its own accord? It did! With a mental growl, he stared murder at the rope, willing it, imagining psychic chains lashing out to bind it and drag it towards him. Suddenly, the rope swung towards him. And the heavy, knotted end smashed him in the face, splitting his lip.

  “Good try. Though if I could make one suggestion, I’d recommend catching it with your hand and not your face.”

  Brian spat blood upon the stone column, before reaching out with his hand and summoning the rope once more. This time, as it obeyed, it smacked firmly into his waiting palm and he grasped it tightly with both hands. With a grimace of terror, he lifted his feet from the stone column, swinging out into the fiery abyss, just as the flames overwhelmed the platform he’d just been standing on. The fire was mere inches beneath him as he soared, the end of the rope trailing in the flames, his trainers lifted high yet still smoking nonetheless. The ladder drew near and he reached out with one hand, grabbing hold, before discarding the rope behind him to be consumed in the blaze. The flaming pool was nearly at his feet by the time he started his ascent, scrambling with all his might up the side of this new, taller column, leaving the heat behind.

  “Good work, lad. But you’re not out of the woods yet. Behold: the Slope of Certain Flattening.”

  He could see why the next obstacle had such a ridiculous moniker; a long slope, down which rolled at regular intervals enormous boulders, like those out of Raiders of the Lost Ark. As each huge sphere neared the bottom end of the slope, it fell off to one side, only to be carried up once more by buckets on a constantly rising pulley system, to be reset back at the top. How heavy must each of those boulders be, he wondered? Several tons? They would squash him, bursting him open like a car rolling over a packet of crisps.

  “I am not running up there,” he shouted into the air. “I don’t want to be scooped into my coffin with a spatula.”

  “You are and you will. There’s nothing I can do that can save you from burning to death, but if you listen to my instructions then the boulders, at least, will do you no harm. Now, do you trust me?”

  “Absolutely not,” he replied, eyeing the latest ball to come rolling down towards him with a thunderous noise. “But I trust the flames even less, so against all my better judgement, let’s get on with it. What do I need to do?”

  “Soon as there’s a gap, run out onto the slope.”

  “I won’t make it across before the next boulder comes.”

  “I know you won’t, but trust me.”

  “Trust is earned.”

  “So is a million pounds a year. Now do it. There’s a gap, go!”

  Just as the latest boulder rolled off the side of the slope, Brian did as he was instructed, swallowing his fear like a greasy blob of phlegm as he ran up the slope. Just as he’d dreaded, another boulder dropped onto the top, barring his way and beginning its slow, inevitable roll towards him.

  “Heimlich…?” he whimpered.

  “Clear your mind. Think thoughts of lightness. Of air. Of wind, water, anything soft. Fluffy kittens, jelly. Soft things. Light things. Think it now! And hold your breath.”

  All Brian could think of was his own impending death, the slope vibrating beneath his feet as the boulder rolled inexorably and lethally towards him, but he tried all the same. Fluffy kittens, he thought. Helium balloons. A summer breeze. A silk kimono. Soft things. Light things. Kleenex. The boulder rolled closer, looming larger. Closer still, larger still. Brian went to scream, but continued holding his breath as he’d been told, a curious clash of instincts. Then blackness. Then just as quickly, light, the slope rising up before him. He blinked confused, glancing back the way he’d come. The boulder continued on its way, rolling down the slope as if he’d never even been there. He looked down at his hands, his legs, his whole body; all remained blissfully unflattened.

  “You can breathe now.”

  “How…?” he gasped, letting his pent up breath out in one laboured heave.

  “No time to explain, just go, get to the top of the slope before the next boulder, unless you want to try your luck a second time.”

  He did not, therefore he ran, sprinting to the top of the slope and rolling onto the next platform, just as the next boulder dropped from its bucket with a resounding thud. He stood, hands on his knees, bent over, breathing hard, strangely elated yet entirely confused.

  “One platform left, Helsing,” Heimlich told him over the speaker. “Make this one and you’re home and dry.”

  Brian rose and looked out at the next platform; there, calling him like the holy grail to Galahad, the lever that would end this nightmare once and for all. Only a rope bridge, swaying gently in the updraft created by the flames below, stood in his way. He glanced down over the edge of his current platform; the flames were some way below yet. He had time. He could do this. He slowly made his way over to the start of the rope bridge.

  “This looks easy enough,” he murmured to himself. “So why do I feel like it’s a trap?”

  One foot slowly, cautiously placed on the bridge, testing his weight. An ominous creak, yet it held. Through the gaps in the rope webbing he could see the flames twenty feet below, licking up at him ravenously, as if goading him to fall that they might have their prize. He gulped, took another step out onto the bridge. Still it held.

  “Keep your eyes on the lever, Helsing. And go get it.”

  He didn’t need to be told, his eyes never wavering from that lever as he slowly made his way across the rickety, rocking bridge. Just a few more yards, he thought to himself, his every muscle tense, his nerves alight with fear, heart pounding in his chest. Get to the lever, pull it, done. Lever, pull, done. Suddenly, Heimlich appeared on the platform ahead in a puff of smoke.

  “Concentrate on the lever, Helsing,” he called out, a smile on his face that Helsing didn’t trust for an instant. “The lever is your salvation. Come, pull it, and this is all over.”

  Helsing stared intently, edging his way further across the bridge. The lever. He needed to reach the lever, that�
�s all he needed to do. The lever filled his vision, his thoughts. He breathed the lever. He was the lever. So intent on the lever was he, that he didn’t notice Heimlich pull out a remote control from his suit pocket. Didn’t notice him press the red button thereon. He did notice the ominous ‘click’ however. And he certainly noticed the rope bridge detach from its anchor on the platform and plummet away below him.

  “Shit!” he cried out, as he began to fall through the air.

  He was so close, so close, only to be betrayed at the last instant, and his last waking thoughts before being consumed by the flames would be nothing more than the stark image of a lever emblazoned into his mind’s eye.

  A lever before which he was standing, right now.

  He gasped, staggering, legs nearly giving way as wisps of black smoke rose up all about him. Wait, what? He’d been falling to his inevitable, fiery death. How was he…? Suddenly it dawned on him. And he began to chuckle, that chuckle turning into a riotous belly laugh. He’d Blinked! Heimlich drew near, a proud smile on his face and Brian turned to him, still laughing, tears of relief pouring down his cheeks. Before lunging with a bunched fist for his obnoxious, double-crossing, masochistic face. His attempted strike merely flailed at empty air, his right foot seemingly pinned in place. Frustrated, he looked down; the sole of his trainer was partially embedded in the stone of the platform.

  “I’d pull that lever if I were you,” Heimlich told him, laughing. “The flames are nearly upon us. I can Blink back to the antechamber without looking. Can you?”

  He glanced pointedly down at Brian’s stuck trainer. Still angry, but seeing his point, Brian sighed and pulled the lever. The heat began to vanish, the fiery pit of doom receding, a loud gurgling noise signalling the fluid being drained away to god knows where, leaving only burning ladders, ropes and scorched stone in its wake.

  “Good work, Helsing. I knew you’d be able to do it.”

  “Really? I didn’t. And I don’t appreciate that little trick you pulled at the end. My life was flashing before my eyes.”

  “And interesting viewing it was, I’m sure. Now if you follow me, we’ll discuss what you’ve learned. And I don’t know about you, but I’m a little parched. Is it just me, or is it warm in here?” Heimlich made to move, but Brian simply stood, staring at him, before glancing pointedly down at his trainer. “Oh yes, I forgot.” He strolled over to Brian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Clear your mind for a moment.”

  He did, and by the time any stray thoughts had managed to make entry into his head they were both on the ground at the steaming foot of the platform. Heimlich set off and Brian made to follow, but his first few steps felt awkward, one leg now seemingly longer than the other causing him to walk with a strange list. He lifted his right foot; a sizeable sliver of sole was missing from the bottom of his trainer, no doubt still a part of the stonework high above.

  “God dammit,” he chuntered, hurrying to catch up to the retreating Master of Magic. “These are Converse.”

  Then he suddenly remembered that he was rich; another pair were no more than a click of a mouse away. That went some way towards easing his bubbling rage. From the chamber of horrors they strode, the very stone of the walls hissing and cracking as it contracted following the immense heat, and into the anteroom, the bookcase closing behind them.

  “You can return to the Obstacle Course anytime you see fit,” Heimlich told a stunned Brian. “I will teach you incantations that will change the room to various patterns of obstacles, that you might hone your abilities.”

  “You’re a fucking lunatic.”

  “And you’re surprising. Sit, let me debrief you.”

  “I’ll thank you to keep my pants on.”

  “Just shut up and sit.”

  Brian did, sullenly, his limbs still tingling with the adrenaline that came with near-death, a feeling he was growing far too familiar with of late. At Heimlich’s clicked finger, a functionary from the Scrying Chamber hurried forth bearing drinks; a glass of brandy for Heimlich, a foaming pint of Doom Bar for Brian, before darting away. Brian eyed his beverage suspiciously, eyes darting back and forth from pint to Master of Magic as though expecting it to be drugged, as though this might be yet another trick. Heimlich’s eyes gave nothing away. Tentatively, he gave a small sip. Then another. Finally, a great gulp, the nectar soothing his dry throat.

  “Good, now you’re certain I’m not about to roofie you, let’s discuss what you’ve learned today. Firstly; telekinesis. Or as we call it, the Mind Whip. During your tenure as Helsing – long and prosperous may it be – you will no doubt lose your weapons from time to time. With the Mind Whip you can call them back to you with but a thought. Other uses, too, in abundance, once you’ve trained yourself in its mastery; unlocking doors from outside; pushing a foe from a rooftop; the possibilities are endless.”

  Brian nodded, still downing his pint with gusto. Finally, he finished, half the pint now remaining in the glass.

  “Sounds good. Probably a better way to introduce me to it than threatening me with fire, mind. What about the second trick? How did the boulder roll right through me?”

  “Shadow Form.”

  “Mind Whip? Shadow Form? Honestly, which role-playing games are you nicking these names from?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Come on, I mean, Blink is clearly from World of Warcraft. Dishonored, too, come to think of it.”

  “These terms are older than your grandfather, Helsing. Pre-dating any of these childish games you’re referencing. I don’t even know what this Warcraft is. It sounds like something by Sun Tzu but knowing you I doubt it’s anything so high brow.”

  “Really? Let me ask you a question then; horde or alliance?”

  Heimlich’s mouth made to open, as if out of instinct, before he silenced himself.

  “Knew it,” Brian smirked.

  Heimlich shook his head.

  “Back to the point, Shadow Form.” He paused for an instant at Brian’s laugh, before continuing. “By concentrating on the sensation of weightlessness and formlessness, you can will the ring into making you intangible for a time. Not only can it enable you to move through walls, reach into safes or drawers, but also it can help you avoid what might be a killing blow from an enemy.”

  “Then why didn’t XII do that? Cassandra stabbed him in the heart with her claws right in front of my eyes.”

  “Cassandra is a vampire,” Heimlich explained, his tone grave and serious. “She abides by a different law of physics. As does the banshee you will be facing tonight. So I would suggest you don’t try that trick with her; it won’t end well.”

  “Wait, so it doesn’t work against vampires or banshees. Is there anything it does work on?”

  “Well, yes, obviously. Trolls, mermen, minotaurs, werewolves. This list is nigh-endless. Just don’t try it on anything magical in nature. So no vampires, no witches, no demons.”

  “What about Cthulu?” Brian asked, wryly.

  “You bump into Cthulu, you fucking run.”

  Brian stared at the man. He’d been joking; Cthulu was a meme, born in a horror book and since appropriated by the internet. He’d been in South Park, for heaven’s sake. Yet Heimlich’s face showed no sign of mockery. Brian shivered.

  “Duly noted. Trolls, yes. Vampires, no. Cthulu, run.”

  “Good. Now the last spell you used, Blink, is possibly one of the hardest to master, requiring a huge amount of concentration. But you did well. Surprisingly so, in fact.”

  “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”

  “No you’re not. Regardless, you impressed me, no mean feat. Anyway, we’re done here, for the time being. Next, onto Friedrick who will run through your gear. I’m assuming you’ve opened Bertha’s boot and thoroughly inspected the armaments he selected for you?”

  “It, err, slipped my mind.”

  “C’mon Helsing. This is basic shit.” He rose to his feet, gesturing for Brian to follow. Brian held up a finger, downing the last dregs of hi
s pint. “Let’s away to the Armoury.”

  And so, they awayed to the Armoury.

  Chapter Sixteen: Try Not To Die

  Brian stood in the entrance to the Armoury, confused. Everything seemed to look the same; the mess, the crates, the disapproving stares from the Masters and the hulking form of Frank still at his interminable hammering away by the forge. Yet something struck him as odd about the scene. Finally, it came to him.

  “What’s Bertha doing here? I left her locked and in the garage. How is she here? She couldn’t fit through the doorway…”

  “Magic!” Friedrick proclaimed from his chair, doing his best impersonation of Heimlich, before laughing. “Nah, there’s a lift. And obviously we’ve got the spare keys.” Brian nodded, somewhat relieved at the lack of magic involved. He’d had enough for one day already. Friedrick continued, gesturing towards the rear of the Camaro. “Pop the boot,” he said. “And witness what I’ve picked for you.”

  With a shrug, Brian fumbled for the keys in his pocket and thumbed the button to open the trunk. The lid rose with a sigh of hydraulics and he craned his neck to look down into the recess. His eyes widened in surprise, for at least some of the items in there he recognised.

  “Is that… is that an MP5K? And that’s a Spas-12!”

  Friedrick beamed.

  “Indeed. I do listen, you know; I’ve one eye, not one ear. I took note of the fact that you play these new-fangled shoot’em up games and selected some weapons you might be familiar with, with some of my own subtle modifications, of course. The sub-machinegun fires silver bullets. And the shotgun, salt shells.”

  “Silver bullets?” Brian raised an eyebrow. “That must cost a fortune.”

  “Benefactors,” Heimlich reminded him.

  “Ah yes. Benefactors.”

  He returned his gaze to the boot. Besides the two weapons with which he was familiar, a crate of the UV grenades, another crate full of gizmos he didn’t recognise, then two more weapons he’d seen before. One of them had been demonstrated, if somewhat ineptly, by Friedrick himself; the bola-launcher. He glanced doubtfully at the Master of Ordinance, who shrugged.