Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter. Mission #3: Howlin' Mad

by Gareth K Pengelly

  “I’ve had just about enough of your hairy fucking faces and your dog-shit breath,” Brian growled with the haunting, many-layered voice of infinite power. “I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you again; SIT!”

  With that final, thunderous command, Brian flexed his fingers. The werewolf’s thickly muscled neck snapped like a candy cane, the huge, hairy body spasming in protest at the sudden and unexpected disconnect twixt skull and spine. Then, with a snort of distaste, Brian hurled the corpse from the gantry to land with an unceremonious splat on the concrete below.

  “Holy… shit…” Gertie half-laughed, half-gasped. “Brian… how…?”

  “Not Brian,” he replied, turning and gazing at her, face grim and eyes filled with endless thunder and lightning. “Helsing.”

  The other werewolves who had, until now, been hesitating following their pack-mate’s unexpected demise, now roared and raced towards the pair, the entire gantry shaking beneath the weight of their furious charge.

  “Well, Helsing,” Gertie hastily replied, backing away towards the windows as the pack approached. “Got any more of that badassness up your sleeve?”

  Brian sniffed and turned his attention to lycan charge.

  “Plenty.”

  At unspoken summons, his sword flew to his hand. But no whispered words, not this time; and instead of flames, lightning now wreathed the blade, bright, white, crisp, arcing to the gantry with hungry, licking tongues. The lycans, though slow of mind and filled with ravenous hunger, caught wind of something in his eyes, some inkling of danger spotted therein, and paused in their charge to consider it, in much the same way that a rabbit does as it spies an approaching lorry. And, much like in the rabbit’s situation, they realised with a canine gulp, this scenario was only going to have one outcome, and it wouldn’t be dinner.

  Brian counter-charged, a battlecry on his lips that wasn’t entirely his own, but rather, the fury of a vengeful human race that had forever railed against the threat of unholy creatures in the night and had now seriously had enough. As he raced towards the beasts, visions filled his mind; bloodshed, cleansing fire, the battles of all Helsings since their very inception replaying themselves in his head over and over, filling him with their ardour. And their righteous fury.

  The first werewolf was neatly bisected at the waist by that sparking blade, legs going one way, bemused head and torso soaring the other. Brian charged through the shower of blood, hand outstretched like a sorcerer. The next lycan in line gurgled as tendrils of the Mind Whip lashed about it, pinning its limbs in place. Then, with a pitiful whine that faded with the distance, it was launched like a rocket to smash through the roof overhead and high into the night sky. The third werewolf stood for a moment, indecision wracking its features, a curious look indeed on a lycan, before lunging to the attack with a reaching claw. Brian caught the creature’s wrist and held it immovable, before glancing around the creature to the werewolf behind. He smiled. And it was a cruel smile, fuelled by hatred that wasn’t entirely his own. He Blinked the werewolf into its fellow, the pair of lycans merging into a howling, misshapen whole that fell sideways off of the gantry to burst upon the ground below. The two remaining werewolves fled from the platform with whines of fear, scrambling down the sheer concrete wall with all the haste their claws would allow in their effort to escape.

  “You did it!” Gertie gasped, regarding the retreating forms that scurried away with their tails between their legs.

  “It’s not finished yet,” Brian spat, his usually pallid and unenthusiastic eyes gleaming with a bloodlust that absolutely did not suit him. Gertie backed away at the venom in his tone. “It doesn’t end till every last one of them is dead.”

  With that, he reached over and grasped the girl by her shoulder, Blinking the pair of them to the earth. The startled werewolves that had only just reached the ground themselves howled in fear and made to flee through the vast shipping containers, but Brian cocked his head to one side, sending a forklift truck hurling through the air to crush one of the scarpering creatures to paste against a steel container. And finally, there was one. Brian strolled slowly and purposefully towards the beast, which was now cowering in a corner, finally knowing that there was no way to run, no way to hide. And most certainly no way to fight. Not against this relentless force of nature before it.

  Brian smirked as he hoisted his crackling sword high, the tang of ozone filling the warehouse air.

  “One less wolf-pack to trouble the innocents of this world.”

  He made to sweep down with the blade towards the quivering mountain of muscle and fur, but then at the very last instant he paused. But why? The fury within him, the righteous anger of aeons of struggle against the supernatural, howled at him to strike, to end it all with one fell blow. But something in the cowering beast’s look made him hesitate. Finally, it clicked; that scraggly beard hanging from the end of that slavering chin.

  It was Aaron.

  Visions of the hippies chatting and laughing at the festival, Aaron among them, began to fill his mind, displacing the fury of before. Anger began to ebb. To be replaced by sorrow. The eldritch lightning that crackled about his blade faded. And when he spoke, it wasn’t with the thunderous tones of power.

  “No,” he whispered. “This isn’t me.” Lowering his blade, he turned to a confused looking Gertie. “Let’s go. We’ll lock him up, safe and sound. I’ve had enough of killing for one night. I need a beer. And some sleep. I’m tired.”

  The Master of Combat frowned at his words and gestured to the beast that was still curled up in a ball and peeking at them through taloned fingers.

  “We can’t just leave him. He’s a fucking werewolf! What happened to all that righteous fury of before? It not ending until every last one of them is dead?”

  “I’m Helsing,” Brian said, staring at her. “It ends when I say it ends. Do I need to repeat myself?”

  She opened her mouth as if to reply, but no words came out. Instead, she slowly nodded.

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Yes, yes I am.” He glanced back at the werewolf. “We’ll leave via the back door. I’m sure I can rustle up enough strength to Mind Whip a container to block the doorway. The workers will find him in the morning. He’ll be naked, but otherwise quite harmless.”

  As they turned to leave, a roaring noise could suddenly be heard from the other side of the vast roller-shutter door. The unmistakable rumble of an approaching V8 engine. The steel door tore like wet tissue as Bertha punched a hole through it, before slewing to a halt in the warehouse amidst a cloud of burning rubber. Neil in the driver’s seat gave Brian the thumbs up, before spying the sole remaining werewolf that had now straightened itself in surprise and was staring at the car. Before Brian could even think to shout, Neil scowled and floored the accelerator, the muscle car launching forwards, the invulnerable bonnet smashing into the lycan and hurling it into the shadows with a whimper. As Brian held his head in his hands, Neil climbed from the car and hollered.

  “Hah. Saved ya life.”

  “That was Aaron,” Brian sighed. “I was going to spare him.”

  Neil gazed about at the gory remains of the other lycans that littered the warehouse floor.

  “Really? Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

  Scylla emerged from the passenger side of the Camaro, closing the door and making her way towards Brian, eyes wide with awe.

  “I felt your power, Brian,” she told him, excitedly. “You… you tapped into the ley lines themselves! I’d heard that Helsings could do such things, but never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  Gertie scowled, glancing first at Scylla, then Brian.

  “What does she mean, she felt it?”

  Before Brian could even think of an excuse, a figure, all teeth, claws and rage, flew from the darkness between the towering containers, dripping blood yet still fast nonetheless and looking for vengeance following the blow of before. Wil
d bloodlust in its eyes, having finally forgotten the terror of before, the werewolf leapt for the closest member of their group, ready to rip, tear and rend. It leapt for Gertie. Brian whirled, ready to intervene, but the ring was hot on his finger, and when he tried to summon forth the power to Blink, to Mind Whip, to anything, his only reward was a burning ache in his head. And so he could do nothing but run, glacially slowly, towards his Master of Combat, as the beast drew near. Gertie noticed the lunging beast out of the corner of her eye, and began to turn towards it, raising her daggers, but too slowly, Brian knew, far too slowly.

  His Master of Combat was about to die.

  But then a fresh blur, fast as the ocean current, swept past him towards the creature. Scylla tackled the creature mid-air, with all the fury of a crashing Atlantic storm, the pair rebounding from a steel container and leaving a werewolf-shaped dent in its side. The beast quickly recovered from the impact, rising groggily to its feet and shaking its head, before snarling and lashing at her with its terrible claws. Scylla ducked, dove, weaved in a blur of motion, avoiding those talons wherever they might sweep. Yet fast though she was, she wasn’t quite fast enough; one of those razor claws slashed her across the stomach, tearing her t-shirt and exposing a long gash in her midriff. She fell backwards onto her rear, hissing in pain, as the creature rear above her, poised to kill. Brian watched the scene unfold with fear in his heart and tiredness in his eyes. Nothing, it seemed, ever went his way. With a sigh, he summoned what little he could from the ring, ignoring the burning pain in his temples.

  And like a dart, one of Gertie’s Basilisk Blades flew from her surprised grasp to embed itself right between the werewolf’s eyes.

  As the beast fell lifeless to the earth, its dissolving brain seeping from its ears, the group as one ran towards Scylla, who was even now struggling to her feet.

  “Stay still, woman, for God’s sake,” Gertie admonished her. “That’s a deep cut. We need to get you to the Healing Shower.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she hissed in reply, warding helping hands away from her. “Leave me be a moment.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as if in deep concentration. Then, before the group’s disbelieving eyes, the deep gash began to melt and seal together till no trace remained of it having ever been there.

  “Yes, Water Nymph healing, yo,” Neil clapped. “Awesome.”

  Brian stared.

  “For fuck’s sake, Neil…”

  “Oh.”

  Gertie stared at the pair, then slowly turned her gaze to Scylla’s miraculously healed stomach, then finally up to her face. The Nymph was biting her lip nervously, an apologetic look on her face as she quickly glanced at Brian, who shrugged, resigned to whatever fate the cruel gods had in store.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he told her.

  Turning her gaze back to Gertie, Scylla took a deep breath… and revealed her true form.

  “You’re…” Gertie began, taking a step backwards in surprise. “You’re… beautiful.”

  Brian blinked.

  “Oh.”

  Scylla let out a pent up breath, clearly relieved.

  “Brian said you’d grab his flaming sword and kill me,” she told the Master of Combat.

  “Really? And waste so much hotness? Never. Though I’m tempted to grab his sword and shove it up his arse for keeping this from me for so long.”

  “Oi,” Brian retorted. “I thought we’d established that I’m your boss?”

  “My retard boss, yes. Who still has a lot to learn.” She bent down to retrieve her dagger from the werewolf’s head with a tug, causing Brian to wince in guilt. “Now, shall we make our way back to the Mount? It stinks of dead werewolf in here.”

  The four began to make their way towards the car.

  “So, Gertie,” Neil began. “I’ve heard talk on the grapevine of a ‘thing.’ Any truth to that?”

  “Neil?” Brian interrupted him.

  “Hmm?”

  “Shut up.”

  Epilogue:

  A Thing

  Brian stood in his kitchen, clad in only his bathrobe as he played with the ring on his finger, waiting for the kettle to boil. The morning sunlight filtered in through the blinds, warming his face, and he half-closed his eyes, pondering what he’d learned on this last mission.

  He’d learned that he was indeed the boss, with the Masters subservient to him and now keenly aware of it. Though he was even more keenly aware of the fact that he still had much to learn and therefore would be well advised to still pay heed to what they had to say. They might each be lunatics in their own ways, but they’d been living this life a lot longer than he.

  He’d learned that doing the thing that felt wrong was sometimes the right thing to do. And that trying to do the right thing often led to things going far wronger than they otherwise would have done had he done the wrong-feeling thing to start with.

  He’d learned that he truly was a Helsing, capable of immense feats of power. Yet with that power came a price; whilst wielding that unimaginable Helsingness, something of his self was lost in the process. And though he might not like being himself at times, he still preferred it to being that remorseless killing machine. He’d made up his mind never to call upon that power again, if he could help it. Well… maybe with an exception for that meddlesome bitch, Cassandra.

  He’d learned, for the thousandth time, that Neil, the man he’d looked up to and admired as his superior in every way for the last two years was, in fact, an idiot.

  He’d learned that seals and sea-lions used foul language and had such mundane names as Dave and Bill.

  The kettle clicked and he poured water over instant coffee, before placing the steaming mugs on the little round John Smith’s tray he’d nicked from the local, before carrying the drinks through the living room and up the stairs. Hands encumbered, he used the barest push of Mind Whip to open the bedroom door. A pair of dark eyes in a pale green, beautiful face smiled at him from the pillow. Then, in a sudden rainbow-hued motion of pigtails, another face appeared from behind it, also smiling. Brian grinned in return, before closing the door behind him with his foot.

  And most of all, he thought to himself, he’d finally learned how to live in the moment.

  “Coffee, girls?”

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