by Justin Sloan
Probably just one of her brother’s scouts, she told herself.
The best route to the ships seemed to be a leap from a building, so she climbed. With each step she moved faster, until soon she was leaping from one ledge to the next, jumping on a fire escape, and then shimmying up a drain pipe. It was as if nothing could stop her, and then she was on the top of a building, and she ran... and jumped.
For what seemed like minutes, but was more likely a second at most, she was airborne. The wind pushed back her hair and purple jacket, and then she was landing, rolling across the deck of a ship.
“Is that my little sister I see?” a voice called from another ship, two over. “Welcome to the party, too bad you can’t stay.”
KA-BOOM! The larger ship had fired on this one, and hit dead on. The ship quaked and then was falling, so Valerie had to run and use more of her energy than she’d wanted to by this point.
With a giant leap she was off the ship, airborne and coming onto the next one—only, she was too high and landed on the blimp. It gave slightly beneath her, and then she was falling, sliding off of its edge. Her fingernails grew to claws and she scrambled across the slick balloon, each handhold giving way slightly as her claws made small holes and air escaped.
It was collapsing around her, but again she leaped.
But it wasn’t high enough—the lack of air in the blimp had given her an uneven surface to jump from, so she missed her mark and was falling past the ship she’d seen her brother on.
The ground was coming up fast, cement riddled with potholes.
“This is going to hurt!” She cringed as she prepared for impact—but noticed something flash by… rope? She hit another rope, then realized what was happening and reached out and grabbed the next one, pulling herself out of the fall in spite of the burning of the flesh on her hands.
She was lucky Vampires healed, because if her hand still been burnt from when she’d arrived and it had been in the daylight, there would have been no way she could have held onto this rope.
The rope swayed, she was riding it and realized this must be one of the ropes the Vampires had used to climb down and command the wave of Nosferatu. And if they’d used them to climb down, she could use them to climb up.
And so she did, with pain throbbing and burning from torn flesh, she climbed hand-over-hand. The ropes were slick from the rain, but she was strong and her grip fierce. Soon, she was at the ship’s edge, where she threw herself over the railing to land with a thump on the deck.
“Stepping foot on a ship without the captain’s permission?” Donovan asked, stepping over her. His best warriors stood at his side, some snarling in hatred, others leering at her, probably thinking how stupid of a move this was on her part.
At the moment, lying there very winded, with hands so hurt she was sure squeezing a trigger or even gripping her sword would be excruciating, she had to agree.
This was not her brightest moment.
“You can’t do this,” she told Donovan. The rain began to fall at a forty-five-degree angle, hitting Donovan and his warriors in the backs but spraying her in the face. She sat to talk, but Donovan kicked her, sending her back to the floor, groaning in pain.
“Remember your place, sis.” He said, leaning over her. “It’s on your back, in the water, about to die. Let’s go ahead and help facilitate that last part.” He stood straight and smiled, then turned around, calling over his shoulder as he stepped away, “Help yourselves, boys.”
The Vampires surged in on her with kicks and punches. She rolled into a ball and wanted to scream as each blow sent new shockwaves of pain through her. One stomped on her already injured hand, then another landed a punch on her unprotected face.
She was back at that French city, destroyed by her brother, sewage water and all… and she almost thought it would end that way.
She remembered how Sandra had come for her, risking her own life to save Valerie. And now there were others—Diego, Royland, Cammie, everyone who was relying on her. They were out there doing their parts to rid the city of Donovan and his murderous Vampires, but if she failed right here, so would they…
FUCK. THAT.
She screamed and caught hold of the next leg that came her way, tearing at it with her claws, and then pulling so that she could lunge and throw her weight into the vampire’s knee cap. He fell, screaming, but she wasn’t done. As she rolled across him and out of the barrage of attacks, she landed an elbow to his throat and groin simultaneously.
One of the Vampires had recovered from shock and came after Valerie with a stomp—Valerie rolled aside and let the stomp connect with the other Vampires sternum. A loud crack meant something was broken.
One vampire out of the way.
But the others had turned now too, and several were pulling knives, others guns—and one motherfucker even had Valerie’s own sword.
Hell no.
She gnashed her teeth and glared through the red glow that was coming from her eyes. Her fangs were growing longer than she’d ever felt, adrenaline coursing throughout her body.
But that didn’t stop the gunshots as she charged, or the sword aimed at her chest—no, she knew it before she even made contact… this was the moment she would die.
And then the rain seemed to stop, everything was silent, and everyone seemed frozen in space as a black shadow appeared with a flash of darkness so fast Valerie could barely tell what was happening. She was out of harm’s way and at least two of the Vampires were down, heads removed from their torsos.
“What the hell?” the one holding her sword yelled as the rain returned.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Valerie saw another flash of darkness, and then the sword was flying through the air, back into Valerie’s hands—though it stung like a bitch to catch it—and the vampire was a bloody mess on the deck of the ship.
“ENOUGH!” Donovan shouted. He’d been walking away, but now stood at the helm of the ship, rain drenched, and staring through his own red, glowing eyes in the direction just past Valerie’s left shoulder.
She turned, slowly, and then saw the shadow—or rather, a man in a black trenchcoat, shaved head bowed, hand clenching and unclenching as if he was ready for more blood. When he slowly raised his head to look up at them, his red eyes piercing the night there was no question in Valerie’s mind.
“The Dark Messiah,” she whispered.
The newcomer turned his gaze at her, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully and nodded. “That’s not distasteful. You may call me that.” He looked back up at Donovan,
“… though most call me Michael.” His cold voice chilled Valerie, and she wasn’t the one he was looking at.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Donovan took a step back.
One of the Vampires remaining didn’t wait to see what would happen next, but simply ran and flung himself from the ship.
“There...” Donovan looked around in concern, then whispered with eyes wide, “there is no Michael. If you’re the Michael, that Michael, you’ve been gone for…?”
Michael raised an eyebrow, “Much too long... yes?” he smiled, though it wasn’t a smile that reached his eyes.
No, it was only a smile wide enough to reveal his fangs. “And at long last,” he opened his arms wide, his eyes
red. “Your Savior has returned.”
“This isn’t your fight!” Donovan screamed, his hand moved toward the pistol at his waist, but before he could even touch it, Michael had him lifted up in the air, feet kicking. Michael’s hand clamped around the younger vampire’s throat.
Michael’s hand choked Donovan, who was struggling futilely to loosen the claws in his neck, “Then do not make me decide its outcome with your stupidity!” Michael snarled. He released with a shove and Donovan stumbled back, grasping his throat and coughing.
Michael walked to the side before turning back around. Gesturing to Valerie, “This is not my fight I think. Rather, I believe,” he looked first to Donovan, then to Valerie, “that justic
e is calling for this fight to occur. Who am I to take justice away from those who need it? This fight is between the two of you. But I’ve been watching… Valerie, is it?” He asked, the voice demanding yet gentle when he spoke to her.
She nodded, her chest thumping and head swimming. Was the Michael really addressing her?
“I find you to be honorable,” Michael said before turning to look Donovan up and down. “You, who’d stand behind, while your minions attack her? You are dishonorable.”
“So what, you’re some sort of judge, is that it?” Donovan asked, spittle flying in his rage. “I won’t have it!”
“You’ll have whatever I tell you... boy.” Michael crossed his arms over his chest, weighing each of them with a calculating gaze. “You will fight, fair. To the winner go the spoils.”
“Whoever wins, whatever the case, you accept the outcome?” Donovan jumped at this opening. “You won’t kill me if I—”
Michael shook his head, the movement causing water drops to fly off of his head. “I never promised that. But I won’t kill you now. After it’s over, if you’re still alive? Then we will talk.”
Donovan turned to Valerie with a smirk and reached for his pistol a second time.
“If you dare use that,” Michael told him conversationally, Donovan stopping in mid pull, “I will cut off the arm myself and you will then be down to one arm in this fight. That was your only warning. Toss it over the side.”
Michael walked around and reached out to grab one of the Vampires watching, who was holding a pistol behind his back. He lifted the Vampire up into the air, the vampire kicking, struggling to break Michael’s hold.
“The fight will be fair,” Michael told them all as they watched him hold the struggling one. “No weapons, simply brother,” he nodded to Donovan, “to sister,” he nodded to Valerie. Michael turned to speak to the Vampire he was holding, “You apparently don’t believe in fair?” Michael shrugged and casually tossed the now screaming Vampire over the side.
“May we begin?” Valerie asked, doing her best to keep her voice steady.
She turned her sword over and drove it into the deck, knowing Michael wouldn’t allow her to use it. There was no point in prolonging this, and she’d been itching for the opportunity to go one-on-one with Donovan for a lot longer than she’d realized.
Michael lifted one hand in the air, gave them each a look, and brought it down, “Begin!”
The other Vampires who had survived quickly moved to the edge of the ship and out of the way, sneaking glances at Michael as they did this. Apparently, they didn’t trust that his apparent focus on the fighters meant he didn’t know what they were doing.
Donovan and Valerie charged each other. There was no circling, sizing the other up—they’d had plenty of years to do that. No, this was a clash of titans, and when the two met in the middle, rain pouring down on them and Michael’s judging glare ensuring no foul play entered the fight, there was no doubt to those watching this would be one of the greatest fights they had ever witnessed.
The two moved like a blur, so fast that even the rain could barely touch them. Coats billowed out behind them, twisting and cracking with their moves.
Valerie dodged under a strike and brought her fist into his ribs with a crack that meant she’d broken it. He snarled and brought down his elbow across her jaw, which sent a ringing in her ears like she’d yet to experience.
Then he came at her with another punch. She took it in the shoulder, rolled with it, and twisted the arm so that he had to jump and flip to avoid it breaking. He maneuvered out of the hold and brought his foot down on her knee, but she turned with it so that the strike, while it hurt like hell, didn’t break anything.
Water splashed on the deck as she rolled away, then stood to block a swipe of Donovan’s claws with an open palm. She cringed at the pain of that, wishing she’d had time to heal before having to fight for her life. But now wasn’t the time for wishing—it was the time for action. It was the time to bring everything she had, her response to all of the evil deeds Donovan had committed in his self-centered disturbing life-time.
His next strikes were like flashes of lighting, strong, penetrating her chest, causing such damage she spat up blood, but she didn’t lose focus, and in the split-second where he paused for what he thought would be a killing blow, she moved in.
Now it was her turn, and she showed no mercy.
First was an uppercut to his groin, and then she went for the legs, taking him down so that she could dig her claws into his midsection and fling herself up to where she had him pinned down. This was no ground-and-pound though; this was a ground-and-claw-the-fuck-out-of-him.
Her claws were burning with the resistance as with swipe after swipe she tore at his flesh. First in the face so that the blood was running into his eyes and he couldn’t see, and then at the chest as she alternated between slamming his head back into the deck and clawing.
He was screaming now, arms flailing as he tried to get at her, but she was too quick. She’d move an arm aside, claw, slam an elbow into his face, push the next attack off so it went inches by her face, and then do it again. Until, when she finally saw the opening she was looking for, her hand darted past his defenses and tore his throat out.
Blood was everywhere, and he was convulsing, still swinging for her. She knew this might not kill him, not one of his strength, but it was enough to get him damned close.
What she didn’t count on was the bloodrage combined with panic, and the extra strength and speed that would give him. Even as he clung to his open throat, he tossed her off and somehow managed to get behind her, his arms wrapped around her throat, squeezing.
She thought her head would pop off, and suddenly realized that with his strength, that could quickly become a reality.
Fighting to tuck her chin and gain a couple more seconds, she reached back and dug the claws of her thumbs into his eye sockets until she heard them pop. Warm blood was coursing down the back of her neck, matting in her hair, and she sure as hell hoped it was his.
But he wasn’t releasing her!
He was screaming in pain, thrashing around, and she was seeing bright spots in the darkness. With the smallest amount of hope she looked to Michael, but he was still watching, judging.
And waiting.
Her mouth compressed, she wouldn’t let Sandra down. She wouldn’t let any of those below her, down.
Giving up trying to protect herself or her throat, she arched back, reached behind herself, and wrapped one arm up and under Donovan’s neck. With the other arm she reached over the top of Donovan, and then she used every ounce of her energy to throw herself and him forward, twisting as she did so.
His screams turned into a sudden gulp and then, as she twisted, a gasp of disbelief—he was flying through the air and before he had landed, she had snapped his neck. He fell to the deck and tried to move, but couldn’t.
In other circumstances she might have found it gruesome or disgusting, but now?
It was pitiful.
She looked to Michael, feeling like she might collapse, but he simply motioned to Donovan’s twitching body and told her, “Justice has spoken.”
With a heavy nod, she stumbled forward, then stopped to look from her sword still stuck in the deck, then back to Michael.
“For this, the use of your sword is permitted,” he answered her question.
She pulled the sword out, not even caring that the act of holding this thing felt like gripping burning coals. In a way it was great—it reminded her she was still alive.
There was a moment, a brief moment, while she stood there with sword raised, where she wondered what life might have been like with a real brother. A brother that loved her, cared for her.