The East PacificBoard

The first thing she could feel after the impact was the Cold water rushing in. Then it was the Pain in her Leg, a Metal Shard reopening her Leg wound from what felt like ages ago. Her instincts started to quickly kick in as she Sank between the rising water to escape the submerging coffin containing the Pilot.

After a dash to the surface, away from the Burning Oil on top of the water, The shooken Imperetress dragged herself onto the shore as she heard People coming their way. She dragged herself behind a Wreckage and began removing the Shard, being careful to make a Painful sound when the second engine of the Now destroyed aircraft Exploded, Dropping the shard onto the ground. Recovering after a few seconds, she would unholster her Back up pistol, a small Bolt Action piece of sh*t who’s advantage is that it was quiet.

Dragging forward she could now hear orders being barked out as Contingent soldiers began sweeping the wreckage. She would try and run if not for her already slowly beginning to drip out blood. She quickly decided to try her Powers, a Green glow forming around her wound as it slowly closed again, the Pain instead becoming a Burning sensation where the Magic was occurring around.

Slowly she stood up, limping but now able to move, Keeping one hand on her pistol and another on the Magic, Fearing to know what would happen if the magic went away, if the wound would return back. It was a good distance to the trees but once she’s there then she could make about an escape, though mostly as the crow flies.

As she slowly went from Cover to cover, she Took out a soldier, who quickly dropped into the water, along with their weapons. Another transition to cover would have to have her make another shot. With a click however, the Hunted Royal remembered that the action needed to be performed to fire it again, which required her other hand. And that the soldier heard it, turning to her with their pistol raised.

A bang could be heard followed shortly by a Bullet ripping through the Merc’s head, Julia was quick to drop her pistol for the Merc’s as she quickly made a run into the tree line, the Other soldiers now getting shot at one by one by a rifle from the other side of the Lake. Julia Ran and ran through the trees, hearing the shouting slowly disappearing as her Instincts to run took over her desire to kill. From her run to a Hasty walk she trekked blindly across the tree covered wilderness of the park for almost an hour, although it felt like an eternity. Her Adrenaline slowly turned into Fatigue and tiredness, the Burning sensation slowly returning from running. Slowly she limped to a tree aside by a river.

She slowly removed the magic off her, which was quickly followed by an unbearable pain as the wound returned, reopened as she began losing blood again. With what she had, removing a trouser and the arm of her shirt she fashioned a Bandage to at least stop the blood. The Cold was Encroaching her and she was yet to notice that the bandage did little as she slowly began passing out. In her final seconds she could see someone emerging from the trees, a Rifle in their hands as his faint and familiar voice could be heard.

“I'm Here Julia, I got you, I got you…”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The slow Crackle of a fire could be heard when she woke up, Sticks and leaves sheltering her along with a Black Jacket covering her, keeping her warm. Slowly she went out to find herself where she was last night, however with some animal meat on the fire and a Man in a Long armed shirt and vest by the river, and looking up and down it, looking for something or someone before turning to see Julia, quickly rushing over. For a moment there was silence as Julia looked up at her Brother, before responding.

“Should’ve figured you would follow me here… I'm guessing you took care of them…?” She replied, her voice Coarse and expression tired as Chris nodded.

“Yes. I tried to stop them from firing the Missile but I was too late. Still there will be some hunting for us, killed two last night.”

“So we can’t take the path?” Julia replied with some concern, Looking around and seeing there was no path anywhere.

“Not for a few days at least, there is gunfire going on across the place from what I heard so its best we try and head to paramal.”

“How far away are we to that then?”

Chris would shrug before thinking in his head for a few seconds.
“About 20 Miles North directly… So I reckon 30 or 40 miles of walking for us.”

Julia would groan slightly before chuckling.
“Glad to know you won’t be vanishing until we reach the city.”

“I won’t anymore. You are now looking at Mathew Bently, a freelance Journalist for the Cardonian Government, with a specialty in forgien affairs.” Chris replied, almost presenting himself in a showman like manner prompting Julia to let out a small chuckle.

“Fu*king hell, so you went from a mass Terrorist to a Journalist? Jesus Christ you're getting worse Chris!”

Both let out a laugh, Chris letting off a small insult to his Sister prompting the next few hours together being composed of them Bantering off each other whilst avoiding trails and paths. All the while the Cardonian Court were in a state of panic, having already notified the Rest of the Consortium that Julia is Missing from them Again. When sent to Sara, the letter also joked to Sara of putting a tracker on her.

The Two guards Leaned up against the Ice Walls that made up the Tunnels of Myehn, the Cold Antarctic frost being kept away by thermal Jackets. Between them was a Door, well Secured in its Shiny Metal Protection, odd for a civilian home. They were hired out for a simple job, to protect Cardwest CEO Christoph Mantler, One of the many of the Rich Elitists who escaped the Cleansing so long ago. The Huntings stopped working a while ago, Trails running cold and Attempts faltering and failing. Tonight would just be another day sticking it to Her Majesty's Judgement against them.

Out of the blue the guards would notice a flashing yellow light reflecting off of the ice walls around the side of the house. Both would slowly approach the corner before Hearing the crack of Ice behind them. Before they could fully turn they were quickly Gunned down with Slugs from a pair of shotguns. The Guards inside were quick to take defensive positions around the house as the Attackers Begun their Assault. Flashbangs would be thrown into Windows before being Followed Up by tear gas. The Metal door would shoot and slam into two guards from explosives making it fly off its hinges. The tear gas quickly took most of the fight out of the unprepared guards, quickly getting gunned down with Rifles and Shotguns. Those who were stuck under the metal door would be beaten to death with Fashioned Clubs.

They were Methodic in their Approach, not speaking as much as a word to one another, Hand signals and Uncleared rooms being their Only forms of communication. From the guards perspective, they were facing down Something inhumane. Their Suits, a Sort of dark Brown made any bullet that was fired at them crumple and fall onto the ground or disintegrate entirely against a thing that wouldn’t stop. The eyes go from a flashing Yellow to a Dark Crimson Red. All the while their comrades would get their Heads Split open from Maces, Limbs blown off clear with Slugs or their Skulls being downright slammed repeatedly into Door Frames until their Brains were oozing out. The only thing that these things had that could be called “Human” was the fact that they were breathing through their Respirators, from Masks that looked to be from the Last Century.

The Final room had only Christoph and his Wife and child, who hid in the wardrobe whilst Christoph Pulled out his hand gun. The Machines that ploughed through his men Kicked down the door as Christoph emptied his magazine, only achieving a Crack through a Crimson eyepiece of one of them. One closed the Gap, dropping his Shotgun for a Dull blunt cleaver and pushing him into the Desk, now turned chopping board as Christoph’s hand was Chopped off after several results. Fortunately the Screaming of the ill fated CEO hid the cries of his Family. Once the Hand was bagged up, another Pulled out a drill as the others Held Mantler’s Head still. After a few seconds of screaming and drilling, Christoph Mantler was dealt with. One of the soldiers Prepared to Throw a incendiary grenade, the Glow of the eyepieces blinking yellow before turning to the Wardrobe. The Mother and now Widow knew that she was found when the Soldier through the Grenade in front of the wardrobe doors. All the child and Mother could do was scream as the Grenade Ignited itself and the Rich Maple Wood.

The Machine who threw the grenade was the last to go outside before seeing a Women, finding the bodies of the two guards and the broken windows. They both would stare before the women attempted to run. Without Hesitation the Soldier would Pull out his shotgun and fired a round, hitting the Fleeing women’s kneecaps and making her fall over. Still the women attempted to crawl away, in which another round into the other kneecap was fired as the soldier stepped closer. Knowing his shotgun was out of ammo, the soldier would holster it for a bloodied mace, Forcing the Women on her back to face him. The Women’s final moments seeing the Machine’s Red eyes as it slammed the Mace into her Skull. A few more hits would finally kill her.

The Mission was a Success. The Target was killed and no witnesses were left alive.
For the Myehnese Police, They would find the deaths of over two dozen guards, some that couldn’t be identified without DNA samples. They found Mantler with a missing hand and a clean hole through his head. They would find two burnt bodies and, once DNA samples would come back to them, the Death of Yuri Renault, with two slug wounds in her knees and a deformed bloody face.

No Evidence of the 0th would be found.

The cacophonous storm deftly concealed the coming of the stranger. The forest sounds - the chatter of birds, the scuttling of small prey animals, the movements of deer and elk - were drowned out entirely by the pounding flood of the rain and the mournful cry of the wind. The steady knocking at the door was almost a welcome sound for the old hunter. Almost.

Laurence did not like strangers. In his business, he did not like anyone. Decades of hunting all manners of monsters had led him to develop antisocial habits, including a nocturnal sleep schedule he had adapted to after his second encounter with a Zzor vampire almost ended in his untimely demise due to exhaustion. Even now, in retirement, he could not sleep some nights. So, he begrudgingly stood up and opened the door.

It was incredibly dark outside, but Laurence could see the rain moving almost sideways with the powerful winds. The man who stood on his porch was soaking wet, and his torn, black cloak was flapping wildly in the air. His face was darkened by the hood, but it was not so sinister looking in such a storm - any traveller with half a brain would be covering up all the same. The stranger spoke first, saving Laurence the breath.

“Hello, sir, sorry to bother you, but my name is Malachi and my carriage broke down just down the road. I saw the smoke coming from your cabin, and thought I might seek refuge here for the night. I apologise for intruding.” His accent sounded to be northern, indicating his probable origin as Asluagh or Derrim. Based on his well-tailored clothes, Laurence assumed Asluagh. Travellers from the capital were always fine guests. He considered the man for a moment, then grunted and beckoned him in. The man paused.

“Is that a yes, or are you bringing me in to discuss further?” He seemed unsure of himself.

Laurence sighed, but replied nonetheless. “Yes, come in.” The man sagged in relief and took his first step in. Laurence inwardly groaned about the mess he would make, but stopped himself upon remembering the interaction. He had clearly beckoned the man forth, what had made him pause? As the stranger removed his cloak and boots, leaving them at the door, Laurence let the train of thought go, focusing on retrieving a cup of tea for his nocturnal guest. Something about the encounter tugged at the back of his mind, however.

“How long have you lived out here?” asked Malachi.

“‘Bout twenty years now. ‘Fore that, it was just a safehouse, a place of respite built for when I was on the hunt.” Laurence didn’t say what the hunt was for. His guest could figure it out himself, if he was smart enough.

“Hunting vampires?” Laurence turned, and saw Malachi running his hands along the redwood crossbow displayed among various framed honours - one of which identified him as a member of the Brotherhood of the White Dragon, the highest chivalric order in the country.

“How do you figure?” He wanted to test the newcomer first, see what he knew and what he could figure out. He wouldn’t just confirm his past, not right away.

“There’s silver spikes on this crossbow for melee. The loaded bolt is tipped with it, too. All signs of a vampire killer.” Morgan’s voice was levelled, emotionless. Something about it was familiar. The thought escaped Laurence as his guest continued. “You really shouldn’t keep that drawn, it may go off and hurt someone.”

“Who? No one else’s here.”

Malachi laughed. “That’s true.”

The stranger sat in silence while Laurence carefully brought over the cup of tea, his once steady hands shaking slightly with age and arthritis. He placed it down on the table before his guest, who was staring into the brick fireplace, the only part of the house that wasn’t wooden, which was for obvious reasons. Laurence was content to stay in silence, as well, but the other man soon noticed the portrait on the wall next to the pair. It depicted a crowned man in 16th century royal regalia. His eyes were not unlike Laurence’s.

“You’re a Carlyle?” Malachi asked. It was clear he recognized Laurence’s ancestor, the last King of Castenor from the times of unification. A different noble family occupied the Elk Throne these days, although they were now called Counts. The Carlyles were mostly forgotten.

Laurence rolled his eyes. “Why, you a fan?”

Malachi shrugged. “I knew one back in the day.”

The response was simple, and made sense, but something about it was wrong. Laurence’s father died forty years earlier, and this man looked barely thirty. It raised an important question, was this man older than he looked, or just a liar? Older than he looked . . . Some unseen cog in the back of Laurence’s brain whirred. He remembered the man hesitating when beckoned forth with no verbal invitation. Just as a vampire might. He tensed.

“How far back in the day?” Laurence was cautious, his reply measured. Intended to sound casual. But he had lost his edge since entering retirement. He couldn’t help but fear he had given himself away.

“I don’t quite remember. I’m a Morgan, so it must have been at some official function or other.” It was a believable tale. Morgan was a name he was vaguely familiar with, and his own family was very public in the past, despite being no more than a minor house anymore. It was plausible that a young lordling would be taken to one of the Carlyles’ dinners or events.

“Morgan, that’s an old noble family or other, no? Your clothes look expensive.” It was an innocent question, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his eager eyes betrayed his suspicion.

Malachi shifted in his seat. “I live well. It isn’t particularly glamorous, but I enjoy a more privileged lifestyle than most.”

“Clearly. Do you have no servants or guards with you? I can’t imagine the Order would be happy with your lack of protection.” Again, innocent under normal circumstances, but Laurence couldn’t help but think he’d given himself away.

Malachi smirked, as if he’d been asked this so much it became a running joke. “I can protect myself.” So he was dangerous, then.

Malachi drank his tea in silence, and Laurence found some comfort in quiet. It gave him time to think, to consider. It was possible that Malachi was a vampire. The signs were there - older than he let on, able to recognize a hunter’s silver crossbow, unwilling to enter the house without invitation, travelling alone. It was all explicable, however, in some form or another. If the old Laurence faced this lack of evidence, he would have considered it inconclusive. So why not trust this man here and now?

But there was something, his hunter’s instinct maybe, that filled him with mistrust. A deep-rooted paranoia that tolled like a bell in his mind. Something within him pleaded with himself to listen, telling him something wasn’t quite right. Begging him to pick up his crossbow and shoot this monster masquerading as a nobleman. In his younger days, he would have listened to that voice, but now he wasn’t so assured of its accuracy. He was older, his senses duller. He refused to make a mistake, to risk killing an innocent man. And yet.

He was never wrong. He was a vampire hunter, and this was a vampire. He was sure of it. He himself barely knew what he was doing when he leapt to his feet and grabbed his crossbow. He was faster than he thought he’d be, spurred on by anticipatory fear and animalistic self-preservation. He whirled, turned to face the man he was so sure was a vampire infiltrating his home and . . . it was gone.

Panic overwhelmed Laurence. He turned wildly, looking in all directions, waving his crossbow around and holding his finger so tight on the trigger he almost fired it half a dozen times. He spun like a mad man, his eyes feral with fear and determination. He aimed his crossbow at every item in the house and kept spinning slowly until he finally confirmed he was alone, and fell to the floor, weeping.

Was it even real? Was any of it real? Did he invite anyone into his house that night? Did he chat with a stranger? Was it all imagined? Was his mind deteriorating? Was he sick? The old vampire hunter breathed rapidly, drawing in noisy breaths as tears dripped onto his face. He did not even hear the vampire coming as it raked its long talons across his back.

Laurence screamed in pain and hastily turned around to see nothing staring back at him. He was bleeding, he knew, staining the pristine floors of his cabin with his life. The vampire didn’t even finish him off. It was playing with its food. The Carlyle tried to pull himself up, but collapsed on the floor again, gasping for breath. He heard Malachi laughing from somewhere in the house, but knew even before he turned his head that he would see nothing there.

He tried again to climb to his feet, and groaned in pain as he tried to steady his breath, leaning against the table at which he and his distinguished guest had exchanged pleasantries. He pushed away from the table and reached for his crossbow, only for Malachi to kick him to the floor, bend down, and slide a talon across the old man’s neck, letting out blood but leaving him alive. The vampire danced as the hunter’s cries turned into coughs, and when Laurence found the strength to turn around, it was gone.

There was no defeating this monster, Laurence knew. His lifestyle had finally caught up to him. All those years tracking and fighting the children of night and blood, and they all had led to this. He knew it would come to this someday, but he had always held on to the foolish hope that he’d be able to beat the odds, and die a natural death. At least then, he would not have the indignity of having his blood drained from his body.

He slowly rose and turned around, making sure the nightmarish creature was not here, and he ran. He ran and he ran, as fast as he could, out into the night and into the forest. He ran out of his home, in which he was no longer safe. He was at a disadvantage outside, he knew, but at least he was no longer trapped with only one exit. His feet pounded as he fled, surely giving him away, but he did not get brought down.

Laurence finally stopped when he couldn’t run any more, panting and gasping for breath. He leaned against a tree, and after many excruciating minutes catching his breath and suppressing the pain in his back and throat, he was silent. He looked around, scanning the trees for movement, for the tell-tale signs of the human-shaped animal’s approach. He made his figure small, pushed against the shadows of the tree. Trying to hide himself.

But knew he couldn’t. With vampires, it’s kill or die. Prey never escape. He had to be a predator to come out on top, and it had gifted him many years of victories, but now he was prey. He was weak, and he would die. The horror of it had barely sunk in when the beast began taunting him.

“Laaaaaaaurence!” it called. “Where aaaaare you?”

The vampire hunter held his breath, becoming perfectly still. Even then, he had no illusions of safety. The thing calling itself Malachi was still playing with him. It knew where he was. It could smell him. His suspicions were confirmed when it appeared almost instantaneously in front of him, its teeth bared and hissing. It licked its lips.

In a last-ditch effort that shocked even Laurence, he pushed the vampire away and began to beat it savagely. He let his hate and fear fuel him, empower him, like he had done when he faced so many other foes. He grabbed a nearby rock and bashed the bloodsucker’s face in, over and over, until it fell still.

He rose, shaking, and when he turned, Malachi Morgan was standing before him, unblemished and unharmed, laughing at him. Laurence turned back at the thing he’d attacked. It was a deer, bloodied and beaten to death. Its eyes were red.

The vampire had tricked him, he knew, cloaking the animal in his visage and controlling it, inciting the hunter’s rage. He’d seen it before, a power many vampires had. How could he be so stupid? So naive?

It was a trick. Of course it was a trick. It wasn’t real. When his gaze returned to Malachi, the vampire was gone. Was it ever there? Was any of it real? Laurence dropped to his knees, dizzy with blood loss and fear and confusion. Doubt consumed him once more, addling and twisting his ageing mind. And then the thing began to speak anew.

“You call us monsters,” came the disembodied voice. It spoke directly into Laurence’s ear, but he knew without looking that he would see nothing there. Of course he wouldn’t. It wasn’t real.

“Who are you to decide what’s human and what’s not? What gives you the right to decide what deserves to live and what deserves to die? What gives you the right,” he growled, “to call something evil that you cannot even understand?”

It wasn’t real, none of it was real but the vampire did not care. It still spoke, and he could still hear it.

“You are as much a monster as us. Do you even know what’s real and what’s imagined? Do you even know what a vampire is? Are vampires even real?”

“No, no,” Laurence replied. “They’re real. I’ve seen them. Fought them. Killed them.

“You killed something you thought was a vampire. Just like that deer. But the fact is, the secret is, they aren’t real. You are just a killer. You begged the world for a reason to kill. You thought it revealed to you something worthy of death but what if it wasn’t true? What if you were just killing innocent humans? You are the monster. You bend your mind to believe that you are right but you’re not.”

It isn’t true. It isn’t true. It isn’t true. It isn’t true. It isn’t true it isn’t true it isn’t true it isn’t true it isn’t true it isn’t true it isn’t true it isn’t– “BEG! Beg for your life! Beg for forgiveness! Beg like you begged to kill!”

Laurence shook his head, keeping his eyes shut tight. He whispered reassurances to himself, over and over. “It isn’t true,” he said. It isn’t true.

“None of it is!” The vampire pulled Laurence to his feet and tore his hands from his eyes. “Look at me. I am as human as you.” It was right. Its teeth weren’t daggers. Its nails weren’t talons. Its eyes weren’t hungry. Its mouth wasn’t bloody. “You made it all up,” the human said, its voice drowning in anger.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Help me. Please. Have mercy.” His tears flowed freely, and then he looked down at the ground and back at his assailant and saw the vampire standing in his place. It smiled. It laughed. Was it real? He didn’t know. Was any of it real? He didn’t know. He didn’t know if it was ever real.

Maybe he hadn’t killed any vampires. Maybe the thing was right. Maybe he deserved to die. Maybe he was a murderer. Maybe he was a monster. Maybe it was real. Maybe there were evil creatures lurking in the shadows. Maybe there were vampires. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was right. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.

He didn’t know if his eyes were betraying him when he saw the vampire lean down and sink its teeth into his neck. He didn’t know if his nerves were betraying him when they screamed in pain. He didn’t know if his brain was betraying him when it shut down, and he fell to the ground, empty and broken.