The Stepping Stone (Original Short)

Michael sat back for months, watching all the infighting, backbiting, murders, and now ensuing power vacuum. He smiled. All this from three words and a little blood spilled. It was beauty. Four hundred plus years on this earth and he relished and abused, now, one simple fact: violence is in people's nature and so is the want to contradict. Now, the fever pitch was being reached, and it was time to initiate the next phase of his plan.

The streets were quiet as he walked, letting his highly tuned senses wander and take in the world around him. Orange street lights above gave everything a glow that was almost beautiful. Michael's thin frame was at home in the cold, the wind blowing softly against his designer shirt, giving him a thrilling chill. He wouldn't be cold for long. Soon he'd be soaked in blood and gore, his tender flesh would be bruised, and his appetite whet. Very soon. The block was approaching fast, and through his mind he ran the plan again, double checking for errors and faults.

Three bouncers sat outside the nightclub and asked for identification and a cover charge. Michael idly scratched his newly grown beard and wondered how his lengthening hair looked as he stepped through the door, sniffing the air for what he wanted. Pulsing music pounded his sensitive ears, a kaleidoscope of colors danced across faces and bodies, and Michael couldn't help but think of the last time he was in a place like this. A fanged smile ghosted across his thin lips.

Gently and politely he made his way through the crowd, to the bar. He didn't usually drink, but this place stank, he needed the liquor to drown out the smell. This particular club wasn't filled with vampires, no, this was a completely human place. After receiving his vodka on the rocks he leaned against the highly polished metal of the bar and expected a sting from the holster he'd been wearing lately, but it was absent. He didn't need guns for this part. This was easy.

He let the night go for an hour, taking in a few drinks to help cancel out the stale sweat stench, he even tried to enjoy the music. If random beeps and squeals and a voice thrown in every now and again to humanize it was what was considered music these days. Michael's eyes kept glancing over the second floor of the place, waiting for a certain light to come on, signaling his prey had arrived. As he waited people would try to make conversation with him, complimenting his clothes, his hair, his beard, and even asking for a dance. He smiled and politely declined them all, thanking others.

The alcohol flowing through his veins gave him a warm feeling inside, and made it all a bit more bearable. Doubt started to rear it's head as his violet eyes again played over the room he needed to be occupied. He sighed, breathing out the atmosphere, and looked again. Eureka. The tinted window lit up blue and shadows of men and women began to pile in. Michael left his drink at the bar and began to walk, now with purpose, to the staircase.

The first bouncer, human, held out a hand and attempted to stop him. Two choices lay ahead of him: violence or smarts. He opted for the latter. "I'm here for Anna. She's expecting me. My name is Jeremiah." The man reached into his pocket and drew out a paper, read it, eyed Michael up and down, then let him through. This happened three more times before he made it into the room. The door closed behind him and almost no one paid attention to him as he measured the four men in the room and his one target.

The violence was lightning fast. Michael's claws and superior strength made quick work of the body guards and now he stood before Anna, a woman in her 30's, well dressed and attractive, with blood sprayed across her face. She was the advocate and the peacemaker between the human hunters and certain political parties in the vampire world. Michael's hand, stained red past the wrist, making his hands look like they were gloved, grabbed her by the neck and stood her up.

She pleaded, clawed and kicked at him as he walked over to the window with her. Finally she asked, "What do you want?" Michael could only grin as he answered, "War." She began to protest but then he sank his fangs into her neck, shaking his head back and forth, tearing open her jugular. He drank deep. Her heart began to slow and he stopped, rearing back and licking the precious blood from his lips. "Please. Don't misunderstand. You're only a stepping stone. You had to die. But know, that in doing so, you will bring about great change."

Her glossed over eyes stared at him as her pale lips tried to form words. He slammed her head against the glass, cracking it. Again he slammed, more cracks. One last time and she flew through. Glass and chaos rained down upon the scene below. Michael walked away, enjoying the screams and the cacophony building below. With her dead the vampire houses that used her would have to do a lot of explaining to the humans, it would be obvious who killed her. More fuel to the fire. As he walked out the back door, wiping away all the crimson he smiled again.

The heavy door opened into the cool night, the smells, noise, and buzzing of the club were now behind him. Michael turned left and walked down the alley behind the place, lacing himself through the cars. He came upon another alley. He was about to enjoy his little victory when a fist collided with his chin, sending him against a brick wall. He met the floor fast, almost as fast as his assailant. With a spin Michael was on his feet, ready to meet his foe, but suddenly halted. He stared into the face of an old friend. An ancient friend. His sire. The name of the one who made him, and was now standing before him, fell from his lips, "Balthezar?"

Let Them Dance (Original short)

Michael walked through the club, feeling the pounding bass coming from giant speakers at the other end of the establishment. Lights flashed and strobed along with the heavy beats as highs squealed and lows churned the bodies around him into a dancing frenzy. None of them knew the danger that lurked there, between them, the immortals of bloodlust. Vampires. He was one, too, but his goal was clear: Kill them all. Or as many as he could. Seven months ago he was set up. An old man begging to be released from misery, a high payout for his family, and all that doomed a vampire who vehemently refused to join a house.

Vampire politics were much the same as humans: corruption, backbiting, infighting, betrayal, and secret alliances. All of which kept houses up and running, and on top of the business of selling blood and shelter to those that were outside of their inner circles. Michael had avoided it for 437 years and now he found himself at the epicenter of a scandal that reached very high up into the ranks of several houses. He would not stand for it. He had thought that the humans were the ones waging war and thus swore a blood oath against them, not knowing the true nature of what he had been involved in.

Now he walked amongst them as they turned drunken and drugged eyes away to ignore what they didn't consider a threat. But he was. The lion amongst the wolves, the shark swimming through the piranhas, a king cobra slithering through the nest of vipers. Soon the mayhem would begin. Soon the screams would come. Soon death would walk with the immortals and stay his scythe no more. 'Let them dance,' he thought to himself, allowing a gift of mercy, for now, before it all began. He did, too. He let the rhythm take him, closed his eyes and let his senses, already heightened, be carried to the heavens by feeling and a need to move, alone.

He thrust his hands in the air, moved his hips, rocked back and forth, and swayed with the music that pumped forth. The club, numbering near 200 occupants, seemed to move with him. None saw the clips full of silver bullets tipped with garlic nitrate that lined the back of his belt. Not one noticed the twin pistols dancing along with him in the holsters beneath his coat, both set for automatic fire. The blade that nestled close to his hip went unnoticed by all. Michael's eyes opened and saw the spray-painted banner behind the DJ that read 'Reign In Blood,' and thought it so fitting. It was time.

He stilled in the middle of the dance floor, his violet eyes picking out each and every one of his targets, oblivious to the violence about to be wrought. He closed his eyes once more and smiled, enjoying the calm. Music gave way to gunfire. Gunfire gave way to screams. Screams gave way to burning after Michael drew and started firing, the specialized bullets reducing their recipients to a pile of smoldering ash and orange sparks that flitted through the air, changing colors with the lights as they continued to flux.

The pistols jumped in his hands, as he screamed with fury and glee. Blood sprayed and ash flew. Many begged for their lives, and Michael did not give them quarter. Others tried attacking, but he was too fast for them. Most of them were fledglings, barely discovering their abilities, trying to take down a seasoned hunter with all of his senses and abilities trained and in line. So many tried to flee, but the doors were sealed; a lock-in rave, is what promised their doom. Vampires. The pinnacle of the food chain. Now just fodder for the predator who preyed upon them.

Clips dropped and were replaced as he kept firing. They fought back, many piling atop him as he tried to continue his wanton slaughter. Only then did the blade he carried cry out to taste flesh, too. And he obliged. An arc of the weapon felled enough to get the weight off of him as he dropped his pistols; for now, they were not done singing. Claws and fangs came at him like spears and daggers, but he was faster. Michael moved like rushing water sluicing itself between still rocks, lightning cutting through a million rain drops. Now over half the club was dead and burning.

He made his way back to his twin pistols and picked them up, quieting the blade, and allowed hot iron to again herald death. It felt like eternity since it had begun, but the song playing silently in the background had just finished fading away. He took out a note, dropped it upon the now empty dance floor and walked to a window, letting himself out. The first blow was struck. Now the war amongst the clans and houses would ignite into a conflagration that would burn down the vampire ranks.

Michael had one last thought, as he looked back over his shoulder at the chaos that had just quieted, regarding the strings he was tying to certain individuals in this plot. And he smiled as it crept across his mind, 'Let them dance.'