Life After Death (Original Series)

It was a slow night for Jerry, not another living soul outside the wall. He counted the times he'd heard a ghoul, counted the times they stumbled over something like a branch, and the times they'd see him and try to moan to others their find of fresh meat. It never lasted long. The rifle he'd borrowed from that new kid, M, was amazing. He wondered to himself how he'd gotten it, but remembered that in this world there weren't too many rules. It was funny, in a way, how that kid showed up out of nowhere, swept in with all sorts of training tactics, and managed to get Chelsea to leave her post every now and again.

Maybe it was his older age talking, but it seemed a little off how quickly the relationship between those two took off. He decided not to read into the whole thing too much. After all, he liked being on the wall. It let him think, even if he was bored as the day was long. Jerry adjusted his heavy jacket and gloves, re-positioning his beanie on his head so the small bill would help clear away some of the falling snow, it would get stuck in his beard and hair sometimes, and that annoyed him. The thermos was still hot, a wisp of steam curling up from it every now and again, and the liquid chocolate was begging to be sipped at. So the man with the fancy rifle complied with it's wishes.

The grey day soon began to fade to a bruised twilight, the sky was always beautiful during the winter days. Jerry smiled a small, sad, smile as he remembered the world before. He could still hear the noise of the cities, the constant buzz of people, the roars of engines and planes. In some odd way he missed it. Now it was so quiet, even with the generators on full throttle, and the people of Hadley's Hope at their most active, it seemed like whispers compared to the world before. He stopped thinking there, not wanting to follow the natural progression of the timeline, from his busy world to the day of the Great Panic. He didn't want to remember that day, at all.

It was easy to divert his attention to the nest of robins not too far outside the wall, the small birds were always entertaining. He picked up his scope and looked down it, spotting the little nest of twigs, resting on the branch he'd memorized. The nest was empty. Jerry let the scope fall away from his eye and concentrated, listening for any bird, at all. There were none, not a chirp, a peep, or a cry from the heavens above. It seemed even the ghouls were distracted, as even the moaning and shuffling had gone away. A cold sense of dread crawled into him, deep into his very bones. He stood up and looked down the scope, down the road that lead to his new home.

What he saw took his breath away, so much so he almost couldn't find the silent alarm to hit it. Four giant trucks were barreling down the road towards them, the men and women inside whooping and hollering. The trucks were painted red and black with fresh and old blood, bones of humans gave the things a hellish look. Half a human skeleton hung from the grill of the first truck, skin still attached here and there, the mouth agape like it was screaming. Though Jerry couldn't hear them he could read their lips clearly as they kept yelling 'Fresh meat!' Memories pushed their way through the block that was put up and now the Great Panic flooded through the man on the wall's mind.

He almost didn't hear the voices behind him shouting for an explanation, couldn't hear his own hyperventilating at the things he'd just seen, and remembered. It was Chelsea's voice that finally broke the stillness of terror, "Jerry! What is it?!?" All he could manage to do was turn to the small, blonde girl with the pretty eyes and say the only word that made sense and made everyone below him run with urgency to the armory, to their positions, to pray: "War."

Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

Michael sat stone still, watching the door that he knew would be turned to splinters at any moment, thinking of how he was going to deliver the news. It was an odd turn of events, to everyone else, but to the vampire with the purple eyes, it was just right. The community was in turmoil, the wolves were dancing to the tune that he aptly played, the vampires were suspecting of all, and the humans were racked with paranoia. Each race, ready to cut the other's throat, if it meant their domination.

Hair tickled at his pale cheek as he waited, a draft coming through the decrepit house that he was in. Fitting he'd deliver the news here, in the den of a house that so many lives had been lost in. For a moment he let his eyes wander, taking in the staircase of rotting and rotted wood, the laminate floor that had long since curled and split, the ceiling barely hanging on to the structure, the moss and fungus ridden walls doing their best to hide the skeleton of this place. In it's own way it was quite beautiful.

Scents from all the years this house has been standing still clung to the structure, telling a violent history. A pang of sorrow hit Michael as he thought about the violence he was about to add to the long and bloody list of deeds done within this place. It wouldn't be long. While still looking at the festered beauty around him he checked himself, his weapons, his clothing, all ready for the fight about to begin. Finally, the smell of wolf came through the house, carried on the breeze dancing through the holes in the walls.

As the vampire predicted, the door was torn asunder, reducing it to splinters and dust, by the gigantic hands of an Alpha wolf. He was a huge specimen of the species. Standing over seven feet tall, thick with muscle, long hair flowing to the middle of his back, a closely cropped beard decorating a strong and noble jaw. This wolf was no assassin, he was a member of the Houses. Michael smiled through the chaos still flitting through the air at his new house guest.

"Welcome. My name is Michael. Before we begin would you be so kind as to introduce yourself?" The wolf walked in the doorway, ducking the frame and bowed slightly, "I am Raecien, Guardian of the Word." The wolf stood back up to full height, "Whenever you are ready, Michael." It brought a smile to the vampire's mouth as he stood, bowed at the waist, and answered, "Thank you, Master Raecian. En Garde." With a deep breath it began.

This wolf was strong, willing, and ready for the fight. Michael's strength counted for almost nothing as he delivered punch after punch, each action lightning fast and all punctuated with kicks that went after vital points. The wolf blocked, evaded, and countered, his punches much heavier than the vampires, knocking Michael's thin frame through a wall, the chair he sat in, and part of the railing of the stairs. And all without exuding any effort.

Dust and pulverized plaster and drywall floated through the morning rays that penetrated the kitchen, missing Michael by inches as he lay on the floor, catching his breath and spitting the blood from his mouth. More crunched under the Lycan's foot as he approached the downed vampire, "Michael, I want you to know that I take no pleasure in this, but it must be done." Another stream of red spouted from already stained lips as the vampire answered, "I know, Master Raecien, I know. However, it's all happening as it must."

The vampire's claws left four red, angry cuts across the chest of the wolf, another strike aimed for the throat. The surprise angered the Lycan, and with a growl he began to change, fur growing, claws elongating, fangs and ears presenting. Michael knew the fight was about to get infinitely more difficult, but he, too, had been holding back. With speed to rival his own the Lycan grabbed Michael's waist and flung him through a wall and back to the entrance of the house.

The wolf stood confused as it watched Michael land on his feet, stand, and take a deep breath. Purple eyes turned to a burning yellow, claws appeared at the end of each digit, and fangs grew to intimidating size. A confident Raecien took a step forward, already aware of the transformations of the vampires, but stopped short of his second step as he watched Michael continue to change. Black and blue veins began to line the vampire's skin, lips turned a deep purple, and the white of the eyes became red as blood, standing out against the bluish skin surrounding them.

Power ran through Michael's veins like fire, igniting want and chaos in him. His vision turned red, every throbbing and pulsing vein in the wolf was visible to him, the smells of the world were suddenly vivid and more poignant than ever. 'This is what was necessary', a thought that was above the animalistic drive that coursed through every fiber of being of the vampire, now fully unleashed. The fight began again.

The wolf was thrown through a wall, a second wall, and through the ceiling and into the second floor of the house. Raecien lay on his side, trying to catch his breath, holding closed wounds, hoping they would heal quickly. He struggled to stand, leaving a large, bloody print on the floor. Blood soaked his fur and ran over his hand holding the ragged pieces of flesh together. He tried to listen through the pain and ascertain where the vampire was, but his head spun with the blows he'd received. He'd never fought a vampire, or anything else, for that matter, that moved that fast and hit that hard.

The Lycan's heightened hearing couldn't find the vampire. He considered his last resort, knowing that any moment that thing would burst into the small room and finish him. The creaking of the first step alerted him. The second one did the same. It was a slow and methodical pace, menacing and terrifying, even to the giant wolf. Another step. Raecien decided he had no choice and let go of his restraint, transforming himself into a full fledged Lycan. The last step sounded it's cry just as the process was complete.

A roar announced his readiness for battle, his wounds healed, his fangs bared, the Lycan waited for his opponent. And he didn't have to wait long. The door between the wolf and the stairs didn't move, no other steps creaked. The vampire flew up through the hole in the floor with an unworldly hiss. The wolf was not prepared and Michael took full advantage, digging his clawed fingers into the wolf, wrapping his legs against the thick torso, and lastly, sinking his fangs into that muscular neck.

Michael drank deep, draining huge amounts of blood from the wolf as it thrashed at him, fighting the cold and fatigue that was currently seeping into it's core. The panic subsided for a moment and the Lycan's huge hand found the vampire's leg and ripped the blood sucker away. Not to waste the opportunity Raecien slammed the undead creature through the floor, hoping it was enough to give him some time to recuperate. Slowly the feral form he was in began to slip, and soon he was back to his human form again, holding his still bleeding neck.

Michael collected himself and forced back the creature he'd become, retracting his fangs and his claws as he walked up the stairs again, dusting himself off. The red faded away and his normal vision returned, his muscles relaxed again, and rational thought returned. At the top of the stairs the vampire opened the door to find the wolf behind it on it's knees and clasping at the wounds in it's neck. Such a giant creature in such a supine position was nearly art to the vampire's eyes. Raecien's honey colored eyes met his own purple ones with hate and determination. The wolf roared and threw itself into an attack of desperation.

"Stop." An almost whisper quiet command came from the thin lips of Michael. Inches from his throat and chest were the Lycan's claws, ready to rip him asunder. The wolf's muscles were rigid with exertion, but they were frozen in place. "Stand." Another command came from the vampire. Shaking with the effort of fighting against what was happening the wolf stood tall, like a soldier ready for orders. Raecien's eyes were wide with terror and confusion as another command came, "Kneel." Grunts came with the action, railing against his own body as it did what the vampire commanded.

With one fist and one knee on the floor the wolf before Michael quivered. The vampire figured the poor thing deserved an explanation, squatting down and placing his finger under Raecien's chin. "Look at me." Panic was still heavy in those beautiful eyes as Michael spoke, "We're of the old blood, the old ways, you and I. And back then the wolves weren't free. They served the House of Tor. As you, now, will. The blood pact is complete." Rage replaced panic in Raecien's eyes as he realized what had happened, the trap he'd stepped in to, the slavery he'd brought upon himself.

"Rise." Unwillingly the Lycan stood straight, again, his eyes burning with hate. Michael's hands went gently up to the giant's face and moved away wisps of hair, wiped blood away from lips and brow, and then rested gently on his new companion's hairy cheek, "Don't worry, Raecien, I wish you no harm. And I truly regret having to do this, and you have my undying word that you will be free again. But. For the time being, my good man, we will create chaos. We'll bring about blood, death, and disorder." Michael's other hand came to rest upon Raecien's chest, feeling the heart beat so rapidly beneath it as their eyes met. "We're going to wage war. Merciless, vengeful, world rending, beautiful, beautiful war."

Old friends, new blood (Original Short)

Michael had come to hate heights lately. First jumping from them, then throwing others from them. Now he found himself in a very precarious situation, similar to the ones he’d put others in recently: hanging over the edge of a very tall building at the end of an arm that was attached to a very angry vampire. Though he didn’t need to breath it was still very uncomfortable to have a hand gripped tightly around his throat. In all the things he’d done to get this war under way he’d never been worried. Until now.

“You would have the houses war again?!” Balthezar was furious, the fire of the night in his eyes shone to near neon proportions, his voice had deepened and was not much more than a gutteral growl. Michael began to answer when he was shaken violently, interrupted by the vampire still holding him over the edge, “Do you forget I sit in court of the House of Lee?” Michael waited a moment before tried to answer.

“Not just the houses. The humans, too.” Michael hadn’t forgotten where his sire sat, nor had he forgotten the temper and fury that his sire possessed. With a roar Michael’s thin body was thrown against the brick wall that housed the door to the roof. Mortar, dust, and pieces of the wall joined the thrown vampire on the floor. Through the physical pain that was near overwhelming Michael fought back the mental anguish of hurting someone he was once so close to. Even as he was picked back up by his hair and slammed against the already cracked wall again he wanted to apologize to his friend, but couldn’t. The plan wouldn’t work otherwise.

“Have you lost your mind?!?” Belthazar, much taller than Michael, and much more muscular, with black, curly hair down to the small of his back, finally stood back to hear an explanation. The thin vampire struggled to straighten himself, sliding up against broken bricks, “No, Belthazar, I have not lost my mind. I was setup. As were others. Many others. Our brothers and sisters were played and fed to the hunters. It is time for the houses to fall.” The ancient vampire was not moved by the words. It showed. Michael fought back tears, knowing what would have to happen next.

His plan had been moving at the proper pace, but now with his sire interfering, things would have to be accelerated. “You could’ve requested a trial, Michael. You could have plead your-” “MY CASE? TO THE SAME ONES THAT HAD PUT ME IN THAT TRAP?” It was Michael’s turn to roar with that voice most vampires hated to use, “The hunters were waiting for me! How bloody convenient they would show up the second after a human gets fed upon! How droll that they had silver bullets with UV accents in their weapons, ready to go! How funny that they opened fire as I tried to tell them what happened!”

This time the weight of what had been said made the ancient one take a step back and look away, trying to hide his emotion. The time was drawing near for this part of the plan to be executed. Michael wanted to apologize, wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to plead for forgiveness, but couldn’t. Silver killed vampires. Iron slows them down. Both hurt very much, no matter the quantity. The younger of the two could feel his body hot, his breath racing, the blood of that human advocate still pumping through his veins, fueling him like high octane fuel thrown on a fire.

Belthazar still looked away as he spoke, “I can help you, Michael. It’s not how it used to be. I can still help you get out of all of this. Just come with-” The impact of the knife in his side silenced him. The iron blade was buried hilt deep, rendering the ancient one all but paralyzed with pain, as Michael cradled him while he fell to the ground, grunting and groaning. The fire had gone out of both their eyes as they looked at each other, one with pleading, one with determination. “You’ll know what our brothers and sisters went through. What I went through. You’ll know, Master.”

Michael hiked up his sleeve and forced Balthezar’s mouth open, the ancient’s fangs at the ready. With little effort the pointed teeth of the elder sank into flesh, bringing blood forth. Michael wiped the sorrow from his face, replacing it with concentration as he forced his sire to drink. Eyes wide with pain were suddenly wide with alarm and understanding at what was being done. Belthazar was being force fed blood tainted with human blood. The tests would confirm it. He’d become an outcast.

Michael drew the knife out of his sire. With a gentle hand he moved the curly black locks away from his friend’s face, speaking softly, “When they come for you, and they will, come find me. Just know that I do this for the better of our kind. The houses must fall and a new regime must be made. Goodbye for now, Master.” The thin vampire stood, sheathed the iron blade and walked to the fire escape.

The broken door to the rooftop was kicked open by hunters just as Michael disappeared below the line of bricks. They asked the vampire on the floor the standard questions. Then one motioned to the other the blood that was still wet. With an apology one of the hunters produced a blood scanner, designed to detect human blood in a vampire, and asked for Belthazar’s hand.

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?"