Frank gritted his teeth as he sped down the deserted street, his siren wailing and flashing blue in the darkness. Moments earlier a squad patrol had spotted a large fire in a nature reserve. Frank shuddered as they described the scene over the radio;

'There's. . the. . f*ck, what the f*ck is that? There's bloody loads of 'em! Armed back up requested! F*ck me sideways, what the bloomin' hell are those things?'

Close behind him he could hear the reassuring roar of two police trucks, filled with heavily armed men and women of the flying squad. He'd given the order for riot police to be scrambled to the area too. He knew what it was.

One hand on the wheel he reached into his pocket and pulled out the number for V-branch and handed it to the officer next to him.

"Call 'em. Tell 'em we have a little situation on our hands in the Brockley Nature reserve"
"Who are they?" The young man asked as he dialled.
"Just do it, allright?"
"Right you are sir"

----------------------------------------------------------

Debussy paced back and forth in the small room, his hands behind his back and his brow furrowed in thought. Where was she, he thought. The culmination of nearly half a centuries work would be upon him in less than four hours and Journey was nowhere to be seen.

At that moment, a small winged imp flew in threw the open window.

"My Lordship" there was a hint of sarcasm in its squeaky voice as it bowed threatrically. "There is a great battle south west of here, oh greatness." Debussy waited for it to continue. "And. . ." it smiled wickedly, "I think your friend might be in trouble"

Debussy roared, "take me there. Quickly! Or so help me the fould depths shall seem pleasant to you!" He turned to Aamon. "Summon your army. They shall taste blood before the main course"

He gathered his things. His rapier. His revolver. And walked into the cool night air.

---

Cretin=

brainless, stupid and full of pointless information that makes no sense and appeals only to other cretins. They can be found in every single internet forum, where they race to post as many mind-numbing messages as possible.

Frank jumped out of the car and surveyed the scene below him. He was on a grassy hill, over looking what could only be described as a battle field. An unnaturlal fire was raging amounst the utter, violent chaos but it was obviose that one side was clearly out numbered. He could see weapons, swords, axes, maces, glinting maliciously in the fire light. Dark blood soaked the grass as more combatants fell, dismembered or otherwise. There, what was that? Two large canine forms were visible moving with incredible agility around the battlefield. Who's side were they on? Frank couldn't tell. Did he care?

He spoke into his radio.

"All teams, form a perimeter. Don't open fire 'til I give command. Let these f*ckers kill 'emselves off. We'll finish 'ooever's left."

The fire and riot squads fanned out in front of him and walked stealthily down the slope, forming a wide perimeter around the field, hidden the long grass. The riot squads had greatly strengthened his numbers but they didn't have firearms so he spaced out the officers with guns evenly around the circle. He kept a unit of riot officers in reserve to support where needed.

Frank reached for the reassuring cold metal of his own Glock and breathed heavily. His men, though armed with shotguns and MP5s would be no match for a host of vampires. In his mind, he went over his chances. He could only hope for two things. One of these things was V-branch intervention. The other, was the hope that the vampires would kill each other themselves.

The vampires hadn't noticed his men, so he had the element of surprise anyway. He would wait and see what happened.

Then he saw something he hadn't noticed before. Two solitary figures in the middle of the field were locked in mortal combat. The battle raged around them but no-one intervened. No-one was even within a five meter radius of them. Strange, Frank thought.

------------------------------------

"Debussy, wait!" Jacques called down the street, still pulling on his coat. "I'm coming with you." Debussy growled.
"Very well. Hurry up." He looked at Aamon. "We need to move quickly Aamon."
"Why of course, master." There was a pop and a rip as the fabric of reality tore and three large winged beasts appeared in the road.

He was soaring through the clouds. The wind in his hair, the human world far far below him. It would have been exhilarating if he was not so worried about Journey. He told himself to relax, she could take care of herself. But deep down he was still worried.

He could smell the battle now. Blood, and smoke and. . .what was that? He smelt fear, human fear. Drifting up into the sky like a smog. Palpable and sickening.

"Aamon!" He called. "Take us down!" The beasts banked left and entered a dive. Coming through the cloud, Debussy could see the battle. Vampires and undead. He saw Journey, in the middle of it all. As per usual. He saw an eldar too and though he didn't recognise him it was clear he was controlling the un-dead. Debussy weighed his options, he could take out the eldar and end the battle or fly in, pick up Journey and fly out. Yes, that would be best. This wasn't his fight.

They neared the ground and Debussy leaped, hit the floor and rolled drawing his revolver. He was getting to old for this.

"Journey!"

---

Cretin=

brainless, stupid and full of pointless information that makes no sense and appeals only to other cretins. They can be found in every single internet forum, where they race to post as many mind-numbing messages as possible.

Mostly character building. Also feeling a little tired and rusty, so this post needs to be read loosely.

Rok found himself deep in thought as he fought. He had quite a few questions that were building up in his mind now, and very little to go on.
How had this glowing orb given him the power to transform into his lycan form, what was the wielder doing trying to kill off those of his own kind, who were these other strange vampires that were being attacked, how had the undead vampires become even more undead, and why were all these enemies so darn weak?
He didn't need an answer to the last question, but he felt disappointed about it. He could have easily killed off thousands of these at a time - there really wasn't a challenge. Though being endless in number did help their odds, it was similar to someone trying to beat you to death with marshmallows.
He had -however- noticed that there were stronger vampires to be killed that were likely higher ranked than the cannon fodder, as he could sense their superior strength. If there were any decent things to kill around here, they would be it, and Rok wasn't about to miss his opportunity.

But before he could act on those thoughts, his mind bounced back to one of his other questions - how was he in his lycan form? If that orb gave him the ability to transform without the moon, then surely he could find a way to transform himself. He had also noticed that he was able to concentrate his powers more accurately than normal; almost as if the orb was helping him guide them.
As important as killing off vampires is, it isn't often he could freely fling his powers about like this, and thus he needed to do some experimentation. One thing he had been working on was retaining human form during a full moon, and with it his wits and humanity. Now that he had more control over his powers, he should be able to easily study the way his mind and body work in his lycan form, and that would greatly help in shifting between forms.
Now that he thought about it, the worthless zombie vamps would be perfect to test out his theory on. It was as though he had been given infinite training dummies as well as a stronger mind all for free - it was like an early Christmas!

"Right, first things first, let's try suppress this power," he thought. Rok knew he wouldn't normally have been able to face these masses in his human form, but with the orb's power he should be able to keep them at bay, and with any luck he would be able to use more of his lycan power now.
Crushing off one more skull he prepared himself for whatever was about to happen. How we would be prepared he had no idea, but he braced himself none the less. Surely enough, he was able to seal up his rage slowly but surely. He watched as muscles shrank, his hair shortened, and his mind cleared; and before long, he had taken full human form.
It was incredible that the orb had managed to allow him to do this, despite him not being capable of it during a regular full moon. Just what was this power?
But now really wasn't the time to drift on thoughts. No. Now was the time to test out a new skill.

Rok glanced over at Lacera, she had been fending off the undead fairly well and to be honest it looked as though she was having the time of her life doing so. He tried to hide any signs of pride or ego of his new found ability on his face. If she did look over in his direction he wanted her to think he had always been able to shift between forms, after all, what if she already had the ability; he would seem rather inferior if she could already do it being so much younger than him.

Now wielding a katana and lycan powers, Rok had begun to really enjoy himself. He would often switch between forms during attacks to confuse the enemy, even though it made his attacks slower and weaker, but it seemed well worth it. If he could get the hang of it, he would be able to use it with greater efficiency that pure lycan form, which would prove to be an invaluable fighting skill, most notably because his human form was more limber.
But as with all fun things it had to come to an end, and with that thought his mind snapped him back to address the current situation. Firstly, there were stronger vamps to be killed, secondly there was an elder, thirdly there were vampires of unknown alignment -one of which looked as though he was about to bite the bullet, and lastly Rok had picked up on some humans in the area.
"Those humans really don't know how much they smell, do they? Always stalking around upwind as though no one notices them. Honestly..."

---

[Lionhead Pub] [Good Read] [Photobucket]

Darkvein closed his eyes and sliced gracefully with his blade. He felt a satisfying resistance against his sword as it cleaved through bone and sinew. His senses were ignorant of all other sensations than the feeling of gratification from beheading the one vampire that defied him. He felt the weight on his blade as the chopped ligament pushed his sword down and rolled onto the ground. He breathed in deeply, and at that moment his other senses returned and his focus on the kill wavered. He cried out in pain, screaming into the night air as he stumbled backwards in pure shock. He steadied himself on his long slender sword and raised his left arm.
There was no orb. He had lost his hand. His eyes darted around at the battle raging around him and eventually focussed on Vincent. He was crouching, holding one half of Darkvein's arm horizontally in front of him. In Vincent's left hand sat the orb, shining brightly and seductively towards Darkvein. He attempted to reach out, but instead flung his deeply dark blood towards Vincent.
Vincent licked his lips and sunk his teeth into Darkvein's hand. Darkvein growled and groaned as he felt phantom pains where his hand should be. His blood dripped liberally onto the grassy field. Vincent drank, quenching a more profound thirst that had overtaken him in his heightened vampiric state.

Darkvein dropped his sword and was quickly tended to by one of the few remaining vampires that had been his fang gang. The ones that had fallen had joined the ranks of undead that still fought for Darkvein. Darkveins robes were tied and the blood flow was stemmed, but he was severely weakened and could not hold his sword straight.
Vincent drank the last ounce of blood from Darkveins severed hand and rose to a standing position, holding the orb close to his chest and glaring at Darkvein. He began prowling towards him. He hissed and bared his teeth, dripping with dark blood that almost looked like black tears in the light of the stars. Vincent concentrated on the orb, but could not control it. He could sense its power, almost understanding how its magic worked, but he could not grasp its ethereal light. One of the undead swung at Vincent with his mace, but Vincent mostly ignored the blow, simply swerving his upper torso to the right, watching it narrowly miss his body from the corner of his eye. He kicked up a short silver sword from the ground and holding it in his left hand he swung in a wide arc, beheading the zombie in one swoop. He continued stalking towards Darkvein, holding the sword diagonally behind him.

Despite Darkveins weakened state, he still had the benefit of hundreds upon hundreds of years of training in the art of swordplay. He snarled and composed himself, pushing away the vampire that had tended him into the path of one of the rampaging werewolves. He pointed his blade towards Vincent and snarled.
Neither said a word. Everything had already been said. But before their weapons clashed, Vincent heard the thoughts of Niah in the back of his head. She was willing him to succeed, and praying that he be careful.

---

The only thing worse than beating a dead horse is betting on one.

Wow bringing this one back hugh? Maybe I'll rejoin later.

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