Grindcarver
A Special Edition Nick Shadow Short Story
The City can be a tranquil place at night. The soft glow of the street lights, the yellow shine of hotels and apartments lighting the night, it could all be very peaceful.
The thing with Atlantia nights, though, was that every so often the usual city lighting was disrupted by the flickering of flames and the sounds of rampaging werewolves, bloodthirsty vampires, or, in instance of this night, destructive demons.
A figure dressed in a black, worn leather jacket and jeans hurled through the air and smashed through a Plexiglas bus stop.
Nick Shadow rolled to his feet, the usually human-visage dropped to reveal a creature of nightmare. Black hair stood up in places, eyes where blazing with an inner fire. Eye-teeth where elongated and sharp, and bared in a feral grimace.
The white t-shirt he wore under the jacket was torn, but only a little blood flowed from what ought to be gushing wounds. A sleeve had been ripped off the jacket, and long claw marks ran down the back.
Nick reached down and picked up the ancient cruciform sword that had landed on the concrete near him and, swinging it around once, turned to face his attacker.
Standing around eight-feet tall, Grindcarver was not a demon to be trifled with. His eyes glowed with and orange intensity that matched Nick’s. His hair was stuck up at odd places, as if just gotten out of bed. His beard was reminiscent of a olden day’s metal musician. His build was stocky, but powerful. When he talked, his voice sounded like a cinderblock dragged across concrete, gravelly with a lot of bass.
Nick whipped a dab of blood from the corner of his mouth and glanced up at the demon.
“Nice shot. Anyone tell you that you look like a Metallica reject?”
Grindcarver let out a booming laugh, “Your mom looks like a Metallica reject.”
Nick shook his head clear of being thrown forty feet, and started toward Grindcarver again.
“Leave my mom out of it.”
He swung with the sword at the demon, only to find his blow stopped by a metal stop sign pole that Grindcarver had yanked from the ground.
The demon gave the vampire half-breed a questioning look.
“A sword? You think that will hurt me, foolish mortal?”
Nick held the gleaming blade before him and circled the hell-fiend with intent to kill.
“It was a gift from a friend. Belonged to a knight who fought in the crusades, blessed by the Pope and everything. I figure if anything is going to be able to kill you, this would do the trick.”
Grindcarver’s eyes narrowed with barely hidden concern.
“Oh, really? You don’t say.”
Nick seemed to roll his eyes slightly, “I didn’t? Whoops, I sure had me fooled.”
The half-breed lunged forward and jabbed the tip of the blade at the hell-spawn, causing him to move back a few steps.
In response, the demon sent a burst of hellfire at the half-breed.
“You think you can really beat me, you and your little blessed sword, Half-breed?”
“Maybe not with the sword, but I can beat you.”
Grindcarver showed his teeth in a nasty facsimile of a smile and held his hands away from his sides.
“Come and get me, Vampire.”
Nick met the demon’s grin, “Okay, Demon.”
He charged, swinging the sword before him like a scythe, driving the demon backwards, onto the sidewalk, and onto the steps of the building behind them.
“So, demon, let’s see how you fare on holy ground.”
Nick leaped forward and kicked the demon with both feet in the chest. A normal man couldn’t have dealt the kick Nick did, but with his supernaturally augmented strength he was able to kick the demon backwards, up the stone steps, and crashing through the doors of the large church behind him.
Grindcarver got to his feet and threw his hand out at the hunter. When nothing happened, he looked down at his hand, confused.
Nick walked through the smashed door, sword held at his side.
“What’s the matter, demon? Hellfire not working for you right now? I thought being inside a church would limit you some.”
Grindcarver snarled and lashed out at the half-breed, catching the hunter by surprise and knocking the crusader sword from his grip.
Nick rained down blows on the demon, his ferocity and strength driving the demon back farther into the church.
Down the center aisle they went, exchanging blows as they went. Nick managed to throw the demon again, and the hell spawn crashed through six rows of pews before sliding to a stop before the altar.
Grindcarver got to his feet again, “Well, you have managed to get us on equal grounds. Congratulations.”
Nick laughed harshly, “Heh, Demon, everything about you stinks. The lines, the outfit, it all smells… kinda like sulfur. Tell me, do you ever take a bath?”
He threw a round-house punch that cause Grindcarver to stagger again and, while he was off-balance, launched a powerful side-kick into the demon’s stomach.
Grindcarver was sent flying backwards, into the baptismal pool. A pool filled with holy, blessed water.
The demon screamed as the water burned into his skin. His flesh peeled back and off the muscle, revealing veins, tendons, and bone beneath.
As soon as he had delivered the kick, Nick had spun on his heel and ran back to the front of the church to retrieve the sword. Snatching it from the floor and running back with unnatural speed, he got there just as the Demon was managing to get to its feet.
He drove the sword into Grindcarver’s chest, straight up to the cruciform hilt.
The demon stared into his smoldering eyes and Nick leaned in close.
“I will see you in hell.”
The demon fell backwards, sliding from the blade and into the holy water. Nick stood over the pool, watching the demon’s physical body melt into a bloody sludge at the bottom of the baptismal.
He watched until the last bit of solid matter had dissolved into water. Then he turned and walked out of the church.
As he walked down the steps he paused and turned to look up at the cross at the top of the church. He smiled slightly, his teeth glinting in the darkness.
“Heh, maybe there is a God.”
Friday, March 9, 2012
"Dead Drunk"
Dead Drunk
“Shadows: Stories of a Hunter”, Part Seven
Josh Wolvest walked into the bar and looked around. Marly’s Bar ‘n’ Grill was a favorite haunt for the hunters, the hunted, the special and the unnatural. For anyone who wanted to drink in peace when anywhere else they would be run out.
Joe Marly, the proprietor and bartender, modeled the place after an old western bar. Round tables with spindle chairs around them where scattered throughout the room. And in the back there where four pool tables on a raise portion of the room.
As you walked into the establishment, to your left was the bar. Behind the bar you could usually find either Marly or Jesse Markley, his stocky bombshell of a waitress. It was from behind this long counter you would find the many liquors, micro-brews, beers, and ales. Behind the bar area was a kitchen, from which juicy steaks and burgers were served along with thick fries and green salads.
Marly looked up from the glasses he was drying and stacking behind the bar.
“Officer Wolvest, can I get you a drink?”
Wolvest scanned the interior until he caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the back corner.
“Yeah, give me one of your best micro’s.”
The fat old bartender scratched his balding scalp and glanced at the figure in the back of the bar.
“You here to see him?”
Josh Wolvest pushed aside a stray lock of dark brown hair and popped a few peanuts from a bowl on the counter in his mouth.
“Yeah. He been here long?”
Marly nodded, “Since about nine-thirty tonight.”
Wolvest glanced at the figure, “And its nearing midnight now. How much has he been drinking?”
The bartender poured Josh’s drink and slid it across to him.
“A lot. Enough to kill a normal person, and even a werewolf would be staggering by now.”
The off-duty cop closed his bright-green eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Okay.”
Marly eyed the figure again, “You gonna talk to him? I was supposed to close up shop at eleven-thirty.”
Josh looked at the bartender, “Why haven’t you said anything to him?”
“I have met Vampires, cops, mercenaries, assassins, Werewolves, and many other unsavory and violent characters. They scare me, sure. But the look on his face, the steel in his voice when he came in here tonight, it terrifies me.”
Josh gazed at the hardy older man. Not much phased Marly, and for the dark figure to inspire that much fear in the man said a lot.
“I’ll talk with him. Put whatever he has had on my tab”
Wolvest left payment on the countertop and, picking up his drink, crossed the bar’s floor the where the figure sat, shrouded in darkness.
“Nick, how is life?”
Nick Shadow, Vampire half-breed and hunter of mythical monsters, looked up with smoldering eyes.
“Josh, life is hell.”
Josh sat down across the table from Nick and looked with amazement at the collection of bottles on the table in front of the Hunter.
“That’s… that’s a lot of alcohol.”
Nick laughed harshly, “Heh, Not enough. It’s never enough.”
Josh nodded, “Want to tell me what the occasion is?”
Nick remained silent for a moment, then his voice whispered across the table to the other man.
“I saw Susan tonight.”
Josh’s eye’s widened, “Oh… like, “see her” see her or…”
The Hunter shook his head, “From a distance.”
Wolvest set his drink on the table among Nick’s glasses and bottles.
“How did she look?”
Nick smiled, and his usually emotionless face almost managed to convey sadness.
“She looked good… She was beautiful.”
The Hunter’s smile suddenly turned nasty, his fangs glinted evilly from behind his lips and his eyes narrowed to two gleaming red pinpricks. Even his hair seemed to rise slightly, adding to the unnatural rage that welled up from the once-human’s unbeating heart.
“Life! Life is such a bad joke! It allows you to remain a hair’s breadth from everything that makes this existence worthwhile, but at the same time prevents you from touching it! Do you know, I can’t become drunk or even intoxicated? I can’t die, even by my own hand, and believe me I have tried!”
Josh looked down, unsure what to say to the half-dead. Finally, he looked up into the Hunter’s raging face.
“Nick, I can’t begin to understand what it feels like. You know I lost my father in a gang-related shooting when I was young. And my mother died before that of cancer. I only know loss; I only know what it is like to have to do without something you can’t see anymore.
But what I have learned is that what we lose makes us what we are just as much as what we have. Because of my father’s death and my search for vengeance, I took a path that led me to here. I became a cop, took on my dad’s old job, and made it so much more than he even dreamed of.”
Nick snarled quietly, but let Josh continue.
“You were a cop as well before the Vampire tried to turn you. Yes, you may have lost your life, but you gained a life at the same time. You have saved so many people since then, people who may have died had you not been attacked by Proteous. I know it hurts to look back at your old life and see what you lost. But you can’t dwell on it, it will tear you apart. Please, remember that. The past is the past for a reason, you cannot always be looking to it if you wish to move into the future.”
Josh threw back the rest of his drink before getting to his feet.
“There is nothing more I can say. I paid for your tab, now the only thing I can ask is that if you still feel the need to feel sorry for yourself, you go somewhere else to do it. Marly needs to close up.”
Nick’s features had settled back into their normal impassiveness.
“Josh…”
Josh Wolvest turned to look at the Hunter, “Yes?”
A sharp canine fang was revealed in the Half-breed’s smile.
“Thank you.”
Josh simply nodded and, exchanging glances with Joe Marly on his way out, left the bar.
Nick rose to his feet a few moments later and also exited the bar. He stood outside the door for a minute, staring at the crescent moon in the sky.
Josh was right, Nick’s past was just that, his past. And while he could miss all he wanted, he could never get it back.
Besides, Nick Malcolm, Atlantia beat-cop, husband and father, was dead. Only Nick Shadow, Vampire Half-breed, protector of mortals and hunter of monsters remained.
“Shadows: Stories of a Hunter”, Part Seven
Josh Wolvest walked into the bar and looked around. Marly’s Bar ‘n’ Grill was a favorite haunt for the hunters, the hunted, the special and the unnatural. For anyone who wanted to drink in peace when anywhere else they would be run out.
Joe Marly, the proprietor and bartender, modeled the place after an old western bar. Round tables with spindle chairs around them where scattered throughout the room. And in the back there where four pool tables on a raise portion of the room.
As you walked into the establishment, to your left was the bar. Behind the bar you could usually find either Marly or Jesse Markley, his stocky bombshell of a waitress. It was from behind this long counter you would find the many liquors, micro-brews, beers, and ales. Behind the bar area was a kitchen, from which juicy steaks and burgers were served along with thick fries and green salads.
Marly looked up from the glasses he was drying and stacking behind the bar.
“Officer Wolvest, can I get you a drink?”
Wolvest scanned the interior until he caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the back corner.
“Yeah, give me one of your best micro’s.”
The fat old bartender scratched his balding scalp and glanced at the figure in the back of the bar.
“You here to see him?”
Josh Wolvest pushed aside a stray lock of dark brown hair and popped a few peanuts from a bowl on the counter in his mouth.
“Yeah. He been here long?”
Marly nodded, “Since about nine-thirty tonight.”
Wolvest glanced at the figure, “And its nearing midnight now. How much has he been drinking?”
The bartender poured Josh’s drink and slid it across to him.
“A lot. Enough to kill a normal person, and even a werewolf would be staggering by now.”
The off-duty cop closed his bright-green eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Okay.”
Marly eyed the figure again, “You gonna talk to him? I was supposed to close up shop at eleven-thirty.”
Josh looked at the bartender, “Why haven’t you said anything to him?”
“I have met Vampires, cops, mercenaries, assassins, Werewolves, and many other unsavory and violent characters. They scare me, sure. But the look on his face, the steel in his voice when he came in here tonight, it terrifies me.”
Josh gazed at the hardy older man. Not much phased Marly, and for the dark figure to inspire that much fear in the man said a lot.
“I’ll talk with him. Put whatever he has had on my tab”
Wolvest left payment on the countertop and, picking up his drink, crossed the bar’s floor the where the figure sat, shrouded in darkness.
“Nick, how is life?”
Nick Shadow, Vampire half-breed and hunter of mythical monsters, looked up with smoldering eyes.
“Josh, life is hell.”
Josh sat down across the table from Nick and looked with amazement at the collection of bottles on the table in front of the Hunter.
“That’s… that’s a lot of alcohol.”
Nick laughed harshly, “Heh, Not enough. It’s never enough.”
Josh nodded, “Want to tell me what the occasion is?”
Nick remained silent for a moment, then his voice whispered across the table to the other man.
“I saw Susan tonight.”
Josh’s eye’s widened, “Oh… like, “see her” see her or…”
The Hunter shook his head, “From a distance.”
Wolvest set his drink on the table among Nick’s glasses and bottles.
“How did she look?”
Nick smiled, and his usually emotionless face almost managed to convey sadness.
“She looked good… She was beautiful.”
The Hunter’s smile suddenly turned nasty, his fangs glinted evilly from behind his lips and his eyes narrowed to two gleaming red pinpricks. Even his hair seemed to rise slightly, adding to the unnatural rage that welled up from the once-human’s unbeating heart.
“Life! Life is such a bad joke! It allows you to remain a hair’s breadth from everything that makes this existence worthwhile, but at the same time prevents you from touching it! Do you know, I can’t become drunk or even intoxicated? I can’t die, even by my own hand, and believe me I have tried!”
Josh looked down, unsure what to say to the half-dead. Finally, he looked up into the Hunter’s raging face.
“Nick, I can’t begin to understand what it feels like. You know I lost my father in a gang-related shooting when I was young. And my mother died before that of cancer. I only know loss; I only know what it is like to have to do without something you can’t see anymore.
But what I have learned is that what we lose makes us what we are just as much as what we have. Because of my father’s death and my search for vengeance, I took a path that led me to here. I became a cop, took on my dad’s old job, and made it so much more than he even dreamed of.”
Nick snarled quietly, but let Josh continue.
“You were a cop as well before the Vampire tried to turn you. Yes, you may have lost your life, but you gained a life at the same time. You have saved so many people since then, people who may have died had you not been attacked by Proteous. I know it hurts to look back at your old life and see what you lost. But you can’t dwell on it, it will tear you apart. Please, remember that. The past is the past for a reason, you cannot always be looking to it if you wish to move into the future.”
Josh threw back the rest of his drink before getting to his feet.
“There is nothing more I can say. I paid for your tab, now the only thing I can ask is that if you still feel the need to feel sorry for yourself, you go somewhere else to do it. Marly needs to close up.”
Nick’s features had settled back into their normal impassiveness.
“Josh…”
Josh Wolvest turned to look at the Hunter, “Yes?”
A sharp canine fang was revealed in the Half-breed’s smile.
“Thank you.”
Josh simply nodded and, exchanging glances with Joe Marly on his way out, left the bar.
Nick rose to his feet a few moments later and also exited the bar. He stood outside the door for a minute, staring at the crescent moon in the sky.
Josh was right, Nick’s past was just that, his past. And while he could miss all he wanted, he could never get it back.
Besides, Nick Malcolm, Atlantia beat-cop, husband and father, was dead. Only Nick Shadow, Vampire Half-breed, protector of mortals and hunter of monsters remained.
"Shadows of the Past"
Shadows of The Past
“Shadows: Stories of a Hunter”, Part Six
The wind whistled through the tall buildings with a loud shriek. Above the rooftops of Atlantia, the moon glowed a pale color, its silver light a stark contrast to the black shadows.
Inside the shops down along the street, employees and owners locked the doors and pulled covers over the windows. Then, after gazing into the deepening darkness for a moment, they left the safety of their shop fronts to venture into the night.
Through the windows of homes and apartments you could see people and families preparing to turn in for the night. People returning home from late-night work shifts sat at their dining room tables and in their kitchenettes, eating their dinners. Men and women sat before their televisions, watching their late-night soap-operas and crime shows. Young women on the upper floors changed in front of their windows, unconscious of who might be watching and exposing themselves in all their striking beauty.
Mothers and fathers tucked their kids in their beds and turned out the lights. As the parents left the rooms, the children pulled the covers up tight and stared wide-eyed into the darkness.
One mother in particular, after switching on her baby girl’s nightlight and softly shutting the door, went to stare out of her fourth-floor window into the pale heavenly crescent.
Her gaze was sad, lonely, and wistful. A question was permanently stamped across her features; a question that would never be answered.
A sudden prickling of her spine caused her to bring her eyes to earth and peer into the darkness of the buildings around her. Seeing no one, she turned away from the window. She glanced over her shoulder once more before disappearing into the darkness of her apartment.
Across the street a dark figure stepped away from the building to stand on the brink of the fourth-story ledge. Dark jeans, black t-shirt and leather jacket, and with dark hair, his very persona seemed to blend into the darkness around him.
His eyes, however, shown from under his lids with a literally burning intensity. The two smoldering orbs followed the woman as she faded into the shadows of her own room, then further, making use of an unnatural night vision.
The face remained impassive, and though the eyes appeared emotionless, they carried more than their weight in emotion. The man’s glowing eyes stared out, mirroring the woman’s pain and loneliness. The answer to her question was locked somewhere in the man’s hollow stare.
“Who is she?”
The man looked to where an amber-haired woman had come to stand next to him.
“Amelia.”
The woman’s violet eyes flashed seductively. She was around five-feet tall and her body was toned in a way only years of physical activity could bring about.
“Aye, it’s me. Been a long time, ye ken. How long, ye think, Nick?”
Nick Shadow didn’t take his eyes off the window across the way from them.
“Since Scotland? I don’t know. Time does not interest me like it does you.”
Amelia raised a lip, revealing her sharp wolf’s teeth in a grin.
“Aye, bein’ nigh immortal, makes sense. Now answer ‘me question, who is she?”
“She is… was, my wife.”
The woman’s eyebrow shot up and she looked at Nick in surprise.
“Ah’ didn’t ken ye had a wife.”
“I don’t.”
Amelia used a claw-like fingernail to scratch her scalp in confusion.
“Ah’ donna… Wait... ye mean from before?”
Nick nodded slowly, “Yes. Before.”
“Ah’m sorry, Nick. Ah’ did’nae ken, ne’er even suspected… All that time huntin’ the bloodsuckers in Scotland, ye ne’er even implied…”
The Vampire hunter grunted dismissively, “No, I did not.”
“You don’t wanna talk about her.”
“No. I don’t.”
The Werewolf looked at Nick, the confusion growing.
“Why?”
The glowing eyes of the Hunter blinked twice, as if to blink back invisible tears.
“When I was bitten by the Vampire and made into the Half-breed I am now, what seems like forever ago, I lost much. I lost my humanity, I lost my connections with the world of the living, and I lost whatever life I had. But of everything I lost, it is my family I miss the most. But I cannot go back to them, not as I am now. I can no longer love, I can only regret the loss of love.”
Amelia reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, “Ah’m so sorry, Nick. Ah’ve ne’er had a family, Ah’ve never felt that kind of loss before.”
The Half-breed glanced at her, “Be glad of that. There is no greater pain.”
“Ah ken this. But ye can’t let the pain make you what you are.”
Nick laughed harshly, “No, it does not make me what I am. I am a Vampire/Human Half-breed, I am death to those who are evil, a protector to those who are not. I am a creature of the shadows, of the darkness. I am Nick Shadow, nothing more, nothing less.”
With that, Nick stepped off the ledge and dropped to the street far below them. He landed in a crouch and, rising to his feet, strode off to disappear into the night.
Amelia remained, though, and sat on the ledge for a time. She watched the window of the woman who had once been the wife of the man who used to be Nick Shadow. And she wondered, how either of them lived after such a deep and profound loss.
“Shadows: Stories of a Hunter”, Part Six
The wind whistled through the tall buildings with a loud shriek. Above the rooftops of Atlantia, the moon glowed a pale color, its silver light a stark contrast to the black shadows.
Inside the shops down along the street, employees and owners locked the doors and pulled covers over the windows. Then, after gazing into the deepening darkness for a moment, they left the safety of their shop fronts to venture into the night.
Through the windows of homes and apartments you could see people and families preparing to turn in for the night. People returning home from late-night work shifts sat at their dining room tables and in their kitchenettes, eating their dinners. Men and women sat before their televisions, watching their late-night soap-operas and crime shows. Young women on the upper floors changed in front of their windows, unconscious of who might be watching and exposing themselves in all their striking beauty.
Mothers and fathers tucked their kids in their beds and turned out the lights. As the parents left the rooms, the children pulled the covers up tight and stared wide-eyed into the darkness.
One mother in particular, after switching on her baby girl’s nightlight and softly shutting the door, went to stare out of her fourth-floor window into the pale heavenly crescent.
Her gaze was sad, lonely, and wistful. A question was permanently stamped across her features; a question that would never be answered.
A sudden prickling of her spine caused her to bring her eyes to earth and peer into the darkness of the buildings around her. Seeing no one, she turned away from the window. She glanced over her shoulder once more before disappearing into the darkness of her apartment.
Across the street a dark figure stepped away from the building to stand on the brink of the fourth-story ledge. Dark jeans, black t-shirt and leather jacket, and with dark hair, his very persona seemed to blend into the darkness around him.
His eyes, however, shown from under his lids with a literally burning intensity. The two smoldering orbs followed the woman as she faded into the shadows of her own room, then further, making use of an unnatural night vision.
The face remained impassive, and though the eyes appeared emotionless, they carried more than their weight in emotion. The man’s glowing eyes stared out, mirroring the woman’s pain and loneliness. The answer to her question was locked somewhere in the man’s hollow stare.
“Who is she?”
The man looked to where an amber-haired woman had come to stand next to him.
“Amelia.”
The woman’s violet eyes flashed seductively. She was around five-feet tall and her body was toned in a way only years of physical activity could bring about.
“Aye, it’s me. Been a long time, ye ken. How long, ye think, Nick?”
Nick Shadow didn’t take his eyes off the window across the way from them.
“Since Scotland? I don’t know. Time does not interest me like it does you.”
Amelia raised a lip, revealing her sharp wolf’s teeth in a grin.
“Aye, bein’ nigh immortal, makes sense. Now answer ‘me question, who is she?”
“She is… was, my wife.”
The woman’s eyebrow shot up and she looked at Nick in surprise.
“Ah’ didn’t ken ye had a wife.”
“I don’t.”
Amelia used a claw-like fingernail to scratch her scalp in confusion.
“Ah’ donna… Wait... ye mean from before?”
Nick nodded slowly, “Yes. Before.”
“Ah’m sorry, Nick. Ah’ did’nae ken, ne’er even suspected… All that time huntin’ the bloodsuckers in Scotland, ye ne’er even implied…”
The Vampire hunter grunted dismissively, “No, I did not.”
“You don’t wanna talk about her.”
“No. I don’t.”
The Werewolf looked at Nick, the confusion growing.
“Why?”
The glowing eyes of the Hunter blinked twice, as if to blink back invisible tears.
“When I was bitten by the Vampire and made into the Half-breed I am now, what seems like forever ago, I lost much. I lost my humanity, I lost my connections with the world of the living, and I lost whatever life I had. But of everything I lost, it is my family I miss the most. But I cannot go back to them, not as I am now. I can no longer love, I can only regret the loss of love.”
Amelia reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, “Ah’m so sorry, Nick. Ah’ve ne’er had a family, Ah’ve never felt that kind of loss before.”
The Half-breed glanced at her, “Be glad of that. There is no greater pain.”
“Ah ken this. But ye can’t let the pain make you what you are.”
Nick laughed harshly, “No, it does not make me what I am. I am a Vampire/Human Half-breed, I am death to those who are evil, a protector to those who are not. I am a creature of the shadows, of the darkness. I am Nick Shadow, nothing more, nothing less.”
With that, Nick stepped off the ledge and dropped to the street far below them. He landed in a crouch and, rising to his feet, strode off to disappear into the night.
Amelia remained, though, and sat on the ledge for a time. She watched the window of the woman who had once been the wife of the man who used to be Nick Shadow. And she wondered, how either of them lived after such a deep and profound loss.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Nick Shadow Story Search!
So, Nick Shadow has hunted a coven of Vampires, he's interacted with Griffang the Werewolf, cruized the highway with the Mystic Hunter called Wildthing, and took down a Werewolf mass killer.
So, what should Nick do next? Scream with a Banshee? Fade with a Ghost? Battle with Zombies? Or maybe blow smoke with a dragon?
I'm looking for a story idea, something classy, elegant, slightly morbid maybe, with maybe something hidden behind the plot to be relaized by our friendly neighborhood Demon Hunter. So, send me your ideas and maybe one of them, part of them, or an aspect from your idea will be in the next instalment of "Dark Hunter".
So, what should Nick do next? Scream with a Banshee? Fade with a Ghost? Battle with Zombies? Or maybe blow smoke with a dragon?
I'm looking for a story idea, something classy, elegant, slightly morbid maybe, with maybe something hidden behind the plot to be relaized by our friendly neighborhood Demon Hunter. So, send me your ideas and maybe one of them, part of them, or an aspect from your idea will be in the next instalment of "Dark Hunter".
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Death, the Last Great Adventure
“Shadows: Stories of a Hunter”, Part Five
Pain blurred the half-breed’s vision, causing the world around him to swirl in a kaleidoscope of lights and darkness. He knew what was happening to him, it had almost happened to him before.
Nick Shadow was dying.
~A few hours earlier…
Nick Shadow was not a stranger to Atlantia. He had roamed its desolate streets as a cop in what seemed a previous life. A dark night, two glowing eyes that burned like hot coals and two sharp fangs biting deep into his jugular vein had changed all of that.
After his encounter with the demon-spawn called Proteous, Nick had learned that, once you touch evil, or it touches you, you can never be the same. So he roamed the streets of Atlantia, not as a cop, but as a dark hunter of the night. A supernatural investigator whose weapons were his fierce wrath, and immortal strength.
He left for a few years, tracking a coven of vampirish demons to their ancestral home somewhere on the Scottish moorlands. Upon returning, he spent some time in Los Angeles, where he came upon another coven. He followed the small group of vampires back to Atlantia, and eliminated them.
Now he was after different game, werewolves. A strange man in the Lesser Sector had told him that they were the spirits of ancient Native American tribes looking for a return to their former power and glory. A villager in Britain, where werewolves supposedly originated from, claimed that they were simply the spirits of wolves born into human bodies. Nick really didn’t care, either way there was still one out there, and it was killing people.
Not all werewolves were bad. Griffang Shaw, a werewolf shop owner in the Lesser Sector, was a good friend of Nick’s. And Amelia, a werewolf Nick met on his adventure in Scotland, had saved Nick’s life on a few occasions. But, like humans, there were a few who seemed bent on murder and destruction.
At the moment, the estranged Mystic Hunter sat on a bench somewhere in Blackwood Park. There had been reports of a strange wolf-like creature stalking the park at night. A couple of homeless vagabonds had been found dead, with their guts torn out and heads removed, within the park limits. A child runaway had been mauled by something that the police said resembled a giant bear. But Nick knew the real story behind the attacks; Werewolf.
The clouds were slightly overcast and the sun just beginning its descent into darkness. In these last few hours, Nick would watch and plan. Not that he could really formulate much of a plan at this point, but he could strategize and prepare.
A mother and her son walked by him, the mother watching him with a wary glance. She took in his lean body, medium-length black hair and dark eyes. He stared back, not concerned with subtleties. He had done away with such concerns long ago.
“Come, Alan, lets go.”
The cautious mother led her son away, her eyes still fixed on him. Some maternal instinct had been aroused and marked the dark hunter as an imminent threat. Nick couldn’t help agreeing with the woman’s assessment; he was not a person you wanted to hang around, especially after the sun set.
Other people passed by him, a few old homeless men, a young musician with a guitar slung over his shoulder, an old woman come to feed the birds. Nick saw them come and go, and few, if any, noticed him. He was a Shadow in a world of shadows, a patch of darkness in a dark sky.
Finally, as the sun set lower, the park began to empty. The old men he had seen earlier sat on a bench a few yards away, apparently planning to spend the night there. Nick hadn’t moved for hours, he remained as still as stone and just as cold.
The Mystic Hunter’s internal clock told him when nine-o-clock came around, and he began to rouse himself. Even an almost-immortal got stiff after staying immobile for so long. After stretching his limbs and getting the kinks out of his neck, the hunter reached inside his black leather coat and checked his weapons.
An old revolver loaded with silver bullets rested in a holster against his left side, and against his right was a large knife. Upon a hunch, Nick rose and walked to the edge of the park where he had left his 1967 GTO parked against the curb. Opening the trunk, he withdrew a long sword in a scabbard. Forged of Spanish steel and encased in silver, the katana-style sword was designed specifically for hunting, and killing, werewolves.
Taking the sword with him, Nick returned to his park bench and resumed his vigil with the sheathed weapon across his lap. A slow smile spread across his thin lips, revealing his sharp upper canines. Purebred vampires have fangs on both the upper and lower set of teeth. Being a half-breed, Nick only had the one set. It actually worked for him; it was easier to explain away a set of unusually long canine teeth than it was to explain four long tearing-incisors.
It was nearly eleven when a long howl cut the cold night air. Nick had closed his eyes a while back, taking on the appearance of sleep, although he didn’t need rest of any kind. But now, like two burning comets, his eyes snapped open and scanned the park area. Tapping into his extra-acute senses, Nick turned his head in the direction of a set of heavy footsteps.
It was coming.
Nick got to his feet with a feline grace and, with a musical ringing sound, unsheathed the magnificent sword. It seemed to glow with its own inner fire, a wolf-killer that was unequaled in beauty and terrible power.
Leaving the scabbard on the bench, Nick went to meet the creature approaching through the bushes. The two old men watched him go, watched him disappear into the shadows like a wraith.
The battle was terrible but, less than ten minutes later…
It was over.
From their bench under the tall streetlamp, the two men stared into the unmoving darkness. Finally, gathering his courage, one slowly, stiffly, got to his feet and approached the place the dark man had disappeared to only minutes before.
What he found would stay with him until he died. Blood and gore stained the ground and nearby trees. The magnificent sword the stranger had been carrying when he disappeared into the darkness was lying on the ground, slick with blood and broken in half. The tip of the sword was nowhere to be seen.
Near the broken hilt of the sword lay a huge, furry figure. Nearly seven feet tall had it been standing, the werewolf was, even in death, a terrifying thing to behold. Huge ice-blue eyes, clouded in death, stared out from above the creature’s ghastly maw. Its ears were laid back against its brown-furred scalp; its fur was matted with blood.
The old man, taking slight courage from its vacant stare, approached the creature and caught the glimmer of the tip of the sword blade broken off in the monster’s chest. The hilt of a large combat-knife protruded out of the werewolf’s neck.
A rasping cough drew the man’s attention to the body of the stranger. He had managed to avoid taking any hits to the head, but his chest was torn open and the homeless man could see at least two ribs poking through the man’s flesh. One arm was bent grotesquely out of place, while the hand of the other was hanging by what seemed only a small portion of skin.
The old man hesitantly came to stand over the stranger and looked down into his dimly glowing eyes. The stranger stared back, unafraid to live or die.
Pain blurred Nick Shadow’s vision, causing the world around him to swirl in a kaleidoscope of lights and darkness. He knew what was happening to him, it had almost happened to him before; he was dying.
The homeless man and his friend pulled the almost dead stranger to the edge of the park and called 9-1-1. An ambulance arrived shortly to ferry the near lifeless body to the Atlantia Medical Hospital. A few minutes after that, a police car pulled up and two officers got out and questioned the two old men. They had them lead the officers to the scene of the battle and, after marking off the area with yellow tape and taking a number of pictures, they disappeared. Even later, two more Atlantia cop cars arrived along with a CSI van to take control of the scene.
By dinnertime the next day, the scene looked as if nothing had ever happened. When asked, the police said it was all just a training exercise to help break-in inexperienced CSI’s. And that was all they would ever say.
Three days after the park had been cleaned up and the public allowed back in, Nick Shadow woke up in a hospital bed somewhere in the Special Care section of Atlantia Medical. His black eyes flickered open and took in the white walls, the monitors that showed no vital signs, and the man sitting across from his bed.
Nick tried to sit up and instantly went rigid with pain. His whole body felt like it was on fire.
“Don’t move, you’ve been through the blender and it’s beyond even a miracle that you are still alive.”
Nick stared with cloudy eyes at the ceiling.
“Hello, Officer Wolvest.”
Josh Wolvest, Commander of the “Special Operations” team, jokingly called the “Supernatural Squad” by the other departments, smiled slightly at the Mystic Hunter.
“Hello, Nick, want to tell me what happened?”
Nick grinned humorously at the ceiling, “Oh, same old. I picked a fight I almost couldn’t handle.”
Wolvest nodded, “I assume you’re going to tell me that thing we found with your sword embedded in its heart is what’s been responsible for our park killings.”
Nick tried to shrug, but the pain was almost unbearable.
“Uh, yeah. Typical case of a werewolf going out of control and giving into its natural bloodlust.”
Wolvest pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“You know, I’m almost used to Justin giving me reports like that, but only almost.”
Justin Wulf, also known as Wildthing, was another one of Atlantia’s resident mystical guardians. He worked closely with Josh Wolvest’s team of specially trained agents, protecting Atlantia from werewolves, demons, vampires, rouge computer viruses, and whatever else goes bump in the night. He had even worked with Nick Shadow on a few occasions, most recently being to team up in tracking down Proteous, the vampire Prince who had tried taking over the city a few years back.
Wolvest got up to leave, “Well, seeing as this whole investigation was handed over to Special Operations, I can just write off another one of my paragraph-long case summaries and call it “case-closed”.”
Nick grinned, “Chief, you’re a Saint.”
Wolvest rolled his eyes at the Mystic hunter, “I think I lost my sainthood a long time ago.”
And, with that, he left the room.
Nick remained in the hospital the rest of the day and all of that night. The next morning, however, to the utter shock and horror of hospital staff, Nick checked himself out and went back to the park to claim his car. Then he cruised up and down the highway, windows down and radio blaring.
It was good to be alive.
Pain blurred the half-breed’s vision, causing the world around him to swirl in a kaleidoscope of lights and darkness. He knew what was happening to him, it had almost happened to him before.
Nick Shadow was dying.
~A few hours earlier…
Nick Shadow was not a stranger to Atlantia. He had roamed its desolate streets as a cop in what seemed a previous life. A dark night, two glowing eyes that burned like hot coals and two sharp fangs biting deep into his jugular vein had changed all of that.
After his encounter with the demon-spawn called Proteous, Nick had learned that, once you touch evil, or it touches you, you can never be the same. So he roamed the streets of Atlantia, not as a cop, but as a dark hunter of the night. A supernatural investigator whose weapons were his fierce wrath, and immortal strength.
He left for a few years, tracking a coven of vampirish demons to their ancestral home somewhere on the Scottish moorlands. Upon returning, he spent some time in Los Angeles, where he came upon another coven. He followed the small group of vampires back to Atlantia, and eliminated them.
Now he was after different game, werewolves. A strange man in the Lesser Sector had told him that they were the spirits of ancient Native American tribes looking for a return to their former power and glory. A villager in Britain, where werewolves supposedly originated from, claimed that they were simply the spirits of wolves born into human bodies. Nick really didn’t care, either way there was still one out there, and it was killing people.
Not all werewolves were bad. Griffang Shaw, a werewolf shop owner in the Lesser Sector, was a good friend of Nick’s. And Amelia, a werewolf Nick met on his adventure in Scotland, had saved Nick’s life on a few occasions. But, like humans, there were a few who seemed bent on murder and destruction.
At the moment, the estranged Mystic Hunter sat on a bench somewhere in Blackwood Park. There had been reports of a strange wolf-like creature stalking the park at night. A couple of homeless vagabonds had been found dead, with their guts torn out and heads removed, within the park limits. A child runaway had been mauled by something that the police said resembled a giant bear. But Nick knew the real story behind the attacks; Werewolf.
The clouds were slightly overcast and the sun just beginning its descent into darkness. In these last few hours, Nick would watch and plan. Not that he could really formulate much of a plan at this point, but he could strategize and prepare.
A mother and her son walked by him, the mother watching him with a wary glance. She took in his lean body, medium-length black hair and dark eyes. He stared back, not concerned with subtleties. He had done away with such concerns long ago.
“Come, Alan, lets go.”
The cautious mother led her son away, her eyes still fixed on him. Some maternal instinct had been aroused and marked the dark hunter as an imminent threat. Nick couldn’t help agreeing with the woman’s assessment; he was not a person you wanted to hang around, especially after the sun set.
Other people passed by him, a few old homeless men, a young musician with a guitar slung over his shoulder, an old woman come to feed the birds. Nick saw them come and go, and few, if any, noticed him. He was a Shadow in a world of shadows, a patch of darkness in a dark sky.
Finally, as the sun set lower, the park began to empty. The old men he had seen earlier sat on a bench a few yards away, apparently planning to spend the night there. Nick hadn’t moved for hours, he remained as still as stone and just as cold.
The Mystic Hunter’s internal clock told him when nine-o-clock came around, and he began to rouse himself. Even an almost-immortal got stiff after staying immobile for so long. After stretching his limbs and getting the kinks out of his neck, the hunter reached inside his black leather coat and checked his weapons.
An old revolver loaded with silver bullets rested in a holster against his left side, and against his right was a large knife. Upon a hunch, Nick rose and walked to the edge of the park where he had left his 1967 GTO parked against the curb. Opening the trunk, he withdrew a long sword in a scabbard. Forged of Spanish steel and encased in silver, the katana-style sword was designed specifically for hunting, and killing, werewolves.
Taking the sword with him, Nick returned to his park bench and resumed his vigil with the sheathed weapon across his lap. A slow smile spread across his thin lips, revealing his sharp upper canines. Purebred vampires have fangs on both the upper and lower set of teeth. Being a half-breed, Nick only had the one set. It actually worked for him; it was easier to explain away a set of unusually long canine teeth than it was to explain four long tearing-incisors.
It was nearly eleven when a long howl cut the cold night air. Nick had closed his eyes a while back, taking on the appearance of sleep, although he didn’t need rest of any kind. But now, like two burning comets, his eyes snapped open and scanned the park area. Tapping into his extra-acute senses, Nick turned his head in the direction of a set of heavy footsteps.
It was coming.
Nick got to his feet with a feline grace and, with a musical ringing sound, unsheathed the magnificent sword. It seemed to glow with its own inner fire, a wolf-killer that was unequaled in beauty and terrible power.
Leaving the scabbard on the bench, Nick went to meet the creature approaching through the bushes. The two old men watched him go, watched him disappear into the shadows like a wraith.
The battle was terrible but, less than ten minutes later…
It was over.
From their bench under the tall streetlamp, the two men stared into the unmoving darkness. Finally, gathering his courage, one slowly, stiffly, got to his feet and approached the place the dark man had disappeared to only minutes before.
What he found would stay with him until he died. Blood and gore stained the ground and nearby trees. The magnificent sword the stranger had been carrying when he disappeared into the darkness was lying on the ground, slick with blood and broken in half. The tip of the sword was nowhere to be seen.
Near the broken hilt of the sword lay a huge, furry figure. Nearly seven feet tall had it been standing, the werewolf was, even in death, a terrifying thing to behold. Huge ice-blue eyes, clouded in death, stared out from above the creature’s ghastly maw. Its ears were laid back against its brown-furred scalp; its fur was matted with blood.
The old man, taking slight courage from its vacant stare, approached the creature and caught the glimmer of the tip of the sword blade broken off in the monster’s chest. The hilt of a large combat-knife protruded out of the werewolf’s neck.
A rasping cough drew the man’s attention to the body of the stranger. He had managed to avoid taking any hits to the head, but his chest was torn open and the homeless man could see at least two ribs poking through the man’s flesh. One arm was bent grotesquely out of place, while the hand of the other was hanging by what seemed only a small portion of skin.
The old man hesitantly came to stand over the stranger and looked down into his dimly glowing eyes. The stranger stared back, unafraid to live or die.
Pain blurred Nick Shadow’s vision, causing the world around him to swirl in a kaleidoscope of lights and darkness. He knew what was happening to him, it had almost happened to him before; he was dying.
The homeless man and his friend pulled the almost dead stranger to the edge of the park and called 9-1-1. An ambulance arrived shortly to ferry the near lifeless body to the Atlantia Medical Hospital. A few minutes after that, a police car pulled up and two officers got out and questioned the two old men. They had them lead the officers to the scene of the battle and, after marking off the area with yellow tape and taking a number of pictures, they disappeared. Even later, two more Atlantia cop cars arrived along with a CSI van to take control of the scene.
By dinnertime the next day, the scene looked as if nothing had ever happened. When asked, the police said it was all just a training exercise to help break-in inexperienced CSI’s. And that was all they would ever say.
Three days after the park had been cleaned up and the public allowed back in, Nick Shadow woke up in a hospital bed somewhere in the Special Care section of Atlantia Medical. His black eyes flickered open and took in the white walls, the monitors that showed no vital signs, and the man sitting across from his bed.
Nick tried to sit up and instantly went rigid with pain. His whole body felt like it was on fire.
“Don’t move, you’ve been through the blender and it’s beyond even a miracle that you are still alive.”
Nick stared with cloudy eyes at the ceiling.
“Hello, Officer Wolvest.”
Josh Wolvest, Commander of the “Special Operations” team, jokingly called the “Supernatural Squad” by the other departments, smiled slightly at the Mystic Hunter.
“Hello, Nick, want to tell me what happened?”
Nick grinned humorously at the ceiling, “Oh, same old. I picked a fight I almost couldn’t handle.”
Wolvest nodded, “I assume you’re going to tell me that thing we found with your sword embedded in its heart is what’s been responsible for our park killings.”
Nick tried to shrug, but the pain was almost unbearable.
“Uh, yeah. Typical case of a werewolf going out of control and giving into its natural bloodlust.”
Wolvest pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“You know, I’m almost used to Justin giving me reports like that, but only almost.”
Justin Wulf, also known as Wildthing, was another one of Atlantia’s resident mystical guardians. He worked closely with Josh Wolvest’s team of specially trained agents, protecting Atlantia from werewolves, demons, vampires, rouge computer viruses, and whatever else goes bump in the night. He had even worked with Nick Shadow on a few occasions, most recently being to team up in tracking down Proteous, the vampire Prince who had tried taking over the city a few years back.
Wolvest got up to leave, “Well, seeing as this whole investigation was handed over to Special Operations, I can just write off another one of my paragraph-long case summaries and call it “case-closed”.”
Nick grinned, “Chief, you’re a Saint.”
Wolvest rolled his eyes at the Mystic hunter, “I think I lost my sainthood a long time ago.”
And, with that, he left the room.
Nick remained in the hospital the rest of the day and all of that night. The next morning, however, to the utter shock and horror of hospital staff, Nick checked himself out and went back to the park to claim his car. Then he cruised up and down the highway, windows down and radio blaring.
It was good to be alive.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
"To be a Vampire…" A Nick Shadow Short Story
“Shadows: Stories of a Hunter”, Part Four
Just a block north of Main Street, a black and red car sat quietly against the curb. A 1967 Pontiac, it looked slightly out of place in the budding metropolis.
A mysterious figure sat at the wheel, the upper portion of his body hidden by the dark. The dark face was gaunt and pale, the raven-black hair just added to dark appearance.
Nick Shadow appeared to be asleep, but perhaps at a sudden thought, his glowing yellow eyes flickered open and skimmed the intersection and street front ahead.
Nothing.
Nick relaxed a bit, he laid his head back and stared at the ceiling of the car.
His life sucked. Who cares what those loons from “Twilight” thought, being undead and almost immortal was not any fun. Nick was only twenty years old, and already he had seen more pain and suffering because of his “immortality” than most would see in two lifetimes.
Nick’s sharp ears picked up the sound of something hitting the ground softly outside the diver’s-side door. Knowing who it was before turning, Nick rolled down his window and greeted the newcomer.
“Justin, how goes the hunt?”
Justin Wulf, known to most people as the dark and terrifying Wildthing, leaned against the car’s open window. About 6’9”, Wildthing was clothed all in a dark-brown skintight material with black hands, boots, and tiger stripes on the biceps and thighs. His long sand-colored hair fell down his back and into his glowing yellow eyes. You could never see any of Justin’s features, it was as if a dark cloud hung over his face, leaving his eyes uncovered like some kind of black mask.
Justin’s voice was raspy and ominous, and although Nick had heard the same voice shout comments at rampaging vampires and werewolves that would put you on the floor in stitches, it still made him shiver.
“It’s dull. Mara is upgrading the Oracle System, so I don’t have any company. And it seems all the Demons in the city have taken the night off.”
Nick nodded and absently watched the flickering traffic light.
“Yep. Same here. Even Griffang is closed for the night. And Marly is busy with some big party at the Bar ‘n’ Grill, so I guess its just us Demon hunters left.”
Wildthing placed his hands on the car top and leaped, with a grace and power that was surprising for one his size, over the top of the car to land in front of the passenger’s door. He opened the door and, moving the crossbow from the seat, sat down. He set the crossbow so it rested against the dash with the business end pointed towards the carpet.
The two hunters sat a time watching the intersection. Neither spoke, neither really had to. They understood each other’s troubles, the pain they shared. Justin was dead to his family, and all he had left was Mara Jenkins and her little brother Kenny. Justin was stuck in the frightening form he was in now, trapped as a monster with a human heart.
Nick literally was dead to all the world. Bitten by a Vampire a few years back, his family, the police force he worked on, all considered him dead and gone. And his weird eyes and fangs immediately repulsed anyone who came across the reclusive living-dead, so he was effectively a loner by force.
Both the men were alone, both where abandoned by all except God and others of their kind. At least Justin had Mara; and that was more than Nick could say. Nick just had his car, and of course Griffang, his werewolf friend who owned a weapons shop in the bad side of town. Griffang was the closest thing to family Nick had, and Justin was the closest thing to a friend.
Wildthing looked over at Nick, “Hey, whanna go cruise on the highway?”
Nick started the GTO’s engine and pressed the gas down.
“Sure, it’s not like we have anything better to do.”
Just a block north of Main Street, a black and red car sat quietly against the curb. A 1967 Pontiac, it looked slightly out of place in the budding metropolis.
A mysterious figure sat at the wheel, the upper portion of his body hidden by the dark. The dark face was gaunt and pale, the raven-black hair just added to dark appearance.
Nick Shadow appeared to be asleep, but perhaps at a sudden thought, his glowing yellow eyes flickered open and skimmed the intersection and street front ahead.
Nothing.
Nick relaxed a bit, he laid his head back and stared at the ceiling of the car.
His life sucked. Who cares what those loons from “Twilight” thought, being undead and almost immortal was not any fun. Nick was only twenty years old, and already he had seen more pain and suffering because of his “immortality” than most would see in two lifetimes.
Nick’s sharp ears picked up the sound of something hitting the ground softly outside the diver’s-side door. Knowing who it was before turning, Nick rolled down his window and greeted the newcomer.
“Justin, how goes the hunt?”
Justin Wulf, known to most people as the dark and terrifying Wildthing, leaned against the car’s open window. About 6’9”, Wildthing was clothed all in a dark-brown skintight material with black hands, boots, and tiger stripes on the biceps and thighs. His long sand-colored hair fell down his back and into his glowing yellow eyes. You could never see any of Justin’s features, it was as if a dark cloud hung over his face, leaving his eyes uncovered like some kind of black mask.
Justin’s voice was raspy and ominous, and although Nick had heard the same voice shout comments at rampaging vampires and werewolves that would put you on the floor in stitches, it still made him shiver.
“It’s dull. Mara is upgrading the Oracle System, so I don’t have any company. And it seems all the Demons in the city have taken the night off.”
Nick nodded and absently watched the flickering traffic light.
“Yep. Same here. Even Griffang is closed for the night. And Marly is busy with some big party at the Bar ‘n’ Grill, so I guess its just us Demon hunters left.”
Wildthing placed his hands on the car top and leaped, with a grace and power that was surprising for one his size, over the top of the car to land in front of the passenger’s door. He opened the door and, moving the crossbow from the seat, sat down. He set the crossbow so it rested against the dash with the business end pointed towards the carpet.
The two hunters sat a time watching the intersection. Neither spoke, neither really had to. They understood each other’s troubles, the pain they shared. Justin was dead to his family, and all he had left was Mara Jenkins and her little brother Kenny. Justin was stuck in the frightening form he was in now, trapped as a monster with a human heart.
Nick literally was dead to all the world. Bitten by a Vampire a few years back, his family, the police force he worked on, all considered him dead and gone. And his weird eyes and fangs immediately repulsed anyone who came across the reclusive living-dead, so he was effectively a loner by force.
Both the men were alone, both where abandoned by all except God and others of their kind. At least Justin had Mara; and that was more than Nick could say. Nick just had his car, and of course Griffang, his werewolf friend who owned a weapons shop in the bad side of town. Griffang was the closest thing to family Nick had, and Justin was the closest thing to a friend.
Wildthing looked over at Nick, “Hey, whanna go cruise on the highway?”
Nick started the GTO’s engine and pressed the gas down.
“Sure, it’s not like we have anything better to do.”
"Hunt Ended" A "Nick Shadow" Short Story
“Shadows: Stories of a Hunter”, Part Three
Nick hunched behind a brick wall in the Lesser Sector of the city. His black leather cloak camouflaged him into the deepening darkness, hiding him from mortal eyes. His eyes, however, saw the dark world he traveled in with crystal-clear clarity. In his hands rested a lethal-looking crossbow with a wooden spike set in the firing mechanism. A long knife rested in a sheath against his thigh, a quiver of wooden stakes lay across his back.
About two hundred meters behind where Nick was concealed was a group of people huddled around a garbage can fire. The group was seven strong, and all bore a strange resemblance to his neighbor. All seven had raven black hair and pale skin, and all of them were strangely thin and muscular.
Nick Shadow checked his crossbow again. Checked again the cord and trigger, made sure the loading mechanism was well oiled and pulled smoothly. Picking up a large-caliber handgun off the ground at his feet, he checked the cartridge and it’s payload of silver-lined bullets. Holstering the weapon, Nick scratched his raven-haired scalp and bit his lower lip with his long canine teeth. It was a bad habit he knew, but sometimes he just needed a reminder he could actually feel something. In his line of work he needed all the reminders he could get.
Nick stood up and walked casually towards the group of huddled figures. As he grew closer a few of the figures became agitated and started to talk hurriedly amongst themselves. By the time Nick reached the group, all seven had turned to face him and had adopted a decidedly hostile posture.
Nick had hooked his crossbow onto a small clasp on his knife sheath. He walked nonchalantly up and held his hands over the fire. He smiled charmingly at a woman dressed in black shirt and coat and torn jeans.
“Hi, name’s Nick Shadow. Maybe you have heard of me?”
If her reaction said anything, she had heard of him. Her eyes narrowed and a low growl emitted from her throat.
Nick nodded, “I thought so. I was wondering if I might be able to ask you about the murders of a family and another deadbeat across town. The MO of both the murders was the same, and very strange now you mention it. It seems they where injected twice in the neck, but we both know that’s not what happened, right? You and your buddies got a bit hungry and lose control?”
Nick knew a fraction of a second before the largest of the males made his move from behind his back. To this day he does not know whether it is a disturbance of the air against his neck, or a slight sound, or if it is just some sixth sense that gave him his split-second reflexes. He could never remember the cause, just the effect. And the effect was normally a corpse.
The fact that the thing he turned to face was a horrid, red-eyed, fanged monster instead of a human did not faze him. He calmly drew his crossbow and shot the creature in the heart. It stopped short and fell backwards, looking in shock at the wooden stake sticking out of its chest.
“Didn’t expect that, did’ja?”
Nick drew his knife and, taking a single long step forward, beheaded the thing with a clean, powerful stroke. As he turned to face the other six creatures, he drew another projectile from his collection and quickly reloaded his weapon.
He launched the next bolt into the chest of the girl he had first spoken too, but before he could decapitate her he was set upon by the others. He cut the head off the first to reach him, but then lost his knife in the heart of the second. The third Nick simply picked up and tossed on the fire.
That left three of the Undead for Nick to deal with. He reached down and, keeping his eyes on the three monsters, withdrew his knife from the other monster’s corpse and severed the corpse’s neck. Then he rose to his feet and took a step towards the creatures in front of him.
This was the real test; would the creatures cower before him on account of his killing their friends, or for the same reason would they fly into a rage and do their utmost to kill him? Nick had a feeling if they went for the second option, they’d be in for a small surprise.
Remembering another trick he had in his favor, Nick drew out a small stick and, cracking it sharply against his palm, threw it in the face of the creatures and screwed his eyes tight shut.
Even with his eyes closed the flash of the homemade grenade was enough to give him a headache. But when he turned to look, the three monsters were effectively blinded.
Retrieving his crossbow he went about the process of putting a stake through the heart of each creature and relieving it of its head.
When he reached the girl he had shot but not finished off, he found her still alive, if you could even call their existence living. She looked up at him with those strange smoldering eyes that you were repulsed by and drawn into at the same time. It looked up at him with rage tempered by confusion and pain.
“But, why? You are one of us…”
Nick showed her his teeth, his canines were long and sharp.
“Sorry Honey, I’m only half vampire. I only have one pair of fangs, not the normal two. So I don’t feel much pain for losing your kind to whatever Hell you were spawned from. You are evil, you murder, kill ruthlessly… I am only doing what I know to be right. Good night, Half-Sister.”
With that he severed her head from her body, finally killing the living corpse.
He lay the headless body down on the rough concrete, a strange sadness in his eyes. Although he knew these things were evil, he was still one of them. By killing them he was also killing off the creatures he could relate to most.
“Good night, Sister. Be at rest and haunt this world no longer.”
Nick stood up and, collecting the stakes from the corpses of the other vampires, took one last look at the havoc he just instigated. Yes, the cops would find them later on. Maybe even Officer Trask would investigate them. But they wouldn’t find any trace of him. They couldn’t, Nick Shadow was as dead to the cop’s criminal records as he was to the rest of the world. He just didn’t exist. Which was why he could carry on his crusade against the creatures of the night.
Nick reached behind the brick wall he had hid behind earlier, and picked up the manila folder that lay on the ground next to where he had crouched. Inside was all the information he had on the murders and the killers. All his notes, photos he had taken from the crime scenes, photocopies of some books on the supernatural he made at the local library. He didn’t need it; he would always remember every detail of this case, as he did with all the cases before. He just wanted to leave the evidence so the cops would see the connections and close the case. It would be a shame for them to be wasting taxpayer money on a case that had already been solved.
Nick dropped the folder on the body of one of the vampires where the cops could find it. Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows that were his namesake. He had heard about a strange wolf-creature stalking the park at night. It had already during the last week mauled one child and killed two other homeless people spending the night in the park.
Maybe Nick could sort it out. He had the silver bullets, just never a chance to use them. Wolf-men were new to him, but he was sure he could handle it. After all, the night was still young.
Nick hunched behind a brick wall in the Lesser Sector of the city. His black leather cloak camouflaged him into the deepening darkness, hiding him from mortal eyes. His eyes, however, saw the dark world he traveled in with crystal-clear clarity. In his hands rested a lethal-looking crossbow with a wooden spike set in the firing mechanism. A long knife rested in a sheath against his thigh, a quiver of wooden stakes lay across his back.
About two hundred meters behind where Nick was concealed was a group of people huddled around a garbage can fire. The group was seven strong, and all bore a strange resemblance to his neighbor. All seven had raven black hair and pale skin, and all of them were strangely thin and muscular.
Nick Shadow checked his crossbow again. Checked again the cord and trigger, made sure the loading mechanism was well oiled and pulled smoothly. Picking up a large-caliber handgun off the ground at his feet, he checked the cartridge and it’s payload of silver-lined bullets. Holstering the weapon, Nick scratched his raven-haired scalp and bit his lower lip with his long canine teeth. It was a bad habit he knew, but sometimes he just needed a reminder he could actually feel something. In his line of work he needed all the reminders he could get.
Nick stood up and walked casually towards the group of huddled figures. As he grew closer a few of the figures became agitated and started to talk hurriedly amongst themselves. By the time Nick reached the group, all seven had turned to face him and had adopted a decidedly hostile posture.
Nick had hooked his crossbow onto a small clasp on his knife sheath. He walked nonchalantly up and held his hands over the fire. He smiled charmingly at a woman dressed in black shirt and coat and torn jeans.
“Hi, name’s Nick Shadow. Maybe you have heard of me?”
If her reaction said anything, she had heard of him. Her eyes narrowed and a low growl emitted from her throat.
Nick nodded, “I thought so. I was wondering if I might be able to ask you about the murders of a family and another deadbeat across town. The MO of both the murders was the same, and very strange now you mention it. It seems they where injected twice in the neck, but we both know that’s not what happened, right? You and your buddies got a bit hungry and lose control?”
Nick knew a fraction of a second before the largest of the males made his move from behind his back. To this day he does not know whether it is a disturbance of the air against his neck, or a slight sound, or if it is just some sixth sense that gave him his split-second reflexes. He could never remember the cause, just the effect. And the effect was normally a corpse.
The fact that the thing he turned to face was a horrid, red-eyed, fanged monster instead of a human did not faze him. He calmly drew his crossbow and shot the creature in the heart. It stopped short and fell backwards, looking in shock at the wooden stake sticking out of its chest.
“Didn’t expect that, did’ja?”
Nick drew his knife and, taking a single long step forward, beheaded the thing with a clean, powerful stroke. As he turned to face the other six creatures, he drew another projectile from his collection and quickly reloaded his weapon.
He launched the next bolt into the chest of the girl he had first spoken too, but before he could decapitate her he was set upon by the others. He cut the head off the first to reach him, but then lost his knife in the heart of the second. The third Nick simply picked up and tossed on the fire.
That left three of the Undead for Nick to deal with. He reached down and, keeping his eyes on the three monsters, withdrew his knife from the other monster’s corpse and severed the corpse’s neck. Then he rose to his feet and took a step towards the creatures in front of him.
This was the real test; would the creatures cower before him on account of his killing their friends, or for the same reason would they fly into a rage and do their utmost to kill him? Nick had a feeling if they went for the second option, they’d be in for a small surprise.
Remembering another trick he had in his favor, Nick drew out a small stick and, cracking it sharply against his palm, threw it in the face of the creatures and screwed his eyes tight shut.
Even with his eyes closed the flash of the homemade grenade was enough to give him a headache. But when he turned to look, the three monsters were effectively blinded.
Retrieving his crossbow he went about the process of putting a stake through the heart of each creature and relieving it of its head.
When he reached the girl he had shot but not finished off, he found her still alive, if you could even call their existence living. She looked up at him with those strange smoldering eyes that you were repulsed by and drawn into at the same time. It looked up at him with rage tempered by confusion and pain.
“But, why? You are one of us…”
Nick showed her his teeth, his canines were long and sharp.
“Sorry Honey, I’m only half vampire. I only have one pair of fangs, not the normal two. So I don’t feel much pain for losing your kind to whatever Hell you were spawned from. You are evil, you murder, kill ruthlessly… I am only doing what I know to be right. Good night, Half-Sister.”
With that he severed her head from her body, finally killing the living corpse.
He lay the headless body down on the rough concrete, a strange sadness in his eyes. Although he knew these things were evil, he was still one of them. By killing them he was also killing off the creatures he could relate to most.
“Good night, Sister. Be at rest and haunt this world no longer.”
Nick stood up and, collecting the stakes from the corpses of the other vampires, took one last look at the havoc he just instigated. Yes, the cops would find them later on. Maybe even Officer Trask would investigate them. But they wouldn’t find any trace of him. They couldn’t, Nick Shadow was as dead to the cop’s criminal records as he was to the rest of the world. He just didn’t exist. Which was why he could carry on his crusade against the creatures of the night.
Nick reached behind the brick wall he had hid behind earlier, and picked up the manila folder that lay on the ground next to where he had crouched. Inside was all the information he had on the murders and the killers. All his notes, photos he had taken from the crime scenes, photocopies of some books on the supernatural he made at the local library. He didn’t need it; he would always remember every detail of this case, as he did with all the cases before. He just wanted to leave the evidence so the cops would see the connections and close the case. It would be a shame for them to be wasting taxpayer money on a case that had already been solved.
Nick dropped the folder on the body of one of the vampires where the cops could find it. Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows that were his namesake. He had heard about a strange wolf-creature stalking the park at night. It had already during the last week mauled one child and killed two other homeless people spending the night in the park.
Maybe Nick could sort it out. He had the silver bullets, just never a chance to use them. Wolf-men were new to him, but he was sure he could handle it. After all, the night was still young.
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