The Tale of Vagas

[The Overlord]

Well, I shared this on another site some time ago, but with no response to it, I deleted the post and carried on with the tale. I have 3 chapters done, although the 3rd was written about 2 months ago, so the project, as a whole, has been shelved. It's something to share, though, so if your tastes wander to the macabre/horror genres, it might be of interest. I also write a fair bit of High Fantasy and a truckload of GTA-type gangster stories. For now, enjoy......

Baron Vagas comes home

The thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, promising rain before the day broke. Stars winked here and there through the thickening cloud cover, pinpoints of light in the pitch black sky. The moon, full and bright, peeked through at less frequent intervals as the rolling clouds swept in and the air itself carried a scent of rain as well.

The Baron strolled casually down the rutted lane, oblivious to the changing weather. His long, dark cape trailed behind him, fluttering gently in the evening breeze. The stones ground softly beneath his shoes as he paced and the forest about him went silent as he passed. Crickets, frogs and the night birds all held their song as he passed, a shadow of evil, emanating an aura of darkness.

The sound of a horseman drifted down the lane, approaching at a steady trot and the Baron held his steps. Cocking an ear, a wide smile creased his pale features. Slipping to the side, he focused his thoughts and within seconds became translucent, as though only a shadow of the man who stood there.

The rider came on steadily, and the Baron licked his lips hungrily. His perfectly tailored suit made no sound as he shifted, angling toward the road. The soft fabric carried it’s shape and repelled the general dusting of soil that often clung to a man’s clothing in this remote locale. His eyes, now blazing red, narrowed as the horseman appeared from the gloom, the animal’s pace slowing instinctively.

A dozen paces out, the horse stopped altogether, eliciting another smile from the dark presence hiding along the roadside. The rider gently rapped the reins, urging the animal on, to no avail. Shuddering from some inner chill, he dismounted, drawing the slender blade at his side.

The rider was a traveling clerk, armed with the standard long sword of the clerks in town. His dusty brown breeches were rumpled and twisted from many hours in the saddle and his boots were well worn and faded. A tall man, over 6 feet, he was as tall as the creature that watched, silently from the fringes, but carried more weight. Heavyset and rugged, the clerk felt no fear yet, just a sense of unease. Moving to the front of his horse, he tugged the reins again, trying once more to urge the animal on.

“Come, now, Marie, we’re late as it is,” he huffed, agitation and weariness clear in his voice. “We’re near the last stop, old girl, then we’ll rest for the night.”

The Baron dropped his camouflage and stepped onto the dark road, behind the clerk. The horse reacted immediately and violently, rearing and neighing in fear at the appearance of the stranger. Balking, she yanked the reins from the clerk’s hand and bolted down the lane, vanishing from sight within seconds. The clerk, oblivious to the intruder, sighed heavily and shook his head.

“When I get you back,” he muttered, looking after the now vanished mount, “I’ll be trading you for one less skittish.”

“She has good reason to be skittish,” said a silken voice from immediately behind him. The clerk whirled and yelped in surprise, bringing his sword to bear on the sudden company.

“By the gods!” he cried, anger wrinkling his face as he gestured threateningly with the naked blade. “Scaring a man on a dark night isn’t good for one’s health, you know.”

The Baron smiled easily, stepping forward, within easy reach of the sword. Opening his arms, he held them out to his sides, showing he was unarmed. The clerk stared, sizing him up as they faced off. The newcomer stood at his height, around 6 foot 4, but was slender, almost cat-like in build. His pale features were hard to discern in the fluttering light of the moon, as it slipped from behind the clouds, then out again, but the long, black hair was slicked back, showing a pronounced widow’s peak on the man’s forehead.

“Threatening one with a blade isn’t a great deal better,” replied Vagas, pointing at the blade the clerk was waving at him. “In fact, I’ll have to take that, so I feel a bit safer.”

He reached out for the blade and the clerk jabbed it at his hand, seeking to ward him off. As the blade reached the tall, pale stranger, he grabbed it, yanking violently from the clerk’s firm grasp. Holding the blade before him, the Baron frowned at the clerk. As he did, the moon peered out from behind the cloud cover, revealing a trickle of blood, snaking down the remainder of the blade from his hand.

“Now you’ve cut me,” said Vagas, annoyance in his tone. “That is quite rude, especially seeing as I’ve not even attacked you.”

The clerk gaped, glancing left and right for either a weapon to replace the sword or an escape route. He’d been in enough fights to know his skill and this man had just pulled the sword from his hand with no effort. He’d felt the raw power of his foe and knew he wasn’t likely to win the encounter as they stood.

Even as the thoughts entered his mind, he felt the preternatural cold emanating from the man before him. Shuffling back, his eyes widened as he realized the scope of what he was facing. This was no man, no warrior or brigand, this was a monster, in the guise of a man.

Vagas’ smile vanished as he lunged, his mouth opening wide, wider than a man’s mouth could. Jagged fangs came into view as he came, and the hapless clerk froze in terror. As Vagas struck, the paralysis broke and a scream began, deep in his chest. Before it passed his lips, however, it drowned in a gout of blood, erupting from his torn throat.

Falling back to the hard road, the monster atop him, the clerk’s mind registered his fate. He’d become the next victim of the stalker in the night. The tales around town were true, something was hunting the citizens and it was more terrible and frightening than any of them expected. The idea of a bear or wolves taking down travelers left his mind as his life fled, sucked in by the demonic beast hunched over him.

Evil had come, and he died, knowing it’s face.

Edited November 29, 2006 by The Overlord

[tommy vercetti guy]

its kind of boring...

[The Overlord]

Well, you need to keep in mind that this, like many of my works, is part of a much bigger project. I scanned through and I do notice that many of the "stories" here are a few paragraphs, so anything of length is likely a bit of a shock to the system to some members.

If anyone enjoys reading fiction, specifically the genres mentioned above, this, as well as some of my other works, may appeal to them. For those who shudder when they have a full page to read in school, you're better off skipping anything I post in creativity, as the depth of character development and attention to detail will, to quote some "bore" you.

[Red_91]

its good but you havent samshed teh egg but the potential is there

[The Overlord]

Vagas returns

The rain pelted from the skies as he strode down the cobbled lane, turning along a lesser traveled side path that wound into the woods. The overgrown path could be seen ahead, as the land sloped up a small rise to where a deserted house stood, dark and foreboding on the small hillock.

The Baron’s steps were sure and steady as he paced up the pathway, the overhanging branches scratching at his cape. His gently glowing eyes showed him all around, from the small rodents that cowered in the underbrush to the trembling night birds, perched in the nearby trees. The animals resumed their routines as he passed, the evil aura about him falling aside as their tiny brains returned to the grind of survival.

Vagas emerged from the brush along the lane and walked to the wrought iron gate that stood, blocking the lane. Touching the lock, it flared briefly, then the gates swung open with a groan of protest on their rusted hinges. Cocking an eyebrow at the gates, he made a mental note to have them cleaned and oiled soon.

Mounting the steps, he smiled at his home. Having left almost 20 years ago, he’d hoped to find the house still standing, but it was in much better shape than he’d expected. The windows were unbroken and the shutters were mostly intact. Provided the roof hadn’t leaked, it would be almost ready for guests now.

A touch to the doorknob evoked another brief flare of energy and the door swung wide to receive him. Stepping through, he inhaled deeply, a look of puzzlement crossing his face. Sniffing the air again, he cocked his head and listened. No sound greeted his ear, but there was a scent about the place, the scent of death.

“Waldorf,” he called softly, looking around the pitch-black room, noting the pristine condition of both furnishings and articles. “Waldorf, my old friend, do you yet live?”

Shuffling footsteps sounded from the hallway to his right. A glance down that hall revealed the man he’d called to, shuffling slowly toward him, eyes vacant and mouth agape. Vagas muttered a word of power and soft light filled the room, displaying more clearly what he could see already.

A tattered zombie shuffled to a stop before him, bowing it’s rotting head in deference. The zombie was clothed in tight wrappings of robes, keeping its putrid flesh from falling off and garbing it in some semblance of presentable fashion. The creature’s hands held a large, silver tray, with a rounded lid. From within the lid came scuttling sounds and the occasional squeak.

With a wide smile, Vagas lifted the lid and snatched the massive rat that was beneath. Holding the writhing creature by its tail, he favored the zombie a wider grin and patted it’s shoulder gently. “You’ve ever been my most faithful, Waldorf,” he said, bringing the rodent to his lips. With a meaty crunch, he bit the creature’s head off, allowing the blood to spill down his cheeks as he drew it back.

Handing the carcass back to the emaciated undead servant, he looked about the foyer once again, taking in the details. As the zombie began to crunch noisily on its treat, Vagas’ smile widened again. The room, in fact, the house, appeared to be in almost perfect condition.

A huge, winding staircase led to the second floor from the opposite side of the foyer. A hall ran along the length of the house up there, ending in doors on either end. The hallway the zombie had come from was thickly carpeted and sported a trio of doors at equal intervals along its right wall. The left wall held the front windows, looking out across the yard.

Both foyer and hall were almost spotless, a tribute to the dedication of this mindless, undead servant he’d left behind. Obviously, Waldorf had been attending his duties each day since Vagas had left. Cleaning the house, mending broken shingles, likely and overall, keeping it ready to reside in once more. Turning to the zombie, who had finished his meal, Vagas tilted his head slightly.

“I assume my sleeping quarters remain undisturbed?” he asked.

The zombie nodded immediately, pointing to the back corner of the foyer, where a door nestled in on the back side of the spiral staircase. Vagas nodded in approval and started for the door. Dawn was only a few hours off; he’d best be prepared for a nap when it arrived.

“As you were, good Waldorf,” he said as he opened the door and started down the dank stairway to the cellar. As the door snicked shut behind him, he faintly heard the shuffling steps of the undead minion wander back down the hallway. Making another mental note to add to his staff, Vagas stepped into the cellar proper and uttered the word of power once more, bathing the room in soft light.

A large coffin sat in the middle of the room, with a huge golden symbol embossed on its lid. The walls of the room were filled with alcoves, still dark, even under the scrutiny of the mystical light he’d conjured. A smirk etched his face as he surveyed the niches, and he spoke a single word.

From each niche stepped an abomination of nature. Hulking, savage creatures, their massive arms ending in huge hands, tipped with long, curved talons. Their heads were those of nightmares, long and slender, with a mouth too big for the head itself, ringed with long, dagger-like teeth. The minions each took two steps from their alcoves, then knelt in reverence of their master.

“Yes, my children,” he said softly, his voice drifting like cold death across the room. “I have returned. Tonight, we feast, tomorrow, our return to power begins.”

The creatures hissed, snarling and spitting as they crowded to get closer to the coffin. As they moved, Vagas noted their wings lifting in anticipation as their clawed feet scrabbled at the floor. With a chuckle, he pointed to a darker niche than the others and spoke.

“Go forth, my minions, and bring us our feast,” he commanded, his tone stern and powerful. “I expect at least two of these to be human and in suitable condition for servants.”

The creatures hissed and spat again at the last. The Baron meant the pair of servants must be brought to him alive and in good repair. Wanton slaughter was a better task for them and more enjoyable as well.

“Know that I will hold you accountable for the condition of my servants,” he said, looking to the six monstrosities milling about the room. “To fail me is to know my wrath.”

With a final hiss of displeasure, the creatures scuttled out through the niche, vanishing into the night beyond. Vagas stared after them for a minute or two, watching them vanish down the hallway. A long tunnel led from here to a barred gate on the sheer face of a cliff behind the house. The creatures would light out from there and find their prey. He needed but one viable servant, which was why he’d demanded a pair. Knowing the creatures as he did, Vagas was fairly certain they’d damage at least one.

With a sigh, he turned and made his way back up the stairs. He would finish checking his home, ensuring his safeguards were in place, then go to the upper balcony to await his minions return. The Sphingarrs were loyal and powerful servants, but not overly bright. Their enthusiasm often resulted in conflict and Vagas wanted to be ready. Fully energized from the hapless clerk, he was ready for conflict with the dangerous beasts, prepared to share his wrath.

++++++++++++++++++++

A mere two hours passed before the Sphingarrs returned, each clutching a prize in it’s clawed hands. The first three to light on the rooftop balcony toted slaughtered farmers, by the look, still dressed in their nightclothes. The next pair carried what he assumed were to be his servants, as they were both breathing, one struggling in the talons of it’s captor. The last landed and dropped its load, a half grown cow, which thudded heavily to the floorboards.

Vagas stepped in to examine the still living victims. The one struggling ceased as his gentle touch caressed her cheek. She went limp, hanging loosely in the powerful arms of the hulking monster. Nodding, Vagas took the body and laid it in the corner for the moment as he went to examine the next potential servant.

Lifting the man’s head, he noted a series of deep slashes across his chest. Blood still oozed from the wounds, testament to the man being alive, but he was seriously wounded and wouldn’t live much longer. While still suitable for his purpose, the man was not in the shape Vagas had demanded. The creature holding him seemed to sense the vampire’s displeasure and hissed nervously, shifting from one clawed foot to the other.

Vagas took the body from the creature and moved to the far corner. Leaning down, he drove his fangs deep into the man’s wounds, sucking deeply at the crimson treat within. Within seconds, the man was still, his body as pale as that of the Baron himself. Dropping the body, he turned and leveled his evil glare on the Sphingarr who had brought it.

“This is not how my servants are to be presented,” he said evenly, stepping toward the creature. The others lifted off, moving to the roof’s peak to both keep out of the way and to enjoy the show. “You were warned and now must serve as an example to the others.”

The creature bristled, assuming a defensive stance. The rest chattered and hissed in excitement as the massive creature towered over the vampire. Vagas smiled, pushing his will and growing larger himself. His shoulders widened, his mouth enlarged and his hands grew long, sharp nails. As the fangs in his mouth grew to rival those of the Sphingarr, the creature’s nerve broke and it attacked.

A huge, clawed hand shot out, grasping the vampire’s collar in an iron grip. Pulling the still smaller man toward it, the creature tilted it’s head down and to the side, to protect it’s own neck and deliver a possibly fatal bite of it’s own. The bite never landed.

Vagas allowed the creature to pull him in, allowed it to bring him within truly lethal range. As the creature’s head twisted, his hands shot out and grabbed the inside edges of it’s jaws, driving his thumbs in under it’s tongue. Pushing back, he easily lifted the creature’s head away and lunged in himself, tearing a huge chunk of flesh from its neck.

The Sphingarr screeched in agony as the flesh tore from its neck in a shower of black blood. Flailing with its huge arms, trying to bat the pressing vampire back, the creature’s clawed toes dug deep gouges in the thick planking of the deck. Vagas twisted again, maintaining his hold with unearthly strength on the beast as he turned it to the side.

Slamming his knee up, the sound of ribs shattering broke the night air, in symphony with a wheezing hiss as the air left the creature’s lungs. Again the knee drove up, splintering bone and driving another gust of air from the beast, this time thick with dark blood. Twisting again, Vagas drove the creature to the floor, falling atop it and pinning it down.

Driving his head in, he tore yet another massive bite from the Sphingarr’s throat, drawing a final, weak cry of pain from it. Spitting the flesh to the ground, Vagas released the beast and rose, leaving it lying on the floor of the balcony.

“Thus is the price of failure,” he said, pointing to the creature, writhing on the bloodied planks. “Should any of you fail me again, the price will increase twofold, am I clear?”

The five remaining on the peak of the roof bobbed their heads in unison and hissed their assent. They knew well that Vagas could easily have killed their comrade and felt fortunate to not have faced the wrath themselves. The lesson would serve.

“Now,” said Vagas, resuming his human form and wiping the blood and gore from his face with the hem of his cape. “We feast.”

[JoeyJoeJoeson.]

I think its awesome , you should get this published when its finished. I'm looking forward to reading more !!! !!! !!!

10/10!

[Red_91]

Damn man you are getting better, how old are you?

[The Overlord]

Without going into detail and revealing the actual number, I would guess I'm the oldest on the site by a fair margin. Regardless, I'm glad my work is being enjoyed, thus, I offer chapter 3. The tale itself appears to have the potential to run 6 to 7 chapters if I want to wrap it up, or much, much longer, if I prefer it to carry on. I'll let the work take me where it may, and see how things go.

The Ritual

The Feast lasted for hours, and the dawn was about to break when finally the carnage wound down. As the horizon brightened to a deep purple hue, the Sphingarrs left the bloodied rooftop and vanished into the hidden tunnel once more. Vagas stood for a moment, surveying the slaughter, a wide smile creasing his otherwise smooth face.

“Yes, my children,” he said softly, looking to the ravaged bodies of the night before. “We are on our way once more, returning to power within the hamlet of Pineshade. Soon the people will know, soon they will tremble in fear.”

With that, he slipped in through the door and down the stairs, passing Waldorf, who shuffled along, broom and dustpan in hand, to clean once more. The zombie made his way up the steps in lurching strides, moving toward the balcony to cleanse it of the night’s carnage.

Vagas moved deeper still into the house, coming to a halt before the huge coffin in the cellar. With a wave of his hand, the lid slipped to the side, the heavy stone grating as it moved. Settling in, Vagas smiled once more, thinking already of the rites he would carry out tonight, to bring yet another servant under his sway.

The coffin lid slipped tight once more, closing off the soft, yet ominous chuckling from within, as the sun broke over the Eastern skyline, basking the house and its grounds in its warm rays.

++++++++++++++

Vagas awoke many hours later, as the sun settled below the horizon. Again, the grating sound of stone on stone filled the room and the vampire sat up from his resting place. Glancing about, he was pleased to note the Sphingarrs stood, silent and patient in their niches, guarding the room as he slept. He effortlessly slid from the stone coffin, then pushed the lid back into place, forgoing the mystical shift he generally favored. Vagas wished to carry out this evening’s projects himself, without the aid of his magic, to renew the feeling of control.

Upon reaching the foyer, he stopped, pondering exactly what step to take next. The woman his minions had brought back slept still, under the sway of his spell, on a day bed along the wall of the foyer. The man, however, was little more than a drained husk and Waldorf, as part of his cleaning, had tossed the remains over the cliff to dispose of them.

Moving to the woman, Vagas smiled, picking her up as though she were a feather and starting up the steps. His task called for a few trinkets, stored in the upper study and this was his destination. Waldorf had carried out his tasks admirably, but with the Baron’s return, there would be much more work to do. Another servant about his home was essential.

Draping the limp form across the marred and scorched table in the middle of the room, Vagas went to a tall, glass fronted cabinet on the wall. Selecting a few vials from it, he laid them out alongside the body, humming a ballad of loss and woe he’d picked up during his travels.

Double-checking the heavy tome set on the desk in the corner, he nodded, satisfied. All the pieces were in place and the ritual could begin. Lighting candles along the wall, he took one, a large, flesh colored table candle, and set it on the table, directly above the woman’s head.

“Now, my dear, you get to join the esteemed Waldorf in servitude,” he said, taking a pair of the vials and pouring a small amount of each into the bowl of the candle. As the mixture caught and smoked, pouring a swirling blue haze from the candle, he began to chant.

Words long forgotten to mortal men rolled off his tongue with ease, filling the room with their harsh and guttural symphony. The candle by her head flickered and pulsed, as power from eons of mystical rites surged through the room, channeled here by Vagas’ call.

The woman moaned softly, shaking her head weakly. Vagas smiled again, as this was the final stage of the simple ritual. Her eyes fluttered as she struggled to come awake and he head lolled more forcefully as she fought to deny the evil energy seeping into her.

Her eyes snapped open and her mouth opened to scream. As the first note of her terrified shriek began to form, Vagas thrust his hand down, grasping her tongue between his fingers with a strength borne of his undead nature. The woman’s eyes bulged, the scream caught tight in her throat as the dark creature above her twisted with brutal force. A wet tearing sound drifted across the span from her mouth to his ears as her tongue was wrenched free.

Blood gushed from her mouth as she gagged and heaved, struggling to rise. Spilling across the table and spraying up as her lungs fought to expel the fluid, a crimson shower rained down on the sputtering candle by her head, erupting in a jet of green flame. Vagas brought the torn organ he held to his mouth and bit it cleanly, moaning as the power of the ritual surged through him and the blood streamed from his chin.

The woman’s struggles ceased as her body lost the battle to clear her lungs and thick blood replaced the air she so desperately sought. With a final heave, her body lay still, dancing shadows from the green tinged pyre above her head raged on. Vagas barked a final, powerful word and the candles in the room extinguished, as one, dropping the room into utter darkness.

Lightly brushing her soft brow, Vagas kissed his latest servant on the cheek, whispering to her softly. “Rise, now my dear and prepare to serve your new Lord,” he said, his gentle tones wafting to her ear. “Your name shall be Maria, and you shall serve me well for many years.”

The new minion twitched a time or two before the eyes again snapped open. Vacant and staring, they showed no hint of humanity as the head swiveled to take in the surrounding room. Sitting up smoothly, the zombie spun her feet to the side and came to a stop, seated on the edge of the table, legs dangling over the side. Standing, she turned again, to face Vagas, who stood a few paces back, watching her closely.

The zombie bowed deeply, keeping her unwavering gaze upon her master, then stood stock-still, awaiting orders. Vagas smiled and nodded, pleased with his latest addition. Fresh and healthy, she would be an ideal choice to keep up on the more delicate tasks of keeping his house.

“You will keep this room in order,” he said firmly, gesturing about. “Also the kitchen and larder are to be kept organized at all times, in case we have,” he paused, an eyebrow cocking high in a sardonic leer. “Guests.”

With no further orders spoken, the zombie began her tasks, taking the fleshy candle from the table and replacing it on the shelf near the window. The vials followed, each going to its exact place, the layout and arrangement of the room having been burned in her mind as the final orders had been issued. Turning slowly, as though to confirm all was in order, the zombie walked out of the room and headed for the kitchen area to continue.

“With that out of the way,” muttered Vagas, moving out of the room himself, “It’s time to pay a visit to the city itself and see how my old friends are doing, I suppose.”

Reaching the front door, Vagas eyed the handle in contemplation. The energy from the ritual coursed through him, making him edgy and tense. Expending some now might be a good idea, previous plan be damned. With a gesture, the doors flew open and he stepped into the cool night air.

Vagas tapped a finger to his chin in thought as he stood on the wooden planks of his front porch. Methods of travel were numerous, he could walk, fly or assume bat form to skitter unseen across the countryside en route to town. Glancing to the skies, he decided flight was best, as he did still enjoy the thrill of soaring above the treetops in his current form.

With a thought, he rose from the ground and angled toward town, climbing above the treetops as he went. Reaching the trade road, he decided to follow it, in hopes of perhaps finding some fool who dared travel the night. His hopes were soon rewarded.

A tall, powerfully built man trudged down the lane, a large sword swinging at his side as he walked. Battered armor and a dented helm spoke of his status as a veteran warrior of some type, drawing a soft chuckle from the Baron as he dropped silently into the woods ahead of the man. Warriors were always the most fun, being bold, brave and, with few exceptions, stupid.

The warrior pulled up short as the dark figure stepped from the trees before him. The tall, willowy stranger was draped in a long, flowing cape and his impeccable tailored suit was as black as the night itself. Hand straying to the large steel blade on his hip, the warrior stepped back and cocked his head slightly.

“Lost, or somethin’, stranger?” he asked warily.

“No,” came the silken response as Vagas moved fully onto the lane, squaring off with the burly warrior. “Just out for a stroll and thought I might say hello to a fellow traveler.”

“Dang’rus out here at night,” growled the man, never moving his hand from the hilt of his weapon. “Monster an’ such out here, can kill a fellow if he’s not prop’rly armed, ya know.”

“Oh, I know,” said Vagas, a smile twitching at the corners of his wide mouth. “Monsters more terrible than anything most can imagine, I’m told. I’m not concerned, though, I can take care of myself, most times.”

The warrior had moved as Vagas spoke, seeking a better angle to the stranger. The steel blade showed slightly now, as the man’s caution deepened and he prepared for some treachery. As Vagas turned to face him more squarely again, the blade hissed free of it’s scabbard, glinting in the faint moonlight that trickled between the overhead foliage.

“Maybe you’re a monster, then,” the big man said evenly, bringing the blade to a defensive position before him, his eyes narrowing. “Otherwise I reckon you’d be a bit more careful out here.”

“Perhaps I am,” the vampire replied, his smile growing, revealing the long, sharp canines jutting from his mouth. “You’re a bit slow realizing it, though, not that it would matter.”

The warrior was well trained and not new to combat, launching a series of attacking blows even as Vagas spoke. The sharp, steel blade whistled through the air as he slashed at the vampire, Vagas easily eluding the attacks, his undead reflex well beyond what this mortal was capable of.

Vagas snapped a hand out, the sharp talons that had grown seeking the man’s neck. The big warrior moved to the side, bringing the blade up to block and scoring a deep wound to the vampire’s arm as they met. Vagas hissed, part annoyance, part pain as the blade, obviously enchanted somehow, burned his arm.

“I ain’t scared o’ monsters,” the big fighter growled, brandishing his weapon and circling, looking for an opening. “You won’t be da first I come up aginst, fer sure!”

Vagas scowled at the man, keeping his distance for the time being. While the blade didn’t carry the usual glow of enchantment, it obviously held some magic, or the wound wouldn’t have hurt at all. He decided then that this fight was not going to drag on.

The warrior lunged, spotting what he thought to be a weakness as Vagas allowed him to get a better angle. The gleaming blade danced in, driving for his chest with an accuracy and speed born of many years experience. Even as it looked like the strike would land, Vagas seemed to flicker, appearing to the now stumbling man’s left and shooting his hand out to grab the warrior’s arm.

Vagas squeezed, with all of his undead strength, crushing the fighter’s wrist with a series of grinding snaps. With a cry of agony, the sword clattered to the ground as Vagas yanked, drawing a soft pop from the man’s huge shoulder. Being dragged like a rag doll, the warrior lost his footing, tumbling painfully to the ground.

Vagas stalked after him, eyes now blazing with unholy light as the rage of bloodlust fed him. The warrior, injured badly, but still a veteran, drew a short dagger from his belt with his uninjured hand and slashed at the approaching monster.

The steel again kissed across Vagas’ outstretched arm, scoring a deep gash that leaked a trickle of dark blood to the ground. Vagas’ smile grew wider as the wound closed, vanishing as he snatched the man by his breastplate, the inhuman strength denting the thick steel.

Hauling the man to his feet and batting aside the worthless dagger, Vagas whipped his free hand across the man’s face savagely. Blood sprayed across the leaves as long talons ripped through flesh, shredding one side of his face. Flesh hung in ribbons from the man’s cheek and he cried out again as the backhand slash matched the other side.

Vagas threw him to the ground again, now in complete battle frenzy. Kicking the man’s side, he crumpled the edge of the breastplate he wore, driving the steel into the man’s flesh and shattering his short ribs. Gasping in unspeakable pain, the man tried to roll away, as his lifeblood poured from the new wound.

Vagas drove his hand down once again, striking the man’s thigh with extended fingers, the talons digging in deep. Clenching his hand, he pulled hard, literally ripping a hand-sized chunk of flesh from the back of his victim’s leg. The warrior groaned again, now beyond screams as his blood gushed forth, pooling among the stones of the lane.

Repeating the process on the other leg, Vagas brought the second chunk to his mouth and bit deeply into the dripping meat. The warrior, having rolled to his back to try and defend, gaped in horror as he watched the towering vampire devour his very flesh. Eyes wide, the man groaned softly again and tried to move back, collapsing as the agony from his destroyed legs proved too much. Death was upon him and he knew it.

Vagas dropped the piece of meat with a wet plop to the ground, licking his fingers. “You know, I may have let you off easier if you hadn’t ruined my coat,” he said, moving in once more. “Now, however, you’ve caused me inconvenience, I can’t very well show up in town with this huge hole in my sleeve.”

The helpless warrior sobbed, thinking of the unfortunate town he’d left behind. This monster would go there and slay, he knew, killing at will until someone stopped him. Another sob wrenched itself from the man’s chest as a picture of his beloved Julianne formed in his mind and he closed his eyes, to muster his last bit of strength.

Vagas dropped down on top of the man, his right hand powering down. The warrior shot his own hand up, grabbing the undead creature by it’s throat and clenching with all his considerable strength. The smile that crossed Vagas face confused him, until the hand re-emerged, clenching something.

It was then the warrior felt the cold pressure on his chest, and managed to glance at what this monster held. His eyed widened once again as recognition settled in and his hand fell weakly away from the vampire’s throat.

“You just don’t have the heart for this kind of thing,” Vagas said, cocking an eyebrow at his own, dark humor. Bringing the still pulsing organ to his mouth, the vampire took a huge bite, watching with satisfaction as his victim’s eyes went dim, life fleeing from them.

“Well,” he said to himself, rising and grabbing the body again, hoisting it over his shoulder. “May as well go home and change, I don’t think they’d like the sight of this in council hall. Hard to be invited in if you look so ragged.”

With those words fading on the breeze, the vampire lifted off once again, banking toward his home. Not quite the start he’d hoped for this night, but entertaining nonetheless. He thought again of his last words to the dying fighter and laughed aloud. “Haven’t the heart,” he muttered, his dark, evil laughter ringing across the forest as he headed home. “Sometimes I’m too much.”