12-23-2014, 07:23 PM
Shadows fell thick along the alleys and by-ways of Caldwell, New York. A tall figure moved through the blackness, all steel and leather. Hair black as night spilling down his back. Pale green eyes behind thick wrap-arounds.
Fangs exposed in a merciless grin as he scented the air and caught thick, cloying baby powder. A lesser was in the area.
Wrath, the vampire king, moved like a storm in the direction of the scent. For millenia his kind had been at war with the creatures, once human but now bloodless, heartless and soulless. Members of an organization called the Lessening Society, lessers existed for one reason, and one reason only---to hunt vampires. Wrath and his brothers, members of the secret order called the Black Dagger Brotherhood, were tasked with killing as many lessers as possible, and collecting the ceramic jar in which their withered blackened heart was kept. Thousands of such jars---trophies all---lined shelves in the Brotherhood's inner sanctum.
The war had taken a new turn lately, however. Vampire scientists had got hold of a heavily-sedated lesser for study and it turned out he was as fertile as a female vampire in her breeding time---the idea was that such captive matings could be used to produce the ultimate soldiers. Ruthless killers who were as disciplined as Brothers but with the fanatical drive of a lesser and who could walk in the sunlight. Benefits of both and drawbacks of neither, one hoped. But first they needed some breeding stock. So here Wrath was now, out for the first time not to kill a lesser, but to capture it.
Smirking, he tested the weight of the chain looped round his upper arm. Heavy-gauge steel; lessers were strong but they couldn't break this shit. It would be the ideal lasso; he'd be hoping to catch the lesser by surprise and bind its limbs together before it could even react.
Fangs exposed in a merciless grin as he scented the air and caught thick, cloying baby powder. A lesser was in the area.
Wrath, the vampire king, moved like a storm in the direction of the scent. For millenia his kind had been at war with the creatures, once human but now bloodless, heartless and soulless. Members of an organization called the Lessening Society, lessers existed for one reason, and one reason only---to hunt vampires. Wrath and his brothers, members of the secret order called the Black Dagger Brotherhood, were tasked with killing as many lessers as possible, and collecting the ceramic jar in which their withered blackened heart was kept. Thousands of such jars---trophies all---lined shelves in the Brotherhood's inner sanctum.
The war had taken a new turn lately, however. Vampire scientists had got hold of a heavily-sedated lesser for study and it turned out he was as fertile as a female vampire in her breeding time---the idea was that such captive matings could be used to produce the ultimate soldiers. Ruthless killers who were as disciplined as Brothers but with the fanatical drive of a lesser and who could walk in the sunlight. Benefits of both and drawbacks of neither, one hoped. But first they needed some breeding stock. So here Wrath was now, out for the first time not to kill a lesser, but to capture it.
Smirking, he tested the weight of the chain looped round his upper arm. Heavy-gauge steel; lessers were strong but they couldn't break this shit. It would be the ideal lasso; he'd be hoping to catch the lesser by surprise and bind its limbs together before it could even react.