Sanguine Vitae

Sparta stood there stunned as Trevlac bolted outside as if someone had just lit him on fire, Ordin seemed rather pleased or content with seeing Sparta among their terribly clashing group in the middle of a vampire fuck fest. "Oi, Sparta! You're just in time!" Ordin yelled, "Any time there's money and blood involved I know you're bound to show up, what's with the silly get-up y'old prick?" Composing himself Sparta replied, "Ha, well you know me, if money isn't involved it is you two dragging me through some cesspool of hell! Oh and the suit its a bartender's, I used it to get into this joint." Sparta paused from his reply to light up a rather bent looking cigarette, the cigarette must have been right in the center of the clash he had had with the bartender out back. "I think we should probably follow him you know Trevlac would end up chained to some pedofiliac's bed being forced to watch Teletubbies if we were not with him." With that Sparta's eyes shot over to Lydia, "Your coming also." Almost instantly Sparta flew through the door in pursuit of Trevlac

Sparta burst through the door not knowing that the intensity of the sun would temporarily blind him, he looked around until his eyes focused upon a person standing just outside the door. Taking no interest in the man Sparta darted of after his friend. He followed Trevlac until they reached a large old looking house, the yard was full of weeds and dead grass. Trevlac had just got a door slammed in his face when Sparta had shown up. "What the hell are you doing here Trevlac?"

Lydia stared after the fellow named Sparta as he darted out the door as an odd wave of coolness drifted across her gut. Something about his eyes unnerved her as they had drifted over her reminded her of the way an anaconda looks at a rat right before it hugs it to death. Lydia remembered the aftermath in LA five months ago. A nicely executed job, simp;e, even. Corporate espionage at its most aggressive. A lot of people died...Could it have been linked to her? she'd been so careful....

No, no.....I'm jumping at shadows. This guy is a friend of Ordin and Trevlac. What are the odds that I would run into two people an assassin knows randomly? Slim, that's what! Best to be careful, though....perhaps it was good that her paranoia had been engaged. The mission they were on was a tall order, to say the least. Some god-like undead commanding asshole was wandering about with a chip on his soldier, and here she was, with a handful of chemical weapons and an outdated gun her only defense against psychic immortals who can bend steel and use shadows as tentacle weapons.

Shit. Shitty shit shitter shitskabobs!

That offer of vampirism from the secretary lady was looking more and more essential to her survival. Best to keep her mind focused on this mission and be vigilant for danger until she could take advantage of it.

"Hey, Ordin, before we leave this place and follow Trevlac, can you do me a favor? Can you help teach me to be a warrior? The last thing I would want is to be any kind of a third wheel, but this whole gme is very different from the one I normally play. I'm outclassed, quite frankly. I've heard things about you, and you seem like the ideal person to help me survive, since that seems to be what you do best. Please?"

Callisto grabbed a black cloak from under the bar and headed out for the sun stricken day, right as the barkeep tending the day shift replaced the night bartender. She steadily walked passed her known vampire associates in the club looking down at the black mass that she held in her hands. She quickened her pace as she neared the door and slipped into the sun coat as the doors opened wide. The sun’s presence was overbearing to her pale skin and she gritted her teeth as she stumbled to find the shadow of the building across the way. At this point, she was also sensitive to human activity because she knew that the bartender would tell Trevlac as much known to him of Grave, but also what could be said about the people involved in the operation.

A moment later, a smirk appeared under her black hood as she watched intently upon Trevlac leading the odd team in the direction of Zeke’s home, in her direction. She stood still so they would be less prone to move their eyes in her direction, even keeping her shadow small to ward off suspicion. Finally the old bastard let them in and she crossed the street to follow right behind the last person walking into the house, the strange girl she had briefly seen in the bar. Better late than never she thought shrugging her shoulders.

Lantario was almost knocked away by a rather distinguished vampire in a hurry. Said vampire was distinguished because he didn't actually look very proud to be leaving the place. And as much as it pained him, the human was due to enter, no matter how badly he wanted to avoid it. There was also the other man from earlier, the one who had left that earlier vamp out to dry. They both walked off down the alleyway towards another locale, leaving him alone to stomach his own pride. The gambler held the thick doors open and pulled himself in, letting them click closed behind him.

This foyer into the den was rather practical for a vampire. Sealed off from all natural light, only candles assisted the naked eye, possibly just out of consideration for those nocturnal members who needed a second to adjust. The scent of blood and various kinds of semen and orgasmic fluid was overpowering even in here, so there was no telling how strong of a dosage he would get if he stepped into the fray himself. Being a human who didn't contend with the more intimate livelihoods of vampires, he could very well catch all sorts of venereal ailments just wading up to his waist in vampiric orgy. And that was if he was lucky. If he wasn't, he would end up being pulled right in and after that, not even he wanted to think about what could happen. This wasn't a job cut out for a human, so why did the Prince send him?

In front of the inner door to the establishment, it seemed like a rather mousy-looking doorman had just given a courtesan the benefit of his company in more ways than one. In the throes of his excitement, he had pinned her down and bitten her as he had his way with her. With this obstacle in his way, it was going to be difficult to pass through to the inner mass. That is, unless the two still within this chamber were willing to assist him. One of them was a slender woman who believed to be human (as she wasn't turning the foyer sex into a threesome), and she was conversing anxiously with a weary-looking priest. Seeing a priest in here would be a shocking revelation for most people, but considering the people that Lantario had met as an associate of the Machiavellian Principality, it hardly perturbed him now. Definitely not as much as the blood fetishism going on in front of closed doors.

He waited against the wall and pretended that he was too disgusted by the sights to be seen in here to listen to the two's conversation, but in reality he was hoping to pick up a bit of helpful into that he could use to further his mission, and most importantly, a reason to just skip heading into this hellhole altogether.

And that was if he was lucky.

"yeah," Ordin nodded solemnly as Trevlac fled the hellgates, "yeah, you might be able to learn a few things if you stick with me."

He followed after him comrade, who shewed himself to be standing, with much angst and jaw-rubbing, in the archway of a crumbly old house. A torrent of dethwater sprayed forth from the gargling maw of the sky as he lit across the street. Steam almost seemed to stream forth from the sizzling tarmac.

A frail old man with wiry hair appeared in Trevlac's favorite doorway, brandishing a double-barreled shotgun and a baying wolfhound the size of a loveseat.

"This is Zeke's, I assume?" growled the priest as he slipped up next to the vampire. He attempted to pat the wild fiend on the nose but instead of acting complacent it continued gnashing its teeth. He withdrew his darling digits from the devil's dentures with a quickness.

Ordin raised himself to his full height, adjusting his shirt collar brilliantly. In a bronze tone he uttered, with a mad bow that almost made his nose meet the pavement he spoke:

"Sir Zeke, we are the Salacious Satan Seven. Now, I know there are only two of us, but there will be seven soon enough. We come to you to ask a boon; we are on a mission to rid this town of corpsegrinding and hellgashing, so if you would be so kind as to privy us gambit into thine abode and outfit us with fanciful wears of destruction, we shall be greatly indebted to thee and thou and thine times ten, tut?"

sucking in a massive breath that made the grass quiver, he split another goofy-ass grin, looking deep into the eyes of Zeke the Weapon's master. The codger stood there momentarily, looking them both up and down quizzically.

"Ben sent you?" he uttered at last.
Ordin nodded.
"Down boy," Zeke spat at the dog before dragging him away, how such a small man could manage........ however, he did leave the door wide open. Ordin slipped inside into a zoological park of taxidermy subjects, ranging from everything between squirrels, extinct soothsayers, and small multicolored dinosaurs, all prancing about on hooks and wires, in the middle of killing or being killed, forever frozen in time. The priest tickled a pteradon in the middle of a mighty coo as he entered.

The old man thumped back, dogless, and peered over at Trevlac with big gray eyes. Two moons set themselves upon Trevlac in a crazed fit of quizzardry. The vampire didn't know what to do, but the old man pre-empted him by shooting his hand out from behind his robes and clutching with inhuman strength on his arm. He was jolted forward over the threshold. Zeke peered outside at the people lamely attempting to follow Trevlac and hide from him. He closed his eyes (Trevlac felt the grip tighten) and he used his Auspex to detect living things in the area. Opening his eyes, Zeke nodded to the unabashed priest. "Seven there are." and suddenly threw Trevlac against the wall, shattering a console filled with delicate plates featuring cute kittens printed upon them.

The racket made the zombie dog outside rage and howl and claw at the door. The double-barrel was tossed aside and Trevlac tried to get up, wincing. His hair roots started to hurt and Trevlac realized that Zeke was pulling him up off the splintered wood and pile of broken porcelain. He tried to flail and get the inhumanly strong bastard off of him but the old man simply flung him hard back into the wall and held him up by his own jaw. "You...you dare break the Masquerade near my house, boy?" he seethed. Zeke looked more ferocious than a mere bear, it was an ancient livid beast that faced Trevlac now. The pointed teeth in his mouth marking him for what he was.

Gingerly, Trevlac choked up some words, "Followed...me...not...fault." he gasped. The stranglehold was released and Trevlac fell, clutching his larynx and scooping in great mouthfuls of air. When he was sure no asthma attack was oncoming, he continued, "The Camarilla won't hold me responsible. They followed me in, I didn't break the masquerade. They're my allies anyway. If anyone's going to be punished it's Countess Caro for exposing Lydia here." Trevlac spoke quickly, his pride thoroughly broken by a man who was several generations older than him. He was probably a very old, very powerful vampire. And this home was his Elysium, Trevlac could not legally use any of his own power here.

Zeke made the first move this time, he bellowed a laugh that shook the very foundation of his house. "Oh boy, I knew you were incompetent but really now, letting four humans tail you is pretty bad." Zeke chuckled. Trevlac blushed and anger flooded his head. Wasn't this dick listening to him? Zeke continued, slapping his knee. "Eh well, blood's getting thinner every year so what can I expect? Now you don't go breaking the Masquerade and sicking hunters on us, y'hear!" he pointed a withered old finger at Trevlac. For him to look this old he must be at least a thousand years of age.

"Alright, so it's guns ya want? Then riddle me this: "What's often sought but broken the moment it's spoken? I haven't been able to figure that one out and my True Brujah colleagues are going to make fun of me if I can't." Zeke put his arms on his waist, as though he just told the hardest riddle in history. "Silence, you dolt!" Trevlac said, hoping this was a joke. Zeke scowled, "You silence, you little thin-blood. I oughtta-" but Trevlac interrupted him, "The answer, dust-bag, is Silence. A concept, I'm sure, you are fairly unfamiliar with." Zeke stopped dead and clapped himself on the forehead. "Yeah, yeah well, go fuck yourself anyway." he mumbled. Right down to business, Trevlac spoke up, "Your wares, sir." and tossed a huge brick of cash on the only table in the room which wasn't busted into a thousand tiny splinters. Zeke rubbed his chin and slammed a fist against a small statue. A grinding sound was heard and the couch suddenly toppled over, rattling loudly. Underneath was a glass case filled with all kinds of weapons. Knives, pistols, revolvers, fully automatic rifles...even a fucking bazooka.

"There's eight grand in this stack, boy. Have at it." Zeke pointed to the ground as he riffled through the bills.

Lydia cautiously approached the treasure trove of weapons, feeling the same giddy joy she'd felt during Christmas when she was a youngling. She saw an RPG-7, an assortment of QBZ-95's, an automatic shotgun, and sundry knives, handaxes, hand grenades, caltrops, and murderbats. And that was just the first layer! She shifted aside the dully gleaming instruments of death and gasped in joy.
Blade a soft and ancient silver, sat a katar, honed to suicidal sharpness, its bronze handle seeming to pulse in the dim light of the living room. The handle felt like it was made for her.
"Ahhhhhh, that's an old weapon, human. Found it in India 'round, oh, seven hundred years back. Some headstrong young warrior mistook me for a rakshasa and tried to disembowel me with it....he was delicious." The old vampire licked his dusty lips absently and lit a long pipe that looked to be made of human bones.
Lydia smiled uneasily at this rather morbid anecdote and slipped the weapon into its scabbard. She grabbed one of the QBZ-95's and a couple of clips of ammunition, feeling a little bit more prepared for the mission.
The vampire eyed her like a ten foot praying mantis eying a quadriplegic baby. She wrapped the machine gun around her back via its strap, wedged the ammo into her pockets, and then asked if Zeke happened to have a bathroom she could use.
"I got no need for a toilet. But you can use the backyard. I'll hold Ripper....but sometimes he gets away from me, ya know?"
He grinned evilly at her. Her bladder responded by slamming shut with a nearly audible thwump.
"I'm good, yeah, sorry, no prob, it can wait, a ha ha ha ha....." This mission had better pick up, or I'm gonna go bananas!, she thought as she idly clapped Ordin's slightly dusty shoulder and mumbled a request for a cigarette to him.

Trevlac stood and looked at the wares, unimpressed. "The real ones, Zeke. I want prototypes, ancient weapons, and misplaced items. I'm not arming up for a war, this is a different kind of mission." Trevlac slipped a hand around Zeke's back and placed another brick there. Zeke's withered thumb riffled it and his eyes lit up. Apparently this was a good day for him. "Ho-ho! Where'd you get all this money, lad?" he boomed. Trevlac said in a low voice, "This is my job, old man. It's not like these funds are regular, each time I do this I start with a big bank and it dwindles into nothing. After the mission's over it gets replenished. Just like everyone else who lives paycheck-to-paycheck in this forsaken world." he finished solemnly.

Zeke cracked his battered knuckles and walked across the room to a spot on the wall. He pushed hard and a crack near the bookcase grew larger until the wall itself slid out of view. Jesus tapdancing dickbuttons, another secret compartment. But it was necessary, Trevlac noted. The anti-vampire shit would be in here. Anti-human stuff was easy to come by, assault rifles on e-bay, pistols at the local shop, ammo abound. What's hard to get is supernatural killing equipment. Ancient spell-laden swords, silver knives, crazy gizmos and whatnot. Trevlac wasn't disappointed as he walked into where the wall used to be. It was lit up by a single fluorescent light which awakened the ancient tools of the trade to life.

"Now look here, " Zeke motioned to a pair of what looked like metal erector set splints for someone's leg. "These are spring loaded with this here catch-lever. You place your gun in the leather straps and hit the catch, " he touched it and it jumped to life, "Zam! The gun, or whatever, shoots into your hands." he put them down and motioned to a set of very old looking medieval weapons, "This small knife is made of silver. This sword is magnetically attracted to large spots of blood, id est, the heart. This big ass sword here is as light as a rapier. The gladius here is invisibly coated with an ever long poison which, if you get it in a major artery, kills pretty much anything in a matter of seconds. Many Tremere and other potent vampires have lended their blood magic to make these." Zeke had turned into a different person when describing the ancient weapons, his voice went soft and he gestured lovingly to them. Clearly these were prized to him.

Trevlac picked up the blood magnet sword and read the inscription on the thin blade, "Blutsucher". Appropriate, very appropriate Trevlac thought to himself. The blade flashed a deep red in the light and then back to its steel finish. It was a very short scimitar, nothing like he'd ever seen before. The curve was almost non existent and the blade itself was thin. Without thinking too much more about it, Trevlac stowed it in the hard leather scabbard which was worn to laughable extents. He grabbed the spring loaded braces and threw them to Ordin saying, "Put your guns in. Put them on your arms." and lastly, he scooped up the silver knife but as he did so, he cut his finger on something else. There was nothing but white tablecloth in the way but his fingers said otherwise. A thin blade had sliced his finger open. A shit-eating grin smashed itself onto Zeke's face, "Umbra. It's a blade of stealth. Anyone holding it won't be seen. But keep it in a scabbard because when you touch it, it starts consuming your blood. As long as you stay healthy, you stay hidden. And so does the blade. It's a tanto by the way, you'd never know unless I told you since it's invisible."

Trevlac stood agape at this tanto. He threw the silver knife in front of Ordin's boot absentmindedly and grabbed the invisible tanto. His hands had to grope a moment until he felt the human blood in him begin to slowly drain. Zeke's grin increased as he saw Trevlac vanish instantly before him. Umbra had made him into Zeke's own shadow. The blade itself was a shadow of the table. Trevlac quickly stowed it in a random knife scabbard among the pile of weapons and he reappeared. The tanto was placed delicately in his inner trenchcoat pocket.

Luck hadn't favored him this time. Lantario was now alone inside of the foyer of the establishment, not counting the doorman or his current conquest. He really didn't feel like trying to force them out of his way, nor did he have much of an appetite for sneaking in through the back. The human gently tipped his cap to the two who weren't paying any attention to him and made his exit. As soon as he was in the gentle rain, he pushed the doors closed and quickly tried to distance himself away from that hive of wretchedness. The smells were burned into his scent memory, and he hoped that he would be able to forget it in time. For now, though, what was important was finding an alternative route to his destination.

Lantario made a brisk walk to a seemingly worthless alleyway cluttered with paint-stained trash cans and frail remnants of cardboard boxes. The interesting arrangement of the buildings around this minute courtyard made it difficult to spot, and it wasn't large enough to hold anything relatively important for very long. The gambler had parked a motorcycle here, a blazing red Ducati 1098 R superbike. He had more than enough money from his consistently fortunate visits to famous casinos and was able to upgrade to the 1198, but he was tired of throwing his money at dealerships just to keep up with the trends. Besides, he wanted to enjoy at least some of his motor pool.

He climbed aboard his bike and withdrew a cellphone from his pocket, dialing a number and waiting patiently for the answer. After a moment or two, the receiving end picked up and answered in a rough, worn-out voice. "Do you know what fucking time it is?" spoke the receiver. "This is Machiavellian business, Reynald. The end j-" "I know, I know," replied Reynald, with the air of having heard the same thing a thousand times before and having gotten sick of it the first time around. "Just tell me what you need so I can give it to you and head back to sleep." Reynald was one of the daemonic scholars in the employ of their organization, the very same one responsible for discovering one of the artifacts that Lantario was now sent to retrieve. "Where's this Eulogy blade again?"

"Weren't you supposed to find out from one of the vampires at the den?" Reynald asked quizzically, hoping to hear a good excuse for Lantario not doing his job. "Yeah, well, apparently I came on orgy night. Can't even open the door without seeing them fucking all over the place. It's like that time at the Hindi temple, but with a whole mess of bloodthirsty vampires." "Ugh, I hope you didn't join in." "I was tempted, but I didn't have any silver condoms with me." The gambler retorted, rolling his eyes and getting a bit impatient. "Can you just tell me where the sword is so I can get it and get out of here?" Reynald laughed a bit at the reply, but once he had gotten his kicks, he decided to be helpful for a change. "Yeah, sure, it's about a five minutes' walk from here. Place belongs to a vampire named Zeke, though I'm sure he won't hand it over to a human for cheap."

So that's why the Prince sent me on this mission, Lantario thought. I've got deep enough pockets to endure being scalped. "Sure, you'll probably get admission if you knock on his front door and give him The Warrant, but as for getting the sword and heading out of there, you're on your own. Zeke's not one of us and doesn't really care for our organization, so don't trust him. Trust me when I say you need to get that blade at any price and get out." Reynald warned him, his tone sounding serious enough to count as sincere. "And if he already has customers pending?" Lantario asked. He didn't know if this vampire was busy with other patrons, but he needed to know just in case the contingency cropped up. He wasn't aware of how close to the mark he was with that query. "If that's the case, use your best judgment. If you wait until they leave, you'll only have Zeke to worry about, but then again, it's Zeke. The vampire may not want to bother with you as much while the other customers are there, but you don't know who those other customers may be or how friendly they are."

"Thanks for the advice, Reynald. I'll be on my way there." Lantario said, but before he could hang up, the groggy scholar had one more question. "Why did you ask about if there were any customers, though? Zeke's a recluse and gets business once in a full blue moon." "Oh, just a feeling, I suppose..."

With this, Lantario pulled his expensive bike out of the courtyard and started walking it towards Zeke's, wondering what might await him when he finally arrives.

After Zeke's violent outburst directed Trevlac-ward, the trio were allowed grabs at whatever weapons fit their fancy. As Lydia gawked at a punching sword the vampire stalked off into a museum of extremely ancient and magical weapons. In response to the terrorist's query of tobacco products, the priest produced two cigarettes for their enjoyment. He looked quizzically at the death merchant who shook his head.

"I haven't been able to smell anything for the last two hundred years," with a respectful 'oh' Ordin lit up and stalked in after Trevlac.

Almost as if on cue, a strange set of arm braces and a silver knife landed at his feet as he walked in, followed my commentary on the latter's usage. Scoop them up, Ordin removed his jacket and affixed them to his arms, inserting his .357s into the holsters. "It'll be a bulky fit but should work fine."

Tying the jacket around his waist he stumbled up to one of the tables. He recognized his old sword Nero on the table, the same that had been stolen by that godforsaken Gilgemesh. The same that he won Godfist from... Zeke explained that it was a sword with a powerful venom coursing through it. He picked up the blade, feeling the same surge of wisdom the sword once filled him with all those years ago. Strapping it to his waist next to the massive Godfist, he felt invisible.

That's when he saw it, a beautiful force of destruction. He walked slowly up to it, basking in it's glory.

"That's a grenade launcher. The special part about it is that I've got about fifty grenades for it that, when they explode, emit a blast of intense UV radiation. You could clear out an entire room of vampires with that...." the last sentence he uttered was one that seemed to stick in his throat, as if he had seen it himself. Ordin turned to Trevlac with the weapon in his hands, grinning madly.

"Please, can I keep it?"

Lydia turned to Zeke as he smirked at Ordin's excited outburst.
"So, Zeke, can you tell us anything about this Grave fellow that will help us to kill him?"
"Well.....I have heard about an artifact that could help you a bit, I guess. It'll be a tough find, but it's likely the only way to kill this guy. It's called the Skair. Sumerian ritual dagger consecrated to Dagon all of, oh, 4700 years ago. Legend holds that its blade is damaging to the supernatural to a remarkable degree, but it's said to have been cursed by Tiamat when it was used to slay her favorite son, Geth, the living firestorm. According to a fellow who came through here a few years ago, it was last seen in the possession of an ambitious mage who tried to use it in some ritual up in the mountains near this city....he disappeared, along with a whole nearby town.....so, good luck with that." The old vampire patted Lydia on the shoulder as he took a seat.
Then the ceiling fell off.
An immense clawed hand slapped the home nearly in two as the air was rent by a screaming roar that shattered windows and made eardrums bleed.
Lydia franticly aimed her machine gun towards the hole in shock, and then voiced the first and last scream of her adult life.
A massive amaglam of corpses, human and animal, with bits of steel and car parts attached to its flesh with ropes of skin and tendon leered at them, dripping blood and pus as it raised hand to squash them.
Lydia hastily sprayed automatic gunfire at its face, hoping to throw it off balance.

Standing outside of the house Sparta watched as person after person entered the house. Being one of courtesy he remained outside while finishing his cigarette, the warm wooden railing thrusting heat through his finger tips as he leaned against it. He noticed a figure dressed in a black coat tail in behind Lydia, a slight glimpse of her face could be seen as she passed but the face didn't seem familiar to Sparta. Was she one of Trevlac's random Tagalogs he always seems to acquire, Sparta thought about done with his cig.

As Sparta threw his cigarette into the street a stray cumulus cloud drifted over the sun casting a noticeable shadow onto the streets. Sparta glanced back at the bar to see an unusually pail young man surrounded by four men dressed in red as if they were guarding him. The ageless male was obviously a creature of the night but he was wearing no protective clothing as if he himself had cast the cloud to shade him and as he was ushered into the club the cloud passed, drenching the streets with a blinding light. Whoever this kid was he was much older than he appeared and much more powerful at that. Sparta entered the house his boots knocking on the wooden floor with every step. ”So, what’d I miss?” Sparta said with a dry raspy voice as he approached the group.

Before any of them could answer a loud thundering sound erupted the silence in the room. Sparta glanced up, to see what had caused the deafening noise, to see a large shadow of some sort of beast his thoughts were immediately interrupted by the sound of rapid gunfire spewing from Lydia's barrels. Sparta quickly pulled his .45 and darted back through the door he had entered onto the porch. He pressed his back against the house, in hopes the creature hadn't seen him, with sweat pouring down his face from the speeding adrenalin rush that just flowed over his body. His knees became week as he knelt to catch his head.

"Grave's making this shit too easy," screamed Ordin over the cacophany of an exploding building. Bits of wood that escaped the maelstrom's force pelted him, toothpicks ricocheting everywhere.

A two-story corpsebeing loomed over the decimated building, slathered in what appeared to be pus and car parts. Reaching it's monstrous, human-arm-laden hand it, it groped about for hapless stragglers.

The priest drew Godfist, thrusting it deep into the ground. The supernatural spaceblade burst from the chest of the terrible being, the gouge unleashed a torrent of congealed blood, but seemed to do little to it.

Gripping the hilt now with both hands, he drew it an ark across the ground.

The blood flowed away from him, just a little, just a few ounces of that sweet human blood that was so precious to him. Just enough to send him into a vampiric burst of incredible speed. Trevlac leaped high into the air and brought down empty hands upon the fetid face of this legion of limbs towering ten times Trevlac's tip-top. That incredible celerity flashed again and again as he swiped his empty hands a total of five times where the thing's face was. Then he fell to the ground as though he had not just completed a task impossible by the laws of modern physics.

Trevlac had felt it. The hilt, the pommel, seen its glittering stare. Glittertind the Render was an abomination of reality and Trevlac used it as such. The pattern he traced with this time-bending sword was impossible to escape for a creature that large. It guant corpse-claw hand swiped where he had been only a second before, as though swatting an annoying mosquito away. Seeing that he missed, the monster's gullet rang with a squelching belch in rage, like the cacaphony of maggots oozing from a corpse's dead asshole covered in colon-grease and discarded semen from a post mortem sodomy.

"I hate this part..." Trevlac sighed.

Like a kitten run through a blender, the immense abomination disintegrated into hunks of oozing, putrid flesh, splattering them all with unbearably noxious pus. Lydia smiled hopefully as she poked one of the bits of dead monster with her toe, but jumped back in horror when it twitched to life once again! The peices of flesh erupted tentacles of tendon and sprouted weird thorns of bone as they began to squirm towards the gore-streaked band.
Lydia stabbed the nearest.....thing, and was surprised at the sound of sizzling as she drove in the blade. The beast burbled horribly and went still. Must be some magic in this blade....."Hey guys, we should use fire on this thing, or it might not die!"