Slayer *HF*
Part One.
Written by Steven Booth, Blue King
His heavy black leather boots slapped loudly on the bare stone floor as he descended down the spiralling staircase, the smell of stale air circulating around him, forcing it’s way into his nostrils. It had been so long since he last made the trek from the opening of the fortress down this staircase. And, it also felt different. The dominant smell of crimson red blood and rotting flesh didn’t fill this citadel anymore. That had since deteriorated, ravished by time, replaced with the stench of musty air. But that would soon change. For before long, the streets would flood with blood.
Without speaking, two smaller, weaker looking men scurried in front of him and opened the large, solid oak door with wrought iron fittings, racing ahead of him into the room, lighting the few lanterns that hung on the wall. The fragile glow of the oil lams revealed the setting of this room.
An immense circular, almost arena type of room, with one equally large, stone throne that was decked with diamonds, rubies, gold, silver.. ..every kind of luxury imaginable sat on the back wall. Around it were benches, almost like church pews, and in the centre of the room was an open cavern, that seemed to be oozing with lava and consumed with flames.
The man smiled at is two servants, before clicking his fingers, making them burst into flames, the hungry tongues of fire consuming their body quickly, reducing them to piles of ashes which the man stepped in, his weighty boots crushing them. He walked with confidence, his sleek, jet-black, shoulder length hair hanging behind him head freely. Two large, foreboding black eyes stood out from his extremely pale, snow-white skin. His dominantly black attire, consisting of one skin-tight body suit, breast armor, a knee length trench coat and a thick black belt blended in perfectly with the shadowy feel of the room. He walked slowly towards his throne and sat down, clicking his fingers, making more lanterns in the room spring to life, inviting the two or three hundred men and women behind him to sit down.
Obediently they took their seats, filling up the empty pews with their chalky white complexions and completely black attire. When the last person was sat in their place, the man on the throne stood up, levitating himself into the centre of the room, hovering over the sadistic fire pit. A cruel smile slipped across his face as he began to speak. Opening his mouth, he revealed rows and rows of razor sharp, jagged teeth. “My loyal brethren,” he declared in a threatening, commanding, low-pitched voice, that almost made the room tremble, “the day is upon us. I, Darkwind, have returned to my sanctuary after almost fifty years of exile. And now, as I take my place of leadership, I give my first commands. To long have we lived in fear, preying of humans whenever we can, living like vermin, never knowing when our next meal will be scavenged, whilst the vampires who hold seat in the Vampire Council and Illuminati live a like of luxury and power, forgetting about our very existence. To them, we are nothing but gutter trash. Well, that will happen no MORE!”
Suddenly, the flames below him roared to life, engulfing the air around him in a blaze. Finally, as he extended one long, clawed hand over the conflagration, they died down as he spoke again. “It is time to take what is rightfully ours. We are the strongest. The most powerful. We should be the leaders. That is why, tomorrow, we shall unleash our wrath on the Vampire Council of Toronto, and take our seats within their Council. Then finally, the Illuminati will feel our fury. And then the whole world!”
The crowd began to burst in loud, fervent applause. Darkwind smiled. At long last, he would regain his seat of power within the Vampire Council that exiled him over two hundred years ago. With his followers, and the strength and safety of his impregnable fortress, equipped with sophisticated technology that they could use in their battle, nothing could stand in his path. And his powers had grown to new, phenomenal levels. Then he felt a stinging feeling in his mind as he remembered.
He summoned a goblet out of thin air, and raised it into the air in a silent toast, looking at the black liquid that swirled around inside it. “Here’s to you Steven,” he grinned, a sinister tone in his mannerism, “I wish you all the luck in the world if you are silly enough to cross my path. Because, if you do choose it oppose me, you’re going to need it!”
On top of the hill that hid the fortress from sight, an old man with grey, thinning hair and steely blues eyes leaned against an aging oak tree. He lifted the flaps of his brown, knee length trench coat over his face, lowering his pork pie hat to keep the wind out of his face. All around him, nature chilled in a violent uproar, unleashing lashings of heavy rain and explosions of lightning upon the unsuspecting countryside. A bone chilling wind progressed unstoppably, smashing everything in its path.
Underneath the brown trench coat, the man’s black alb and purple waist belt wafted around, sending a shiver through his body. His hand shot up to catch his hat before it blew away, revealing his mauve skullcap. “Lord bless us,” Cardinal Elijah said as he heard the rejoicing below him. Then his attention focused on something else. “Hurry up Steven,” he said in an almost pleading tone, as he began to head down the face of the hill, fighting furiously against the equally angry elements, his gaze setting on the sleeping town before him, oblivious to the danger and carnage that would soon befall them.
The faint sound of trickling water cascading over bare rock echoed throughout the quiet room, it’s tranquil beat and constant pace giving the chamber a feeling of calmness, of peacefulness. In the immaculately sculptured fireplace, a small blaze burned, the tongues of flames running over the kindling in a wild frenzy, making it crackle and smoulder. The delicate aroma of incense breezed through the exceptionally genteelly decorated office, the heavy influence of Edwardian Britain clearly distinctive in the décor.
Behind a large, expensive looking oak desk that was scattered with various papers and documents, the Purple King sat in silence. His body slumped in the comfortable, purple leather chair, his arms resting on the rests like a throne. With a look of sincere meditation on his face, Steven was clearly telepathically scanning the astral plane. Behind his closed eyelids, his usually deathly cold blue eyes glowed with intense purple energy, his mind wandering in and out of other peoples, darting its way across the telepathic highway. Even though he wasn’t sure what to look for, Steven Booth knew there was something wrong on this plane. Something dangerous. Or was it merely the severe feeling of vulnerability and fear that wracked his body, making his extra sensory perceptive abilities spring to life in an over cautious telepathic scan? With a heavy sigh, Steven’s mind returned to his body. He was probably overreacting. Judging from the news he had received only hours earlier, the slightest thing would make him suspicious, make him dramatize everything.
He’d waited over half a century for this day to occur, and now he was totally perplexed at what course of action to take. It seemed his years of preparation had completely abandoned his mind, leaving him vulnerable like a newborn child.
“I think a swift whiskey may calm my nerves,” he said as he phased the bottle from his liquor cabinet and teleported it in front of him. Taking a crystal glass with a telekinetic hand, he poured the brown liquid into it, allowing it to swirl around and fizz until he lifted it to his lips and drunk.
“Now that’s better,” he said as he pushed his desk chair backwards and scrambled to his feet, whiskey in hand. Using his telekinetic powers, he levitated slightly off the ground, making sure his footsteps didn’t awaken anyone in the nearby proximity.
He looked around his office and sighed. It hadn’t occurred to him just how well throughout and fastidious it was. Then he remembered why he loved Jamaica so much. It was his castle. Not because it was extremely luxurious and a place of solitude when times got rough. No, not at all. It wasn’t even the glorious sunshine, although he did enjoy, that wasn’t it. It was the fact that so many people he cared deeply for were gathered under his roof, sleeping safely within these walls. He loved to know that his wealth, his good fortune could help others. Could give them a home, a place to work, a place to learn. A safe place where they didn’t have to fear the persecution or treatment the world gave to them. He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever lost it all. If he could no longer sustain and care for those who followed his path and shared his dream.
The King’s thoughts wandered over to Chastity. In many ways, Steven thought of Chastity as the daughter he never had. She had so many of his characteristics, so many of his traits. Her charisma and charm, not to mention her striking beauty and immense power, had shaped her destiny. She knew what she wanted and exactly how to achieve it. But, underneath her exterior, beneath the tough face she put on for people, he knew she was little more than a young girl. He knew she wanted to enjoy herself and have a good time. At the party, Steven sensed the huge attraction Chastity felt towards the White King, SuperGrover. And, despite Steven’s inability to mentally scan SuperGrover, he knew he felt the same magnetism due to his mannerism.
I hope things work out for them two Steven thought to himself, Chastity could do with a real man, not some jerk like Ryan.
The Purple King thought of his former counterpart. In all his time, Steven knew he had never met a man who would leave such a bitter taste in his mouth. Not even Ian or Joseph made his skin crawl, made his blood boil more than the Red King. Steven hoped that the Crimson Court would be a fresh start for Chastity, and that Ryan would never have to be in her life again. Indeed, Steven knew Ryan was planning something. But the Red King’s powers made it hard for Steven to scan his mind without being detected. If he desired, he could, but he didn’t have the energy to do it. Until Ryan revealed his cards, Steven would just have to sit and wait and observe.
Then Draco drifted into Steven’s mind. Why hadn’t he taken a place with his sister in the Crimson Court? It was unusual to see the newly united Darkholme siblings do something separate. And Steven’s spies within the Darkholme establishments told him that Draco had also withdrew from the ownership of the business, taking back all his companies. Now that had to dent the economic strength of Darkholme Industry. Perhaps Chastity would allow him to buy some large shares? Steven just shook his head. There was more chance of the earth coming to an end than Chastity allowing Steven to buy some considerable stock in her company. Only time would tell.
Suddenly, Steven remembered what Cardinal Elijah had said, only hours earlier.
“You’d better hope so, otherwise the whole world could be in jeopardy. Farwell.”
It still didn’t seem like reality to Steven. Today was his day to prove that the last fifty years of his career hadn’t been in vain. He knew that now was his time to act, the moment in which he had to strike and save the world. But it all seemed almost too much for Steven. Outside, the gloriously vibrant sunlight began to spread its renewing arms across the sky; it’s radiance shining through the King’s French windows. He smiled wearily. It was about six o’clock. The King hadn’t slept all night. But now, the safe, alluring presence of the sunshine seemed to shake him of his fatigue, of his uncertainty. Of his fear.
Levitating himself off the ground he phased through the windows and appeared on his balcony, overlooking the large jungle like gardens of the Purple Hellfire Club. The plants and trees all seemed to glimmer as the sunlight shone through the early morning dew that perched on them, making them almost sparkle. “Well, let’s just hope that I’ll feel this happy this time tomorrow,” he said in a wry smile, before walking back into his office and out into the silent corridors, heading towards the hangar bay.
Charlotte Sometimes collapsed on her velvety purple bed, allowing her whole body to get lost in the quilted fabric. Her eyes drifted off to her night side table. 12:03. She sighed. Who held a meeting at 08:00? Once again, Daemon had gotten himself worked up in his security meeting. But she couldn’t help but wish that he’d actually let the Knights and Paladin sort out the safety systems and such things. I mean, afterall, it was their job. Charlotte laughed. To her, it seemed Daemon still thought he was Grey King. And he might as well have been. Hawkeye was a good King, but lately he hadn’t really been around much. Too busy lurking in the shadows. Recuperating. Planning. Scheming. And Daemon was more than happy keeping an eye on things.
The Grey Rook realised she was still dressed in her knee length, emerald green dress. How she hated the fact they all had to get dressed up formally for those bloody meetings. And they lasted way too long. Sometimes, Daemon reminded her of Steven. Such enthusiasm, such passion for his work. But, on Steven’s behalf, she was sure he was totally obsessed with his Court work. Daemon did have something of a life outside the Court. Steven on the other hand was totally absorbed. Ever since the creation of the Purple Court, he’d barely had anytime free at all. And with his newly appointed post as Government Liaison and Consultant on Mutation and Genetics to the United Nations, she knew that his already taxing schedule would merely increase.
She often worried about him. He did far too much work as Purple King, Headmaster of the Purple Academy, President of Booth Incorporated, member of the House of Lords, something she would love to be one day and Government Liaison. But, no matter how many tasks he took on, he seemed to be an expert in each area and totally devoted, never wavering in his devotion. It was something she admired. She thought her own work as Grey Rook was straining. And as the former Red Queen, she was no stranger to labour. But, she could never cope with all the work he did. At least she had spare time and could actually party and enjoy herself.
All around her, the Grey Citadel was silent. The members were all probably sleeping. I mean, after getting back from the Purple Hellfire Club’s party and then having a meeting a few hours later was just torture. Especially when they were several drunken members of the Court, namely Scrib and Siren who were probably suffering from severe hangovers.
After filling in a few bits of paperwork she had accumulated and checking her e-mail, Charlotte decided to have a long, hot soak in the tub. So, she went into her private bathroom and turned on the golden taps.
Andrew Parkinson shuffled along the corridors of the Purple Hellfire Club’s Academy dormitory halls, his friend Colin Andrews following him, the pair trying to stifle their drunken laughter. “Oh man, that party ruled!” Andrew slurred, fishing into his scruffy jeans pockets for his key to room 451, “I can’t believe it’s 6:45am. Imagine what the big dude would say if he caught us!”
Colin giggled. “He say: I don’t know, 16 years old these days. Think they rule the world! Ya da da da.” The two friends broke out into a chorus of laughter.
“Well, I am going straight to bed,” Andrew said, “thank God for Saturday.” Suddenly the two students who stood in the lifeless, empty corridor were grasped by an unseen force. Colin tried to summon his exoskeleton but found he no longer had access to his powers. Andrew tried to break free using his superstrength, but the grip was cast iron, as rigid as steel. From the shrouded shadows of the ceiling emerged the Purple King and Headmaster, Steven Booth, a look of sheer rage on his face.
“Oh man,” Andrew whispered to Colin, 2we’re in..”
“SILENCE BOTH OF YOU!” Steven screamed, loosening his grip. He descended to the floor and placed the tip of his titanium cane on the ground with a distinct, commanding thud. “What do you think you are doing?”
“N..n….nothing sir!” Colin spluttered. He began to speak more in his defense before Steven shot him a cold, glaring glance.
“You two have distinctively disobeyed my orders. You have gone to a party outside the campus, your first mistake. For that, you get a week long of detentions. Secondly, you have consumed alcohol. BIG mistake. For that, another month of detentions and I also am revoking you from the football team. Thirdly, you have returned late. The curfew for returning to the PHC Castle is MIDNIGHT. Not 06:37. For that, I am putting you both on janitorial duties for the rest of the term. And fourthly, you have wasted my time. That’s why the pair of you are going to go and scrub the gym floor clean with toothbrushes. Now get out of my sight.”
Steven shook his head as the two boys scampered away. Why did teenagers always have to disobey his orders? It would make more sense for them to just behave. There was so much talent in both of them. Colin was a major in biology and an excellent football player. Andrew was a brilliant poet and an aspiring writer, who also had athletic gifts. Why waste it on parting, alcohol and no doubt girls? Stupid.
The Purple King noticed a short, plump girl with shoulder length, black frizzy hair and glowing green eyes heading across from the Alpha Delta Omega dormitory to the dining hall. It was refreshing to see people awake early on a Saturday, to be organised and professional about their work. He sighed slightly. Now, he had the daunting task of explaining to the Inner Circle why he might go to England today and never return.
“Well, I’d better get this over with,” he said to himself, as he began to teleport out of sight.
Elijah sat quietly in the Brun Lea café, the slight humming of the air conditioner becoming increasingly annoying to him. His eyes, hidden behind golden-framed glasses looked out of the large window and surveyed the passer bys. So many people wrapped up in their own little world; oblivious to the danger they were in. Elijah just sighed. Burnley seemed so small, so relaxed. Unlike London and the rest of the south of England, the North was much more peaceful.
He picked up his white cup and placed it to his lips, allowing the jet-black coffee to scold his mouth as he gently sipped it. Just the way he liked it. From his briefcase he pulled out some papers that the Vatican had sent him. He had a meeting with the archbishop of Liverpool in a few days. How he hated those kind of meetings. Despite how friendly Archbishop Kelly was, Elijah knew how spurious the meetings were. An excuse for the Archbishop and his Bishops to show off to the Vatican just how great their dioceses were and how they deserved more money.
Elijah’s gaze immediately shot to the entrance of the exclusive restaurant where a small man walked in, a trench coat and hat concealing his identity. He knew it was him. Unbuttoning his coat, Elijah showed his white dog collar. The diminutive man immediately ran over to the table and took a seat across from the Cardinal, taking off his hat and coat.
“Pascal Termini,” Elijah said in an almost sing song tone, “it has been too long.”
Pascal nodded. “It’s a shame we have to meet under such circumstances. But such trials and errors must be endured. Have you been to the unholy sight?”
Elijah nodded, his tone low and secretive. He leaned across the table towards Pascal, who did the same thing. They wanted to make sure no one in the near proximity could possibly hear them. “I tried to gain entrance, but the defences were too much. And then he turned up, so I ran for cover. From my estimations he has approximately 300 or 400 soldiers at his disposal. The hill, which can be seen in the distance if you squint, is extremely large and the fortress runs right through the entire hill. It is incredibly huge. I waited behind a tree and I could hear the celebrations beneath me. These followers must believe whole-heartedly in his mission. We have our work cut out for us. Let’s hope that God shines his light on us today.”
“Let’s,” Pascal said. Then he sat upright again. “Have you contacted the Mental Rogue? I believe he has been observing the recent activities very closely.”
Elijah nodded. “I have alerted Steven. He, along with his Hellfire Club members, shall be meeting with us soon. And I have also contacted Alison and Nightwing.”
Pascal smiled. “Our two new recruits. Lovely. So, when do we strike?”
“We wait for Steven to get here, and then we attack at midnight.”
Xeus walked into the room, his wild blue hair dancing around her shoulders, a clear look of tiredness on his face. He wore a worn Dragonball Z shirt and some equally worn blue shorts. ShockWave just sighed. “Come on Steven, you are a multi billionaire, couldn’t you at least buy Xeus some decent night clothes!” She smiled slyly at the Purple Bishop.
“You’re lucky I’m wearing anything at all!” Xeus exclaimed, taking a seat in between ShockWave and Epyon. He turned and winked at the Purple Queen. “And I know how much you’d like that.”
Morte just sniffed audibly, turning her head away from the two as she glided into the room and took a seat next to Shadow, who seemed locked in intense conversation with Salvanza. The Scribe’s eyes wandered around the War Room. The Inner Circle was all present and accounted for, as well as the Outer Circle and even the Hellions. And a boy she didn’t quite recognise.
“Who are you?” she said in a threatening, low, almost growl of a tone, her forceful glare staring at the boy.
He merely smiled, sending a hand through his sandy brown hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “My name’s Spark. I used to be a Purple Hellion. Nice to meet you, Miss….”
“Morte,” she said bluntly, “my name is Morte.” Then she turned her attention to Steven. “So, almighty leader, shall we get on with this meeting?”
Steven glared at her with a severe stare. “Yes Miss Brachode, we shall!”
The Purple King stood at the foot of the oval, metallic table, his deep purple suit almost glowing. It made it hard to focus on what he was saying as its rich colour diverted the member’s attention.
“As some of you may be aware, or should be, recently I have been engaged in several incidents involving vampires. I have been slaying them. After I dissolved the Beverley Hills Hellfire Club for the first time, I met up with a man called Cardinal Elijah Hulmes. He was a member of the Vatican Council, but also secretly a member of POTN: Protectors of The Night. It was, well, still is, a small school in eastern China where people such as ourselves with special powers and abilities, are trained to fight the secret wars that are on all around us. For since the dawn of humanity, there have been things to threaten us. Things like demons. Werewolves, vampires, you know the usual. Well, in this school Cardinal Elijah, along with a good friend of his, Pascal Termini, trained people to fight against vampires and keep the world safe. I went to assist them in their cause, and I became a teacher there.” He paused for a moment and reached for a glass of water to quench the dry feeling in his mouth. Then he continued to speak.
“Early on in my career, I came across a vampire called Darkwind. He was a relatively young vampire, about 250 years old, who had earned a place in the Vampire Council of Toronto, but lost it due to his dynamic ideas and ruthless streak. He was content on retaking his seat and overthrowing them, but at the time we merely ignored him. We didn’t think he had the power. Anyway, life goes on. I went back to America and formed the Beverley Hills Hellfire Club again and joined the IHFC, and I forgot about the whole vampire crisis. Until I received a telephone call from Elijah. It seemed that Darkwind had been forming an army over the years, and that he now had the capabilities of plotting a rebellion. It was around the time the Purple Court was formed. I was concerned, and vowed that I’d assist Elijah. So I went on a slayer mission. But now, Darkwind had returned to my hometown in England, Burnley and retaken his fortress under Pendle Hill, a sight of much mystical power and horror. It was once inhabited by the Pendle witches, but that is another story. He know has the capabilities to take over the vampire Council.”
The Purple Queen furrowed her brow as she began to speak to Steven. “Lovely tale, but what is the point of it?”
Steven smiled, his lips curling up at the side. “The point is, we are going to Burnley and meeting up with my friends and basically going to stop Darkwind.”
“But, it’s the Vampire Council they want,” Morte said, “not us, so why should we care?”
Steven shot her a piercing stare.
“Because once they’ve succeeded, they won’t stop there. Darkwind has also said he wanted to get rid of the Hellfire Clubs. And if he teams up with the Illluminati, then they’re no telling what could happen. That’s why we have to get in, hit hard and strike first.” He tone became softer and less demeaning. “Now, this is a dangerous mission, and I would be lying if I said it’ll be a walk in the park. Now Spark has come all the way from China to help us. I would like it if the rest of you will assist us. But, I know it’s dangerous, and I am not pressuring anyone into coming. If you desire to step out of this battle, no one will think any less of you. So, if you are not coming, please leave the room.”
He waited for a few moments, his eyes dancing around the room. No one moved. He waited a little longer. And no one else moved. Finally he began to speak. “So, you are all in?”
There was a wave of ‘yes’ and ‘of course’ and ‘well duh’ that spread through the room. Steven smiled. It was so good to know that he had his most loyal and trusted fighters and friends by his side. “That’s great!” he smiled, “now get dressed into your combat uniform and meet me in the hanger bay in fifteen minutes. No later, I want to go to New York and Rome, and I’d like to go as soon as possible.”
Ian Fitzroy stared curiously at Steven. “Why?” he spurted out.
“Because we are going to need all the help we can get on this one. Now get kitted out.”
End Part One.
Part Two
She walked quickly, her trench coat shrouding her angelic face, in an attempt to cover her sparkling purple eyes and elfin ears. The clanking of her high-heeled shoes across the wooden floor was the only sound in the silent church. Her eyes wandered to the ceiling where beautiful paintings of Bible stories were displayed. She sighed. It had been too long since she’d been in one of these.
Gracefully, she walked down the aisle, staring at the stunningly designed altar. Above the marble structure hung a very large crucifix. She felt for the small golden cross around her neck. So many times in her life, that item of jewellery, which she caressed in her fingers, had filled her with confidence when she needed it. And right now, she needed it.
Alison stood staring at the cross for a moment until a hand gently lay on her shoulder. She jumped, startled by the sudden attention, allowing her face to be revealed. The priest stared wide-eyed at her for a moment, and then smiled, extending his hand. “My name’s Father Michael,” he smiled widely, “Michael Dundine. Welcome to Saint Mary’s Church.”
Alison warily took the priests hand. The old man smiled at him, his wrinkled face showing pure gentleness, his sparkling white false teeth visible by his smile. “Do not worry my child. In the eyes of God, we are all equal. Whether you are white, black, Catholic, Muslim, old, young or mutant. Now, can I help you with anything?”
Alison wanted to cry as she felt the tears form in her eyes. It was so rare to see such equality, such love. “No… no, not really. Just came in to have a word with an old friend.” She shifted her focus onto the statue of Jesus.
Michael laughed, his slightly overweight stomach jiggling as he did so. “Well, take as long as you like. The House of God never closes. I must go and set up for the next mass. Lovely meeting you Miss?”
“Deary. Miss Alison Dreary. Nice meeting you too father.”
Daemon sat quietly behind his large oak desk, tapping into the sophisticated laptop in front of him. According to this, shares in Strong Industries had crept in value. That’d be good news for the stockholders. And a responsive little wake up call to Stark Enterprises.
The Grey Queen’s Bishop sat in the luxuriously comfortable black leather chair, leaning back slightly, relaxing. For once, he had completed all his paperwork. Perhaps he’d go for a swim later. Suddenly a small, silver screen sprung to life, ascend ding from his desk and flickering on. It revealed the exterior of the Citadel, namely the hangar bay.
“Computer, why has Citadel security alerted me?” Daemon said, annoyed that the peaceful bliss of his office had been disturbed.
A flat, emotionless, yet somehow feminine voice replied. “Unidentified aircraft approaching Citadel, requesting landing. The ship’s onboard defences are too sophisticated for our scanners to determine who is onboard.”
Daemon furrowed his brow. That wasn’t possible. No one had the technology to oppose the Grey Hellfire Club’s equipment. “Computer, link me up with the pilot.”
There were a few scrambling of circuitry and humming of noise before daemon finally heard the signal go throw. “This is Daemon, Grey Queen’s Bishop. Verify your presence and state your business.”
The voice on the other end of the signal seemed to sniff in an arrogant, irritable voice. “Greetings Mr Strong, it is Steven Booth, Purple King of the Hellfire Club. With me I have the assembled members of my Inner and Outer Circles and Hellions. Please allow us to land as it is of immense importance we speak with the King and Queen.”
Daemon rolled his eyes. “That won’t be possible. The King isn’t upto seeing any guests. Any business you have will be taken up with me.” He clicked a button on the panel of his desk, making the force shield drop dead. “Land and I shall send someone to retrieve you.” With that the link went dead. The Grey Queen’s Bishop sighed. The last thing he needed right now was that arrogant little toad of a Purple King’s presence. The cruel reality of being an Inner Circle member.
“Hmmm,” Steven said as he walked down the steps of his jet, cane in hand, a joyful expression on his face, “saying that this is supposed to be the Hellfire Club, the hangar bay isn’t overly impressive.”
ShockWave elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Can it old man river, or I’ll break ya hip,” she said in a low, threatening, but clearly playful way as she directed Steven’s glance to the approaching Grey Court workers.
Steven just narrowed his eyes and continued to walk, a confidant, pompous mannerism to his steps.
“This is so cool!” Kyle said as he walked down the steps, standing between Salvanza and Ian, “not only are we going on our first real mission, but these new title things are great.”
“Now, now Kylie,” Storm said in a low, seductive voice, “Don’t let all that power as Purple Prince of the Outer Circle go to your head. As Purple Princess, it’ll be my duty to keep you in check.” She winked at him. The Prince merely turned away from her.
“Could you get any more of a slut?” Morte said as she followed the newly instated Outer Circle members, “you truly make me sick!” She pushed past Storm defiantly.
The Purple Princess smiled sweetly, talking in her most innocent, sugary voice. “My my Morte, no need to be jealous just because I’m Princess and you were only made scribe.”
Morte’s usually pure white cheeks began to flare with red and she bit her bottom lip, trying not to hurl something obscene back.
From behind the two girls came a laugh as Blackfire, the newly elected Purple Paladin proceeded down the stairs, brushing past Storm as if she didn’t exist. Then, taking Morte carefully by the arm, making sure she didn’t touch her flesh, Blackfire began to speak, “Come on Morte, let’s leave the stuck up bitch behind. I mean, if we were both two sluts, then perhaps we would get the Princess title. But, it seems some of us have more dignity than others.”
Immediately, small bolts of electricity began to form in the palms of the Purple Princess, as she glared at the two women, her eyes wide with rage, consumed in total whiteness. Before she could unleash them, the Purple King turned around and shot her a paralysing stare.
“Greetings,” Steven said as she shook the man’s hand that came to collect them, “I am Steven Booth, Purple King, and this is my Queen, ShockWave. We are due an audience with the Grey Queen’s Bishop.”
The man nodded sombrely and began to walk, the PHC members following him.
“I must of got more drunk than I thought last night,” Scrib said as she walked into the Ready Room, a hand absently knocking back her silky blonde hair from her face, “I thought I saw that RKB fella walking down the corridor.”
Mystikal bit her lower lip, a wicked, mischievous smile creeping across her face. “Hey Tracey, that WAS him.” The Grey Knight snickered.
Just as Tracey was ready to reply, the doors opened, revealing the Purple King. His extremely expensive, well-tailored suit, made out of purple Italian silk, along with his ever-present ruby walking stick gave him an air of importance. Daemon snickered. Too full of his own damn importance he said cynically to himself.
“Greetings Mr Booth,” Daemon said, outstretching a hand, applying counterfeit kindness. Steven stared at his hand like he was offering some ghastly, impertinent curse. With an arrogant hand gesture, he disregarded Daemon’s greeting.
“Let us just skip the formalities, Mr Strong,” Steven said in his most pompous voice, “incase it escaped your almighty acknowledgement, I am the strongest telepath on the planet. I can sense every single thought and emotion you have just thought about me. So, excuse me for my bluntness, but let’s just get on with this.”
Before Daemon, whose jaw line had tightened so much that Mystikal could swear it’d snap, responded, the Grey Queen’s Knight intervened.
“Hey buddy,” Mystikal said in a half heartedly, good-humoured voice, “I’m the big gal on telepathy.”
Steven’s icy cold blue eyes glared at her intensely. “I apologise, but I have no time for this idle chit chat. The Purple Hellfire Club have are to involve ourselves in a conflict of quite immense importance and we request the assistance of the Grey Hellfire Club.”
Daemon cocked an eyebrow and stared at the Purple King. “So, you want our help? Why?”
Steven turned his deathly cold gaze upon the Grey Bishop. He knew that Daemon wasn’t the slightest bit intimidated by him. And, Steven would return the acknowledgement. “How about you get the King and Queen out here? I’d rather talk to the leaders instead of their emissaries.”
“Now listen here mate!” Scrib said in a violent tone, “Daemon here is about as senior as yer gonna get! Now drop the whole bloody high un’ mightily routine and spill your guts!”
“Well, there is a great vampire revolt. Darkwind, a very powerful vampire is leading an expedition to overthrow the Vampire Council. I am the slayer responsible for keeping him in place, and I have for over fifty years, and I do not intend to fail now! Listen, this vampire has the power and he must be stopped now. I am flying to Pendle, England, to defeat him. I implore to you, Mr Strong, allow me the luxury of some of your fighters.”
Daemon suppressed a laugh. Steven, at this point, was literally begging him. Then he thought for a moment. Something BIG must be happening to make the Purple King beg for help. The Bishop straightened his posture and looked at Steven. “The Grey Court would be happy to lend some of our members to your service. Mystikal, Rage, Siren, Waya and Dreamweaver are at your disposal. I shall alert the appropriate Court members and have then rendez vous with you immediately.”
The Purple King smiled widely at Daemon, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously. “Thank you very much,” he said cheerfully, “this debt I look forward to repaying the nearby future. I am returning to the Purple Jet; may I ask your fighters prepare themselves swiftly? Time is of the essence.”
Gomurr smiled widely as the White King walked into the room, his soft, velvety blue skin contrasting to the pure white suit that clung to his well-toned, masculine frame. The Headmaster placed his pen down and pushed the papers he had been looking over to one side and looked straight into SuperGrover’s face. “Hello,” he said in a cheerful, enigmatic voice, “how can I help you, my boy?”
The White King stood still for a moment, his facial expression a little unfathomable for the old mage to read. Gomurr eyes fixed on the piece of snowy white paper in SuperGrover’s hand. “Is there something wrong?”
SuperGrover furrowed his brow and handed his mentor the piece of paper. “I’m not sure,” he muttered.
Gomurr cocked an eyebrow, looking at Grover, and then unfolding the piece of paper. He immediately noticed the elegant script of the former White Queen, Jon Toilliver. Her amazing mystical power was second only to her radiant beauty. As gorgeous as an angel, as lethal as poison, Jon had adopted the name of the deadly plant, the Nytshade. On top of the paper was the emblem of Toilliver Industries. Gomurr furrowed his brow.
“I thought the Purple King had purchased Toilliver Industries,” Gomurr said in an almost quizzing tone, looking curiously at the King.
“He did,” Grover said flatly.
“Well then, why is she using official Toilliver papers?” Without a reply, his eyes darted over the carefully constructed note.
Dearest White King,
I hope all is well within the ranks of the International, or should I now say, completely independent White Hellfire Club? My my, you have been a busy blue boy since my unfortunate departure from the Club. I am sure you would agree, my exodus wasn’t to spite you, or to weaken the Club, but the shock of the Massacre took its toll on me. But, as usual, I have returned. Give my regards to my co-owner of Toilliver Industries, Steven Booth. Such a delightful man, wouldn’t you agree?
Anyway, I am just writing to inform you that I will be taking more of an interest in the White Hellfire Club soon. I have a feeling I shall be reunited with you very soon.
Yours sincerely,
Jon.
The White Headmaster held the note in his hand, leaning back in the incredibly luxurious office chair he sat in, his eyes scanning over the note again, re-reading every line accurately. He then turned his attention to the blonde haired youth in front of him. “Hmm, I wonder what see means? There doesn’t seem to be any threats, any dangers in the note. Nothing about it has a feeling of magic. Perhaps Jon might be planning a visit? I don’t know.”
SuperGrover’s face twisted with concern. “But why now? This isn’t like Jon at all. I…”
Suddenly the door of the Headmaster’s office opened, revealing the rather bewildered looking face of the White Queen’s bishop, Casey Jones, known as Cyclops.
“Grover,” Casey said in his serious, low voice, looking solemnly at the King, “you have a visitor.”
The King’s face screwed up in displeasure. “Can’t Nebs handle it, or you? Gomurr and I are really…”
“Something tells me this one isn’t going to wait,” Cyclops interrupted.
Rolling his eyes, the King strolled out of his office following the Bishop, the Headmaster waddling besides him, his diminutive body looking somewhat humorous in the tailor made business suit.
“Ah, Mr Grover,” Steven said as he rose from the velvety blue chair of the reception area, smiling at the White King, “just the man I was looking for.”
SuperGrover furrowed his brow. What did the Purple King want that was so important that he flew all the way over from Jamaica to speak to him about? Steven cocked one eyebrow and read the King’s facial expressions. The erroneous smile faded from Steven’s face as his mannerism hardened, becoming more professional. “There is a favour that I must ask of you,” he said in a cold, sombre tone, “I have already recruited the Black Royalty and some Grey Court members, and now I request help from you.”
“Sure,” Grover said in a perplexed voice, “what’s the problem?”
“Let me begin..” Steven said as he started to speak.
“Our forces are ready, Lord Darkwind,” Japheth said as be bowed respectfully before him. Darkwind smiled, rubbing his sharp-clawed fingers along the arm of his throne.
“Good, Japheth,” he smiled, as the lava pit before him began to rise and burn with pure violence, “we shall soon make our mark.”
“Okay team,” Steven said as he stood up in the centre of the immense Purple Hellfire Club Jet, “this task is without a doubt going to be one of the most daunting experiences I have ever had contemplate. But I am lucky to have such well-trained fighters with me. So here’s the plan. When we arrive in Pendle, we are meeting up with Alison Dreary, Pascal Termini and Cardinal Elijah Hulmes, three very good friends of mine. Then, we are going to assault the fortress. Mystikal, if you can use your powers to suppress any unwanted activity nearby using psi shields, that’d be welcomed. And Gomurr, a mystical illusion from you to cover our entrance would be greatly accepted. After that, I shall phase myself and walk ahead, keeping a strong telekinetic barrier around you all so if we encounter any ‘surprises’ then we shall be ready. After that the plan is simple. You need to take out as many vampires as possible and make sure none escape. Waya, perhaps you could use your earth manipulation powers to block the exits? So, are we all clear on what to do?” There was an acknowledging silence throughout the room. Steven smiled. “Well rest, we reach England in approximately three hours.”
End Part Two
Part Three
“Trust Steven to make an entrance,” Alison said as she gripped the cast iron railings of her hotel balcony, looking at the large, sleek jet that dashed by, a smug smile spread across her unblemished porcelain skin.
“You know him,” Pascal said, as he stood on one of the chairs on the terrace, bringing himself on the same level as Alison, “never one to mess around And I believe the almighty Purple King has brought some of his colleagues to assist us.” Pascal snorted with a defiant, unsatisfied grunt. “Probably thinks we are no longer on the same level as him.”
Suddenly two elongated, coiled vines wrapped around the hind legs of the chair pulling it from beneath the elfin slayer. Pascal’s backside collided with the hard marble floor. “Just remember, old friend,” Elijah Hulmes said as he joined the two on the balcony, clicking his fingers making the vines disappear “this is no mere pushover. The scale of this battle is like nothing we’ve ever seen before. I am thankful of Steven’s recruitment efforts.”
A wind began to murmur, sending a deep chill tingling up the old man’s spine. He pulled his coal black alb tighter around him. “The time to act is almost at hand,” he declared, “Alison, open a portal.”
“Will do your eminence,” she said, more in a mocking tone than respectful. With that, the young woman spaced out her legs and raised her arms into the air. Around her, a breeze began to generate. The fiery locks of hair that hung around her shoulders began to turn emerald green and tremble widely in the wind, as her dazzling purple began to open widely. From her eyes emitted a thin, focused beam of energy that expanded and finally exploded with a sparkling, almost blinding light. “Your portal awaits,” she said as the triad walked through.
The wind hammered violently on the super dense walls of the Purple Hellfire Club Jet, trying in vain to penetrate the impregnable fuselage. All around the plane nature was at it’s most furious, pelting the night skies with torrential rainfall and mercilessly persistent winds. The deep, grisly rumbles of thunder shook the mighty structure as bolts of lightning illuminated the sky.
“You see Char, this is why I’ve never wanted to move to England,” Mystikal said as she stared out of the window, her silvery hair now dazzling in the glow of the lightning.
Charlotte Sometimes merely sniffed and answered back. “I LOVE this kind of weather,” she said dreamily, “is it always like this Steven?”
The King’s head jolted backwards as the sound of Charlotte’s voice interrupted his meditation. “What? Oh, er, yes, most of the time. Burnley is renowned for it’s atrocious weather. In my day…”
“Sorry to interrupt, but Pendle Hill approaches,” Ian Fitzroy said gently, “I am taking the plane down, but I don’t know how well the landing’s going to be in this weather.”
“Allow me to help,” Shadow said, as he baby blue eyes became a deep, rich purple. Suddenly the ship was seized by an invisible hand and teleported safely to the ground. The Purple Prince quickly dropped from his trance, his eyes returning to their coral colour.
“Neat trick,” Spark said, “learn that one whilst I was away?”
“Ahem,” Steven interrupted before Kyle could reply, “we are here. Over there are my three friends.” The Purple King pointed to the three people all shrouded in thick, sandy brown cloaks, sheltered by umbrellas. “This is it now,” the King said as the door of the jet opened, “no turning back.”
Her alabaster skin twinkled in the hazy moonlight as the sun began its descent from the sky, giving in to the temptation of night. Above the scenic grounds of the Darkholme Prep School, the first stars were beginning to come to life as their glittery glow, illuminating the darkening sky like the eyes of a cat. Chastity sighed contently as she allowed the gentle breeze to slide over her body, rustling her crimson silk night robe. Her snowy white hair fell down her back like a cascading waterfall. The natural beauty of the Crimson Queen sprang to life as nighttime approached. Summoning her magical powers, she levitated off the ground and glided back into her bedchamber, phasing herself through the flapping lace curtains. Her angled face gave way to ample, pleased smile as she saw the Crimson King lying on her four-poster, Victorian canopy bed. She eyed two pieces of blue silk thread on the nearby table and beckoned her mystical powers, bounding the King’s arms to the posts of the bed.
“My, my, Chastity,” Cronos said in a low, seductive tone, “never knew you liked to play rough.” Suddenly the gentle, heavenly silk that rubbed against the King’s wrists tightened, squeezing harder and harder before it make him scream out with pain.
“Rough?” she said in piercing, high-pitched crackle, “I’ll show you rough!” Her eyes narrowed as bolts of power began to charge his body. “Why haven’t you found out what is wrong with my children? Have I not given you enough resources? Enough POWER?” The bonds became even tighter. “I have found more help within the White Hellfire Club than from you.”
Despite the pain, Cronos shouted back. “The only reason you are even considering help from the WHC is because of the King. You should just go and shack up with him now.”
The Queen’s eyes widened with anger as she fired a powerful bolt of energy that hit Cronos squarely in the chest, throwing him through the wall, severing the bonds. “Listen here,” she spat, “I am Queen here, and my business is my own. Now either shape yourself, or I shall do that for you. But you won’t like the shapes I put you in.”
And with that the Queen teleported him out of the room. With the snapping of her fingers, the wall forged back together and the bed frame returned to normal. Chastity sat in front of her antique dressing table and began to run a comb through her silky hair. No matter how much she tried to push the thought out of her mind, she couldn’t. The White King dominated her mind. But then, with one sour thought her whole mannerism changed. Ryan. Cronos. Ian. Not one of them had been her prince charming. They’d all pretended to be, but in being that, they hurt her. Well no more. Now, all she desired was the welfare of her children and gaining more power. But, the feeling in her stomach didn’t leave. She closed her eyes, and SuperGrover stayed in her thoughts.
“Greetings Steven,” Elijah said as he held out his hand, allowing Steven to kiss the over-sized ring on his hand.
“Good to see you old friend,” the Purple King said. Then he turned to the other two. “It’s a shame we have to congregate under such conditions.”
“Well, no one ever said our pass was going to be an easy one,” Pascal reminded, “we knew this day would come. Anyway, who are your companions?”
Steven turned to the assembled Hellfire Club members and introduced them, one by one. “So, now we are familiar allies, allow us to proceed with our deed,” the King declared. The part moved silently, their feet slapping into the mud as they did so. Finally, Steven stood still. “Here is the sight,” he said as he raised his cane into the air, “the trap door is,” he said as he brought his stick down violently onto the soil, “here.”
The boggy, waterlogged ground began to grumble before opening, revealing a serpentine corridor, which was completely pitch black. Steven stepped inside from the rain as several others did. Waya’s fists immediately erupted with flames, bringing some light to the hallway. Without speaking, Steven’s icy blue, death-like eyes glowed purple as a telekinetic force shield began to generate around them all, except SuperGrover.
“Seal the entrance Waya,” he said in a loud, authoritive voice, “and let’s go.” The King’s battle suit began to fade from sight, as did his body as he mentally rearranged the molecular structure of his body making him intangible. In a remorseful silence, the group descended down the stairs, following the staircase as it twisted and turned and meandered.
“Hold it,” Darkwolf said in a clear voice, “something lurks for us behind that wall.”
Nate nodded. “I am picking up multiple telepathic suggestions.”
Steven sighed. “Ready yourself team,” he declared as the force shield dropped and his body solidified, “the slaughter begins.” And with that the wall crumbled under his telekinetic might, revealing an immense badly lit chasm with a roaring belly of lava and fire in the centre. All around the room were hundreds of identically dressed vampires, all ready to fight. Their jet-black attire made them almost invisible in the shadows.
“Welcome Steven,” a high-pitched voice almost screamed from across the room. Suddenly Darkwind came into view. “It seems you have brought guests along to this little meeting. All the more food for us, isn’t that right boys?”
The room erupted in hideous shrieks of inhumane noise and cruel laughter. Darkwind raised his arms into the air, signalling silence. “ATTACK!” he shouted, as the room plunged into a fierce battle.
End Part Three
Part Four
Steven hovered a few inches of the ground, his deathly cold stare surveying the battlefield. Occasionally he sent the heavy jewelled cane in his hand plummeting through the air, sealing the fate of a vampire who dared attack him. The battle had started well, and it seemed that the odds were in favour of the Hellfire Club members. They worked together brilliantly, combining their mastery over their powers with individual fighting styles to overcome their foes. But Steven still felt a little discontent. Even though he had some incredibly heavy hitters, too many of them were new to the game, and there were only a few very experienced members. But upto now, they were doing well.
“I haven’t had this much fun in ages,” Morte said as she completed her fight process with uncanny agility, her skin tight black cat suit making her almost blend into the shadows. She stared into a vampire’s eyes as its canines unsheathed themselves. With a scream of anticipation it lunged itself towards her, trying to drive it’s fangs into her pure white neck. The Purple Scribe merely laughed and pulled a concealed dagger from her shoe. She drove the blade into the beast’s eye, and then did a high kick, snapping his neck back. Before he could regain his control, she tripped him and took a wooden stake from her belt and drove it into the creature’s heart.
Before she could savour her victory another vampire came driving into her, shoulder barging her across the hard rock floor. She tried to get off the ground but the vampire was upon her, pinning the Scribe to the ground. Morte thrashed violently, trying to loosen the cast iron grip on her wrists. As the beats lowered itself towards her, she screamed out in pain and hit the creature square in the chest, sending it hurling across the room into a group of jagged rocks with drove themselves through its chest. Morte brushed herself off and cart wheeled across the room, taking a vampire’s head between her legs and snapping its neck. “Oh what fun!” she mused to herself.
“Slaying vampires,” SuperGrover laughed as he impaled one through the abdomen with the Gauntlet of Excalibur which he had morphed into a sword. Before another vampire could attack him from behind, he drove the blade into its heart, the mystical metal killing it immediately. “Just like the good old days.”
Gomurr, who was darting in and out of several of the beasts, using a mixture of martial arts, magic and well placed blows with his staff to defend himself strained to smile. “I wish I shared your enthusiasm for this Renaissance. But the fact of the matter is, I am not enjoying this all too much.”
SuperGrover rolled his eyes as he elbowed one of them in the ribs; somewhat shuddering as he heard the bones crack. “Oh come on G-man,” he joked, “I mean, these guys aren’t even higher tier vampires. We could sort these out in our sleep.”
“Perhaps so,” the White Headmaster said as he unleashed a hex bolt at the vampires, clearing their legs from underneath them with his staff, “but I still have more important things to attend to.” In his right hand he materialised a stake, which he threw with an invisible hand into an approaching vampire’s chest, tearing a huge gash in the cavity.
“I know you are having fun Gomurr,” SuperGrover said with a mischievous grin.
“Hey Gene,” Blackfire said as she made two vampires explode in balls of fire, “want some stakes?” The White Bastard shook his head and took a chain from his trench coat. He began spinning it over his head and whipping the vampires with it. As the metal touched their skin it began to frizzle and burn. “Nothing can beat a chain soaked in Holy water,” he laughed to himself.
“What would you do without me Swiks?” Monet said as she pulled the bloodied piece of wood out of the vampire’s chest that had into clawed hands around the Black Prince’s neck.
Nate gulped in air as the lifeless body of the vampire released. “I could have handled it,” he laughed before a powerful bolt of energy collided with the wall, raining pieces of fallen rock and debris on himself and Monet.
“MONET!” Strider cried as he raced to retrieve her. Before the rubble descended on him, burying him under the bed of rock with the Black Prince and Princess.
“That’s what you get for interfering with me worms,” Darkwind said as he looked at the rocks, a satisfied grin on his face. His clenched fist smoked with the aftermath of his blast. Suddenly his shoulder tore open as a titanium rod drove itself through it. He turned around to strike out with his super strength fuelled hand and collided with an invisible force. His dark eyes looked up to see the Purple King. The two enemies eyes met with one another, burning deeper and deeper into them. If the eyes were indeed the windows to the soul, then both Darkwind and Steven had front row seats. Before the vampire could retaliate, Steven kicked him hard in the head, combining it with telekinethesis, lifting the vampire off the ground and throwing him into the wall.
“Let’s cut the kiddie crap,” Steven said as he lowered his shield. “You want to fight me? Well here I am.”
Darkwind wiped away a droplet of blood that had begun dribbling down his face. He opened his mouth revealing two long, curved fangs. His serpent-like tongue lapped the blood up hungrily. “I have never tasted the blood of an External before,” he laughed as he lunged forcefully into Steven. The King grabbed his wrists and swung him around with full force, using the momentum to release him and send him colliding into another pile of rocks.
“I wondered why we spent so much time in the Danger Room,” Siren said as she metamorphed herself back into her human form after assuming the phoenix form and tearing several vampires limb from limb, “and now I know why.”
Mystikal snickered, despite the uncomfortable positions her and the vampire she was attacking assumed, both using their stealth, wit and cunning to try and deceive one another.
“Need some help Mysty?” Siren said as she prepared herself to assault the vampire.
Mysty smiled despite her obvious discomposure. Her joints were beginning to ache, but she’d sooner die than let anyone thinks she needed help or could get the better of her. “Go help Char,” she managed to murmur.
Siren laughed. “Hmm, I think Rage is in control now,” she observed as her glance fell upon Charlotte Sometimes. Her usually brown hair was now a thick, deep red as were her long, clawed fingernails. Two fangs draped over her chin as she laughed hysterically, tearing through her fellow vampire foes with the greatest of ease. Her talons tore into the creatures viciously, mutilating them with sheer brutality. Then, from her ever-present trench coat she drew her katanna.
“Damn,” Justin Mills, the Black King Darkwolf said as he saw the rocks engulf Nate, Strider and Monet. He swung the Sword of Haresh ferociously, tainting the blue blade with steaming dark blood. “These vampires sure aren’t what they used to be.” He suddenly felt a swift kick to his head as a vampire ascended into the air, ready to tear away at his flesh. As the sharp claws collided with the King’s skin, the beast cried out in pain. “Aww, what’s the matter?” Darkwolf said as he rose from the ground, driving his blade into the creature, “diamond skin too tough for ya?” Then he remembered his captive teammates. “Yo, Rogue, help me get Nate and Monet out.”
“Okay,” she said as she flew through the sky towards the rubble. Just as she approached the scene, two winged vampires seized her and began to attack.
Darkwolf tried to assist his Queen, but Waya was already in the air, exchanging blows with them. Finally, she set the two beats on fire and caught the almost unconscious Queen.
“Thanks,” Darkwolf said as Waya touched down with Rogue. Before she could accept the thanks, the White Assassin’s unconscious body came propelling into her, catapulting the pair against the wall, knocking Waya into the same state as Toby.
The Black king toppled backwards to get out of the way of the obviously more powerful vampire. He drew the mystical blade of Haresh but the beast knocked it out of his hands and slapped the King hard across the face with its clawed hand.
“Damn it,” Ian Fitzroy said as he unleashed two extremely dense energy blasts at a group of oncoming vampires, “they’re getting the better of us.”
“Not me,” Epyon, the Purple Knight said as he brandished his sword over his head, thrusting it more of the attacking enemies, “I’m just getting warmed up.” The usually placid Knight was now fully geared up for battle, his usually indigo hair now completely white, almost glowing with radiance. Combining his superstrength, speed, stamina and agility with his expert swordsmanship, he tore through the enemy with the greatest of ease.
“Come on guys, stay sharp,” ShockWave said as she used a selection of intricately placed kicks and punches to overcome her attacker, “Waya, Toby, Rogue, Strider, Nate and Monet have already been taking out. We can’t afford to lose anymore players.”
“It’s not a game of chess, Queenie,” Xeus joked. Despite the hectic atmosphere, the Purple Bishop still made comedy of the situation. Even though he had only been with the PHC for a short period of time, Xeus had already proven himself a very able fighter and an excellent spy. And these qualities, along with his ability to channel any form of energy through his hands, eyes and mouth where giving him the edge in the battle.
“Your teammates,” Darkwind said as he avoided Steven’s cane whilst trying to plot his own moves, “they fight with such skill, such passion. If I wasn’t so content on tearing them limb from limb, I’d admire it.”
Steven’s eyes widened with anger as he hurled a boulder telekinetically at the vampire. He merely outstretched his hand and the rock began to glow and trickled into molten rock. This made the King angrier as he shouted hysterically, launching himself at his enemy, driving the edge of his cane through Darkwind’s stomach. “They’re well trained,” the King spat, “not like the rabble you call an army. You truly expected these idiots to be able to take on the Toronto branch?”
The vampire growled and punched Steven squarely in the stomach, upper cutting the 155 year old in the air. Pulling the cane from his gaping stomach, he threw it at Steven, the ruby hitting him on the cranium. The King fell to his knees.
“The problem with you Steven, is that you’ve re-invented yourself too many times,” Darkwind said as he walked slowly towards the King, who’s dazed body scrambled on the floor. “In my opinion, I think this whole look the Purple King doesn’t suit you.” The vampire picked up the nearby Sword of Haresh. “It has long been believed that the only way to kill an External is to decapitate them,” he said in a low, calculating voice. His grip tightened on the blade as he raised it into the air. “We shall soon see,” he laughed as the sword descended from the sky towards the King’s neck.
“NOOO!” Glass, the newest Purple Hellion said as he peeled himself from the wall. He had used his power to turn his whole body into glass to blend into the wall, concealing his identity from Darkwind. He jumped in front of the King and screamed out in agony as the blade cut deeply into his chest. With one final yell, he collapsed besides Steven, his lifeless eyes staring into the King’s. This seem to revive Steven, who’s whose body exploded with telekinetic energy. The force of the outburst knocked Darkwind back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another Hellion, Spark charging his fists with electrical energy, ready to unleash it upon him. With a sneer, the vampire fired a bolt of mystical energy at the Hellion, which exploded into his chest, killing him instantly.
“NOO!” Steven screamed as he saw his student collapse dead on the ground. By now his powers were out of control, his whole body, every cell leaking raw psionic energy. His mind clouded with revenge. Without hesitation he channelled all his rage, all his sorrow, power, love, hate, lust, his entire persona into the blast, unleashing it upon Darkwind.
Every single mind around the world suddenly connected to Steven as he unleashed his telepathic powers unlike never before. Finally, he regained his power and descended from the sky, kneeling onto the ground, tears rolling down his face. Where Darkwind once stood there were now only ashes. Almost immediately the remaining vampires began to flock away, escaping along hidden tunnel ways and secret doors.
“Damn,” Mystikal said as she held her head, the throbbing in her temples almost too much for her to bear, “what the Hell did he hit that bastard with? My mind feels like it’s on fire.”
Charlotte said nothing as her gaze fixed on the Purple King who knelt besides the lifeless bodies of his two students. He was completely silent, no expression on his face. “Be right back,” she said to Mystikal, as the last remnants of red had faded from her hair.
She walked sombrely and crept up besides the King, slipping her hand onto his shoulders. “It’s over Steven,” she said in a solemn tone, “we’ve won. Storm, your Purple Princess to freeing the captive.”
“Won, Charlotte,” Steven said as he rose to his feet, his face awash with tears and his body aching with sobs, “won? No Charlotte, this is no victory. Look.” He pointed to the two dead boys. “Innocent people have died in a war I asked them to join. People under my supervision, MY STUDENTS have been killed. People who looked to me for wisdom, for safety, for courage and advice. My children. And I failed them, Char. I failed them…” he said before he became overrun with emotions. Charlotte wiped away a tear and placed Steven’s head on her shoulder, patting him gently on the back. She could feel the immense pain he was going through. Steven’s life was dedicated to his students, to his Hellions. When she was Red Queen and Steven was her Bishop, she saw on a daily basis the love and devotion that he had for his Hellions. And now he’d lost two who were both trying to save his life.
“Hades help me,” Steven said as he finally regained his posture, ripping the large golden cross from around his neck and throwing it violently to the ground, his voice and face so full of rage, “for Heaven has forsaken me.”
Elijah, whose side was trickling with blood, placed his hand on his former teammates’ shoulder. “It is in time like these, old friend, that we must look to the Lord for strength and support.”
Steven span around and glared into Elijah’s face, his deathly cold, ice like eyes burning into the cardinal’s. “Don’t even go there,” Steven said, “I don’t want to hear it.” With that he walked out of the room and up the staircase, following some of the other fighters.
“Man, this is bad,” Epyon, said to ShockWave as he walked up the staircase, “Steven is mad.”
“Mad?” Shockwave said. “No, not mad. Broken hearted? Definitely. We all know how much he loved his students. I can’t imagine the pain he’s feeling right now. Ian, Kyle, can you get Spark and Glass?”
The Rook and Prince nodded in silence and grabbed the two dead boys.
Silence once again poured into the shadowy chasm, leaving the lifeless bodies of the vampire’s alone in the cold, cold darkness. The once mightily roaring fire that blazed in the centre was no more. Only death filled the room. Suddenly, a spark appeared on the pit, as several tongues of flames began to flicker. Then they steadily became thicker and thicker, roaring more violently, until finally it was back to the inferno it was before the attack. The pile of ashes where Darkwind laid began to whirl around, blown by an unseen breeze. They started to form some kind of structure, crafted by an invisible hand. A tall, muscular body cased in jet-black body armour was soon visible, as was a snowy white face, then two large, foreboding black eyes. Around the head fell shoulder length, coal black hair. The man smiled showing his long fangs, running his clawed hand through his sleek hair.
“You put up a good battle Steven,” Darkwind said to himself as he walked around the chasm, stepping over the rotting, bleeding carcasses, looking purely disgusted with them, “you have decimated my numbers and almost destroyed my body. But, you forget I am still the sorcerer I was before my ascension to vampirism. For now, you have stopped me. But mark my words, you will meet me again.”
END.
