1. Bound For Hell
The raggedly clothed vampire hissed, its red irises burning in its otherwise dark eyes as it bared its fangs at the human before it. Yet, despite this unnatural entity’s hatred, Sylvester stood his ground, firmly gripping the hilt of his weapon with one hand. The hulking blade was built with a hilt that attached to a handle running along its length, a brutal hybrid of an axe and a sword. He remained resolute, watching and waiting for the feral blood drinker to lose its patience, silently daring it to make the first move.
Then with a growl it lunged for him, sharpened, grimey claws reaching for his eyes. With a single deft movement, Sylvester swung his weapon low to the ground, the heavy blade knocking the monster’s legs out from under it, and brought his knee into its gut, sending the feral vampire to the ground.
Without missing a beat he grabbed the handle with his other hand, raising it above his head like an executioner about to deliver the death sentence and cut downwards at the beast. The stunned creature rolled aside, barely avoiding the blade as it stuck the cobbles of the alley with a resounding clang.
With desperation in its eyes, the vampire scrambled to its feet as Sylvester swung the blade in a wide slash with one hand, forcing it to back up against the wall of the alley as he drew a flintlock pistol with the other hand and shot the cornered monster in the chest. The vampire grabbed at its chest, the cold burn of silver filling its every thought, leaving it blind to everything else. In that moment Sylvester swung his blade, and the creature thought no more.
The lifeless body of the nightwalker crumpled to the ground, its head falling to the stones with a thud. Sylvester sighed grimly and stowed his pistol as he knelt down and drew forth a vial of crystal clear water and uncorked it, letting a single drop fall on the thing’s corpse.
With that he stood and pulled a rag out from his pack, cleaning off his blade, and left the alley, never looking back. With solemn conviction, he walks along the streets, the flickering street lamps on either side barely broke through the shadows lining the foggy roads, the lights of the stone and brick houses on either side like huge eyes watching the slayer’s every step. In the distance he could see the tall elegant shape of the observatory in Darke Manor, the house of the corrupt vampire lord who ran the city of Nightport. The sight put a scowl on his face as he pushed open the door to the “Warm Hearth Inn”, a local establishment regulated by residents like himself.
The door creaked open and the pale woman at the bar looked up, her red eyes and raven hair stark in the lanterns on the walls and the crackling fireplace. The normal patrons, dressed in their dirtied shirts and fur jackets looked up at Sylvester distrustfully. Such suspicion was the way of life in Nightport. Sylvester liked to say, If you let your guard down, the werewolves probably were bound to get you.
Walking in calmly, he slid into a stool at the counter, strapping his weapon to his back and looking up at the owner of the inn, raising an eyebrow. She looked back with a smirk, fingers tapping on the counter, careful to keep her mouth closed, the amulet around her neck resting against her black leather coat, shimmered with a strange light.
“What can I get you tonight Acton?” Lily asked him, for a second her glinting fangs visible in the ambient light before her mouth closed and they were once again hidden away.
“Business,” he replied softly, not wanting the other customers to hear. “I hear you’ve gotten a new monstrous target.” He states, leaning back against the counter casually.
Lily nodded, leaning closer to deliver the information about the monster.
“A strange horse-rider, haunting the North Eastern roads by the River Sangui. Apparently it’s been attacking wagons and such, some of Duke’s friends at the docs, have been losing business because it’s keeping some of the goods they trade overseas from reaching them. Two hundred and fifty Darke’s are out for a hunter to kill it,” she informed him, getting Sylvester to snort in response.
“Never send a trapper to do a slayer’s job,” he remarked. “Tell Duke and his friends to rest easy, I’ll get Valthe and we’ll take this thing out for him. Oh, and could I have some ale for the road?” He requested.
Lily rolled her red and black eyes. “Your insistence on drinking before fighting will never cease to confuse me Acton, if you screw up, don’t come crying to me, I’ll be busy killing that damn horseman because you were too drunk,” she muttered, shaking her head as Sylvester just snickered as she made his drink.
…
Sylvester leaned against the cold stone brick of the city walls, looking down the street for his associate, waiting impatiently. The moon shone faintly through the clouds above, the distant howls of werewolves floating through the night air, creating a contrast with the muted sounds of diminished activity on the streets.
With no more warning than a slight muffled scraping sound, a figure in black hopped down from a nearby rooftop next to Sylvester. Leaping back in fear, Sylvester dropped his stance, one fist pulled back, the other like a shield in front of his face, ready to devise a counter attack when he suddenly recognized the man.
Laughing smugly, the tall, thin man was dressed in a black leather coat with golden vine markings sewn into the shoulders. He had an unusual combination of an axe and a flintlock pistol on his left, and a long slender blade on his right. His long hair shifted in the breeze, and his pointed ears were like pale daggers in the moonlight.
“Honestly Sylvester, you sure that drink was a good idea, I almost had you that time.” Valthe said, crossing his arms.
Sylvester rolls his eyes. “Save your criticism for amateurs, Val, Lily already hammered home the point.” He replied, straightening and giving the elf a playful punch on the shoulder.
“If we don’t keep you honest, no one will, better tell you off twice than haul your corpse back from a mission.” Valthe fired back, shrugging.
“Come on Valthe, we’re here to get rid of another abomination that’s threatening our home, not your jokes.”
With a sigh, Valthe chuckled, reaching over and pulling open the heavy steel latch on the city doors as Sylvester pulled it open just enough for the two of them to slip out through. Before them lay the dirt and cobble path that lead towards Sangui River, and one that leads further through the wild dangers of the forest enshrouded in the creeping mists of Nightport. After a quick glance around, ensuring nothing is visible, Sylvester raised his middle and index fingers to relay his observation back to Valthe, who slipped out and closed the gate behind them, leaving the latch to prop it open before nodding to his colleague.
The pair of slayers moved carefully to the side of the path closest to the city, keeping to trees and other obstacles to make sure they didn’t attract undue attention from anything they didn’t need to encounter. After about forty minutes, Valthe went pale and slipped behind a tree, holding up his ring and middle finger, signaling danger.
Sylvester slipped behind a boulder, peering around it to see what had Valthe spooked, hand slowly moving towards his trusty axe-blade. His eyes picked up movement along the opposite side of the path, and at first he saw the outline of a horseman in the darkness. But then he began to realize the truth of the thing before them.
Where at first he’d seen a man riding a horse, a sliver of moonlight brushed across the creature, the light illuminating a beast with no skin, yellowish pink muscles stretched across its bodies, the torso of the man not that of a separate being, but in fact it was fused with the back of the equine. The hulking things' arms were long, and there was something about them that just made Sylvester uneasy. Instead of being human sized, the appendages were more comparable in length to a grown man’s legs than his arms. The abomination walked along the path, the thing on its back swaying in an almost serpentine fashion that nearly made Sylvester feel nauseous watching.
Slipping back behind his rock, Sylvester took a deep, quiet breath, glancing to Valthe. The elf was holding the silvery bear charm on his necklace in his hand, jaw clenched and eyes closed, whispering something that Sylvester couldn’t make out. Only one word jumped out at him, a strange one, definitely not from the common language. “Nuckelavee.”
Sylvester began to slowly draw his blade, glancing towards Valthe and holding up one hand all his fingers raised. As he began counting down he heard the cracking of branches behind him and turned around in time to see a large lupine creature, its yellow eyes gleaming, leapt towards him.
Sylvester hurled himself aside, striking a tree with his shoulder, the air suddenly filled with an unearthly shriek that chilled the very air they were breathing. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Nuckelavee rearing back its fiendish eyes glowing with green flame. Valthe leapt up onto one of the branches of the tree he’d been hiding behind, his elven agility propelling him upwards. Grabbing onto the branch, he swung up, landing on top, one hand gripping it for support, the other reaching to his side and drawing his blade which glimmers in the moonlight.
As the slayers took stock of the situation, the wolf thing began to growl deep in its chest, a whining sound emanating from its mouth. Then rose up onto its hind legs, revealing elongated feet and five fingered claws. The werewolf unleashed its dreadful howl, its cry echoing through the night. Sylvester gritted his teeth hefted his weapon up onto his left shoulder, narrowing his eyes.
Suddenly the Nuckelavee drew back one of its humanoid hands, as though about to strike. In that instant there was a sickening snapping as its arm twisted and warped before their eyes, bulges forming as its skinless muscle seemed to be rupturing from within, shards of bone and a back ichor briefly visible through the wounds. With a bone chilling growl, the Nuckelavee’s hand burst open, and a spear made of bone, tendons, and muscle erupted out of it. The three others stood in disbelief, watching as the horrid thing reached over and plucked out the spear with its free hand, the wound closing as it grabbed the weapon and pointed it towards the mortal creatures before it, letting out another shrieking cry as its fiery eyes bulged, and it bared its teeth.
“Deal with the wolf!” Sylvester called, gesturing with three fingers towards the Nuckelavee.
Valthe gave him a thumbs up, and dropped down, kicking the werewolf in the chest and rolling backwards, standing up and drawing his axe from his belt.
Sylvester moved towards the horrid Nuckelavee, the smell of rancid flesh growing stronger as he neared it. He gripped his weapon by the center of its handle and dove forwards, just as the Nuckelavee tried to impale him with its spear. He skidded to a stopped in front of its horse-legs, wincing at the feeling of sliding across broken rocks and roots, and drew a short silvered blade from his belt, swinging it toward the leg nearest to him, but the silvered weapon simply bounced off, much to his shock.
Valthe stood, eyeing the wolf, and keeping one eye towards the Nuckelavee. He pointed his pistol toward the monster, the axe-blade attachment confusing the semi-sapient thing. “Damn beast.” He spat, pulling the trigger.
With a howl of pain, the werewolf stumbled back, white smoke rising from the barrel of the gun as bluish smoke rose from the wound left by the silver bullet as it stuck the werebeast’s face.
Sylvester was thrown back against a tree with a thud by the powerful monster’s kick, the breath knocked from him and sharp aching pain in his chest. The Nuckelavee shrieked and hissed, rearing back and galloping into the forest, it’s humanoid torso writhing and twisting atop the horse body.
Valthe lunged forwards with his blade, putting a wound in the werewolf’s shoulder, but the beast drove itself further into the blade, rabidly snapping at its perceived prey, lashing out with a claw and knocking away the slayer’s gun.
“Well, that’s not optimal...” Valthe sighed as he drew a knife with a handle carved out of an antler.
“Lord Oberon guide me.” He murmured, gripping the blade tightly, casting a quick glance around him, with no sign of his axe.
With a booming crack, a cloud of white smoke billowed out of the muzzles of the two guns, and the werewolf slumped forwards, the pair of silver bullets punching through its skull, ending its hunt.
Sylvester signs, wincing at his injuries as he walks back towards Valthe, the elf’s axe-gun and his own flintlock in hand.
“Next time I hear you muttering about how useless these human inventions are, imma shove my flintlock where the sun don’t godsdamn shine!” Sylvester growled, holding out Valthe’s gun.
“Damn wolves are tough to put down without them, especially when they’re wild and crazed like this bastard that gave away our position. So work on your aim.” He ordered Valthe, pulling a small vial of purple beads and dropping them into his canteen, swirling it around for a minute, before he took a swig and gagged.
Valthe shuddered as he watched. “Ugh, stuff dulls the pain, but it tastes like dog piss.” He remarked.
Sylvester capped his canteen and nodded, wiping his mouth. “No kidding... so, while this crap kicks in, let’s chat. What the hell was that thing?” He demanded.
Valthe glanced away, pale. “It’s called a Nuckelavee... a horrible sin of the faerie lands... a construct that takes the body of a Faerie horseman, flays it, and makes it the host of a demonic spirit. I’ve never seen something so foul with my own two eyes.”
Sylvester looked at him with surprise, taking a deep breath and hefting his blade over one shoulder. “Well... let’s look at it this way, we know what we’re dealing with. We should get moving.” He suggested, gesturing after the thing.
“I don’t know if we can kill it!” Valthe burst out suddenly.
Sylvester sighed and shrugged. “Yeah... I ask myself that question often... every night we’re wandering out into this place, looking for trouble. There’s always a risk... but all I can hope is one day we’ll be free of Lord Darke and his evil, and this place will be better. That’s why I fight. That’s what your sister fought for too...” Sylvester said.
Valthe clenched his fist. “Don’t bring her up. She didn’t deserve the fate she got... to be turned and changed so...”
His fellow put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, if we don’t risk ourselves more people could meet this fate. We’ve all got people, something worth protecting... and to do that we need money and supplies. Might as well kill some monster along the way, right?” He asked.
Sylvester looked back at Valthe and smirked. “Well we damn-well better try, ey mate?” He chuckled, a glint in his eye.
Valthe took a deep breath and nodded, lowering his head as he started off in pursuit. Meanwhile Sylvester hung back a moment, looking up at the moon behind the foggy shroud of Nightport.
“And if this thing is Fae... then maybe I’ll be able to get back what that damn hag stole from me...” He muttered under his breath.
After walking for a while longer, slipping through the forest with practiced movements, the pair spotted the Nuckelavee, and they burst out of the trees towards it.
The monster reared back and its spear lunged out like a striking serpent, swinging overhead towards Valthe. Quickly, the elf’s sword and axe were out and crossed, catching the weapon between his blades, locked in place by the axe’s head. Taking the opportunity, Sylvester pivoted, his huge blade arcing through the air and severing the spear with a fleshy crack.
The monster howled in agony, mouth opening, its blistered tongue slithering over its needle-like teeth. It lashed out, opening its horse mouth, a mouth-full of dagger-like teeth latching onto Valthe’s sleeve, tearing at it.
Sylvester swung for the rider, his blade cutting into its chest, becoming lodged there. Sylvester looked up, eyes widening as the beast’s hand whipped out and snatched him by the neck, hefting him into the air, its jaw snapping as it opens even wider, the black ichor from within dripping down its lips and along the twisted warped bone-shards that populated the thing’s maw.
Sylvester struggled uselessly as the thing drew him closer, a deep growl rumbling from it’s depths. With a cry of fury, Valthe hurled his gun, embedding its axe-blade with the side of the thing’s face, prompting another horrid screech from the Nuckelavee. It tossed Sylvester aside carelessly, grabbing the weapon in its face and stumbling back.l
Sylvester rolled across the ground, sliding to a stop and standing back up, hefting his sword as he prepared to defend himself.
“Get ‘em Valthe!” Sylvester called, tapping his throat.
The elven slayer nodded and steps back, blood dripping down his arm as he reached into his jacket and drew out a wire, leaping up and wrapping it around the human neck of the creature, attempting to choke the unlife out of it.
The Nuckelavee eached back, grappling at his face with its clawed hands, wailing with unholy life and rearing back. Valthe’s feet slipped and suddenly he was holding on by just the wire. Seeing his friend in danger, Sylvester lowered his stance and dashed forwards, blade still on his shoulder as he charged, lunging forward and brought down his weapon onto its equine neck.
The abomination let out a gurgling, shuddering, scream, flailing as its muscles tensed and writhed, its neck going back as the entire creature slowed and slumped over to the ground.
Valthe tumbled to the ground with a sigh of relief before he gagged at the foul stench, black ichor oozing from between its muscle fibers, the smell of swamp mud, decaying fish, and dried blood wafted through the forest, and the two moved back from the foul thing. They watched the grass and ferns wither and die at the touch of the thing’s blood.
“Let’s... get this over with, ey?” Sylvester asked as he covered his nose, gesturing to the Nuckelavee’s severed head.
Valthe scowled and nodded, reaching back and pulling a large leather bag from his jacket. He opened it and quickly stuffed the cursed creature’s head in.
“Let’s leave this place, no point in sticking around this creature’s cursed grave.” Valthe stated, looking over to Sylvester.
“Yeah, sounds like something I can get behind.” He replied, coughing as the smell continued to befoul the air.
…
As the two left the corpse, a dark being slunk out of the darkness of the forest. A hunched figure with fingernails filed down into knife-like points emerges. Her twin blue eyes looked like a cat’s as she surveyed the ruin of the terrible thing before her. She growled, her jagged teeth glinting as she swept her long greasy black hair aside. She knelt down, her grey robes hanging on her withered, seemingly ancient form.
“My poor poor beastie, they’ve stolen your head, how rude... how rude...” she spat, running a hand over its disgusting remains.
“Another pet broken by those self proclaimed slayers... but you... you’re special...” The hag cooed, revealing a twisted and mangled wooden scepter from her robes, a green miasma drifting from it.
“Because you my beastie... you’re worth fixing...” She chuckled, raising a hand as four human-shaped things strode hollowly out of the forest.
The creatures bore the appearance of scarecrows, faces painted on their decaying pumpkin heads with a reddish substance, as they walked a glowing green miasma leaked from their bodies. The constructs grabbed the body of the Nuckelavee and began to drag it back into the forest as the witch caressed its head.
“You see, I am your maker. I decide when you die, and right now, you’re still of use to me, and to Baron Darke.” She swept her implement at the spilled ichor, grinning.
“Fuil chun salachar, luaithreach go deannach, filleadh ar an talamh, agus déan amhlaidh ag an am céanna*!” She chanted as the blood dried, turning to dirt in seconds.
With that she glowered after the two slayers and slipped back into the midnight black of the forest.
“I’ll have you yet...” She cackles quietly, as she fades away into the gloom.
* “Blood to dirt, ashes to dust, return to the earth, and do so at once!”
…
Sylvester and Valthe pushed through the door of the closed inn, bruised and bloodied, and smirking confidently. Lily looked up, her red eyes glowing in the darkness.
“You’re back then, and alive... sorry for leaving you to babysit our local alcoholic monster hunter Valthe.” She called.
“Don’t worry, you’re forgiven... this time.” He chuckled, holding up the bag and depositing it on the counter.
She grimaced. “That... is one nasty aura of magic. That’s interesting...” She murmured, looking at it closely, then she glanced at the two of them. “I hope you boys are alright, this thing must’ve been nasty...” Lily commented.
Valthe frowned. “Actually this… thing… it was surprisingly easy, almost like it wasn’t whole, missing a piece of itself… it certainly wasn’t as devastating as the stories of my people say it should be.”
Sylvester sighed. “I sure hope that was the end of it. Because the way things are now... if we have to fight a “nasty” beast like that again anytime soon, our souls will all be in the darkest depths of hell when it’s through with us… if mine’s not already” He muttered broodingly, sitting at the bar.
Lily chuckled, fangs glittering. “Another day in Nightport, huh? Alright you two, help yourself to a bottle of something good. I’ve got business to complete.” She stated, spinning a long, serrated knife with a curved blade.
With that she lept across the bar and was out the door like a shadow. She moved like one with the night as she climbed up the wall with unnatural swiftness, leaping up onto the roof and looking across the fell city, a fiefdom bound for hell. She smelled the blood of her target from across that metropolis of dismay. With that, the vampire slayer lept to the next rooftop with cat-like grace, as her friends’ hunt ended, so had her’s begun, the cycle of intrigue that never ended, the shadow wars of Nightport.
Sylvester watched her from the window, a dark expression still hanging over his face, putting a hand to his chest and feeling the metaphysical ache of his torn spirit, mentally cursing the marsh witch who’d done this to him. Suddenly Valthe interrupted his friend’s brooding.
“Hey, Sylvester... I’ve been meaning to ask you, you seemed to act a little oddly after I mentioned that the Nuckelavee was Fae... is there something you’re not telling me?” He asked.
Sylvester turned around and paused, thinking, then forced a grin. “Nah, nothing of note, just don’t see those kinds of things very often...” He murmured, glancing back out the window, the ache dulling the guilt of his lie as the moon shone upon his face.
