Date: Sat, 18 May 1996 22:35:23 -0400 From: "Landon C. Darkwood" Subject: XOVER: Ramblings of a Nightcrawler, Introduction (FK/HL) This is my first FK fanfic attempt. If this leaves you wanting more, ask. ***Opening Scene*** <...and darkness falls upon the illusion of a lost love. Love. A vaunted emotion we all give in to, put our trust and lives into its hands, and watch in helplessness as it gives way under the storm of other feelings that the human mind cannot avoid. Love doomed to failure, sadness, and disapppointment rules the very soul of our existences, yet we offer it full intrusion into us. A hopeless construct....> The words seemed to fade away as Detective Tracy Vetter leaned forward to turn the volume down on the car radio. It was another late Toronto evening, like many she had seen since beginning the night shift with a certain Nicholas Knight, who sat next to her in the driver's seat of his Cadillac, seemingly oblivious to anything. "What do you listen to that for, Nick?" she said, gesturing at the radio. The low, gravel voice of the Nightcrawler slid through the car like some serpent. "I don't know," replied Nick. "I guess you get used to having nothing to listen to at this time of night." "Hmmm...I think I'd rather be listening to nothing than to him. He's so...negative. It just...doesn't seem like you." Knight chuckled slightly. "It's just his way." Vetter turned her attention from the street to Nick's smooth European features. "Come on, Nick, you make it sound like you know the guy." Nick's features went to slight shock, but recovered quickly. "We have met...before...I once went to see him at the radio station." Vetter's quizzical look only got more piercing. "You went to go _meet_ him? Why?" "I don't know," answered Nick with a shrug of his shoulders. "I guess he's grown on me." He only wondered if Tracy could ever realize how true the statement was. Seemingly satisfied with this, Vetter turned back to watching the road. Seconds of silence passed before a familiar ring startled both of them. "Vetter," said Tracy as she turned on her cell phone. "Yes...yes...all right, Captain..." Something was wrong. It wasn't just the increased tension in the car. Nick was used to sudden calls while at work, even before he met Tracy. Finally his senses pinpointed the reason for his apprehension. It was the radio. The radio that was broadcasting LaCroix's voice had gone silent and had actually been out for several minutes. "...Right. We're on it. Bye." Tracy hung up her phone. "Nick, we just received an anonymous tip from the Raven. "What is it? What's wrong?" Nick's mind was racing. `It can't be what I think it is,' he thought to himself. `That's impossible...' "It's the Nightcrawler, they've lost his signal. According to Captain Reese, there's a fire in that area." No sooner had those words left her mouth when she was pressed back into her seat as Nick hit the accelerator for all it was worth. He was brought across in 1228. He preyed on humans for their blood. Now, he wants to become mortal again, to repay society for his sin, to emerge from his world of darkness....from his endless, Forever Knight. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net (Author's Note: The characters of Nick Knight, LaCroix, Tracy Vetter, and Javier Vachon are all the property of TriStar Entertainment, and the use of these characters and anything from Forever Knight is not a challenge to the holders of those respective copyrights. Any concepts from Highlander are the properties of Rysher Entertainment and Gaumont Television, and the same goes for them. The characters of Landon Darkwood and Pierre Gavraunt, however, are all mine.) Smoke billowed into the night air as firefighters worked to end the last of the hungry blaze. A blue Cadillac moved noisily into the scene, screeching on the pavement as it came to a halt in front of the Raven. "God, Nick," came the voice of a woman sitting next to the Cadillac driver, "why don't you stop any more suddenly, and maybe I actually will go through the windshield!" Nick Knight didn't hear her, his only thoughts focused on one being -- LaCroix. Slamming the car door upon his exit, he raced into the confusion, pushing firefighters and policemen out of the way. His charge didn't end until he actually reached the Raven, obscured by smoke, which was also when he realized that the building was untouched. "What happened?" he asked, to no one in particular. An onlooker heard him. "A fire started in the building next door, knocked the power out inside the club." The voice was low and gravelly. Nick turned to see LaCroix standing behind him. "It was next door?" "Yes, Nicholas. Quite something to see. Tell me, what was it that hastened your arrival so?" The younger vampire stiffened as he realized where LaCroix was leading. "I was sent here, LaCroix, it was an urgent call." "Oh, really?" A smile of delight spread across the ancient's vampire's features. "Are you so sure it was a sense of duty that guided you here, or was it a geniune _human_ concern?" Nick's features actually reddened somewhat. "Nicholas, I'm touched. How kind of you to feel so about me." "Don't bet on it," said Knight, a devilish smile on his face. "I came because I had to, not because I was worried about you." "As you wish, Nicholas. Just remember, you can't lie to yourself about your feelings." With this, LaCroix brushed past Nick and left into the Raven. Knight stood there, fists clenched in anger at LaCroix and at himself. He was concerned. No matter how much denial he put into it, he couldn't conceal the fact that he was here mainly to help LaCroix, supposing he might have needed any. Why? He knew of LaCroix's power simply by living with him 800 years. Nothing could damage LaCroix forever. `No,' he rethought, `that can't be true either. He's not invincible. Is that why I came here?' His mind raced back to several occasions where he had become impulsive to save a life he cared about, but LaCroix? He didn't need saving. Ever. But Nick still came to help him. He shuddered at the thought that his relationship with LaCroix may be closer than he admitted. He shuddered thinking about whether or not LaCroix knew that. "Are you okay, Nick?" Detective Vetter's voice cut through the din of the crowd that was now assembling at the site. Most of the smoke had cleared away, and press had started to arrive. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, shaking away the thoughts. "What is it?" "I'm going to search the building. Wanna come along?" Nick smirked and followed her lead into the charbroiled building adjacent to the Raven. The walls were blackened and burned severely, to the point that even Nick's vision was hard-pressed to identify the place as a record store. "What a horrible accident," noted Tracy as she looked around in disgust at melted cassettes and CD's. "They've dragged eight dead bodies out of this place already." A groan lit Nick's awareness on fire. His head shifted from side to side as he looked for the source. Finally, he saw a section of counter that had fallen over atop someone during the blaze. In a flash, while Tracy was sifting through piles of random music choices, he rushed over to the spot and lifted the counter out of the way. The man lying beneath was not a man at all, but a slim teenage boy, with dark hair and broken glasses over two dark brown eyes that seemed cool and sharp in contrast to the rest of the place. His wavy black hair was locked in a fritz. He was wearing a black Metallica t-shirt and accompanying black jeans and sneakers. Cuts lined his cheeks and forehead. "Are you all right?" Nick's speech was laced with compassion, and Vetter turned around upon hearing it. "You've found someone," she said, walking over to the pair. "Who are you?" she asked the downed boy. "I...ehhhh..." The boy's eyes slid back in his head a bit, but he forced himself to stay conscious. "The fire...ehhhh...was planned..." Nick's eyes widened. "Planned? By whom?" "He was tall...pale...very...ehhh...pale. He was bald...I...saw him leave...leave the building...ehh..." LaCroix's face superimposed itself on Nick's eyesight. He shook it away. "Can you give me a name?" The boy was already unconscious. Tracy checked his pulse. "Still alive," she said, "but barely. Let's get him out of here, Nick. Nick?" Her words once again fell on deaf ears, as Nick was looking out the window at the Raven and LaCroix...his only other clue to the many mysteries of the night. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net "Come off it, Nicholas." The voice of Lucius LaCroix echoed through a small, spartan room used for broadcasting the Nightcrawler show over the radiowaves. "I didn't burn that place down." Sarcastically he added, "Why would I ever do such a monstrous thing like that?" He pointed innocently at himself to illustrate the point. Nick Knight paced angrily to and fro. He was on the verge of jumping at LaCroix, but he knew better. Any show of open rage would only delight him. "An eyewitness saw you in there." "Now, now, I didn't say I wasn't in the building at the time. I just didn't have anything to do with the fire." "Why doesn't the boy remember anyone else in there, then?" LaCroix snickered in response, which only succeeded in annoying Nick more. His voice betrayed a lack of general concern. "The minds of mortals are so often affected by trauma. Perhaps you should look to a more reliable source of information." "God isn't on call at the moment." Nick calmed down suddenly, surprised at his own burst of sarcasm. Laughter boomed from the room, startling people in the Raven. "Nicholas, you counter me with religion? You grow more amusing every day that you spend with those humans. Have you learned nothing from me? Have you not seen that God has no power over us?" "You admitted yourself that I have God in me!" shouted the younger vampire in triumph. "I heard you, adrift in the void of possession, not long ago. You said I had God in me." "I said what I said to suit my purpose," said LaCroix, lowering his voice to a subdued whisper. "You were losing yourself in your own inablilty to handle what you are, and I had to keep you from self-descruction." "Your deception fools even you, LaCroix." "What do you know of deception, child?!" In a flash, LaCroix was behind Nick, brushing his hands across Nick's pale neck. "Let one who has been deceived tell you of deception! It is a powerful tool, when in the right hands, and you apparently have become a willing victim. Take your accusations elsewhere before I decide to hand you some of my truth!" A tense Nick Knight pushed LaCroix away as he walked out of the room into the sex-filled indulgence of the Raven. (Author's Note -- References to the "God in me" part were from the episode "Sons of Belial." I don't think that's what LaCroix actually said, but how well can you hear if you're being posessed by a demon?) Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net The air outside an certain old chapel was cold and foreboding, much like the inner thoughts of Detective Tracy Vetter as she came up on approach to the building. Her mind was racing with the events of the evening, and she needed some time to just relax and review it all. That kid that she and Nick picked up in the burnt record store had come to consciousness not a half hour before, and gave a full report. According to him, he was in the store, just browsing, waiting for some relatives to come pick him up. Lots of people were there, most notably the tall, pale, bald man he referred to while half-conscious. He seemed to glide through the music store, going from aisle to aisle, looking at the building and everyone in it. Soon, about an hour's time as the boy remembered, another man entered and began talking to the tall man. The boy said that he sat and watched the two, from behind the counter, simply because "they both looked kinda Gothic." The kid added a slight smile to the statement. After a while, the two "Gothic" men left out a side door. Seconds later, what looked to the boy to be Molotov cocktails were thrown into the building through the windows, almost instantly catching something on fire. People scattered to get away, and apparently a mob of terrified shoppers charged into the counter, knocking it atop the boy, which prevented him from escaping. Smoke inhalation supposedly sent him into unconsciousness. Beyond all this, however, was the trouble with Nick. He seemed so...distant, so oblivious. Not like him at all, usually alert and right into whatever he's doing. He looked a little more tense than usual, irritable...without apparent reason. So, where does she go? To Javier's place. Javier Vachon. She hadn't seen him in a while, and spending time with him would allow her to get her mind off of things...which is exactly what she wanted. Stopping in front of the door, she paused before going inside. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net "What is it? What's wrong?" Vachon had let Tracy sit and even brought her a nice hot cup of tea, something he usually didn't use. Vetter ran her hand through her long, blond hair and sipped the tea. "Nothing terrible, just a case Nick and I are working on." "Tell me about it." Javier said. He was so distant from her, it seemed. From what he'd heard of Nicholas and Natalie, they spent as much time as possible together. It had been weeks since he had even heard her voice, and it felt good to be close again. "Well, it seems like the work of a trademark arsonist. The guy burns down a record store, kills eight, wounds eleven, and we get an eyewitness account of it from some kid. Suddenly Nick is seperating himself from everyone, becoming irritable, sarcastic, and just plain unfriendly. I really don't get it. It's like...like he knows something, and he doesn't want anyone else to know." Vachon spent the next few seconds in silence. "Let me go talk to him." Tracy suddenly snapped out of half-delerium to stare at him. "What are you going to do?" "Nothing major," replied the vampire. He had forgotten that she didn't know Nick was one of them, and quite a bit older than himself. "But you really don't know Nick," contested the blond woman. "He's a private sort, doesn't like to be bothered by anyone." Vachon smiled again. His smile always seemed to chill Tracy slightly. "I'll figure out a way to get to him." He looked around at the ruined interior of his haven. "Ummm...feel free to relax here. I'll be back in a little bit." She watched with protesting eyes as Vachon took off into the air. Then, she sat down, sighed, and took another sip. ***A FEW MINUTES LATER*** Nick Knight had been downing blood all night. Ever since his conversation with LaCroix, things stopped making sense. First of all, he showed off a bitter sarcasm and anger that he never displayed to anyone, not even LaCroix. Second, he realized that he was actually going out of his way to convict LaCroix of a crime. Why? Nick didn't hate him that much. And as much of a beast as LaCroix is, brutal mass murder is not his style. Third, if LaCroix didn't burn down that building, someone else must have. Why? Many motives were possible, but the one.... "Are you all right?" Nick spun around to see Vachon fly in through the open window and land next to his couch. "Tracy said she was worried about you." "I'm fine, just thinking," Knight answered, putting his bottle down on a nearby table. "It's the record store fire, right?" Vachon sat down. "What is it?" "Nothing, nothing, I'm just trying to piece together the evidence we have." "You expect me to believe that?" The dark-haired Spaniard leaned back and smiled. Nick smirked back. "I guess not. I thought that LaCroix might have done it for a time, but I'm dismissing that idea. It just seems that I have no leads at all, and...." The conversation was cut off by a ring of Nick's phone. He picked it up. "Knight here," he said. << Nick, >> came Tracy's voice, muddled by a bad transmission from her cell phone, << there's been another fire, on Eighth Street and Parkway. You'd better come down. >> "On my way." Nick hung up. Turning to Vachon, he said, "There's been another fire. Tracy's already there." "Then let's go." Javier got up off the couch and straightened his clothes. Nick was already heading to the door, but looked back before he got to it. "You're coming along?" It was more of a challenge than a question. "I've never seen Tracy work before." "Fine. I'm driving." Nick started walking again. Vachon chased after him. "Driving? Why not fly?" He started to take off, and in a flash found himself pinned to the wall, Nick's strong hand on his shoulder. "Because," said Nick, "we're going into a crime scene full of mortals. No need to attract attention." He let Vachon go and walked determinedly out to his Cadillac. The younger one of the pair straightened his black hair out, rolled his eyes, and followed behind. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net It was blazing orange. The fire had swept up almost the entire building that it hungrily consumed into bits of ash and carbon. Detective Tracy Vetter watched hawklike into the myriad colors of flame. Firefighters, many of whom she had seen at the record store by the Raven, worked overtime to cut the blaze to a tolerable level. She felt so helpless.... Nick's car pulled up with the owner and Vachon inside. Tracy turned to see both he and Nick exit. Both of the hardened creatures were stopped in their tracks as they looked up at the blaze. Nick turned his head to face Tracy, his eyes stern. "How many people are inside?" Tracy shrugged. "At least...let me think...at least ten." Nick shot his attention back to the building. "No, you don't," said Tracy as she realized what was going on in Nick's head. "Don't do it, Nick." He looked back at her again. Vachon saw the tension between both of them, between Tracy's concern for Nick's mortal life and Nick's need to conceal his vampiric nature. "Nick," she pleaded, "let the firemen do their jobs. There's nothing we can do to help out here." "Maybe," replied Nick, all the while scanning the building with superhuman vision, "but I'm just going to look around." He saw her eyes flash, as if to offer caution. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll behave myself." With that, he took off, skirting around the left side of the building, where the fire wasn't as strong. "He definitely has courage," noted Vachon as he himself scanned the building. He wondered if Tracy had these sort of evenings all the time. Nice, exciting job, he decided. Vetter went from a look of helplessness to one of suspicion. "What are you doing here? Did you talk to Nick?" "Yeah, I was talking to him when you called. I've never seen you at work, so I decided to come along." The flame's oppressive heat shrouded the area like a blanket. Javier looked to Tracy like a bastion of hope standing in front of the bright orange chaos, reflections dancing off of his jacket. "What did you say?" "Not much. Basically he's been very absorbed in the case. Could be something to do with the fact that the Nightcrawler is a suspect." Tracy's eyes perked up at the mention of the Nightcrawler. She felt the heat too, and took off the coat she was wearing, slinging it over her shoulder. "Yeah, I guess he likes the show a lot. I wonder why?" "I don't know," came the response, followed by a shrug. "Maybe he likes the Nightcrawler's dark poetry." "Do you think Nick is a dark person?" The question shot through Vachon's ears. Upon their first vampiric meeting, Nick had slammed him up against a wall. Since then, he had spent a long time pondering over him, trying to figure out what made a vampire like Nicholas Knight tick. "Not at all," he said finally, coming to a final decision. "Not at all..." *** Two combatants seemed oblivious to the fire in the building around them as they charged forward, blades in hand, each determined to remove the other from this life. One of the figures, a man standing over six feet tall with wavy brown hair, seemed at an advantage. A black trenchcoat, the collar of which extended to his forehead, along with matching black shirt and slacks, did nothing to lighten his appearance, which was starkly accentuated by the orange surroundings. The man stepped forward into a quick lunge that was deftly parried by his opponent, a shorter man with French features. The Frenchman feinted high with his rapier and laid a stronger blow to the man's stomach. His speed, however, was matched by the great ebony figure, who swatted the thin blade away with his own, a three-foot-long ninja-to katana, as black as the clothes he was wearing. Deadly conflict continued, each man striking expertly, only to find himself turned back by the other's defensive skills. Where the Frenchman had raw fencing experience, the black figure had speed and youth. Eventually, this prevailed, for as their blades became entangled in one large mess of focused emotion, they struggled for release. The black figure slid his blade around the Frenchman's and with a flick of his wrist sent the rapier into another corner of the room. "I have you now," said the black figure, in a calm tone of voice. "And just in time." He slowly positioned himself to strike. "There can be only...OOF!" His vision went to a blur as the room shot by him. A window broke, and suddenly he was in an alley beside the building. Forcefully he wrested himself from the grasp of whatever just _flew_ with him and got up. He found himself staring at a man with slightly curly, short, blond hair. "What the hell did you do that for? I almost had him!" The figure went to pacing back and forth. "You weren't concerned that the building was on fire?" "I had plenty of time to get....who are you, anyway?" "Dectective Nicholas Knight, Homicide." Nick flashed his badge. "And you are?" The figure straightened his trenchcoat and stared directly into the vampire's eyes. "My name is Landon Darkwood. Is it my turn to ask a question?" Nick stood silent. "Okay, how did you fly across that room and hit me, then fly out the other side?" Nick moved closer and looked deep into Landon's ocean-blue eyes. "You never saw me do that." Nick's voice echoed with the hypnotic qualities it possessed. "You never saw me fly." His gaze was answered by a loud, boisterous laugh. Landon pulled back, seemingly more amused than anything else. Nick was puzzled. "Great," noted Landon. "You're a vampire. That hypnotic thing doesn't work on me." Nick stood shocked. "How did you know?" "I've met a few of your kind in my travels. I have been around for over a century, you know." "A century? What are you?" "Immortal, as you. But I don't have a limited diet. See you around, Nick Knight." Darkwood turned and started to walk out of the alley. "Wait!" cried Knight. "I want to ask you a few questions." "You'll have the chance," said the black figure as he walked away. "We shall meet again." He disappeared into the fire. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net It was dark. It was always dark. Nick hadn't seen the light of day in years. Well, he hadn't been able to see and enjoy it, anyway. Of course, he was at the station. Conversation drifted past his ears, but nothing really caught his attention. His mind was still wandering back to the fire of an hour ago, the second that evening. To the fight he witnessed, those two with swords hacking away at each other. And how he had saved the one figure, Landon Darkwood. Well, he really couldn't say that, considering Landon's claim that he was in no danger from the fire. And he knew of the existence of Nick's kind....how? And having lived over a century? He wasn't a vampire, of that Nick could be sure. "Nick? Nick, are you okay?" That was at least the second time Tracy had asked him that question. She and Natalie were talking about things that she and Nick had found at the site, and Nick had drifted from them. He turned. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Tracy looked at him questioningly. "Nick, you've been acting a little strange lately. Are you sure you're all right?" Natalie scoffed. "Nick, acting strange? Nah...." But even she knew that he was troubled. He always seemed to get the same expression on his face, like a worried child, everytime he was really troubled. "Nick, I did some tests on some tissue samples I collected at the site," she started, plainly. Knight turned fully, to face them both, his distracted look melting to one of attention and perceptiveness. "How many more died?" Nat shrugged. "It's hard to say, I've been able to seperate three so far. Could be more. I do have a body. Maybe we should go and take a last look." It was a command, not a suggestion, and Nick knew it. "I agree." Nick shot a glance at Tracy. "Have you done a location cross-reference between the two sights?" "Yes," was the blond's reply, "but I still have some of the results to get back." "You check on those. We'll go down and see the body." Nick ushered Nat out of there before Tracy could change her mind. Captain Reese showed up in the doorway to his office, overlooking everything. "Where're they goin'?" he asked, watching Nick and Natalie leave. "To go corpse-watching," answered Tracy. "I hear it's in season." Reese answered with a roll of his eyes and went back to his desk. *** "So," began Natalie in the voice she always used when trying to coax something from Nick, "what is it that has you all spooky and...vampiric tonight?" "I saw something very strange in that fire an hour ago. Two men fighting, with swords, inside the building." Nick's eyes were focused on the corridor ahead of them, surveying his surroundings with attention to the smallest detail, though he had walked through there countless times before. "Really?" Natalie's eyes widened slightly. "Interesting. Did they pay any attention to the burning building around them? Let me guess, they didn't." Her emphasis on sarcasm was evident. "Apparently not. One of them disarmed the other and was about to kill him. I jumped through the window and pulled him out of the building." He always noticed that Nat seemed to build up a layer of disbelief whenever Nick would describe anything odd to her, almost as though she were waiting for him to break it down. "Did he thank you? The one who you pulled out, I mean." "No, actually, he cursed me for robbing him of the opportunity to slay the other. Identifying himself as Landon Darkwood, he noted that we'd meet again, and disappeared into the fire. I haven't seen him since." "Hmmm...why is it that you always....oh...my...God..." The pair walked into the coroner's office, a sparse little room where Nat worked. Normally, any body she placed on the bed there stayed on it. Instead, this one was huddling against the wall, burnt beyond recognition, twitching in pain and fear as the two approached. Nick looked at him closely. His eyes were glowing a bright green. Though barely perceptible, Nick could see small fangs protruding from what remained of its lips, now charred and attached to his face. He was a vampire. In a flash, Nick was beside him. "The fire, who caused it? Who?!" His voice was one of urgency. A word flashed past his mind...~LaCroix.~ "Ehhh....ehhh...." The other vampire's message came out garbled. "A...hunt...ehh....a hunter....beware...ehhh..beware the blade...." The vampire shifted toward Nick, where he saw a point of wood sticking out from his chest, just as blackened as the rest of him. Relief came over Nick like a cloud, his suspicion of LaCroix cleared. But this new threat wore on him. He shifted his head to Natalie, who was staring in revulsion. A breeze came in through the open window. "We have to talk, Knight." The black, Gothic trenchcoat easily betrayed the identity of the man now standing at the office windowsill -- Landon Darkwood. Nick looked at him in silence, too consumed by thought to speak. Natalie was still in shock. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net Landon paced back and forth in the tiny questioning room, flailing the end of his black trenchcoat side to side. Nick stood there, like a nightly sentinel, waiting for Landon to say something. Tracy and Reese had customary positions behind the one-way mirror. Darkwood stayed silent for a long while. Finally, he said, "Get those two away from the mirror. This is not for their ears." Nick made a hand signal. Reese sighed and walked out. Tracy tried to linger in there, but she could feel Darkwood's icy stare drilling right into her head. How did he know? He was looking straight at her, though he obviously couldn't see her. Unable to stand it any longer, she also departed. "His name is Pierre Gavraunt," started the Gothic figure. "He is like me, one of us, if you would. As far as I know, he has been alive for about three centuries." Nick kept his expression devoid of any feeling. "Why were you trying to kill him?" Landon turned suddenly to face Nick and stare him in the eye, with all the seeming of a caged maniac waiting to be let loose. "Why? Because he is trying to kill you." "Me?" Nick repeated, incredulously. "Not you, specifically, although I have no doubt you'll become a target soon." Landon calmed down slightly. "He has taken it upon himself to hunt and destroy those of your kind. I have crossed paths with him before...it has been about fifty years since I saw him last, in Spain." "So," Nick said, walking around to the other side of the table to face Landon, "you're crusading for the benefit of my kind?" "It has nothing to do with your kind," spat Landon, angrily. "Gavraunt is evil to the core. He deserves to die. He draws people into all of his conflagrations, and most of the time really isn't concerned as to whether or not a vampire's in the building at the time. He'll set fire to his own mother if it was suggested that she was a vampire. Gavraunt is a fanatic and a madman. That's why I must destroy him, not because I'm trying to protect you. And being held up here is not going to help me. Do you know how many more fires he could start, how many people he could kill?" Nick looked as though the were deep in thought. All the light in the room seemed to sit upon him, as though a monumental choice was about to be made. He couldn't just let Landon loose to go kill someone that may or may not be a vampire hunter, and may or may not be an arsonist. He had to find better proof, and that depended on an investigation. A vampiric investigation. There was good in Landon Darkwood, and Nick told himself they were on the same side, but there was also a lingering bit of doubt. "I can't let you go," Nick said flatly. "This is our matter, not yours." "No!" Darkwood pounded his fist against the table. "You don't understand. Gavraunt is mine. There's something you don't know about him. You aren't equipped to deal with him, just get out of my way and let me do it. Let me take care of this the right way; I'm the only one who can. The vampires would just be getting in the way." "I'm afraid that isn't possible." Knight started to the door. "Then I apologize for this," muttered Landon. Nick heard the faint sound of metal leaving scabbard, and he sidestepped to the left as a black ninja-to blade whistled past his head. He turned, spinning around faster than Landon could see, and drove his left fist into Landon's jaw. A sickening crunch accompanied Landon's flight across the small chamber, and the black sword skittered from his grip. Nick towered over him, his eyes almost glowing with ferocity. "Stay away," was all that Knight said, and he walked out, shocked at the betrayal, all the while trying to find a reason to give Landon any blame for his actions. He was still trying by the time he got to his Cadillac. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net Pierre moved stealthily in the shadows of a Toronto evening. The city was full of "their kind," as he called them, moreso than many cities in that area of the world, and he must get rid of them all. They were an abomination and a danger to all mankind, and he would stop them forever. Only he had their advantage...eternal life was his to combat their evil. A loud car horn interrupted his nightly reminder of his mission as he approached his target...an old abandoned church in downtown. He looked at its Gothic spires rising menacingly to the sky. "Perfect den for a vampire," he muttered to himself. Without hesitation, he crept up near the building. A nearby pane of glass allowed him to see himself, dressed as he was in an earth-toned trenchcoat concealing the formalwear beneath. Taking a breath and making the sign of the cross over himself, he proceeded around the rear of the building. Vachon heard rustling out back. This wasn't uncommon at night, but something about it made him uneasy. ~Come on, Javier,~ he thought to himself, ~Knight's making you paranoid with his talk of vampire killers. It's nothing.~ A dull impact sounded against the back wall of the chapel. Vachon turned, realizing that perhaps his paranoia wasn't unfounded. A figure snuck in, or tried, at least, and disappeared behind one of the pews. Vachon smiled to himself. ~Whoever it is has much to learn about stealth.~ He took to the air, coming to land right where he last saw his clumsy adversary. There was no one there. Vachon ducked just as the thin blade of a rapier sailed inches above his head. He turned, intent on overcoming his adversary with vampiric speed, and his face exploded into shock as a long, sharp piece of metal dug into his gullet when he came out of his turn. "Now, now, M'sieur Vampyre, did you think I was so sluggish as all that?" a decidedly French accent called into the hollowness of the establishment. Vachon looked up into the face of his adversary, a man with aristocratic features and curly blond hair. The rest of his face was obscured by darkness and Vachon's own dimming vision. Putting all his will into motion, he drove his right hand into the Frenchman's ribs. The Frenchman staggered backwards, pulling his sword out of Vachon's chest. Vachon advanced, laying more blows to the Frenchman, who collapsed in a heap on the chapel floor, signalling Vachon's victory. "Now, now, M'sieur Assassin," spat Vachon, "did you think I was so helpless as all that?" He towered over the Frenchman, eyes glowing green as his fangs extracted. Only groans came from the other man, lying beaten on the floor. But as Vachon closed in, he noticed small trails of electricity playing up and down the Frenchman's face and hands. Suddenly, he sprang up to animated life, sword in hand, taking a vicious lunge into Vachon's chest. The vampire sidestepped and sommersaulted backwards into the air, placing a distance of several yards between himself and the blade. They faced off, Frenchman and Spaniard, tension mounting. Finally, unable to hold back on instinct, Vachon leaped into the air, claws and fang aimed for his adversary's heart and neck. The Frenchman stood ready to receive the attack, and swung out with his blade, pointing it at the oncoming mass of power. A pulse of orange-blue energy shot from the blade and hit Vachon head on as he was coming forward. There was a brief flash of blinding light, a pause, and Javier hit the floor, jarred and stunned from the impact. His collarbone and neck were on fire, and he was working hard to get up before the Frenchman could attack again. His chance never came. Heat wafted past his senses as an orange flame rose in the corner of his eye. His vision blurred as he looked up to see the Frenchman running out of the building. He rose to his feet, galvanized by the thought of letting the fiend escape, and ran after him. Another flame burst out in front of him, followed by the breaking of glass as a Molotov cocktail crashed on the floor. He was caught in the tongues of the flame, and fell backwards, trapped by the fire behind, in front, and all all sides of him. He thought of Tracy. More glass shattering alerted Vachon to a presence from above. He tried to get a glimpse of who it was, but he found himself lifted off his feet and thrown past the fire, into a back part of the chapel. A tall figure was headed for the nearest window. He had on him a black trenchcoat, the collar of which extended to his forehead. Vachon followed after, jumping out the window seconds after the dark figure, and found himself outside. The stranger was already up and running away, presumably after the Frenchman. "Who are you?" called Javier into the night air. The stranger's head turned back. "The only solution to your fire problem!" With that, he faded into the night. "Where is he? Where did he go?!" Vachon barely had time to regain his composure before another voice assaulted him. Out of the shadows, Nick flew to his side. "Who?" came Vachon's reply. "The Frenchman?" "He was here too? What about Darkwood?" "Who?" "The guy in the black coat, was he here?" Vachon walked over to the side of the church and leaned on the wall. Inside, a fire was still raging. "Yeah, he took off that way after the French guy," he said, pointing in the direction of the stranger's flight. Nick sighed. "I'm going after him...after them both." He started off. Vachon grabbed him as he passed. "I want a piece of the French guy." Nick tried to think of an argument, but was at a loss. "Come on, then. If I know this arsonist, I know where he's going next." The two flew off, and Vachon watched as fire trucks pulled into the lot. Apparently, someone had phoned it in. "Where're we going?" ~Into a den of darkness,~ thought Nick. "The hunter is going to go finish what he started." The impact of those words was as solid as any of the Frenchman's blows. He was indeed going to finish what he started....and he started at the Raven. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net "Damn...lost him again," muttered Landon Darkwood, looking like a giant crow in his black leather trenchcoat. He had been persuing Pierre Gavraunt for about an hour through crowded Toronto streets, losing the trail every so often, but pressing onward like a fanatic. Not that he was to blame for his fervence, far from it. Landon had seen the horrors of Gavraunt's quest to rid the world of vampires. He was insane, drawing innocents into his flames of purification, people to whom his quest meant undeserved death. Like Lucretia.... ***MADRID, SPAIN -- 1942*** The evening sky was not an accurate symbol for the festivity going on inside the estate of Carlos Sanchez, who owned a large and lucrative trading company and was celebrating his tidy profit margin that year. It was Carlos' philosophy that if he prospered, then so should everyone he influenced, and that endeared him to a great many people. Inside the estate, music echoed through every room and hallway, creating an atmosphere of life that transcended every personal depression and made everyone present instantly confortable...that is, of course, except for those whom comfort has no meaning. "Is something wrong, Senor Madison?" A lively Spanish girl looked directly into the troubled eyes of her dancing partner as they swayed on the parlor floor to a personally requested piece. "No, no...nothing's wrong, Lucretia," Darkwood replied, answering to his pseudonym, his wayward eyes moving back and forth, scanning everything in the room...the crowd, the windows, even his black leather trenchcoat adorning a coat rack just barely visible from his location. His sword was there, and he was beginning to think that the Immortal he sensed was waiting simply for him to adorn it again before revealing himself. He looked back into Lucretia's eyes, smiled, and briskly lifted her off the ground and spun her around. "I'm just wondering where the host could be." "Senor Sanchez had to leave due to pressing business. Why don't you stop worrying about him and take care of something more important?" With that, Lucretia kissed Landon quite passionately on the lips, and his mind left his concern for the other Immortal nearby. After all, if he wanted to fight, he'd have made an effort to present himself already. What had he to fear? Another couple dancing caught the corner of Landon's eye, and he drifted by them casually, his face still buried in Lucretia's. By God, but she did have energy, he thought. What was the name of the man who'd introduced them? Hmmm..... A window crashed open, and a flaming bottle smashed over the bar. Flames spewed up everywhere, dousing everything in an oppressive wave of heat. People scattered everywhere to avoid the blaze, just as more bottles flew in through other windows. Soon, the whole room was on fire. Lucretia screamed in terror and wildly took off toward the front double doors. Landon ran after her, but in his rush collided with someone and fell headlong to the floor. His vision was blurred, but not enough to avoid him recognizing Lucretia's lovely shape consumed in flames and screaming in perpetual agony. Morbid laughter rang in his ears, and he turned to face it. Perched upon the window was the culprit...a Frenchman, dressed in a wool sweater with brown slacks and a cream-colored trenchcoat, much as many of his kind wore. He was laughing cruelly, as if he enjoyed the confusion he was causing. The only direct answer to this was Landon's scream of frustration and rage, which seemed to silence the rest of the room... *** There! Pierre's slim shape was moving down a back alley, like some slithering reptile looking for prey. Landon centered his thoughts and immediately took off in pursuit, rushing blindly toward his foe with all the grace of an oncoming train. He usheathed his weapon, his black ninja-to katana, engraved with runes across the blade, and brought it above his head, ready to smite Pierre at the end of the alleyway. Landon's attack came, a downward blow toward the center of...nothing. A loud clang marked the section of wall where Pierre had been, and a sudden tug on Landon's left arm marked the arrival of another of Pierre's persuers. "I told you not to get involved!" Nick Knight's face appeared from the shadows. "This is a matter for our kind, not yours!" Landon shoved Nick away as hard as he could. It was not Landon's strength that caused Nick to pull back, but the ferocity behind the push. "Gavraunt is of my kind!" growled Darkwood, his left hand still gripping his sword's hilt tightly. "He is immortal, undying, as am I, and our kind have been in conflict since the beginning of recorded time." Landon relaxed a little. "The only way for an Immortal to die is by decapitation. If one Immortal beheads another, that Immortal gains the knowledge and power of the beheaded. This power is called the Quickening. It is the destiny of my kind to do battle until one remains." "Your quest for power does not concern me." Nick was trying to sound menacing, but his curiosity was overwhelming. "This has nothing to do with power. This has to do with the fact that Pierre is a butcher, and that I'm the only one equipped to deal with him! He almost destroyed that other friend of yours...by the way, I can see you over there." Darkwood gestured to the top of an adjacent building. Javier Vachon jumped down and landed on his feet in the alley. The Spaniard smiled. "Sorry, didn't know if I could trust you, but you sound like you're with us." "I don't want him involved," Nick said, shooting a quick glance at Vachon while indicating Darkwood. Landon sighed disparingly. "Learn your place, Knight. It is you who shouldn't be involved. It is my responsibilty to deal with Gavraunt. There's no reasoning here. He won't stop hunting you. There's no way to stop him temporarily, because he has eternity to return and continue his mad game." He lifted his sword and let the street lamp illuminate the blade. "This is the only answer to Pierre Gavraunt, and this is the only way to stop his killing. And if you won't help me deliver this answer to him, then to hell with you both and stay away from me." Sheathing his weapon in his black coat, Darkwood turned and continued out of the alley. Nick looked back at Vachon, who was only nodding his head knowingly. He couldn't keep Landon from his destiny, for certain, but he didn't want to just back away. If this were to go unsupervised, it may have disasterous consequences, especially since the Raven was a prime target. LaCroix. Certainly he would try to stop Darkwood from fulfilling his duty, probably just to take Gavraunt out himself. "He's in real danger," Nick said sofly as he watched Landon leave. "You think LaCroix will try and take him down?" Vachon was also looking down the alley. "Intruders come at night to burn down his bar? How do you think he'll react?" Vachon simply nodded and took off into the night air. Nick followed him. There was something dangerous about Landon's lack of caution that reminded Nick of Gavraunt, and things were only bound to get more complicated as the night progressed. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net "Wait, wait, Nick...hey, slow down!" Vachon was making a conscious effort to keep up with Nick Knight's frantic speed as he soared high above Toronto. The chill of the night air bit deeply into his face. In response, Nick slowed a little, allowing the younger vampire to catch up with him. Vachon pulled up beside him, his face betraying the confusion that had accompanied him ever since the attack at the chapel. "You say that Darkwood's immortal?" "Yes," came the elder's reply. Nick wasn't bothering to look at Vachon, as his eyes were scanning the streets below, looking for any sign of his two persuants. "Yes, he's immortal." "But...he isn't a vampire." "No, he isn't a vampire." "How could he be..." "I don't know yet!" Nick passed from hurried to annoyed. They had both disappeared. Pierre Gavraunt, who was about to commit the biggest mistake of his life in trying to burn down the Raven, and Landon Darkwood, who was mad in his quest to destroy Gavraunt, had both popped from existence like a bad story that everyone just forgets about after a while. He looked into the darkest of alleys and corners...nothing. How? Apparently, Immortals were good at hiding themselves. They must need to be, Nick decided, to be able to conceal their identities from humanity as vampires do, especially if the events of this evening are commonplace among Immortal-kind. ~So much killing,~ Nick thought. "Does he know about us?" Vachon asked, the confusion on his face dwindling. "He knows too much about us," replied Nick. "Do you think he's justified in killing this hunter?" The question seemed to send every other sound of the night into silence. Nick turned for the first time to face Vachon, who was now concentrating on the landscape ahead. All this time, Nick had been trying to find fault in what Darkwood was doing, from the violence and the killing, to his motives and feelings. All this time, he was convincing himself that Landon was wrong, simply because....because.... "I don't know," he said finally, turning to look ahead of him. "I don't know." *** This is it, thought Pierre as he advanced into the street adjacent to the Raven. His earth-brown trenchcoat flapped in a chill, night breeze as he slowly skirted around the noise of music and motion towards the back of the place. Earlier, his attempt to take out this den of vampires was foiled, and yet he couldn't remember exactly how. He remembered having his supplies together, all of the Molotov cocktails tucked away in his coat, which made him look much more stocky than was. A man stopped to talk to him on approach, a bald man, who told him where the Raven was. He pulled the incendiary bottles from his coat, lit them, and fired in his particular fashion, but the Raven had not burned. It was the building adjacent, and he could still see the blackened remains that hadn't been cleared away as he turned into the alley running tangent to the Raven's side. How could he have been so confused? The bald man...the bald man had confused him...hypnotized him....so he was a vampire, as well. No matter. Soon, the Raven would be a burning mass of undead flesh, and all the vampires within would have answered to St. Michael's holy flame. With a sneer of satisfaction, Pierre withdrew one bottle from his coat, took up a lighter from another coat pocket, and lit the oil-stained rag protruding from the bottle's tip. As the bright, orange tongue of flame licked the nearby air and the heat washed over Pierre's face, he laughed aloud, maniacally. He cocked his arm and poised himself under a nearby window, ready to toss the bringer of red death into the Raven's meter room. Victory was his.... The bottle flew suddenly from his grip, and he winced, clutching his left hand in pain. But all he felt was a stump. He looked down at his hand, lying on the floor of the alley, severed cleanly. Suddenly, the bottle exploded into a bright mushroom of flame that caught him from behind. Pierre jumped forward to avoid the blast, rolled on the ground, and neatly came to his feet on a familiar sensation: the presence of another Immortal. "It's over, Gavraunt." Landon Darkwood stepped from the shadows, blood still dripping from his sword's solid black blade. He seemed to take no notice of the flames growing behind him. "I don't want to kill you. Just leave." "Can you not see the cause of righteousness, Darkwood?" pleaded Gavraunt. "These are the Sons of Satan, the Children of Belial! You cannot keep me from destroying them!" Landon shook his head. "Three centuries of witch-hunting has made you darker than any vampire could ever be. Just walk away." He lowered his sword from a ready position and slowly approached Gavraunt. Pierre spat at the ground. "Damn you! You will join them in hell!" With a flash of motion, Pierre's rapier was in hand and he lunged fiercely at Landon's chest. Landon rolled to the side and came up again just in time to parry the sweeping blow that Pierre had aimed at his neck. Behind them, the fire raged onward. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net The clash of sword blades alerted Nick to the presence of his quarries as he and Vachon landed atop the building opposite the Raven. He looked with keen vampiric senses into the alley below him and the battle that raged on between Landon and Pierre. Time after time they charged, like caged animals seeking superiority over what little they have, each putting all of heart and soul into their attacks. No advantage was gained. Vachon breathed a heavy sigh as he also watched the proceedings, and memories of his Conquistador origins filled his head. He watched, fascinated, half of him screaming to become involved, to swoop down and enter the combat, and half of him respecting Darkwood's right to his prey. Hmmm...prey...the word seemed so adequate for the situation. What was Gavraunt to Darkwood if not a thing to be hunted and killed? ~This guy is better than I thought,~ pondered Landon when the fight lessened in intensity, giving him time to direct his thoughts in other directions. ~Almost better with one hand than with two.~ Pierre came in suddenly, attacking high, then feinting to Landon's midsection. He caught Landon in the middle of thought, and as Nick watched in shock, he brought his blade around and cut deep into Landon's diaphragm, spraying a trace of blood onto the alley wall. Landon staggered backwards onto a pile of trash and fell, clutching his chest, which was still leaking crimson onto his black silk shirt. Seizing victory by the horns, the mad Frenchman attacked again, mercilessly, knocking Landon's pitiful defense away with a cruel flick of his wrist. His eyes lit up with insanity as he brought his rapier aloft, switched his grip, and brought it down toward his opponent's exposed chest. But it was Landon who came up first, with the blade of his weapon twisted upward, and drove his black blade into Gavraunt's left lung. Blood oozed from the wound and from Gavraunt's mouth, and the disbelief leaked also from his eyes as Landon stood, defying an injury that would have slain a lesser man almost instantly. But the Frenchman had strength left as well. A sharp pain exploded in Landon's temple as Pierre's fist crashed clumsily alongside his head. He fell back, pulling his sword slowly out of Pierre's chest. Both of them fell to a defensive position, and stayed there for a few seconds, staring intently at each other, trying to anticipate the other's moves. "How in...?" Nick leaned over the side of the building more, as if, for once, he wasn't sure whether or not to believe his eyes. "What is it?" Javier Vachon was so adrenalized that even his calm tone of voice betrayed hyperactivity. "What is it, Knight?" "They're healing...they're healing their wounds." In disbelief, Vachon leaned over to get a closer look. His elder had been right. Already, Landon wasn't bleeding nearly as badly as before, though no pressure had been put on his cut, and Pierre was still breathing straight and moving with no significant loss of speed. "This ends now." Javier looked back at Nick, unsure of what he heard, but by that time Nick was already flying at Pierre's back. *** Lucien LaCroix was not amused. He stood watching the skirmish in the alley from inside the confines of the Raven, taking in the hunter, the alleyway fire, and the opponent that had come to fight the hunter. He saw the battle of swords, the first flurries, and the result. All in all, this was not being taken care of as quickly as he hoped. He spared a glance at the club and its patrons, still carrying on in the normal evening activities. No one suspected a thing. Of course, with all that was going on outside, LaCroix wasn't quite sure how long that was to last. He had always considered the idea that "if one wants something done right, he should do it himself" to be a personal philosophy. And as much as he enjoyed watching a good fight, he couldn't justify having no part in cleaning up the mess. Besides, what's better than sitting and watching a good fight? Being in one, of course. *** Pierre was in the air before he could charge at Darkwood again. His throat and arms were being gripped with unnatural strength, and as he turned his head to look at his captor, he was slammed against the side of a building and dropped carelessly onto the alley floor. Nick swooped down for a second pass, but stopped short as the biting agony of cold steel passed through his ribs. "This one is mine, Knight," said Darkwood softly, holding his black sword at a ready position as he watched Nick land, waiting to see if he would need to strike again. "Just back away. I can't let you interfere with this fight." "You don't have to be so noisy about this," came the fierce reply. "There's already a fire going on back here. Don't you think someone is going to notice after a while? This place will probably be crawling with police soon. I can do this more quickly. Stand aside!" Nick reached forward to grab Pierre by the back of his coat, but found the edge of Landon's blade pressing into his neck. He looked up. "I don't want to hurt you, Landon," he said as his eyes lit up. Darkwood's expression was more of guilt than anger. "You don't understand, I have to kill him! I..." Pierre's rapier blade swished past as both Landon and Nick stepped back. The Frenchman stood and sprung at his Immortal opponent, lunging in with the tip of his sword aimed at Landon's heart. Landon dove aside, striking the rapier as he fell and swiping wildly. The forward momentum of the charge had taken Pierre past Landon, and the blade bit deep into his kidney area. As he winced and staggered forward, Darkwood jumped to his feet and sent two expert slashes, perfectly aimed, into the center of the Frenchman's back. "There can be only one," muttered Landon as Pierre fell to his knees. He brought his sword above his head, and steadied himself for the final strike. It was then that the fire got to the meter room of the Raven, and in the next second, the back of the alleyway became a muddled confusion of flame. Landon felt an impact against his head, and the tears in his eyes didn't help him as he tried to find his way out...no, off of the alley floor. He was on the floor, he realized, and the salty taste of blood worked its way into his mouth. Nick flew into the explosion, reaching outward with his hands for either Darkwood or Gavraunt, hoping that he could save something from this twisted fight. He found only darkness as a section of the Raven collapsed atop him, pinning him under at least a foot of debris and mortar. His dimming vision peered at the fire around him, slowly creeping to his location. The survival instinct conquered all rational thought, and in a rush of vampiric adrenalin, Nick shoved away the building material on top of him and stood. The blaze was all around him, closing in like some mad, hungry beast. The heat was oppresive. There was no weak spot in the orange wall; it was everywhere, it was everything. Nick was trapped. ~And I never even learned anything about him,~ he thought. Then he wondered...where _was_ Darkwood? Something bright flashed in the corner of his vision. Through the biting flame, he saw what looked to be lights dancing in the air some feet away. Suddenly, a lightning bolt...a lightning bolt?...snapped into the air, running into a nearby pipe and along the ground. Another one followed, and soon he could see electricity spiraling upward into the sky and into conducting materials around, coming from somewhere deeper in the blaze. Then, a familiar figure limped into Nick's range of vision. It was Darkwood, and he was being buffeted and lanced by the disturbance, wincing in constant pain as bolts shot through his body, flying outward to strike the sides of the alley. He fell to his knees, and it spiralled and danced across him again, seeming eventually to originate from Darkwood himself. As abruptly as it begun, it ended, with a final stray bolt flying into Landon's chest and fading out. Nick ran forward to catch the broken Immortal before he collapsed, but flinched back as a blast of heat assaulted his face. Before he could react or think, the heat faded, and he became aware of the fact that he was airborne. Of course, by the time he realized that, he had already landed roughly on the ground. Still not quite sure as to what happened, he made it to a pay phone and called in the fire. Then he took to the air, for some much needed time to think. *** By the time Nick got home, LaCroix was already waiting for him, sitting on his sofa with his characteristically evil grin on his face. "How was your evening, Nicholas?" Nick's head turned to face his creator. "LaCroix, what happened?" "Oh, nothing important. I pulled someone out of there...Darkwood was his name, I believe...and another headless corpse. I'll have to compliment Darkwood on his cut. It was nice and clean. Why, I haven't seen any nicer since the French Revolution." He smiled again, and raised a blood-filled glass. Nick stepped forward a little. "Darkwood...where is he now? And what about the fire?" "My, my, Nicholas, but how you worry so! The police and fire department came, and everything was settled quietly, thanks to me. Darkwood was very cooperative, and we spoke a while afterwards. He went on his merry way, I assume." Noting the disbelief on Nick's face, LaCroix added, "Is your compassion still a crutch, my dear Nicholas? Such a wonderful sight, to see you so tortured by your most curious humanity. You truly do become more entertaining by the day." "Just remember, LaCroix, it was you who pulled me and Darkwood out of there. What drove you to that?" The elder stood, and suddenly became very stern. "My actions suit my purpose." Nick only smiled as LaCroix became a blur of motion, and was gone. Landon C. Darkwood darkwood@anshar.shadow.net