Quest of the Four Hunters

Chapter One: The four hunters


The stillness of the night air was shattered by the resonation of steel
striking steel. Akami’s katana swiftly cut back and forth, in the firm
control of his skilled hands. The long, elegant blade teased the larger,
heavier weapon before it, luring it into letting its guard down. Akami and
his sword were the same being; the sword was the samurai and the samurai was
the sword. Akami the sword found the opening he had been waiting for; the
greatsword had grown careless, and the timing was perfect to catch its
wielder critically off-guard. The katana darted forward with speed to shame
lightening, and the tip struck forward and punctured through Phylix’s steel
breastplate and drove through flesh, and if the knight hadn’t had the
instinct to jump back at that moment, his heart would have been impaled. Of
course, Akami had expected the move and had counted on it in many ways. He
stepped forward and, sheathing his sword, kicked upward and planted his boot
hard on Phylix’s stomach. Phylix staggered back, grunting, and then lost all
balance and fell. Pulled down by the weight of his armor, he hit the ground
hard. When he looked up, seeing double, two Akamis stood over him with the
tips of two blades at his throat.
Akami sheathed his sword. “I told you I would beat you someday, knight. You
have grown out of practice.” The young ronin kneeled down and held out a
hand to help his friend back up. Phylix took the offered hand in his steel
gauntlet and, rubbing his aching head with his other hand, staggered to his
feet.
“A good match,” Phylix said at length, once he had regained his bearings.
“It has been a long time since we have had the chance to fight like that.
And you have indeed gotten better since the last time- you have much more
patience, and with you wearing me out these past few hours, I could not keep
up.”
Akami wiped the sweat from his forehead and used it to slick back his long,
black hair. With his other hand he pulled his falling shoulder plates back
upon his left arm, which had been dented by a heavy blow from Phylix’s huge
sword, and were coming apart. “The sun was retiring to its rest in the west
when we began this,” he said, observing the heavens, “and now the moon is
fully above us. Thus flies our plan to reach the city before nightfall.”
“Just as well,” Phylix shrugged. “I was hoping to enjoy the tranquil beauty
of the countryside for one more night before returning to civilization, and
being unable to even see the stars past the illumination of street lamps.”
“Aye,” agreed the Ronin, “yet I cannot help but feel a bit selfish for the
wish. Surely the rulers of the night will take their share of victims
tonight, and innocents will suffer without our protection.”
“Put the thoughts of vampires from your mind tonight, my friend. The city
guards are adept at what they do, and it is their duty, not ours, to protect
the people. We have our own goal. Come, we should return to the others- they
have surly set up camp without us by now. And besides,” he put a
steel-sheathed finger to the small hole in his armored chest, “Orion’s
healing magic would be welcome to relieve the various harms we’ve dealt to
one another tonight.”

The tents had been pitched, and Orion had just gotten the fire going strong
when Phylix and Akami returned. Casper sat upon a stump next to where Orion
stood. He stared into the fire with eyes filled with sorrowful nostalgia,
though most of his features were hidden by his long, unkempt, graying beard.
He sat absently sharpening his two knives against one another.
“Forgive my ignorance,” said Orion, feeding another log to the fire, “but I
am unfamiliar with the history of your homeland, for here in these woods we
do not hear much news of the outside world. Tell me more of this civil war
in which you fought so valiantly and sacrificed so much.”
Casper stared into the fire for a long time in silence, and suddenly, as if
he had awakened from a dream, his attention darted upwards and his eyes
focused upon Orion. “A long and terrible war,” he began in his raspy voice,
every word spoken after careful thought and great length of time. “As you
know, I had been forced to fight for the wrong side, commanded by my
profession to murder the people I had hoped would win. I had hoped in my
heart for peace and freedom to be restored to Cheldana, even though I was
fighting on the side of cruelty and oppression. One day, my unit was ordered
to attack and capture Princess Regina, leader of the resistance, and so I
rejoiced when we were defeated in battle by her armies. I was taken prisoner
by the rebels and imprisoned. The rebels were too kind of heart to execute
the prisoners they had taken, but knew that taking us with them would slow
them down far too much and drain them of food supplies they desperately
needed to conserve. So the decision was made- Princess Regina ordered the
hands of all prisoners to be severed at the wrist, so that none of us could ever lift
a weapon again, and then we were released.
“As we wandered through the war-torn lands, we all came to realize that we
would never survive on our own with no hands. We kept searching for help
everywhere we traveled, but every town and village we came to had been
burned to the ground and its people slaughtered by the evil Lord Kelvan Vallix,
whom we had served. Finally, a patrol of the Lord’s men set upon us- brutal
savages in black armor, astride huge frog creatures created from foul magic.
We tried to run, but they rounded us up like cattle and forced us to ride
with them back to a nearby war camp. When we got there, we were told that
our service to the army was not yet over, and we were still obligated to
complete our term. They… did this to us,” Casper held up one of his “hands”,
which was only a jagged knife blade attached to a steel base, bolted to his
wrist.
“We were sent back into battle,” Casper continued, “but before I ever had
to cross blades with the enemy, I managed to make my escape into the
forests. Eventually, I found a ship to take me far across the ocean to a
land far away, and here is where my travels have taken me. The war in
Cheldana raged on for many more years before peace was finally restored to the land and freedom to the people. I have thought often of returning… but my shame
prevents me. I was a coward, first for fighting for the wrong side and then
for running from them, when I never had the courage to stand up to them.”
By this time, though neither Casper nor Orion had even noticed (so immersed
were they in the story), Phylix and Akami had been sitting across from them
for some time, listening. But now, Phylix interrupted: “Pardon me, I hate to
cut this tale short, but Akami and I have need of your talents, Orion.”
Orion fleetingly regarded Phylix and Akami, noticing their many cuts and
bruises and the dents and crusting blood upon their armor. He rolled his
eyes, then started away, beckoning for them to follow.

“Likely you two will kill each other before we even find the bloody
vampires,” the shaman commented with his typical sarcasm in his tone.
“Alright, remove your armor and I shall take a look, though I pray you’ve
both been bathing. I am weary of playing the part of nurse to this company.”
“Cease your many complaints, Orion,” Phylix retorted, removing his massive
breastplate to show his muscular torso, which couldn’t have been more
scarred if he had been painted with a brush of razors.
“Very well,” Orion said, “for though I realize the importance of your
sessions, I fear you may someday depend upon my craft too much and become
careless. It is beyond my power to raise the dead, remember. Anyway, silence
now; I shall begin my prayers.”

Chapter Two: Kirenna

The cool night wind blew gently over Orion like a mother’s touch, and indeed, to him, every such breeze was a reminder from the Goddess that he was cared for and loved, always. The water of the calm lake before him was as still as glass, a mirror for the star-freckled heaven above, each star flickering brightly as if dancing in their stillness around the moon, a much more obvious reminder of Her love and a symbol of eternal beauty so far above and removed from the ugliness of the world. Not an animal stirred nor even a bird chirped in the surrounding forest, as if out of respect to leave Orion in silence for his meditations.
Having achieved complete clarity of mind and control of his will, Orion opened his eyes to the perfect vision of serenity before him. As if with the patience of the sun and moon making their eternal cycle across the sky, Orion slowly rose to his feet, and with footsteps as perfectly balanced as the movements of a pendulum, he waded into the lake. His every movement was so smooth and controlled that not a single ripple disturbed the perfect calm of the glassy lake. He stopped once he was waist-deep, letting the warmth of his inner energy ward him from the chilling cold of the waters.
He looked down at his own reflection, illuminated by the moonlight, so that even the different colors of the many beads and feathers in his long brown braids were vividly visible. He felt the energy coursing through him, power drawn from nature and ready to be controlled and used in nature’s service, magicks beyond the reach of any wizard or sorcerer, only available to a servant of the Mother Goddess herself. But Orion let that power subside and dissipate from him, flowing out through his body and back into the lake, to return from whence if came. Tonight Orion would be calling upon a very different kind of power, a darker power, one not gained from a lifetime of prayer and devotion and sacrifice. This power was a curse of his birth, drawn out from his malefic blood. Beneath the water, he held the jagged edge of a knife against his outspread palm, already criss-crossed with so many wicked scars.
“My love, I call out to you!” he yelled out, sharply breaking the silence of the night. “Hear me now, and appear to me! Hear the voice of Orion from across the worlds distant, and respond to the beckoning of the one whose heart beats for you alone!” With that, he cleanly sliced his hand open, his cloudy blood quickly spreading through the clear water.
He looked down again at the reflection in the still water, but this time, it was not a reflection of him, but the reflection of one who stood in the exact same place as him but upon a far distant existence directly parallel to his own. In the water beneath his eyes, Orion gazed into the bright brown eyes of a hauntingly beautiful woman of short jet-black hair and fair skin nearly as pale as alabaster. She smiled up at Orion adoringly, and then spoke, her soft voice echoing across worlds:
“Orion, my love, I have missed you so badly! Never do I know how long I must endure the torment of being without you.”
“I am sorry, beautiful Kirenna,” Orion replied, a strange mix of joy and sorrow evident in his voice. “But you remember the promise I made to you long ago: in death, we shall be together always.”
Kirenna breathed a deep sigh, and as she did, Orion felt a strange breeze blow across his skin from a completely different direction, a cold wind that sent a shiver down his back. “I know,” she said, “and it is as you say, a lifetime of sorrow is worth waiting for in return for an eternity of bliss. But knowing that does not make me miss you any less when I am without you, and it seems I have been waiting on this side for so many eternities, for an eternity is how long it seems I must wait between the times you call for me.”
Orion ran his hand through his braids, streaking them with blood and water. “It pains me in infinite ways that there are no words I could give to you to comfort you, my love,” he said. “But just remember that I miss you just as much when I am without you. I would endure a thousand discomforts for a thousand years if I could only feel your touch, if I could only hold you in my arms for just one night. And it frustrates me to no end that I was cursed with being born this century and you the last; me a young man now and you long dead for well over a hundred years.”
Kirenna bit her lip to fight back the coming tears, but could not stop them, and they slid freely down her cheeks. “I want to feel you so badly, Orion. This place is so cold, always so cold, and I need to feel the warmth of you. I need you so bad.”

Later, when Orion returned to camp, only Phylix was still awake, thumbing through a Bible by what meager light the fading embers of the campfire could still offer.
“Can’t sleep?” Orion asked, taking a seat upon the log next to him.
“No, you?”
Orion watched the last remaining embers fade for a moment, and then said “No.”
“You went to speak with Kirenna, correct?”
Orion looked over at him, and simply stared.
“Don’t worry,” Phylix assured him, “I haven’t told the others anything. I know they wouldn’t accept it. Honestly, I don’t even know if I can. With all due respect, dear friend, being so romantically obsessed over a woman who has been deceased for at least a hundred years seems a bit… morbid, don’t you agree? Would you honestly rather not focus your attention upon a woman who hasn’t been buried in the ground for the past century?”
Orion stood up and clapped a hand on Phylix’s shoulder. “Someday, dear Phylix,” he said, “you, too, will know what it feels like to fall in love. And then you will understand.”
Phylix watched Orion walk away to find his tent. “Just seems like too much of an age difference to me,” he said to himself, returning his attention to the book of Psalms.

Chapter Three: Elderhaven

By noon the next day the four hunters started passing through the first scattered groups of simple houses and cottages and farms, the farthest reaches of the huge, sprawling city of Elderhaven, formerly the capitol of the pagan Zae people. All of the people they passed would have years ago waved and smiled their warm greetings, but now seemed so cautious and distrustful, many even dropping their work and retreating into their houses as the four hunters passed.
Deeper into the city, all of the houses seemed clustered closer together and the roads seemed to get narrower as they branched off to connect other parts of the great city. The houses, too, seemed to get bigger further on, and most of them seemed very old. Years ago graffiti was not a crime here but was encouraged, and so beautiful, elaborate works of art- some modern and some from as far back as even before the rise of the great empires- remained upon the walls of every building they passed. The guards had tried many times recently to remove the graffiti, but the people would not allow their cultural heritage to be threatened in such a way. The city looked as though it had once been such a warm, friendly, and beautiful place, before the Church came to power and the native Pagan population was forced to keep their beliefs secret under threat of imprisonment or torture. Still, though, the city had the lowest crime rate of any in the kingdom. The hunters each suspected that the many armored guards they saw wandering the streets were there for only one real reason: vampires.
At the center of the city rose a great cathedral, Drako’s Cathedral, named for the great architect who designed it so many decades ago. The news was that the Cathedral’s construction had been sped along by magic, and now its mighty towers rose high into the sky supported by a multitude of flying buttresses and architecture clearly sound by any angle. “There resides the Archbishop Laicastor, the most powerful clergyman in the southern kingdom and leader of the current inquisition,” said Phylix, pointing towards the enormous structure. “It is he who should provide us with equipment to battle vampires and information of where to find them.”
“If he’s not too busy torturing the innocent and turning them into zombies of his oppressive dogma,” Orion grumbled under his breath, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to be sure that none but his companions had heard him. Casper shrugged, and Akami grunted in agreement.
Reaching the entrance of the cathedral, Phylix pushed the heavy doors open and walked right in, through the benches at which a few people kneeled and prayed, and stopped before the main podium, behind which stood a richly-dressed, pale old bishop, watching the four of them intently as they entered. Phylix and Casper immediately kneeled before the holy man, Akami hesitated and then kneeled as well, and Orion still stood defiant, eyeing the Archbishop with poorly-hidden contempt.
“Rise, my children,” commanded the Archbishop, with the voice of a man of regal power and supreme confidence. The three kneeling immediately rose.
“Now, tell me, why have you come to this house of God?” the Archbishop asked the hunters.
Orion couldn’t help but shiver, looking around at the interior of the cathedral. He held a strange feeling of dread in his gut, and something seemed terribly out of place here. He couldn’t help but notice how dark it seemed within the cathedral- in most churches he had been in, beautiful light of so many colors played upon the floor as the sun shone through the stained-glass windows. Looking up now, however, Orion noted something terribly suspicious. All of the windows had been hastily boarded up, so that no light shone through them at all. So, before any of his companions could answer, Orion interrupted: “Pardon me, ‘father,’ but I have heard of Drako’s Cathedral having the most beautifully illustrated windows in the entire kingdom. Imagine my disappointment now to see them covered up. May I ask why? Is the administrative district such a dangerous and crime-ridden part of the city that such measures become necessary?” Phylix immediately shot Orion an angry glare, and would no doubt rebuke him later for his disrespect.
“Well, no,” the Archbishop answered, giving a slight laugh in a poor effort to hide his irritation at the question. “It is not criminals we fear, my child, but the vampires that even still plague this fair city. In other cities, I have heard terrible stories of vampires breaking into churches and murdering the entire clergy, for the unholy cannot tolerate the holy, just as the opposite is true. I worry greatly for the safety of my brothers and sisters, for in bringing hope and faith to the people, we also make ourselves a target for those who wish to take it from them.”
“That is exactly why we have come, father,” Phylix said softly, his tone greatly respectful and even reverent. “We have traveled far across the land to come and help fight against the vampires you speak of, and protect the people in this fair city from their cruelty. We come seeking your help in finding their foul den and slaying every last one of the unholy fiends.”
The Archbishop gave a deep sigh. “Then, my children, I fear that you have come in vain. We have already found their den, a hidden guild beneath a popular tavern on the east side of town. The entire city guard descended upon their vile lair a few weeks ago and slew every vampire they found, and drove a stake through the heart of every one of their leaders. The vampires we fear now are only those that survived our attack, who we suspect have grown enraged in wishing to retaliate against us. Even now, however, the city guards are hunting them down in the streets, and soon the city shall be safe from them once more. So you see, there is no reason for you to be here, for we have everything quite well under control.”
Phylix merely nodded. “Very well, father, I must heed your wisdom and authority in this matter. We apologize for inconveniencing you, and thank you for your time.” With that, he turned and started to leave, and the others reluctantly followed him. Only Orion hesitated, trying to find some argument to raise, but then realized the folly of flinging baseless accusations at a man of such wealth and power, and followed Phylix out.

No sooner had the four of them stepped outside than they heard a stern voice shout “Hold, citizens! Turn and face me!”
Immediately, the four vampire hunters turned their attention to regard a proud-looking young guard captain with his hands on his hips. Beside him stood an old white-bearded wizard in a long, plain, hooded grey robe, leaning his weight on a gnarled wooden staff topped with a glowing blue gem the size of a fist.
“Is there a problem, guard?” Phylix asked.
“Follow me, now!” the guard commanded, and turned to lead them away. He led them down a few narrow streets and into an even narrower ally, away from the sunlight and very dim, far away from the sight or hearing of the public. There, both the guard and the wizard turned to face the four hunters.
“Please forgive me for that show of authority,” the guard said much more calmly than before, “but there are matters that I must discuss with you in the privacy of this secluded place. My name is Hector, one of the leading guard captains of this city. I can tell by your bearing that you are vampire hunters, correct?”
“Aye,” Phylix replied, “though apparently, there isn’t much for us to do here.”
“Yes, again I hope you will forgive me,” Hector went on, “but my friend here and I had been magically listening in to your conversation with the Archbishop. I don’t know if you will agree, but there seem to be too many holes in the story he tells, too many questions left unanswered.”
“You suspect that the head of God’s holy church would lie?” Phylix asked.
“I suspect Laicastor of many things,” Hector replied without hesitation. “He told you the same story about our attack on the tavern on the east side of town. I saw it; I was there overseeing the raid. But as we slaughtered the vampires there, they seemed hesitant to attack us, pleading for us to spare their lives. At the time I thought it was fear, the cowardly creatures trying to save their wicked hides from just punishment. But now, looking back, I think there may have been more to it than that. You see, the very night after our raid took place, we began to hear more reports of vampire attacks than ever before. After their guild was supposedly destroyed, they became many times more vicious, aggressive, and organized in their attacks.”
“The Archbishop mentioned that the vampires seek revenge for the destruction of their lair,” Phylix pointed out.
“Hmm, that is a likely theory,” Hector admitted, “but I believe I have come up with a more likely one. A few nights ago I was out leading a patrol on the east side of town. As I neared the blackened ruins of the old tavern, I noticed down a dark ally a lone priest from the cathedral walking along. Suddenly, a vampire sprang from the shadows and attacked the priest, who never stood a chance. The vampire sucked the priest dry before we could even react, then looked up at us and bared her fangs, hissing. My companions chased her out of the ally and into the streets, but I stopped to examine the slain priest, and I noticed something very strange about him. His skin was pale and his teeth were elongated into fangs identical to those of a vampire. Now that discovery raises a few questions. Why would a vampire prey on another vampire if they belonged to the same guild? And how could a vampire possibly masquerade as a priest without the clergy knowing? Now what followed was even stranger. I was approached the next day by a shady, hooded man. He came to me alone with three bags bulging with coins, more gold than I have ever seen in one place in my entire life. He told me it was mine, if I forgot about the priest I had seen the previous night and kept silent. His gold meant nothing to me, and I sent him scurrying away spilling it all over the street as he ran, his skin bruised and his arm broken by my club. However, I noticed that all of my fellow guards suddenly had gotten richer, and I suspect that they had been similarly approached with a similar offer, and had not refused as I had.”
“Are you truly accusing the Archbishop of being in league with vampires and actually harboring them in the cathedral among the priesthood?”
“You say that as if it would surprise you,” Orion commented.
“I am not just accusing Laicastor of being in league with them, and not just harboring them,” Hector replied. “Every bishop and priest I have ever met before I came to Elderhaven have all been very public figures, going out during the day to mingle with the people and be available to them in whatever way possible to offer their advice and support. But not Laicastor or his priests; neither I nor anyone I’ve asked have ever seen them leave the walls of the cathedral- at least not during the day. Nor has anyone ever seen any of them perform a baptism, for the baptismal pools always remain empty of holy water, and not a drop of it is to be found. And, more obviously, why do the windows always remain boarded up? Why does the clergy so shy away from the daylight? Surely they cannot be so afraid of being sunburned.”
“Very well then, you’ve made your point,” Casper spoke up. “What, then, do you want us to do?”
“Know one thing: Laicastor runs this city completely,” Hector said. “The city guards are all his pawns, kept loyal both by being bribed with the tithes the church collects, and out of fear of the Archbishop’s authority to label virtually anyone as a heretic and make them subject to the inquisition. You understand, then, that even if I found complete and undeniable proof that what I suspect of Laicastor is indeed true, I would be completely powerless to punish him myself, and a fool to bring this before the city guard. Therefore, what I am asking of the four of you is very simple. Help me kill Laicastor.”
“No! I will do no such thing!” Phylix argued. “What if your accusations are false? You have no real proof. I will not murder an innocent man, especially not a man of God, if he has committed no actual wrongdoing!”
“Even if my accusations are completely false,” Hector calmly replied, “I would hardly call the Archbishop an innocent man. Vampire or not, he has still committed many grave wrongdoings which label him as being unworthy of life. He is responsible for the inquisition; he is a mass-murderer, torturing countless innocents to satisfy his sadism, and then daring to say such atrocities are commanded by God, daring to say, in effect, that God is a god of hate and not of love. You cannot possibly stand here and tell me, oh knight, that Laicastor’s inquisition is a holy work. He deserves only death for his blasphemy.”
“Aye, Guard Hector, I am with you in this,” Orion declared, running his finger along the edge of his dagger. “Phylix, I intend to kill the Archbishop. You might as well join me, because you cannot stop me.”

Chapter Four: Acts of Greatest Blasphemy

“You do not think we are being too hasty?” protested Casper, looking down at his blades, making sure there was still enough slivers of silver melted onto them to effectively disrupt a vampire’s supernatural regeneration. “What I mean is, keep in mind that we’ve only been in this city for less than three hours now, and now we are headed on a direct path to strike down the most powerful and respected clergyman in the Southern Kingdom, sped along by a blind accusation from a man whom I’m not sure is even really a city guard, and with no tangible evidence to be found whatsoever.”
“Yet the truth in the supposed guard’s words is undeniable,” Orion countered, eyes straight ahead and determined, his treasured silver ritual dagger held in a tight grip as he paced hastily upon a direct path. “Vampire or not, the Archbishop deserves to die.”
“There is a saying in my distant homeland of Katya, which I feel is appropriate to share with you, Orion,” said Akami, carefully examining his own reflection in the blade of his polished katana, absently plucking at his well-groomed goatee. “When fighting monsters, the greatest peril of which one must be aware is the danger of becoming a monster himself.”
Orion audibly scoffed at the ronin’s comment, but as the words sunk in and he realized he could not disregard their wisdom, his pace slowed and some of the fire faded from his dark eyes.
“I agree with you, Casper,” said Phylix, lagging behind the other three as he walked along at a calm and confident pace. “This course is clearly one of madmen. However, vampires are not hard to find, and it takes but a quick test to learn where they are and where they aren’t. Let us test, then, how deep our madness truly runs.”

For the second time that day, Phylix’s armored hands pushed open the huge cathedral doors without the slightest knock, and he strode right in. The Archbishop was nowhere to be seen in the main room, but a young woman was instead at the podium, hastily scribbling notes upon a piece of parchment beside an open Bible. The four warriors strode up to the podium and waited for the young woman to lift her attention from her work and notice them. She didn’t.
Akami loudly cleared his throat. The young woman jumped, startled, and looked at the four.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, seeming a bit embarrassed about her single-minded attention to her work. “Is there some way I can… help the four of you?”
“Is the Archbishop about?” Phylix asked in his usual respectful tone. “We request an audience with him regarding a matter of utmost importance.”
“Regarding what, more specifically?” she asked, sounding suspicious.
Orion spoke up then, following Phylix’s lead as he had been instructed. “I seek council with him regarding matters of faith. It’s… rather personal, really.”
The young woman regarded Orion warily, doing little to hide her judgment of his appearance, and then eyed the other three in turn, only displaying some semblance of friendliness when she looked at Phylix. Finally, she put down the quill she had been writing with, straightened up, and said “Please wait here while I rouse him.”
The four watched her as she turned, unlocked a nearby door, walked through it, and audibly locked it behind her. A few moments later the door unlocked again. It opened to a slight crack and from behind the door appeared Archbishop Laicastor, looking warily at the four hunters. He disappeared again, slamming the door. Orion, Phylix, Casper, and Akami all waited in silence, wondering if the Archbishop would even return. Finally, the door opened fully, and Archbishop Laicastor stepped into the room, rubbing his hands together.
“Yes, my sons? What is it I can help you with now?”
“We wish to discuss a very important matter of personal faith with you, Father,” Phylix answered, motioning silently to Orion. “You see, my friend here was raised following the blindly-misguided customs and beliefs of a Pagan, but has recently accepted Jesus Christ as his personal savior. And now, faced with the glory of this grand cathedral, he is filled with awe, and wishes to be baptized here.”
A slight look of nervousness crossed the Archbishop’s features for a mere second before he regained his composure. “Ah, my children, that is wonderful news!” he exclaimed, making a show of it with his exaggerated hand-gestures. “But… eh… I am afraid that our baptismal pools are currently empty, and my clergy and I have been too busy of late to bless any fresh water. There is no holy water to be found in the entire cathedral, I am afraid.”
“Ah, but have you so soon forgotten, Father?” Phylix asked. “We are vampire hunters, and where we do not go well-equipped, we soon find ourselves in grave peril. We have made a good habit of keeping several vials of holy water with us at all times.” With that, Phylix removed a small glass vial of faintly-glowing, pure water from a slot in his belt.
The Archbishop looked down at the vial, and though he kept trying to look away, his eyes kept returning to it, eyeing it as though it was some dangerous animal that would spring upon him at any moment. “Yes, well then,” he said. “It seems that it would be poor conduct to hold such a ceremony here now, with no one gathered to witness it. Shall we postpone this for some future date?”
“There is no reason to wait, Father,” said Orion. “I wish for this to be done here and now. I feel the Spirit compelling me now to prove my devotion to God, and I wish to wait no longer.”
The Archbishop seemed to shift uneasily, his eyes darting around as if something written on the walls around him would inspire him with something to say. Finally, though, his eyes settled upon Phylix, and with a look of resignation, he hesitantly took the vial of water from his offering hand.
“Kneel, child,” said the Archbishop, gently wiggling the cork free of the vial until it came free with an abrupt ‘Pop!’
Orion knelt before the Archbishop, wearing a sly smile hidden by the braids that hung over his face.
The Archbishop held the open vial at full arms-length as if fearing it may explode at any moment, and then carefully sprinkled the holy water upon Orion’s head. “I anoint you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Sp-“
Before he could finish, Orion tilted his head back, and then slung his long hair forward, spraying holy water into the Archbishop’s face.”
The empty vial fell to the floor and shattered as the Archbishop stumbled back, crying out in sudden pain, the skin on his face seeming to burn away. “You fool!” he yelled at Orion, before looking then at the four vampire hunters standing before him now, weapons drawn.
“Brothers! Sisters! Aid me!” the Archbishop called out, running in terror from the warriors that pursued him. Every door leading into the room was flung open then and from the adjacent rooms rushed at least two-dozen enraged clergymen, fangs bared. They ran to block the four hunters, allowing the Archbishop to escape down a narrow hallway. Phylix, Akami, and Casper all stood to fight together against the vampire horde, but Orion would not allow anything to get between him and the Archbishop, whose blood he had determined would stain his dagger.
“You won’t escape!” Orion cried after the fleeing Archbishop. He slashed a vampire’s throat as he ran past, stabbed another in the gut, and ducked under a swinging sword as he dodged past a third, gaining speed as he nearly caught up to his prey. Soon, though he knew not how, Orion found himself rushing down a spiraling staircase, down, down, and down further still. He soon found himself in a long, dirty tunnel lit only by the occasional wall-torch. Dangerous forms moved in the shadows, but still Orion rushed recklessly into the darkness.