In Articulo Mortis
Part 5: Reinhardt

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Things weren't going as planned. The shit had hit the fan, hard. Damaskinos had finally got his Daywalker blood, and Reinhardt had gotten the chance to avenge his comrades on Whistler. Or, at least, that was what was supposed to happen.

He was pissed off now. Really pissed off. He didn't care that the abomination of the pureblood lineages was loose in the complex, because he knew that Nomak would go straight for his father and half-sister. He wasn't concerned about fighting off the reaper, though it might become a problem later. He wanted Blade.

Of course, he hadn't been happy when first told his team would have to work with him. His displeasure did not abate when, one by one, he saw them killed. Murdered.

He had no love for some of his teammates, but they'd gone through a lot together. He owed them a lot. Daywalker's death, preferably a slow and painful one, was probably the least he could do.

The fact that he had lost half his face didn't help his mood, either. The wounds (and, effectively, half his face) stung still. He had hoped killing Whistler and then taking his blood would have helped, but his plan had been foiled when the old man had managed to get away.

He prowled the corridors, following the scent of the old man's blood and scowling the whole way. The things he was going to do to Whistler would make him wish Blade had not rescued him at all. The strobe lights were going crazy as the whole building went into emergency mode. Doors leading outside were being locked down, and Reinhardt knew that. They would have nowhere to run.

Damnit, Blade! He thought, glowering. It's my right to kill you! I let the old prick have you because he needed your blood. This time you're mine. He held no more regard for what the ancient vampire thought or said anymore. Blade was his, simple as that.

Hell, after tonight, he doubted the old fart would even have any more power over the men. Without Asad he would be significantly weakened in his authority.

He had a hunch as to where Whistler would bring the daywalker to. He was lying in wait when the old man struggled in with his charge. He loaded the shotgun casually — ironically, the same stake-loaded one that he'd been given at the House of Pain — as if this was no more than target practice. When Whistler came into view, he fired. The bullets ricocheted off the steel railing, but he was rewarded when he heard a grunt as they fell. The high and mighty Daywalker was fading fast, and it brought him great satisfaction to inflict some more damage.

"Go on, kid," Whistler was saying. Reinhardt rolled his eyes. Trust humans to get sentimental when they knew they were about to die. "Go!"

He watched as Blade struggled to drag himself to the edge of the giant tap that fed the blood vat, biding his time. He wanted a clean shot as he circled the edge of the pool. He was not about to admit it, but his hands were shaking. The nerve damage he had sustained during the UV grenade explosion had been extensive, or so he had been told. His right arm was almost completely charred to the bone, but with blood and rest he had healed nicely. The muscles in his arm were still new and mostly unused; it wasn't like he had planned on lifting a gun so soon.

Another one of his plans gone out the window.

But this one, he was sure, would unfold nicely.

When Blade was at the end, he fired and was pretty damn sure he hit when the Daywalker came tumbling down. He took a few more shots just to cause more damage, busting the glass tubes as he did so. He didn't care.

The bullet shells hit the ground as Blade gave a spectacular splash when he hit the pool of blood. Hasta la vista, baby, Reinhardt grinned. He picked up the sword, which had fallen when he had first shot Whistler. He was going to use it to kill Blade's father figure, just like he had planned.

Maybe his day wasn't so bad after all.

He sauntered away, knowing that he could take his time in killing Whistler. He was going to enjoy it, since the other man couldn't get away.

Reinhardt stopped as he heard the single footstep behind him. He turned, curious. Fuck me. Blade was alive, and he here had been thinking everything was fine.

Oh, well. At least he would have the satisfaction of killing the Daywalker again. Armed guards filed into the room, stopping just behind him. Blade working the cricks out of his neck and soldiers as Reinhardt watched, bored.

The former leader of the Bloodpack turned slightly, indicating that the guards should go and take a bite out of the very nice cake. They ran forward, electric stun-batons at the ready.

He watched as Blade took them out, with vicious kicks and punches. He counted a broken pelvis, two smashed skulls, at least three broken noses and one ruptured liver before he decided it wasn't worth the effort. Fuck me sideways.

As Blade ruthlessly dispensed of Damaskinos' finest after the Bloodpack, Reinhardt found himself almost wishing that he was a pureblood and part of the Bloodpack. It made him angry at himself that he was thinking such things; after all, Blade was the one they were after. It would have defeated the whole purpose of the Bloodpack if the Daywalker had been on their side all along, and Reinhardt would be out of a job.

"Get in there!" he yelled at the replacement guards, taking his anger out on them. They were merely peons and he had no doubt in his mind that they were going to be massacred. Blade ended with a move that he'd seen on a wrestling show once. The poor guard's back was broken, as was the glass panels that made up a floor.

He made a grunt that might have signified either approval, amazement or boredom — more likely a mix of all three — as Blade sprung up in front of him. Casually he put down the gun. Blade was no match for him now. After that wipeout with the guards, even the Daywalker had to be exhausted. He wasn't a threat anymore.

"Well," he started, "As my daddy told me before he killed my mom: If you want anything done right, you've got to do it yourself." And it was true, he reflected. He'd said the same thing to his father before he killed him. "He also said," he drawled on, as he gave the sword a few experimental twirls, hoping to catch the Daywalker by surprise when he suddenly brought it up.

Blade caught the blade on the flat sides with his palms. Reinhardt had thought it was going to be a piece of cake, but he struggled to get the sword free. He grunted and his whole body shook with the effort, but it was Blade who was in control. It was Blade who brought the sword up and away from him.

"Can you blush?" he finished, and before he knew it the sword was up in the air. Reinhardt watched it go, but it was pretty obvious Blade was going to get it.

He saw a glint of metal and heard the ringing of steel cutting through air, and then something very sharp and very cold was slicing through his head, his chest and then the rest of his body...

...fuck.

What was once Dieter Reinhardt, proud leader of the Vampire Nation's finest warriors, fell to the ground in impressive twin explosion of ashes.

The End