A/N: A test chapter/Prologue for a multichap fic I'm working on.
Guess who the slayer is...
He loved death, he thinks.
It much to offer, unlike life.
As a man who had feared it so much that he had gotten surgery to prevent it, he liked to think it ironic. Also adding to the irony that he didn't end up dying of forced organ removal, but rather a bite to the neck. Followed by an awakening of something in him that he hadn't known existed. A foreign presence in himself that forced all that darkness out. An exhilarating darkness.
The fangs were a nice touch too.
He slept in his own coffin in the indoor graveyard on the right side of town during the day, except the when the smoke was so great that he could hunt at all hours of the day.
But right now, it was 2:30 in the morning.
And he was starving.
Finding his prey was almost no problem, there were more zydrate addicts, completely out of it and all too willing to be led off by a random stranger at this time of the night than anywhere else.
He crossed Crucifixus street to an even dingier street with old cobblestone streets, graffiti everywhere, and buildings half torn apart with boards nailed to the windows. It was here that most of the zydrate graverobbers held they're business.
His vision caught a group of girls, perhaps in their late teens, walking across the street from him. Their steps were imbalanced, and they all wore tight form-fitting corsets and leather skirts barely covering their thighs. His grin widened as he caught sight of their dilated pupils and the fact that everything each of them said made the others laugh and laugh. As he finally fixated on the one on the end, a redhead with a particularly pale, delicious looking neck and smoky makeup enhancing her bright unnatural blue eyes; his face immediately changed into it's true monstrous look. He snarled.
He had found his prey.
Now for the fun part.
With the stealth of a now extinct fox, he followed the redhead and her friends down an alleyway, where there was a whole convention of zydrate addicts crowded around a man with white powder on his face, and makeup and streaks in his long hair. Staying in the shadows, he waited for the group to die down and make his move.
A glint passed on the zydrate dealer's face as he watched the demon-like man wait in the shadows.
He didn't notice.
Finally, when the dealer started to shake his head at offerings and darted back in the shadows himself, he approached the redhead and gently led her away from her friends.
She went willingly. The addicts always did.
As he led her out of the alley and down the deserted cobblestone streets and into another one, she started to notice the absence the other two, and batted and his chest.
"Who the fuck are you? Lemme go!"
He grabbed her wrists and gently pulled them down. She may have sounded angry, but it was obvious how out of touch with reality she was. He stared down at her beautiful, carefully chiseled face. Her plumped lips were set in a line as her dilated pupils stared at his dead ones. He was pleased to see that she didn't have a skin graft. He hated skin grafts. They were so…bitter tasting. Like alcohol you get in a surGEN's office.
He snaked his arms around her waist.
"I'm no one, my dear. But I can..offer you something." He grinned at her.
Her face brightened.
"You got more Z? I'm down for that."
He could have been more sultry, he could have prolonged this catch. But he was hungry. Very hungry, and her neck was so lovely and pale.
His face changed.
"No..not exactly. I can offer you a new life. Where everything you eat will be like Z..where surgeries will no longer be needed."
She swayed a bit in his arms and chuckled.
"Mkay…'s long as you give me some Z afterwords.." He smiled wickedly, and not as gently as before, abruptly grabbed her neck and twisted it sideways.
"Like it rough, sweetie?" Panting heavily, she licked her lips.
"You bet." She rasped.
He sunk his teeth into her pale flesh.
Her blood was scrumptious. With just a touch of zydrate mixed into it, he could feel himself begin to get rejuvenated. Her heartrate began to slow, and her breathing staggered. It was almost over.
Suddenly, he heard something move.
Growling, he tore away his fangs from the girl's neck. He couldn't have anyone ruining this. It was his catch.
"Who's there? Show yourself?"
Hearing nothing, he began to feed again.
He whipped his head up. Baring his fangs, he quickly glanced around before a fist was hurdled into his side; causing him to be thrown to the side and the dying girl dropped. He immediately began to fight back, kicking and punching his attacker, but hit air instead. He felt another kick against his back, and balanced himself to stay upright; by which he then got a jab at his attacker's face.
The fight lasted for ten minutes, with neither sides really taking a lead, and finally he managed to throw his attacker on the ground.
As he brushed the dust from his leather coat, he noticed the being who had dared to fight him.
At first glance he thought it was a young teenage boy. But on further inspection, her face and body was too feminine to be considered male. She was tiny, her thin black hair cut short, and as she got back up, wore a steely expression on her face.
Noticing her lovely pale neck, he grinned. Foolish girl thought she could beat him.
"Run along." He taunted. "This is no place for a young lady such as yourself."
She cocked her head to the side and feigned confusion. It was then that he noticed the hand that was positioned behind her back was being brought forward. It was not a knife, a gun, or anything of that sort.
It was a wooden stick. A stake.
On instinct, he shrank back, not wanting to be close with the only material thing that could really end his time on earth. As the girl took on a battle position, a name passed through his mind. A name that made vampires shiver with disgust and fear since it first came about.
"Slayer." He hissed.
"Glad you finally figured it out, I was worried vampires had gotten dumb all of a sudden."
"The rumors were true then."
"What rumors? That I kicked all your vampire posse's asses and turned them to dust?"
He started lunged for her throat with an urge to rip it out, when he felt something pierce his chest.
No…It wasn't possible. The slayer line had died out during the plague.."
He stared at the wooden stake implanted in his chest, then at the smirking young face until he turned to dust.