In actuality, I had never seen him battle any ghost other than myself, and I guess that until that afternoon not so long ago—just yesterday, actually, but it seems like it could have been a year—I hadn't known really just how much power Vlad Plasmius actually had; I knew that there were stronger ghosts than myself, and I thought that since I was getting more powerful, enough so that I could come pretty close to defeating Vlad on my own, there'd be one or two he couldn't fare well against. But in this assumption, I was completely incorrect, because that day I watched in amazement as he took her down without breaking a sweat, and I thought that if he would not have been furious with her, he would have sent her into the Ghost Zone uninterestedly without toying much.
But he was furious…or, rather, that composed way in which he gets angry—his face remains very calm and he doesn't allow himself to get worked up and appear anything less than composed, forcing a smirk on his face no matter how upset he is—and making sure she suffered seemed to be his first priority. Though I was slipping out of consciousness pretty quickly—which Spectra was not to blame so much as my father, because the pain, like electric shocks, sparked from rod-shaped indents across my body, rather than the one mark on my chest where her sharp high-heeled shoe had connected, although it did really hurt—I managed to witness the majority of the slaughtering, which began after he'd blasted her away from me.
Disregarding me completely, he stomped over to where she lay in a heap at the foot of the building—oh the irony, I had thought dreamily as I stared at her; she didn't move, but her assistant who had been watching gleefully as she beat me quickly ran to protect her. Obviously, if his mistress didn't stand a chance against him, challenging the man would secure his second death inevitable, but he did anyway, and I guessed that they'd probably never heard of Vlad Plasmius, let alone fought him. Needless to say, Bertrand also endured the same fate as I, and he was flung into a wall. However, being much less stable than myself, or Spectra, for that matter, as we all came to realize, instead of hitting the wall and tumbling down to the unforgiving ground beneath, he simply stuck with a splat.
This sound seemed to awaken Spectra from the haze she'd fallen into—much like the haze of pain I'd been in while she loomed over me and touched my hair—and she pushed her body from the ground, and met with the not-so-pleasant sight—or I would assume, because if I hadn't been writhing in pain, I might have thought it funny—of her assistant reduced to a green smear marring the surface of the bricked building, she drew in a tight gasp. The surprise and pain-driven emotions left her face then, and undiluted rage replaced them. Her ungodly white teeth bared and her green eyes flared red briefly. As she stood, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. A low growl escaped her throat as she stared Vlad down—which is not the smartest approach, of course, but I suppose she was too blinded by rage to use her brain—, her face flushing a deep shade of red, because she apparently can't conceal rage like the man who was saving me.
As it stood, I was too far gone from reality to really realize what was happening, exactly; of course, I knew that Vlad Plasmius had stepped in to save my life and was now destroying Spectra as if he was swatting a fly—a dead one, if that—but I hadn't made any connection in regards to what this meant exactly. I was not wondering why he had done this for me, or what he meant to achieve by doing it, because I had almost fallen into a half-sleep. I was not conscious enough to produce very in-depth thought, but just awake that I could react to what was happening around me. Later, I would have too much thinking for my brain to handle, but until then I was content to be left in this state of blissful ignorance.
"Who do you think you are?" Spectra hissed, her fists clenching and unclenching rapidly, her legs spread widely as if in a fighting stance. "My fight is with him!"
Vlad observed her coolly, unfazed, one hand stroking the stiff black hairs on his chin, the other holding his elbow. "Fight? It looked to me as though you were preparing to engage in sexual activity with him."
Her eyes flashed red again and her fingers wiggled as if she were trying to control herself, but the snarl left and in its place there was a disgusting smirk, one that was lustful and excited but somehow processing deep undertones of maliciousness not too terribly hard to detect—I could read them, after all. Anyone, no matter their condition—unless they were comatose, or dead, I suppose—could have taken one look at her and known she was crazed, perhaps also a sex offender of some sort if you happened to notice the lust that was shining in her eyes and tugging on her lips, which might have been very attractive if I was a little more conscious, but I guess it would take another flash of her privates beneath her skirt to get me up again...though it was not as if my erection had ever left.
"Maybe I was," she said purred, and flashed her grin at me where I lay and threw in a sultry wink for good measure. Turning back to Vlad, however, she seemed to sober up a bit and said, "Does that matter to you?"
"It does, in fact," Vlad said, removing his hand from his beard and crossing his arms over his chest. "And I'm afraid that if you desire this so badly, you'll have to go through me first."
She smirked at him, seeming to regain most of her composure, because now she seemed content to toy with Vlad's emotions; I watched her run her tongue over her lips as she ran her eyes over the length of his body, and I figured vaguely she must be studying him in search of ammunition, something to use against him to hinder him because she must be able to sense the strength he possessed. However, she would not get far.
After a moment of studying him, she began softly, staring him down in the same seductive way she had me, "Why do you wear that terribly long coat, hon? Do you have something to hide?"
Vlad, I realized immediately, was in no mood to stand there while this ghost-whore critiqued his genitals, and before she could continue in her belittling, he kicked her in the left breast with such force that she shrieked and collapsed to the ground, clutching the damaged body part. Later, as I tried to remove my mind from the subject of my father's arrest, I would tell myself he did a great justice to all men who've been judged by women for their size, and even though it was mainly a ploy to cheer myself up, childishly I really did think it was pretty cool.
What was cooler, though, was the fact that when Spectra collapsed to the ground to hold her dented breast, her skirt turned up and I got an even better look at her femininity.
Yes, it was a great justice, and because I was so far gone from reality that I did not know any better—because I was, in reality, in the presence of my arch enemy—I couldn't help but moan softly, "Holy fucking shit."
Vlad would prevent me from laying eyes on further exposure of the woman, but that was all right; I had enough of Spectra as it was.
God, Danny is one lucky boy. Damn it. Aside from the alcoholic father thing, I really envy you, Danny Boy ;)