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Each morning, the sun consults an astrological calendar to know when to rise. Frogs understand Morse code but refuse to speak it. The horizon is a lie fabricated by perspective.

Chapter 6 of the travel through the Old World of Warhammer of few vampire knights seeking fighting supremacy and immortality.

Estimated reading time: about 15 min

Fire & Blood – Chapter 6

This… Doesn’t make any sense, complained Tristofan, obviously just as confused. - Not surprising that this city suffers so much, Brandit said as he moved forward.

His hammer, illuminating each of his steps, immediately caught the attention of the two belligerents.

The demon hissed one more time, its long tongue whipping the air towards the priest. The undead, on the other hand, had a reaction that caused the repurgator to raise his eyebrows. He moved to the side, without losing the creature’s eyes for a moment. Was he trying to find a way out of his delicate position, stuck between them and the scarlet child ? Or was there something else ? His behaviour betrayed no fear of them. All his attention was focused on his enemy.

The heat generated by the explosion made them tremble. As death swept through the passageway, hiding the two enemies, the repurgator could not help but sniff out.

The two vampires were already running down the cobblestones of a parallel street. They fled the fire that the magician would soon extinguish, while Manesh’ k recovered from his emotions, the smoking cuirass.

He had no illusions, his escape was inevitable. She had no chance of undoing someone like him with those crackling bones skeletons. He calmly took the time to examine the broken bodies. The surrounding ducts were now strewn with them. No sane necromancer would attempt to pick up these piles of broken bones. With the smell, the dust, but also the energy spent to animate them, Gilnash guessed that it was not the remains of ordinary villagers, the deceased of a distant war or an old cemetery feared by the most superstitious, and rightly so. No… these bones came from much older generations than only forgotten crypts could have sheltered. Men among the builders of the empire, and probably much further afield.

A sudden thrill came over him, drawing him from his thoughts. The invisible winds swirled towards him with violence that left no doubt about his origin.

The two vampires disembarked at the intersection, blades clear. They swept the area for a moment, the crunchy sketches under their boots.

Manesh’ k sighed for relief. Their companion had visibly crossed the bloodletter, but for some reason it had not hurt him.

The vampire, whose appearance was closer to the dead than to the living, overthrew one of the study tables. Scrolls and esoteric instruments rolled on the ground, soiled by the contents of several bottles. His anger was more than palpable, and neither of his two apprentices dared to interrupt him while several scared bats fled the room.

Surprisingly vigorous for his pace, he caught a frightened bat in the middle of the flight that had the misfortune to pass too close to him. His thin and emaciated fingers dripped with fluid as he pressed it like a lemon, crushing the small body of a handful not to underestimate.

Snarling, he examined his sticky hand for a moment before standing upright. His spinal column protested when he turned to the horned creature still subject to his will, squatting in a corner of the room. He felt its hatred gnawing at the tattooed bars on its skin, but these would last a long time. The solution was there.

With a sharp eye, he guessed that it was useless to argue and bowed low before turning the heels without losing a moment.

The young woman watched him leave without saying a word.

The necromancer’s eyes creased. It took her more than a day to prepare the first bounded bloodletter to carve out all the spiritual bonds… But she remained silent and prepared to imitate her companion of misfortune when the vampire added :

She smiled lightly before disappearing into the sticky corridors. Continuing to grumble, Scleras turned to the chained demon. So much effort, so much manipulation and so much research to get there…

Repeated blows pulled him out of an already restless sleep. Shaking his head, John carried his hand with the pistol on his bedside table and went to open the flaps on which someone was still hitting. Ready to pass a serious blower to the idiot hitting there, he suddenly remembered that he was on the third floor of his smooth walled building. When he threatened an owl, this one only tilted his head sideways and looked at him with his big round eyes. The light of day was running along his face in the shade.

He prepared to repel the bird when the eye pupil of the bird suddenly became scarlet. He leapt inside and avoided the projectile which, however, russeted his plumage.

The animal landed on the edge of the bed, observing him with its unusual eyes and did not squint when the barrel landed between them. He clapped his mouth and a voice that had nothing of an animal coming out of his throat.

Valent snarled as Rechald came to hold his shoulder, inviting him to sit down and let John continue the conversation.

John nodded his head, inviting him to continue.

Tristofan got his arms straight when he heard these words, while all colours left the faces of Valent and Dave.

The bird had a jolt, John frowning. With a dry movement the animal’s head turned to the priest and a new, more aggressive voice came out of its beak :

The priest answered nothing, but raised his head. In silence he felt for a moment a certain respect for this monster.

The bird’s plumage inflated as it breathed in deeply.

Dave had a hiccups, a glow of fear animating his eyes. His reaction reflected the general discomfort of humans who were talking with a nocturnal bird of prey.

John did not seek to contradict this point and quietly sat back on the poorly lit street wall. He himself had heard the bird’s words. Nevertheless, their behaviour was unprecedented. From the memory of a repurgator, never a living dead man had offered his help to a mortal. Other questions also remained unanswered. Didn’t they really have anything to do with all these disappearances? Why did they fought the bloodletters and what where this tattoos he wore? How many were there and what threats were hanging over the city ? Finally, out of curiosity rather than necessity, what were these different castes of vampire and why were they fighting each other?

A roar from above interrupted his thoughts. Furiously flapping wings and screaming with anger, a true flying swarn flew over the rooftops. Bats, owls, falcons, ravens… A variety of flying beasts dominated them from the air.

Tristofan set his two fists on fire with a heavy look of reproach to the repurgator as the priest’s hammer gradually lit up.

He calmly adjusted his hat on his skull and looked up to observe the ballet of these creatures.

Officer Valent frowned without understanding, but the magician answered quickly.

As they all stared intensely at the roaring cloud, a shadow suddenly fell in the midst of humans. The shock of its reception on the cobblestones was perfectly audible despite the noise. Three soldiers drew their weapons and the fire magician extended his arm, ready to set the intruder on fire, but John stood between them and the undead.

The vampire in dark armor slowly straightened up, intensely observing each of the humans facing him, ignoring those in his back. He plunged his scarlet gaze into the repurgator’s face. With a grimace he cured and swung about himself, looking at the faces of each of his allies under the circumstances.

They were so focused on the first intruder that they stopped looking at the swirl of birds. The newcomer was not wearing the imposing armor of his companion, but an outfit resembling old and chiselled leather, much lighter than metal.

Gilnash nodded his head before looking at his brother in arms, who remained impassive. As if their common madness had suddenly dissipated, the flying creatures flew away and gradually disappeared into the night.

Immediately the majority of the men raised their heads to the roof to see that the last vampire had remained perched in the heights. He wiped his lips and and with a resigned sigh let himself fall.