Crimson Sword Stalker

by Morgan Blayde

  The slayer dude stared at the gun in his hands.

  Selene pointed to the op landing of the stairs. She whispered loudly. “The werejackals are coming.”

  The beast men surged around the corner.

  I flattened to the hallway wall, staying out of the line of fire.

  The MP9 stuttered, spitting fire.

  The werejackals went down, chopped to pieces, and didn’t resuscitate. If these had been werewolves, the bullets would be popping back out, the holes closing. Most were-creatures had heightened healing factors. Not these guys. Then I got it. They weren’t half-phased. This sad half-human shift was the best they could do. These weren’t real shifters. They were minions under a curse. B grade monsters.

  Half were down. The rest flung themselves over the bodies of their own guys to continue the attack. Until they all died.

  The slayer emptied his magazine and stood there, breathing heavily, a smile on his face. Forget about keeping the streets safe for humanity, this guy loved killing.

  My inner dragon nodded. I can completely respect that.

  “Fuck. I’m out,” the slayer said.

  Selene handed him another clip. “Magically explosive ammo,” she said.

  He took the clip, staring into her face. “Thanks. That almost makes me willing to forgive you for throwing me out the window and chaining me to the sink.”

  I heard more of the werejackals hitting the stairs.

  The next wave.

  Glass broke in the bedroom. The window. Someone had climbed outside of the house. I went into the bedroom and found two werejackals; one on the carpet, gathering himself, the other climbing in the broken window.

  Vivian chose that moment to rouse from her stupor, moaning. She tried sitting up and bumped the bed, bouncing it. Her muffled voice groused, “Hey, who put this bed here?”

  Both werejackals stared at the bed in surprise. Those looks were replaced by sinister grins. I guessed their thinking: A woman to rape and kill. Or is kill and rape?

  I bet they often get the exact sequence confused.

  The werejackals rounded the bed, staring down as Vivian’s naked legs poked out, followed by her exquisite wiggling ass. The first werejackal rumbled appreciation as more of Vivian slunk out into view. On her hands and knees—like a good bitch—she looked around and delicately sniffed. “I smell burnt roadkill. And blood.”

  The two beastmen had clawed hands which made it harder to unbuckle and drop their pants, but motivated, they managed.

  Vivian turned, still on hands and knees, and found herself confronted by two engorged cocks. The light of her pink eyes shifted to a hungry red. At that point, I knew she didn’t need me to save her.

  I went out into the hall to check on Selene and her pet slayer. Slayer-dude had finished his second magazine, leaving a higher pile of bodies than before.

  Behind me, I heard a shriek. Then another. This was followed by the sounds of a severe beatdown.

  I went back. the werejackals were dead and broken on the floor. Vivian had killed them without getting off her knees. I walked over to get the rest of my clothes.

  Vivian freaked my cock into limpness; she held two amputated cocks, lifting them over her head, sucking blood until they ran dry. She flipped them onto the corpses. The red of her eyes began to lighten to pink.

  “Are you back in your right mind,” I asked.

  She looked toward the hallway, hearing a mechanical chatter. “Is that an MP9?”

  “Yep. These guys brought friends. Your slayer-in-training friend and Selene have been dealing with them.”

  “Shit! What did you do to me? I’ve been doing blood-whore shit.”

  Blood-whore is a rude term for those kept by vampires for feeding. Some humans were addicted to vampire enzymes and pheromones. They didn’t mind getting fucked and drained, and usually died young, unless the vampire brought them over, and they were reborn as the living dead.

  Vivian’s mom had been attacked and impregnated by a vampire, but not killed. That’s why Vivian had been born a dhampir, a human with vampire powers but none of their weaknesses. It also explained her hatred of vampires—and their whores.

  “I didn’t know it would happen,” I said, “but since taking the throne of Fairy, my blood turned fey.”

  “Damn, but you’re tasty.” She looked at the werejackals. “Them, not so much. Like drinking from a dog. What are they, anyway?”

  “Werejackals, according to Selene.”

  Selene’s voice spiked. “Caine, hurry!”

  “What now?” I ran back to the hallway door and found Selene with the male slayer beside her. Fresh blood glazed the blades of his sword-gun.

  He said, “They’re getting up. They’re dead, but…”

  “Threat level is escalating,” Selene said. “We’ve got werejackal zombies.”

  That meant mere killing wasn’t enough. All the bodies needed to be chopped into small pieces. And that might not be enough. If the black magic was strong enough, the pieces might still reassemble.

  I powered down my Demon Wings spell, stripped out of the last of my clothing, and handed everything to Selene. “Time to bale.” I backed into the bedroom and turned. Dressed now, Vivian picked up the canvas bag and came over to join us.

  She stared at the male slayer and his sword-gun. “Craig, you’re all right?”

  “For now,” he rumbled. “We haven’t covered zombies in class yet. What do we do.”

  I said, “Selene, take these two out of here. Get far away. I’ll handle this.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “I’m going dragon.”

  Selene’s face lit up with joy. “That sounds fun. I haven’t rampaged in a long time. I’ll drop them and come back to give you a hand.”

  I smiled. “You do that.”

  Crimson light filled the room. It cleared a moment later, and I was alone with the dead. The vicious, hungry dead. I heard their beastly grunts and moans as the shambled off the hallway pile, looking for brains to eat. The two dead, dickless wonders on the floor twitched. The bodies rolled over, forcing themselves off the floor.

  FOUR

  “Fire is a dragon’s best

  friend, next to his gold.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Once, going dragon was a long, drawn-out, agonizing process. Then Selene fixed that with the power of a goddess, rewriting some of my genetic codes. Now, I could change instantly without the old pain. I considered getting clear of the house before such a move, but it was trashed already and who knew if Kat would want to come back?

  The golden eyes of my inner dragon blazed brighter in the back shadows of my mind. Better just get on with it.

  Tag. You’re it, I told him.

  About time.

  I left the rest to him as werejackal dead shambled into the room. A wave of darkness crashed against my mind, a sense of expansion, and I became the rider in the back of my dragon’s mind. His battle rage backwashed over me, a bracing electric burn. Extending my thoughts, I plugged into his neural net and senses—and the world returned, a movie screen hanging in front of me,

  The room was trashed, the ceiling and roof splintered and battered open. I’d stepped on the bed and flattened it. Walls were gone. My wings pumped hard as I hovered. The house looked smaller than expected. Lightning warmed my throat. Tasting molten copper, I opened my mouth and spit. Golden jags played over the werezombies. They boomed and splattered into smoking chunks. I poured out fire as long as I had a target bigger than a rabbit.

  By then, most of the house was a gutted inferno. I rose higher, banking, rippling in the ember-and-smoke choked winds. Spiraling outward, I used dragon-vision to search the surrounding property, and the further shadows. I saw nothing fleeing the wreckage. The werejackals were just foot soldiers, meant to fight and die. A calling card, I thought. It seemed likely that somewhere near, hid a guiding intelligence: a witch, warlock, sorcerer, or mage with a necromantic twist to their magic. I searched for such a person.r />
  Finding no one down there except gathering gawkers and concerned neighbors, I flew higher, expanding my search. From this perspective, I couldn’t see inside any of the parked cars. One of them could harbor my enemy. If so, he wasn’t stupid enough to start up his vehicle and run for it while I watched.

  My dragon thought: Damn it! I need more things to kill, I’m barely warmed up.

  Selene swooped in to fly beside me, her crimson dragon form caught my dragon’s full attention. The dragons were mated as our human form were, but they got less time together. I didn’t feel bad about that, though it pissed off my dragon. Selene swung her long neck, her stare raking me. Her thoughts brushed mine.

  You’ve grown bigger.

  With her beside me for contrast, I saw she was right. In all my previous transformations, I’d been the size of a school bus, maybe a little more. Other dragons had looked down on me in more ways than one.

  Fucking bastards. I flicked my tail tip in irritation. I beat my wings a couple time, climbing into an up draft that tasted like burnt dog.

  You’re larger than I am, Selene said. I think later, I’m going to want some fresh genetic samples. Muscle tissue, bone, and blood.

  No way, you get too carried away. I could lose my liver. So, where did you put Vivian? I’ll want to question her later.

  I gave her directions to Kain’s party. I thought it would be a hoot.

  What are you, an owl now?

  Don’t change the subject. I want those samples.

  My dragon all but wagged his cock at her. I’ve got a sample for you.

  She gave my dragon a quick caress with her prehensile tail, angling to fly against him without fouling his wings. My dragon’s heart pounded louder, a background drumbeat. I had a weird sensation: the second-hand feeling of blood swelling his erection.

  You’ll give me what I want, right? Selene asked my dragon.

  That’s not fair! I complained.

  Shuddup, my dragon said.

  Well, fuck!

  I intend to, he said.

  My dragon flew across the night, climbing ever higher with Selene pacing me. The Sacramento city lights and traffic filled roads dwindled as we fought ever higher, on a course for the stars. At one point, I thought I saw a couple of floating cameras.

  Kain! This is not the time.

  The air thinned. My golden dragon coiled his tail around Selene’s, he bit the back of her net and latched claws onto her. She went limp and fell, screaming, flaming the air ahead of her plunge. We punched through dragon fire and clouds, toward the now distant Earth. Her wings were half tucked. So were my dragon’s. Tumbling downward, he entered her, wreathed by golden jags of current as he humped for all he was worth, needing to come before going splat on the ground.

  I knew this was how eagles mated. I didn’t know dragons had this instinctive pattern, too. I didn’t want to know.

  I’m out of here.

  I unplugged from my dragon’s senses, letting his mind’s inner darkness blanket me as I settled into reflection. Few people realize I’m a scholar. True, there’s little sign of it while I’m running amok, but that’s because I get deep thought out of the way during my downtime. Such as now.

  My recent changes had to be fey in origin. You don’t become the High King of Fairy without it changing you. My blood had gone fey, as Vivian could now attest. My human body hadn’t grown taller…dammit…which meant my dragon had been absorbing most of the change while asleep. That had to explain his extra size.

  Playing the shift to dragon through my mind, I realized that it had come without any discomfort whatsoever. As if by magic, not dragon biology. And hadn’t my lightning attack lasted hella long, burning much hotter?

  All good stuff, I suppose.

  But I saw an eventual drawback; my fey magic might eventually move my organic baseline too far from dragon and Villager. Both sides of me, turning fey, might eventually rewrite me to the point where the fey dominated all. Even my will to fight for anything but Fairy.

  Will I be like Selene, divine in my own right? Do I want that?

  Attaining enough power, so I didn’t have to fear her whims, tempted me but wouldn’t that end my climb? Wasn’t Selene frozen in her development, as extreme as it was. If there’s more, something beyond godhood, I wanted it. I wanted to want it.

  I’ve heard Gloria talk; most high-level vampires have settled for a long game of world conquest covering millennia. Such tiny vision. My dragon nature possessed a wider streak of greed.

  I can’t settle for anything less than every hot woman in the world, all the treasure, all the power, glory, Pop Tarts, and everything else in the multiverse. Fair warning.

  To counteract the consuming influence of fey magic, I had two solutions: let Selene do her thing, with no guarantee I still wouldn’t have to act, or head things off now with my own magic. Since there was a Shadow Court in Fairy, I could use that part of fey magic against the other types.

  Though reduced to a mental abstraction at the moment, I wasn’t powerless. I could create interactive illusions here in the mental darkness of my dragon’s subconscious. I visualized a body for myself, the usual one I wore in human form, and it solidified. Having hands now, I reached out and created a floating pane of glowing golden glass. I closed my right fist and found a black marker there. I sketched out several spells I wanted to link, working out a new tatt. When finished, I’d draw the pattern on me with shadow magic. And I’d have to leave it in place—always.

  I called it my Reboot Spell. In the event that a certain amount of damage, or unspecified change occurred, a copy of my current DNA would reboot the rest of me, bringing my physique back to this moment in time.

  Time as I experienced here didn’t match that of the outer world. Here in thought, it was as if I stood between two seconds. Wrapped in timelessness, I scribbled, exorcising t the devils in the details. For one thing, I didn’t want my brain rewritten to the point where I lost memories. Giving myself amnesia wouldn’t be helpful. Valuable information could be lost. I also had to decide how much more I’d let the fey magic adjust me. The changes so far had been beneficial.

  There might be more I’ll want to keep.

  The answer was to let my reboot pattern update itself periodically, with permission, and to include a magical reflex that would trigger the reboot automatically when a certain percentage of variation or damage occurred. The Tattoo I came up with looked like a dandelion—drawn by Picasso—but I thought it would work.

  So how much damage or change do I allow? Five percent?

  Selene’s thought brushed me: Too piddling.

  Twenty-five?

  Fine, she said.

  Wait! Selene?

  I turned from my floating board and saw her human image. She still wore her loincloth—little more than a red length of silk draped over her head, crossing over her breasts, descending to be tucked between her legs, brought under and around to cover her ass and hips, then tied in front like a sash. The ends fluttered in front of her. She looked enticing as ever.

  What are you doing in here? Aren’t you busy getting your dragon fucked?

  She arched red eyebrows. I am. What? I can’t multi-task? I’m a goddess, you know?

  Selene strolled past me and studied my board. Her eyes flowed over the converging spells. She nodded here and there, then turned a bright smile on me.

  Nice work. I’m impressed you thought of this.

  I’m more than a pretty face and a massive cock.

  Yes, but those are your best features. So, where do you want to place this? I could slap it on your ass for you.

  I want to hold off and check a few of my grimoires.

  One unaccented symbol or a sloppy rune could have a drastic impact.

  Looks all right to me.

  She grabbed the two-dimensional pattern off the glass board. The black ink absorbed some of her power, turning crimson like something drawn in blood.

  Hey! I swung an arm to block her. She vanished, reappea
ring behind me. Her hand slapped my ass, and I knew I’d been branded. I turned and glowered at her. If I grow a second head, it’s your fault.

  I had a metal vision of sporting two cocks instead of one.

  She smiled. The next time I want samples, don’t fight me.

  I glared. I’d already decided to let you take them as a back-up measure.

  She blinked at me. Oh! You should have said something.

  I continuing my glower.

  She shrugged. What’s done is done. Just get over it.

  And still I glowered in silence.

  You want me to take it off again? she offered.

  No, I want you to respect me. I know I sound like a complete girl here, but my feelings ought to matter to you.

  She looked down and used a soft voice. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s hard to be restrained though when I’m both insane and possess near absolute power. Maybe you’re expecting too much.

  I felt anger evaporate. I reached out and lifted her chin. Our eyes met. She fought to be sincere, but a manic grin couldn’t be suppressed.

  Not sorry at all, are you? I asked.

  The grin widening across her face. Not a bit.

  She shuddered. Her head fell back as her image breathed heavier. Her eyes whitened as they rolled back in her head. So much for multitasking. I guessed she and my dragon were caught at an intense moment.

  While she was distracted, I visualized a copy of my Demon Wings tattoo across my imagined back and shoulders, painting it in with golden dragon magic. I then flushed it with fey shadow magic. My imagined body blended into the surrounding darkness. By the time Selene recovered, I’d taken several steps off to the side.

  I said nothing, using a meditative technic to banish thought. I wasn’t simply in darkness, I became darkness. Lost in blackest shadow.

  She looked around. Caine? Where did you go. Caine? Oh, don’t be like this. Come back and I’ll try harder to be sorry, okay? You don’t think you can hide from me? I’m divine, remember Caine? Caine!

  She tried stamping her foot to show me she was serous, only convulsions reached her from her dragon body, causing this projection to echo her responses.