by thedoctor and Blackwulf
The ground was soaked with rain and blood. It seemed like an endless charge kept coming at Dirk Bell, Grimm, Devlin of the PSI-Unit, Priest, and Tayden. The bulk of the onslaught was going toward the building where Grimm and the two new guys were. Someone else came out from the building. Yet another new guy: Grissom Montag.
Dirk was using his guns to hold back the opposition. Bullets didn't seem to do much more than slow them down and piss them off. Devlin was using his powers to knock them back, but the vampires kept getting up and charging again. Dirk dropped his empty guns into the mud and unsheathed his sword from under his coat.
"It's time you started doing something destructive," he yelled back at the young psychic.
"What do you mean?" He saw the look on Dirk's face. "No. I can't do that. I can't... KILL. That's wrong. I must triumph using other means."
Dirk saw the charge getting closer. "Damn it! They're already dead! Besides, if you don't kill them, they'll kill you, plain and simple." The blade of his sword started to connect with the bodies of the legion of the undead. Bodies fell around Dirk, while Devlin continued to telekinetically push the vampires back.
As the tally of the fallen undead rose, Dirk felt one of them tackle him. They slid down a steep embankment. Dirk recognized the face. It was the jackass that he had shot earlier, the one with the big mouth. "Damn, your an ugly fucker." The two struggled as the storm and siege continued on.
Devlin now found himself the focus of the vampire attack. The number was too many for him to simply keep pushing away. They kept getting closer and closer. As he tried to protect himself with a bubble of psychic energy, the nearest vampires increased their speed and showed their desire to kill. His bubble was weakening, and the attack was getting stronger.
Without any other choice, Devlin forced the brick wall of a nearby building that was barely standing to fall onto the majority of his attackers. Some of the bodies were only halfway trapped underneath the rubble and tried to clay their way through the mud and out from under it. Though most of them were taken care of, the attacking vampires still threatened his young life.
Dirk was learning two things about vampires: they were very strong, and they had apparently lost all feeling in their crotches. Wes, having pinned Dirk against the ground, decided to go in for the big bite. As his fangs came close to the gunslinger's flesh, he heard a clicking sound and saw a knife slide out from underneath the man's sleeve. The blade scraped across the vampire's right eye.
Clutching his eye, Wes stood up and turned to take his revenge on the mortal. He was greeted with a two-by-four to the face, yet he did not go down. Another smack to the face was followed by a third. Wes felt blood flowing from his mouth and felt with his fingers. "My fangs! You broke my fangs!"
"That ain't all I'm gonna break, Count Fucknut," said Dirk as he slammed the board into the vampire's face one last time, causing him to fall. Dirk took out two more pistols and riddled each leg with bullets, making them immobile. "Try and stand on those, and they'll snap like twigs under you."
"You'll pay for this," Wes said, as expected.
"Do yourself a favor: get new material," the gunslinger said as he dropped an grenade onto the vampire and jumped behind a hill. Flames erupted from the small sphere and engulfed Wes' body. The vampire cried out in pain as his body burned. At that moment, he had a wish that he never thought he would ever have. Wes wished that he was mopping the floors of Jerry's Food Mart at three in the morning.
Dirk heard the cries of pain and felt satisfied with what had been done. "Dumb-ass ugly fellow, fangs and all. Man, this is gonna be fun," he said to himself. "I love the smell of burnt flesh in the afternoon," the gunslinger said as he turned to where the charred ashes should have been.
Using that time-old Bell catchphrase, he uttered, "What the fuck?" Where he thought the corpse should have been was standing a very live, naked, and pale vampire.
"You have the wrong type. I like fire. It keeps me warm in the chill of the night. If you want to kill me, you have to try harder, think faster, be stronger. The cries of pain were for my clothes; I loved that shirt, and now your flesh is going to replace it," the pale Wes said as he began to move like a blue streak. "We are faster and stronger than you ever thought of being. We are more than a match for you, we are more than a match for the Harbringer, we are invincible, and we are..."
The voice of the pale vampire went silent as the hand of the great Russian wrapped around it, choking the words from it and sending it into a frenzy.
"Comrade Bell, you are having a party with a pale and not inviting the rest of us?" Blackwulf said as sarcastically as he could.
"Something like that," was the only thing the gunslinger could get out of his mouth before he witnessed Wulf crush the life from the eyes of the pale vampire and drop him.
"Is he dead this time?"
"I am being not so sure. They are being harder to kill than the regular flesh types and are having no body heat. They are called pales," Wulf said as the pale melted into the ground and disappeared.
"Comrade, I am needing a good word for explaining this situation... and it is being 'Aw, fuck!' I am thinking he is getting away. Let us be helping Greem to push the others back."
"I need more firepower, then!" Dirk said.
"You fall back and be getting what you are needing, and I will help push the brunt back."
With that, the gunslinger headed for his weapons cache. Moving with a speed that was unknown to the size and shape of the big Russian, he arrived at the front line just in time to see Devlin's psychic encasement fail, and the mob that had laid siege to him take the young PSI-Unit member.
The cries of pain would echo forever in the walls of MBL Consulting for the one who fell.