“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”
-Exodus 22:18
This is horrible." Abel Nightroad sighed. He pushed his thick round glasses higher up his pointed nose, oblivious to the beautiful night. Outside, a nightingale perched somewhere in the bushes, singing softly. The sweet sound, coupled with the symphony of crickets and bullfrogs, made the evening, lit by glowing twin moons, all the more peaceful and pleasant.
Abel noticed none of it.
He stood inside a small building. It had been a bar or a meeting hall in another life, but tonight it was a slaughterhouse. There were bodies scattered everywhere, many ripped to shreds. Streaks of blood covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The red liquid dripped down into dark puddles and began to coagulate.
The smell was almost unbearable. Pieces of internal organs littered the room, coating everything with the sick scent of fecal waste. The remains were still warm; this crime was recent. The squish of Abel's boots over the paste of human flesh drowned out the nightingale altogether.
"Why wasn't I here sooner?" he asked himself.
A sudden splash in a blood puddle turned Abel's head. He spun on his heel. "Who are you?"
An odd figure crouched behind an overturned table. The stranger approached Abel, blood and guts squishing with each awkward step. It was slightly hunched over, holding something in its hands. Unafraid, Able started to address the stranger directly, but his words morphed into a shocked gasp.
Moonlight illuminated the stranger. It was no man, but instead a grotesque vampire. Covered from head to toe in gore, jagged fangs jutting at various angles, the creature held a woman's blood-soaked head in its hand.
There was something wrong with it, even for a vampire.
"Grrarraraahahha!" The creature leapt at Abel.
Abel braced himself for the attack. He set his back foot on a relatively clean patch of floor to avoid slipping. The vampire sailed through the air quite easily. Abel flexed the muscles in his arms and back, preparing for his counterstrike.
BOOM!
A deafening blast and a flash of sharp light interrupted the silent combat. The vampire skittered to the ground in a heap. Furious, it tried to scream, but its innards frothed up in its mouth. Its arms and legs flailed as if pulled by separate strings. The large vampire spat and writhed down in the muck. As it attempted to stand, it was suddenly riddled with bullets. The vampire's extremities exploded. Fingers and toes flew in every direction. The vampire seized and spasmed.
Abel covered his face and ducked. His eardrums were ringing, but he was otherwise unhurt. He knew well that only one thing in the world could be so skilled with a firearm. He couldn't hear the footsteps, but he could feel them. They were rhythmic: clack, clack, clack . . . almost mechanical, heavy.
Abel finally looked up. "Father Tres."
"Affirmative," replied the electronic monotonous voice.
A seemingly young priest came down the second level stairs. His hair was neatly trimmed to match modern fashion, but his handsome face registered zero emotion. He held one of the world's largest personal handguns, the Jericho M13, with its thirteen-millimeter barrel still seeping smoke.
"Why are you here, Tres? I thought you were investigating the orphanage kidnappings. How'd that turn out?" Abel asked earnestly.
The younger priest offered no response.
Vatican Papal State AX Patrol Priest Tres Iqus just stood there, staring blankly. After a moment of silence, he pointed his gun to the floor and shot twice.
BOOM! BOOM!
Abel jolted, almost slipping on a piece of liver. "What are you thinking, Tres?!" he screamed. Looking down, he could see the squirming remains of the mutilated vampire attempting to regenerate.
"I didn't kill him. I have some questions for him. Why are you here, Father Nightroad? Is this in connection with the Tristan incident?"
Abel collected himself while Tres replaced his pistol magazine.
"Yes. Duke Alfredo belonged to a group called the Fleur du Mai. They had used this place as a safe house in the past. Looks like I was too late. Lots of human casualties."
"These corpses are not humans. They're vampires," Tres replied.
"What? Why? They killed each other? They killed themselves? Wh-what happened?" Abel stammered.
"Unable to answer. Not enough data," Tres replied.
The young priest craned his neck toward the second floor. His expression did not change.
"The kidnapped orphans were already killed for food. I cannot interrogate dead bodies," Tres informed Abel coldly.
"Good Lord." Abel looked at the floor and crossed himself.
Tres moved swiftly around Abel. His gun was pointed forward as he silently scanned the darkness.
After a few seconds, Abel heard it. But surely no one had lived through the carnage. "What is it, Tres?" he asked.
"Quiet."Tres gestured with his gun. "Over there."
Beneath the wine cellar door came the sound of rustling clothes.
"There were about twenty members of Fleur du Mai, right?" Abel asked.
"Affirmative. I estimate there to be at least twelve left. I am going in,"Tres said.
BOOM! BOOM!
Tres blew the cellar door off its hinges. Splintered wood flew in every direction, but it didn't bother Tres. He moved swiftly into the darkness and ran down the stairs. The laser sights from his M13 cut through the darkness. He soon found a target. It didn't take Tres long to draw a bead and prepare to fire. But Abel grabbed his arm before the hammer fell.
BOOM!
A bullet rent a hole in the ceiling.
"Tres! Wait!" Abel hollered. "It's a child!"
Sure enough, a small blonde girl sat in the cellar. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her big brown eyes were full of sorrow.
The girl had no idea how lucky she'd been. Tres never missed.