WAR: WIIGF 3 (Patreon)

The front steps of the brownstone were cracked and busted, too many years of Bludhaven acid rain and wear and tear just doing their part since before his mother was born. 

More than that, the whole damn city felt like that same kind of half-busted greasy mess, not too different from the fading oil stain on the third step. Not like I care…

He didn’t care, honestly. He had too much to worry about, like how long it was gonna take for his his fucking hand to heal up and get going again. It was still just a useless club of aching bones and medical gauze as it sat in his lap, the thick wrapping a heavy dead weight and a throbbing reminder of just how fast shit could go sideways.

On top of that… it also kinda itched.

And he couldn’t scratch it either, the gauze was way too thick for that. Can’t go to school with a cast. Yeah, that would make him easy pickings and he wasn’t gonna risk that. Gotta… gotta figure something out.

But until then, his ass was where it had been since a little after six, firmly planted on the top step, the rough concrete a familiar cold that seeped right through the thin, worn fabric of his jeans.

Eyes half-drooping, the teenager took a long, slow drag from the joint.

The smoke sank deep into his lungs, a familiar taste that worked just as hard as Thomas the Tank Engine in a never-ending effort to fight against the constant low-tide chemical stink of Blüdhaven.

A losing battle, but it did its best against the complex cocktail of wet garbage from the overflowing cans a half-block down all mixed up with the rank of runoff from the river, and the faint scent of piss from maybe like half a dozen homeless guys with bladder infections that he knew were never far from the neighborhood. Fuckin… 

Ken closed his eyes as he held the smoke in, letting it burn slow and low in his lungs. Fuckin Melville, man. Melville Section used to be a lot better but the last… what? 

Seven?Yeah, the last seven years had been enough to drag it down to the shitter. It wasn’t as bad as the fucking Moor or nothin’ but it was still pretty damn bad. Can’t even blame the vampire for it, either… He definitely couldn’t, now that the guy was dead too.

Nobody’s gonna know I did it either. Kenny King, the vampire hunter. His teeth clicked tight as he shook his head at the thought of what he’d actually done. I killed the serial killer, the biggest threat to Bludhaven since pollution. That make me a superhero?The idea made him snort, as if he was ever gonna be Superman. Maybe I can be Blade though, the memory of the New York vampire hunter from a comic setting that didn’t exist in this life flashed through his thoughts, I’m as black as he was a vampire so it counts.

He snorted again, the sound turning into a half-cough as his chest fought with both smoke and laughter going places where it shouldn’t. J-jesus… wasn’t that funny… The smile slid off his face as the world went a little soft at the edges, harsh lines of the city at dusk blurring as he tilted his head from side to side.

Kenny…

His mom’s voice slid back into his brain out of nowhere, memories of the morning like a fresh bruise his brain was addicted to poking. Of all of the bullshit and fuckery playing on repeat in his skull, anything that made Harry’s thick and ugly face bob back up was literally the worst.

The man had been standing in the kitchen doorway, all muscle and cheap whiskey breath, face swollen and puffy with that righteous anger he wore better than his mustache. Built like a fucking linebacker even though he was barely five-eight, he stood the same height as Kenneth when they stood toe to toe. 

Which they did that morning.

And almost like once a week before that.

Wasn’t even his fault either, half the time. Harry liked pushing his bulk around. Fucking meathead.

All that bulk came from years of police work and what Harry called "hard training" but what Kenneth knew was just regular roids mixed with the cheapest protein powder he could find that month. 

"Look at you," Three syllables, just three, managed to come out all slurred, the man’s words sloshing the same way he was doing around the cramped kitchen. His stepdad shoved his coffee cup barely a foot away from Kenneth's bandaged face, cheap ceramic still warm and stinking with whiskey. "Walkin' around here lookin' like a fuckin’ thug. What'd I tell you about bringin' trouble back to this house?"

Kenny just stared back. "Didn't bring it.” His voice was hoarse, scraped raw and flat from a night with barely any sleep, but he got the words out anyway. “It lives here."

That was stupid. That was so fucking stupid. But he'd said it anyway, because sometimes the truth just crawled up your throat and jumped out your mouth before you could stop it.

It did it, though, just six words enough to light Harry’s fuse. 

The shove wasn't even hard, not really, not for a man his size, but it was still what Kenny was used to either way. 

The same casual, thoughtless violence of someone who knew he was stronger and wasn’t afraid to slap somebody around to patch up the leaks in his ego from any little poke. Kenneth had stumbled back, his good hand catching the counter edge to keep from eating linoleum, the pain in his half-broken hand flaring white-hot and making his vision stutter.

Then came the sound from the top of the stairs. A soft, weary sigh that was louder than any scream could ever be.

Ma.

She was standing there in her wrinkled blue scrubs, the ghost of almost eleven hours at St. Bernadine's clinging to her like wet fabric. Her eyes... Jesus, when did they get so tired? Those blue-green pools that used to have light in them flickered between Kenneth and Harry, and that familiar resignation settled over her features, pulling the corners of her mouth down toward the floor.

"Harry, don't," she'd said, voice threadbare from saying the same words too many times to count.

"Don't you 'Harry, don't' me, Maddie!" The former detective of the Bludhaven Police Department jabbed a finger Kenny's way, that same index more than half-shaking from the man's cup of Irish Coffee so early in the AM. "Your boy comes in here, beat to shit, lookin' like he just crawled out of a—"

"He's hurt, for God's sake!"

"He's always hurt! 'Cause he's always startin' shit! Just like his no-good—"

"Don't you dare." She'd cut him off, and for a split second that woman she used to be flared up in her eyes, sharp and fierce as broken glass. Then it was gone, smothered under bone-deep exhaustion that made Kenneth's chest hurt to look at.

They kept arguing, the same back-and-forth tired bullshit Ken had heard at least a hundred times before since the man had moved in half a decade back. It didn’t matter one bit cause it never solved anything, never changed anything, and his mom was already too stuck in to leave him either. 

It was all just words.

Harry stormed out a few minutes later, the man slamming the front door hard enough behind him to make the wood shudder. Ken watched his tired Ma lean up against the counter after the sound settled down. Her shoulders were slumped, other hand twisting that thin gold wedding band around and around her finger like she didn’t want to just rip it off and throw it.

Just fuckin’ throw it out. Kenneth took another drag from the joint, letting the smoke burn out the memory as his brain went a bit foggier.

His lips pursed into a tight ‘o’ pushed to the side of his mouth, smoke flying free and fogging not too far from his head. It’d be so much better if…

The if was obvious.

He just didn’t want to voice it, even inside his head.

Dad… The word was a simple, solid thing, more solid than half the memories he had of the man at this point. It was mostly just flashes apart from a good few concrete things that stood out in his head. A wide, easy smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. The rough, comforting scrape of a beard against his cheek. The smell of Old Spice and sandalwood cologne. A private plane crash when he was nine had turned all of that to nothing.

The foggy head-rush from the weed was something he was more than thankful for, the feel of it dulling the sharp edges of the last day and the mess of memories from a man he could barely remember anymore.

For just a little while, it all felt quiet as an hour of smoking while the sun set finally hit him properly, his brain relaxing until he didn’t have to deal with real thoughts or problems or memories from a dead man splitting his skull like a melon. Just him, the steps, and the slow burn in his lungs that kept the rest of the world at a safe distance.

Which is why he didn't hear her coming until a pair of polished Doc Martens dropped right into his field of vision.

"You gonna share that, or you just collecting it for the smoke monster?"

What the... Kenneth's head tilted up, movements feeling thick and syrupy, brain taking a second to catch up with his eyes. 

Black boots were laced all the way up, a pair of tight fishnets torn on opposite sides (definitely on purpose) drawing his eyes to the subtle thickness of her thighs. God… Those thighs went up and up into a short pleated skirt that made him wish it wasn’t there atl all, but it was the band t-shirt for some group he'd never heard of stretched tight across... Jesus Christ, focus. Her eyeliner was sharp enough to cut glass, perfect black wings against perfect pale skin and a face that looked like everything he’d ever wanted.

She was a walking goth cliche but she felt more authentic than anything he’d ever seen at school or in the mall or on TV. Too authentic for Melville Section, where authentic meant pawn shop clothes and hand-me-downs. Too… too… much. The thought was a small alarm bell somewhere in his weed-fogged brain, but it all got drowned out by the way she was looking at him.

"Rough morning, or just embracing the Blüd?" Her voice had this smoky rasp to it, almost making him lean in further to listen.

He held out the joint without thinking about it. "Bit of both."

Her fingers brushed his, nails glossy black and perfect as they curled around the clumsily-rolled blunt. Professional inhale, no coughing or amateur bullshit, then handed it back with a plume of sweet smoke ghosting from those purple lips. "I feel that. This city's a mood." 

She settled onto the step next to him, one leg crossed over the other, her thighs squishing up against his. "Name's Bella. Bella Bloor."

Bella Bloor. Something about that name tugged at his brain, but the weed made it hard to grab onto why. Bella… pretty… 

"Kenny," he said, suddenly feeling like a fucking idiot. “Kenny King.”“Ooooh,” those black lips curled up, plump and perfect and pulling his attention higher than it had just been. “King. I like it.”

The conversation flowed easy after that. She talked about music, about the shitty under-18 clubs downtown where kids went to pretend they were dangerous, about Hot Topic being out of whatever brand of lip gloss kept her makeup from running. Random shit, kind of boring shit, but it was enough to pull his attention away from his own problems. Especially when his eyes kept drifting to fill out that band t-shirt.

She caught him looking and smiled, and didn't seem to mind at all. She actually even leaned forward a little, just to give him a better view while she talked. Okay… okay…oookay. She's cool with that. His brain started doing that thing where it jumped ahead, started calculating possibilities. Maybe...

He sat up straighter, suddenly aware that opportunity was sitting right next to him. The front door was unlocked. Ma was at a friend’s house for some sort of girl’s night with some moms; she’d probably be too wine-drunk to even make it home, giggling about whatever moms giggled about. Cece was at a sleepover at that same friend's house with a bunch of other little girls, all of them doing whatever seven-year-olds did when adults weren't watching.

And Harry… fuck Harry.

More than that, though, the house was empty. Quiet. 

And here was this girl, his absolutely perfect curvy goth girl fantasy, sitting close enough that he could smell her perfume under the weed smoke.

"Got more of this inside," the words left his mouth before his brain had fully processed the thought, thumb hooking toward the front door as he tried to keep his cool. "If you wanna come in. House is empty."

Her smile was like warm honey, slow and deliberate as it spread wide across her face. "Lead the way."

Kenneth smiled back, already standing, already reaching for his keys. This is happening. This is actually happening.

They walked inside together, his heart hammering against his ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. The door clicked shut behind them, Ken’s hands going to take off his windbreaker and hang it up before he turned back around and lock the door…

"You know," Bella said, same smoky voice but all the playfulness scraped away, suddenly sounding harsher, sharper almost. "It’s normally harder to get invited in than you’d think."

The weed-haze shattered like a glass tumbler thrown hard against a wall. Huh?

He turned around, eyes going wide as he caught a flicker of red, something white and sharp sticking out beneath those beautiful black-lined lips. 

…Fuck.

She moved.

His eyes went wide, the speed too much to track, the blur of black movement going from the door to his throat faster than he could even react to. 

What the f- Fingers clamped tight around his neck, all air gone from his body in an instant. A split-second later, he went flying and he had all the air he could ask for as the world spun into a chaotic mess of peeling wallpaper and water stains

Ngggh! The world went split-white, his head and body pounding like a parade drum as he hit ground.

Splintered wood exploded around him as he crashed through a flimsy dining room chair, legs snapping with wet cracks that almost made him wonder if it was his bones. The air got driven from his lungs, vision swimming as splinters bit into his back through his shirt. The weed-haze burned away instant, replaced by ice-cold adrenaline that made everything sharp and too real.

Get up get up get up-

His eyes went up as his heart raced, lungs pumping like he had asthma as he stared at the vampire girl’s own; eyes stared back at him blown wide, pure black where white should have been with irises that had gone red. 

Actual red, not bloodshot but glowing red, and her mouth... oh… oh… no. 

Fangs slid out slow from her gums, descending down and almost hanging over her bottom lip, needle-sharp and gleaming wet in the dim light filtering through Ma's curtains.

VAMPIR-

Panic rushed up his throat, thick like vomit and bitter like stomach acid. She was on him before his brain could finish the thought, impossible weight pinning his shoulder to the floor, her other hand reaching for his face with black-tipped fingernails that suddenly looked sharp as daggers.

His good hand scrambled, a panicked rush through wood splinters until his fingers closed around a jagged piece of chair leg. Sharp end, splintered to a point, and enough length to use like a weapon.

He swung.

Wild.

Desperate.

Sharp rough wood punched deep into a pale thigh and Bella screeched.

The sound wasn’t human, more animal than anything else, high and furious, all rage and pain and hissing madness. 

An instant later, he went flying for the second time as the vampire girl threw him.

Before he could even catch a breath, Kenneth's body slammed into the far wall hard enough to crack the drywall. His head connected, a sickening hollow thud that made everything go double for a few seconds.

Bella was limping toward him, pulling the splintered wood from her leg like it was nothing more than a splinter, red eyes burning with murder. Blood, thick and black-looking, ran down her fishnet stockings, too slow and sludge-like to be anything like what he had in his veins. "You are going to fucking suffer for that, meat."

Meat. That's all he was to her. Food.

His back was against the wall, literally, mind filled with static and terror as she got closer. Her fangs were inches from his throat, her breath cold and metallic against his skin, smelling like old blood and things that had been dead too long.

I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna-

Something heavy and solid materialized in his hands, weight shocking and real. Black crossbow, all sleek lines and deadly purpose, like something from a movie about vampire hunters. His finger found the trigger on instinct, muscle memory from a life that wasn't his.

The thwack of the bowstring was deafening in the small room.

Bella's scream tore through the air again, red eyes going wide with shock as the bolt punched through her band t-shirt and stuck out of her ribs, black fletching quivering.

Her fucking ribs.

Kenneth stared at the bolt jutting from her side, brain trying to process what he was seeing. ...shit. Close. Real close. 

But close didn’t matter when it came down to it.

"Cute trick, freakshow." Bella hissed in his face, one hand clamping around the crossbow and wrenching it from his grip. The weapon clattered across the floor, useless. "But you’re no heartbreaker."

She had him then, hand around his throat, pinning him to the cracked drywall. Her fangs descended toward his neck and Kenneth could smell his own death in her breath.

This is it. This is how I die.

The front door slammed open with a sound like a gunshot, wood hitting wood hard enough to dent the wall behind it.

The bloodsucker snapped her head back, fangs out as she hissed in surprise. "Who the fu—"

Kenneth used the opening, both feet slamming into Bella's ribs, sending her stumbling backward away from his throat. Thank Christ, air in his lungs again, but then the front door exploded inward and three figures in black tactical gear poured through the opening like they owned the place.

Moving fast. Real fast, but not vampire fast. Human fast with training that made Bella look sloppy as hell.

The biggest one, dark-skinned and built like their old fridge was already on the bloodsucker, moving too big for anyone his fucking size should. One massive hand clamped around her throat, slamming her against the drywall hard enough to crack it deeper. Bella's feet kicked empty air, those perfect Doc Martens scraping at nothing.

Something squat and orange clanked free as the smaller guy pulled something big and heavy from the canvas bag. Ken’s eyes went wide as he spotted what had to be a modified nail gun, all steel plates and reinforced housing, looked like something you'd see on a construction site if construction sites hunted monsters. 

He leveled it at Bella's flailing arm without hesitation.

HISS-THWUMP.

The sound hit Kenneth's ears like a gunshot in the cramped room. A six-inch-long wooden nail shot from the barrel, punching clean through her bicep and nailing her to the wall with a wet smack.

Bella's shriek shattered what the mirror next to her head, glass raining down on the floor around Kenneth's head as he lay there trying to process what the hell was happening.

The third figure moved in then. Woman, smaller than the other two, but moving with that same brutal efficiency. Something long and silver caught the dim light in her hand as it went up and forward in a single, clean upward slash.

Bella didn't even get another scream out. She just... dissolved, exploding out as gray dust cascaded down the wall.

Kenneth was still on the floor, head ringing, the whole world tilted sideways as he stared at the three black-wearing figures who'd just saved his ass. He looked at the dust settling on Ma's ruined carpet. He looked at the nail gun as his mouth opened.Somehow, the words got stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue.

Especially when what looked like a little kid's pouch appeared in his lap out of nowhere.

"...what the fuuuuuu—"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

First Blood: 150 NP

Successfully wound a fledgling vampire in melee.

Roll: Crossbow – 20 Minutes Till Dawn – FREE

This crossbow can charge its shots to increase damage and pierce though targets. It has high base damage and can fire quickly, though given its nature it takes a while to reload and can only have a single bolt loaded at a time.

Crosshair Bite: 100 NP

Successfully wound a fledgling vampire with a ranged weapon.

Roll: A Proper Sneer – Harry Potter – FREE

Let those lower than you know their place. You now know how to perform a perfect sneer as is fitting of any pureblood.

Double Tap (Combo): 50 NP

Both melee and ranged damage inflicted on the same fledgling before it goes down.

Roll: Supply Pouch – South Park: The Stick of Truth – 100

10 of each kind of healing item, as well as 3 revival tacos. Just shove the taco into whatever passes for a mouth (or if they lack it entirely, just slam it into their remains) and it will bring them back to life, though they will require additional healing to restore them to full strength. It will refill at the end of every day. Post gauntlet, these provide nutrition in addition to acting as healing potions, though it will refill only once a week.

Nexus Points: 200