The chapel doors slammed open. With a small scowl, Fenshire of the Department of Energy raised his twin UMP sub machineguns with a satisfying metallic click, training the gaping barrels on the only other figure in the holy place. Slamming one of the hammers back, he growled quietly, the words echoing over the cobbled walls and stained-glass.
"Where is she, Void Lite?"
Vanil let a small, cold smile creep over his thin lips as he stood from the wooden pew slowly, his long black leathers falling quietly into place. Still facing the small altar and cross, the blood noble mocked the Machinist lightly; chill amusement slipping into his words.
"...why Fen Fen, whoever do you mean?"
Fenshire's lips tightened angrily. "I don't have time for this shtick-sh*t." Dropping one gun to his side, the Department cleaner raised the other and pulled the trigger. The UMP chattered loudly, spitting a hail of bullets at the front of the chapel. With a laugh, Vanil's form blurred lightly, his Exhilic reflexes kicking in as he cart wheeled to the side, the burning lead shredding the front pew to splinters. Spinning gracefully, Vanil let two matte-black Desert Eagles slide into his leather gloves. With a fanged grin, he pulled the triggers, the pistol hammers banging back, opening a path for spent bullet casings.
"Cry havoc and all that, dear Fen Fen!"
The brutal handguns erupted loudly, coughing high-velocity rounds from their muzzles. Cursing again, Fenshire dived behind one of the pillars holding up the chapel ceiling, allowing the heavy rounds to blow fist-sized chunks out of the gothic stonework. Cocking his hammers again and checking his bullet count, the blonde-haired Machinist dived out from the thin cover. Time seemed to drip like oil as Fenshire ran straight for the code vampire; both sub machineguns spraying clouds of ballistic fire. Spinning about again, Vanil launched himself to the side and up the chapel wall...and kept moving up it.
‘F*cking Exile,' thought Fenshire as he trailed Vanil up the wall with his guns, still at work emptying the magazines. Vanil ran up the wall, his coat hanging down behind him as he fired meticulously back at the Machinist.
And then Vanil felt a searing stab of pain as a bullet buried itself into his leg.
With a hissing snarl, Vanil launched himself off of the wall, his pistols blazing as he hit and stuck to the opposite one. A sizzle of code-steam rose lightly from his wound. Silver bullets...the filthy little human had done his homework. Pointing both handguns at Fenshire, the Prince squeezed off his final rounds, forcing the human to dive behind an intact pew for cover. A brief respite followed as both combatants slid fresh magazines into their weapons, the metallic clacks bouncing acoustically off of the stone walls of the chapel, now mostly in bullet-ridden ruins.
Laughing cruelly, Vanil put a heavy Eagle round into Fenshire's pew, taunting him. "Come now Fen Fen, is that all? Perhaps your...combat aptitude has atrophied while stuck in your Real eating protein slop."
"I doubt that you sack of Exhilic sh*t." Fenshire jumped out from behind the splintering bench and opened up again, shell casings raining down about him. Vanil scampered up one wall, along the ceiling, and down another. He was a blur, nigh-impossible to hit as his wound began to already heal itself, his Desert Eagles banging combatively against the rapid-fire chatter of Fenshire's UMPs.
Christ he was fast. Fenshire would give the vampire that as his bullets seemed to slide around Vanil, sending sparks and chips of stone raining downward. He could aim behind his target, but that would be pointless. He could aim at the target, but it wouldn't be there anymore by the time the bullets arrived. He could aim in front of the target, but it would anticipate that and dodge around it. F*ck that cocky sh*t and his wall-walking.
And then Fenshire saw his chance. Time again warped as Vanil stepped off of the wall and onto the large wooden cross that hung above the altar. Seeing his chance, the Machinist squeezed off a controlled bust of fire. With a deafening, splintering crash, the wooden monolith tumbled from the ceiling, and Vanil, caught completely off-guard, tumbled down with it, losing his grip on his heavy-bore pistols.
Considering his situation, Vanil hit the floor with surprising grace. But even the lightest of landings wouldn't stop Fenshire as he dropped a UMP and dived at the Merovingian vampire through the bits of raining stone, wood, and mortar. Grabbing the surprised Exile by the top of his black leather coat, Fenshire slammed his lean form into a shattered stone pillar and pressed his remaining sub machinegun barrel into Vanil's pale forehead.
"Now that we've taken care of the formalities..." Fenshire began, clicking his gun's hammer again, "...I'll ask again. Where is she? Where is Alice?"
A third voice answered him. "Here." There was a loud, chattering bag, and Fenshire howled briefly in pain as he felt his leg torn into, crimson pain clouding his vision as he fell to the floor, leaving Vanil leaning casually against the pillar. Clutching his bloody, bullet-ridden leg, Fenshire turned and saw her, just as he had remembered her; clad tightly in white leathers, her hat pulled snugly over her highlighted hair, a MAC-11 sub machinegun smoking in her hand. Fenshire didn't know what to say...what he ‘could' say.
"Alice...what...?"
Vanil kicked himself lightly off of the pillar. "Well now, that's that, dear Fen Fen." The vampire moved over to Alice and ran his tongue lightly along her cheek. "Mm, shall we go, my dear?"
Alice gave Fenshire an odd look before turning around to the door and lowering her weapon.
"Yeah...let's."
~V
"Where is she, Void Lite?"
Vanil let a small, cold smile creep over his thin lips as he stood from the wooden pew slowly, his long black leathers falling quietly into place. Still facing the small altar and cross, the blood noble mocked the Machinist lightly; chill amusement slipping into his words.
"...why Fen Fen, whoever do you mean?"
Fenshire's lips tightened angrily. "I don't have time for this shtick-sh*t." Dropping one gun to his side, the Department cleaner raised the other and pulled the trigger. The UMP chattered loudly, spitting a hail of bullets at the front of the chapel. With a laugh, Vanil's form blurred lightly, his Exhilic reflexes kicking in as he cart wheeled to the side, the burning lead shredding the front pew to splinters. Spinning gracefully, Vanil let two matte-black Desert Eagles slide into his leather gloves. With a fanged grin, he pulled the triggers, the pistol hammers banging back, opening a path for spent bullet casings.
"Cry havoc and all that, dear Fen Fen!"
The brutal handguns erupted loudly, coughing high-velocity rounds from their muzzles. Cursing again, Fenshire dived behind one of the pillars holding up the chapel ceiling, allowing the heavy rounds to blow fist-sized chunks out of the gothic stonework. Cocking his hammers again and checking his bullet count, the blonde-haired Machinist dived out from the thin cover. Time seemed to drip like oil as Fenshire ran straight for the code vampire; both sub machineguns spraying clouds of ballistic fire. Spinning about again, Vanil launched himself to the side and up the chapel wall...and kept moving up it.
‘F*cking Exile,' thought Fenshire as he trailed Vanil up the wall with his guns, still at work emptying the magazines. Vanil ran up the wall, his coat hanging down behind him as he fired meticulously back at the Machinist.
And then Vanil felt a searing stab of pain as a bullet buried itself into his leg.
With a hissing snarl, Vanil launched himself off of the wall, his pistols blazing as he hit and stuck to the opposite one. A sizzle of code-steam rose lightly from his wound. Silver bullets...the filthy little human had done his homework. Pointing both handguns at Fenshire, the Prince squeezed off his final rounds, forcing the human to dive behind an intact pew for cover. A brief respite followed as both combatants slid fresh magazines into their weapons, the metallic clacks bouncing acoustically off of the stone walls of the chapel, now mostly in bullet-ridden ruins.
Laughing cruelly, Vanil put a heavy Eagle round into Fenshire's pew, taunting him. "Come now Fen Fen, is that all? Perhaps your...combat aptitude has atrophied while stuck in your Real eating protein slop."
"I doubt that you sack of Exhilic sh*t." Fenshire jumped out from behind the splintering bench and opened up again, shell casings raining down about him. Vanil scampered up one wall, along the ceiling, and down another. He was a blur, nigh-impossible to hit as his wound began to already heal itself, his Desert Eagles banging combatively against the rapid-fire chatter of Fenshire's UMPs.
Christ he was fast. Fenshire would give the vampire that as his bullets seemed to slide around Vanil, sending sparks and chips of stone raining downward. He could aim behind his target, but that would be pointless. He could aim at the target, but it wouldn't be there anymore by the time the bullets arrived. He could aim in front of the target, but it would anticipate that and dodge around it. F*ck that cocky sh*t and his wall-walking.
And then Fenshire saw his chance. Time again warped as Vanil stepped off of the wall and onto the large wooden cross that hung above the altar. Seeing his chance, the Machinist squeezed off a controlled bust of fire. With a deafening, splintering crash, the wooden monolith tumbled from the ceiling, and Vanil, caught completely off-guard, tumbled down with it, losing his grip on his heavy-bore pistols.
Considering his situation, Vanil hit the floor with surprising grace. But even the lightest of landings wouldn't stop Fenshire as he dropped a UMP and dived at the Merovingian vampire through the bits of raining stone, wood, and mortar. Grabbing the surprised Exile by the top of his black leather coat, Fenshire slammed his lean form into a shattered stone pillar and pressed his remaining sub machinegun barrel into Vanil's pale forehead.
"Now that we've taken care of the formalities..." Fenshire began, clicking his gun's hammer again, "...I'll ask again. Where is she? Where is Alice?"
A third voice answered him. "Here." There was a loud, chattering bag, and Fenshire howled briefly in pain as he felt his leg torn into, crimson pain clouding his vision as he fell to the floor, leaving Vanil leaning casually against the pillar. Clutching his bloody, bullet-ridden leg, Fenshire turned and saw her, just as he had remembered her; clad tightly in white leathers, her hat pulled snugly over her highlighted hair, a MAC-11 sub machinegun smoking in her hand. Fenshire didn't know what to say...what he ‘could' say.
"Alice...what...?"
Vanil kicked himself lightly off of the pillar. "Well now, that's that, dear Fen Fen." The vampire moved over to Alice and ran his tongue lightly along her cheek. "Mm, shall we go, my dear?"
Alice gave Fenshire an odd look before turning around to the door and lowering her weapon.
"Yeah...let's."
~V
