Chapter 11

Col walked out of the apartment in a dream state. He'd been in that mindset since he had left the abandoned factory; an event that seemed to grow more distant every time he thought of it. There was so much more ahead to do that every passing moment seemed to move him inches to a mile. The serfs said things to him, well-wishings, warnings and the like, and he'd responded in kind, not one to discourage their meager help. But Col couldn't help feeling alone. They'd helped him as much as they could at this point, and yet they had done so little; so very little. He alone had to face the darkness looming, he alone bore the burden of their master at this point. It was in his power, in his hands to be the savior, yet for all that responsibility he felt so very powerless.

Before he even thought of it as his destination he was in his own home, his living room. Evenings with the Master came to mind. Teachings. In most tales, vampires were left to fend for themselves after their un-deaths, left to discover for themselves which path to take in the upcoming forevers of their lives. Col became aware of something now, as he stood alone amongst their furniture: There was a sort of desperation in his master’s teachings, specifically that Col should make something of his time that he not fall to his newfound instinct to feed endlessly and wallow in the excess of his power. But neither would he allow Col to sit still. He urged Col to find balance in all that he did- to work after playing, to act after any long period thinking, and to find someone or something to hold sacred. It had never occurred to him until now, but he now wondered if his master had failed sometime long ago to press the same into another. Or perhaps someone had failed to press them into the Master.

Col shook his head violently. He had to focus on the upcoming. He took a quick inventory of his pockets - rope, plastic bags, knife, and his gun. He decided that he was uncomfortable with the amount of bullets he'd wasted in the fight against the Hunters, so went to his room.

The shadow demons were ablaze with conversation, so much that Col could not easily discern what they spoke of. It seemed that most of the topics revolved around some sort of internal politics (the workings of which Col could not fathom to understand) and their fate in the absence of the Master. Like before, they hardly seemed to notice his presence. In his haste to get on with his task, Col did not endeavor to make them more aware.

That is, until he discovered that their overbearing darkness prevented his finding what he came for. “Demons, I cannot see for your bulk,” he said in defeat.

“Young one! Have you yet located the Great one?”

“No, not exactly. I am on my way to search for him. Or at least I would be if I could but find what I've returned for.”

“Leave that to us! Tell us of what you seek and we shall give it to you.”

“I need bullets for my...” he hadn't finished his statement before he felt a probing in his jacket. His gun came loose, then floated away. There were sounds of metal clashing and scraping and then the gun was returned.

“There, young one,” said another voice. “Your stock has been replenished, and we have prepared and stored several clips for said firearm.”

“Is there any other service that we may provide?” asked a third, somewhat disrespectful voice.

“No... no, I cannot think of anything,” answered Col, a little surprised. He added then, “thank you.”

“Please, do not thank us. Is it not our duty to serve?”

Col didn't respond, but simply left. He still did not totally trust the Demons- they were creatures of the infernal after all- but he had to admit they hadn't given him any reason for his mistrust. Again he found himself mobile with hardly a thought and before he realized it, he was in the Master's study. There were books everywhere. Despite a number of crammed bookshelves, there were stacks on the floor and on the large wooden desk against the far wall. The other furniture, a small round coffee table and a plush, wood-armed chair, were arranged in a way so that one's eye was drawn mostly towards a set of stained-glass doors to the side of the desk; which now, filled with lunar light, cast this eerie scene on the floor: A large embellished moon, colored a nearly-white blue in a clear, starry sky, caught in a hurricane of flocking and flapping bats.

Col strode to the doors and cast them open, not too oblivious to notice how the bats seemed to flutter as the doors swung outward. Groups of small, real, bats took wing under the glass ceiling above. They squeaked past Col as he strode out onto the balcony and leaned on the ornate railing. He wondered what had possessed the Master to own such an obvious memorial to Vampires- both the doors and the various creatures and actions depicted on the supports of the railing- and more so who had formed such things for him. He was realizing, among all the things he didn't know that were suddenly becoming necessary, that he knew nothing of his master's past; of who he had befriended or known in all his years of un-life.

All Col knew was that he had tracked the Master out of vengeance. For two years Col had been imprisoned for a string of sick brutal murders of women. When the killings had not stopped after his conviction, Col had been freed. He had found his quarry in a building in the Old District, and confronted him, not knowing fully who or what he was. At the time Col's life was devoid of meaning, he had lost it all because of his wrongful imprisonment, and he had intended to make the true culprit pay.

Col had relived that night more times than he cared to count, but could not decide if the Master had willingly waited for him or if he had truly caught the Master unaware. Irregardless, the man had put up a measly semblance of a struggle then apologized. Col had been taken aback. The Master had then explained what he was and Col had grown angrier and angrier at each word. Col finally laid the gun's muzzle on the man's forehead and fired.

The shock of killing a man was a tiny voice compared to that of his satisfaction. He had turned the gun on himself when he heard the man, the Master, speak. Col was so surprised that he nearly pulled the trigger. The man rose and offered Col the deal of a lifetime: Eternal life, to never age, to never again be weak. Col spoke words of disbelief until the man brought himself to hover several feet off of the ground. His eyes shone, his teeth glittered red, and sharp. Col, he said, had enacted his vengeance; now his choices were between eternity and death.

Col chose eternity.

The vampire's bite induced an endless black.

His hand passed through Col's chest, wrapped over his heart. Something inside had torn, melted, reshaped.

The next few years were a blur stuttering with sporadic memorable moments. His Master changed from first powerful adversary to stern master to quiet father-figure. They spent a lot of time together in the beginning, first overcoming Col's natural revulsion at his need to feed, then cryptic lessons on what it meant to be a creature of the shadows.

There were shortcomings and doubt. Sometimes Col wondered if he should have died that night. But the chance had been taken, he had made his choice, so saw little point in regretting it. For with this chance he now had the opportunity to perform great acts, and more so, to be above the rest of the drudging lifestyle of those who clung to the day.

Presently, Col grasped the roof's edge and pulled himself up. He fumbled and slid on the glass squares of the balcony's roofing, found his footing on the railing, then used that leverage to boost him. The wind blew gently for the most part, though sometimes whipped up at its own whim.

Below his perch was a small courtyard with a goblet-like fountain, and a few structures to amuse those of younger minds. Beyond were a few shorter apartment buildings, all but one abandoned; All occupied in one way or another. Col placed his love of his Master above his own inclination for safety and unfurled his wings. It would be a long fall to the ground should he lose his balance on the wind. He hoped he had enough strength to make it. He dove.

He flapped as hard as he could but still found himself loosing purchase. The wind kicked up and knocked him sideways. He found himself hurtling downward toward the building. He covered his head with his arms and without meaning to, stretched his wings out flat. His speed increased distressingly. He tried angling them and suddenly he was in a spiral; a small comfort as he was no longer heading straight for the crusty brick of his apartment building. In the second loop of the spiral, the wind pushed against the underside of his wings. The wind clawed at his wing-flesh, so Col loosened them, allowing them to curve a little. The wind puffed into his wings and blew him upward. He sighed with relief.

He rode the wind up as far as it would take him; well above the balcony where he had begun. The Old District stretched out for miles below, all derelict rectangular shapes with the occasional beacon of a working street-light. In the distance were rising plumes of smoke from the Industrial District. Col did his best to align himself on a northward wind, and grinned as he soared above the buildings.

This was a freedom he had never known; Aloft and without boundary, but nevertheless at the mercy of the wind. He hoped no one below would take notice of a flying man.

Before too long, perhaps twenty minutes upon the air, his shoulders began to tire. Col noted with pleasure that he was within the borders of the Industrials, and headed toward the nearest building. His eyes weren't keen enough for him to determine where exactly he was or where to find his quarry so he was more than happy to land and get his bearings. He didn't quite land but flew as close to the rooftops as comfort would warrant, angled his wings so that he would come upright, then fell in a heap.

Col brushed dirt and crumbling tar from his jacket and peered over the edge of the roof. He estimated that he was nearly a mile away from the building he sought. His boots crunched the small stones littering the rooftop as he built up speed, dodging the short metal structures sprouting from the building beneath him. He leaped from roof to roof. Finally he was atop the Liquid Pharmaceuticals structure.

The lights were off, even the streetlights and the lights above the entrances to the building. The rooftop was peppered with short metal boxes and strange shapes that looked like squared canes. Nearby was a rectangular opening shielded with thick, grimy glass. He was circling the perimeter and taking in his surroundings when he heard an odd noise come from somewhere nearby, like someone was hammering nails into the bricks. Afraid that he might be spotted, Col slipped around a concrete rectangle built into the roof-top and peered carefully around the corner.

After a moment, a figure pulled itself over the edge and crossed from there to the glass opening. Col grimaced at the way the person walked on its tip-toes and hunched over like a bipedal animal. There was no other conclusion for him to draw but this: it was a Loper.

Col drew his gun. If Lopers had anything to do with this building he was in for a tough fight. He hoped that it was just passing through, but it stopped at the skylight and stared down through it. It wore a tight fitting, black tee-shirt and baggy denim jeans. Its hair was done in thin dreadlocks that were tied up together neatly behind its head. Its face seemed human, except its jaw was distorted with muscle and fangs. Suddenly there were the sounds of mute gunfire and glass shattering. Bits of it flew precariously close to the Loper's face. The creature snarled, stepped back and began to grow in size. Its mass doubled, its nose flattened and hair sprang up like weeds all over its skin, swallowing the tee-shirt. It roared like a king of the grasslands and leaped over the edge- disappearing, wrist bangles and baggy jeans and all. Voices cried out in the night then abruptly stopped.

Col gritted his teeth together. He waited as long as his withering patience would allow then slowly approached the hole wherein the Loper had dropped.

The moon made a splayed shape on the floor below, alighting on a grisly scene of torn bodies surrounded by splintered helmets and useless rifles. Col waited a moment longer then dropped down inside, moving quickly to disappear into the shadows.

He was in a warehouse. Metal racks stood in a close grid, crammed with boxes of every size. More boxes were piled in corners, stacked neatly on dollies or at the sides of the shelves. Col figured he was in the rearmost part of the facility. Across from him was a set of double doors, one closed, and one flung wide, showing only darkness.

Col frowned. 'What is a Loper doing here?' If it had killed the guards then he and it were on the same side, to some degree. Col just hoped he could convince it of that fact. He strode to the doors and took in a breath.

Right on cue, there was a short scream and the loud, hollow slam of something colliding with the closed door to the darker passage. The Loper stood to Col's left, facing the warehouse. Below it was a ruined whimpering form. The creature cocked his head to the side and sniffed the air. It dealt the wimperer a swift and brutal kick to the head, then whipped around.

Col ducked out of the room to the sounds of the Loper's loud roar. It came loping out of the second chamber sniffing at the air. It was practically bursting with muscle, its hands fashioned of nightmarish visions; bearing thick fingers with bulbous tips, from which extended a set of cruel and curved claws now dripping man-blood. Light orange fur ran down its back, across its legs and arms, and covered its face. Lighter, tannish fur lined its stomach, and around its face was a mane of burning-red hair. It sniffed again

“So they send a youngling out to spy,” it said, turning this way and that. “Has it run back with its findings? No... it lingers on. Show yourself and earn great honor; if you can.”

“Why'd you kill the guards?” asked Col. He cursed under his breath as he took in the enormity of the situation. Lions were rumored to be the more fierce of all the shifter types, fast as a cat, strong as a bear, with good noses and keen vision.

“What?” asked the Loper, still sniffing, but backing up slowly towards Col. He decided to put some space between it and himself, so moved behind a shelf on the Loper's left. It continued to back up. “We both know the answer to that, so just come on out so we can discuss what's really important.”

“I came here for answers, not to fight with you, Loper. I've done enough fighting for one night.”

“You speak many lies, young one,” said the Loper, now curiously moving toward Col again, seeming to wander in its way. “If you are here for answers, you would be flushing them out. Yet here you are, waylaying me and denying my vengeance.”

“I am not lying; it is all as I say, and even more... I am not your enemy...”

“Bullshit; you delay me hoping to gain time for your master to strike. Or perhaps to lead me away from this place.”

“Maybe, or maybe you are some bloodsucker's lap-dog, hmm?” said Col. The creature rushed towards Col. The shelf between them buckled and bent at the base; its mooring screws whined, several slipping from the concrete in puffs of chalky mist. The Loper struggled, trying to tear its way through. Boxes slid off and broke, sending rainbow fluids splashing in all directions.

Col took the opportunity to find a better hiding place. The Loper took a step back, preparing to leap upon the wrecked shelf.

“That make you mad, little kit?” Col said. It growled absently in response. “Like I said before, I'm not here to fight you. I'd rather we didn't cross paths as enemies.”

“As we are. And if we should meet in combat?”

“I don't want to have to kill you.”

“Ha!” The Loper laughed. “Says he who skulks about the shadows.”

“I am hoping I can convince you of my innocence in whatever fell matter you have come to avenge. Then perhaps we can seek our vengeance together.”

“A morsel of truth, perhaps. You claim right to vengeance as well? Tell me of your plight.”

“Do you know of the Dark Lord of Theyeark?”

“I have heard tale of such a thing, a brittle old one and his whelp.”

“And what do you think of them?” asked Col.

“Although it does not matter,” answered the creature, now again standing before Col with only a metal shelf between them. It was looking in his direction, but its eyes were moving, questing and unfocused. “I know very little. The old one was allowed to stake a small claim in Theyeark in return for some service he once paid.”

Col was familiar with that rumor, although the details of the 'Service” were never discussed. He had hoped the Loper would know more, but hadn't expected much. “And the Whelp?”

“Of little rumor or concern.”

“Well met then, Ever-Changing one,” said Col proudly. “I am said whelp, Col, soul-wrought child of Draz, Dark Lord of this city.”

“Eh?” grunted the Loper. “It is not well to meet you, nor do I wish to remember your name. Neither do I trust your claim.”

Col remained silent, deciding to move again, this time far across the room, closer to the skylight. The Loper remained where it was for a while still. He crossed his arms and watched the creature for a while, unsure of whether it was toying with him or actually listening.

Presently, it cocked its head to the side and sniffed. It looked in Col's direction and started towards him. “Why do you not stand still,” it said then closed its eyes and shook its head once quickly, “If you will not face me, Bloodied-one, then go and call for your Master that I should meet him and be satisfied.”

“You do not wish to hear of my plight?” asked Col, fearing that the creature was on the waning edge of its patience. It was nearing.

“NO! I want only to feel your flesh rending at the press of my claws and to taste your cold lifeless blood. To end the lives of all that dared oppose my holt and ....” the Loper suddenly stopped, standing entirely in the moonlight. It cast its eyes upward and stood there a moment, lips moving slowly.

Col's hand moved for his gun. He knew a bullet wouldn't harm it much, but it could give him an edge. At first he wasn't sure what the Loper was doing but then it hit him: It was talking to the moon. Col checked his watch impatiently (it was 11:00pm) and wondered what the two were discussing.

After only a couple minutes, the Loper spoke aloud, sounding as if it had been snubbed by a superior: “Alune, the night's maiden, has given you a single chance to prove your innocence. You must come out of the shadow and into her light.”

“Yea?” said Col. “So what you want me to do is come out... and face you? Why does that sound like a bad idea?”

“You have only this chance,” it said then smiled an unsettling smile. “Else-wise I have leave to deal with you as I see fit.”

Col studied the Loper for a moment, trying to decide whether or not it could be trusted. He couldn't come to any definite conclusion, so with a foolhardy shrug he came from behind the shelf and approached the moonlight. Col hadn't paid much attention before, but now noticed how much larger than him the thing was; more than a foot and a half taller, and owning at least twice the muscle. He noticed that the thing was covered in blood from the stomach down. The Loper sneered and turned its face away as Col stepped out of the shadow. Then, as it turned back, its jaw dropped and a wave of complete disbelief washed over it. The expression was so comical on the Lion-esque face of the Loper that Col nearly burst into peals of laughter. It retracted its claws and passed one of its large paws over its face.

“Coldrain?” It said finally, having accepted that its eyes were indeed working properly.

Col shivered at the mention of his name but stuffed it down beneath a frown. “How do you know my name...?”

“I can't believe... how... why have you become...” it started all at once.

“You gonna stand there gaping or are you gonna tell me who you are?”

“Oh,” it laughed nervously, “of course.”

The Loper stepped back and began to change. Its fur melted away, its features dissolved into a swirling lack of definition. Its arms crossed over its face at the wrists and its hands balled into fists. Then slowly its fingers uncurled. It shrunk down to a more normal size, and finally its clothing reappeared. The now-human Loper shook out its head of dreadlocks and stepped forward.

It was Col's turn to drop jaw and stare, and this time the Loper laughed deep and loud. Col joined in but before long his mind drifted back to his task. Their laughter drained away as each remembered his duty.

“Krixtyle, my old friend, To say 'I can't believe my eyes’ is an understatement.”

“Likewise, Col,” said Krixtyle. “After you got released I never heard nothing from you. I figured you had gone on with your plan and gotten yourself killed.”

“Well you were pretty much right,” said Col. “But I think we should leave the reminiscing and catching-up for another time.”

Krixtyle looked around and shrugged. “Right you are.”