My vengeance was fulfilled. Aioa's spirit could rest in the ghost world; Ilio's corruption was revenged.
The last of the Elders fell to his knees, his palms wrapped round the spurting hole in his windpipe. He gazed up at me, his gleaming eyes wide, filled with horrified disbelief. To make sure he was not preserved by the vampire blood he and his cohorts had used to prolong their lives, I cocked back my arm and struck his head from his shoulders. It went rolling away in the grass, and his body, taut and twitching, toppled onto its back.
But the spears and arrows continued to rain down around me. I was struck in the back, the legs, the buttocks. Stubbornly ignoring the pain, I stalked to the body of Ungst and pulped his head with one stomp of my foot. I did the same to Elder Gant, and then I turned to face the horde of warriors encircling me.
They fell upon me, roaring, enraged. I threw myself into the mass of human bodies, howling like a demon. My assault was merciless. With my vampire strength, I tore their arms from their sockets, ripped their heads from their necks. I threw them into the air with all my strength. I was stabbed and slashed and bludgeoned, but each time I was knocked to my knees, I rose to battle on.
At last I fought my way free of the Oombai army and I leapt into the sky. As the heavens gave birth and the rain slashed down on the killing field in earnest, I withdrew.
I jumped clear of the battleground, but landed badly and sprawled onto my hands and knees. I paused for a moment to twist the spears and arrows from my cold white flesh, then gathered my strength and leapt again.
Wounded, exhausted, I returned to my son.