Act Three Chapter Thirteen - Come Undone

Lewis White glanced up for the briefest moment from his Nintendo Gameboy to see an somewhat odd sight for 2:00am. Three young men were approaching the front door of Takagi Tower, where Lewis worked as the night guard. Not only was it odd to see anybody coming in at this late hour, outside of Mr. Takagi himself anyway, but the lead of the three was dressed in a long trench coat. Clothing much too warm for these summer months.

Lewis set down his Tetris game and sat up. "Joe, Pat, these guys look like trouble."

Across the lobby were Lewis' two partners in crime. They took to their feet, their hands reaching instinctively to the nightsticks on their belts. The trio from outside walked in.

"Can we..." said Pat as he moved to intercept them.

Almost faster than his eyes could see, Lewis saw a shotgun appear in the hands of the leader. Pat never finished his sentence before the blast from the weapon sent him flying. Lewis hit the alarm and came to his feet. Another blast ended Joe.

Lewis drew his gun and fired. It was a quick shot, unaimed, and Lewis winced as he saw the puff of dust from where the round struck the wall behind the man with the shotgun. The shotgunner turned to him.

"Not your night." he said and the last thing Lewis saw or heard for the rest of his life was the blast of Michael Allen's weapon.

"That was easy." said Boar.

"They'll be more. He tripped the alarm." said Mitch.

"So much the better." said Michael coldly.

“With that in mind, it might be a good time for..." With that, Boar morphed into a gigantic dire wolf.

"Indeed." said Michael. He dropped the shotgun and reached under the left side of his coat. The trench had done a good job of concealing the arsenal Michael carried. He pulled free his AK-47 and pulled back the bolt to chamber the first round. Mitch, in turn, drew his .45. In his left hand, Mitch pulled out a pair of dice and began to gingerly toss them in the air.

"For luck." he said. His mind then set to work reweaving the essence of the universe toward that very purpose.

Immediately, over a dozen men burst out of the stairwell doors on the far side of the lobby. They were heavily armed with assault rifles and combat shotguns; no ordinary rent-a-cops like the first three guards. Michael guessed they were mercenaries who served Hiroshi's darker businesses.

They did not bother with any formalities. They simply opened fire.

With vampiric speed, Michael darted behind a nearby pillar. Mitch followed, somewhat slower, but despite his leisurely pace, none of the merc's initial barrage seemed to touch him.

Michael returned fire, letting the Russian masterpiece in his hand do its work. The mercs took cover of their own behind the aft pillars. They exchanged fire, but neither did little more than turn the ivory plaster covering the pillars into clouds of dust.

Michael heard the roar of a wolf and glanced to his side to see Boar dive into the midst of a pack of mercs. He'd heard tale from Solomon that minds of normal mortals did strange things in the presence of a werewolf and now he saw that true. The hardened mercs were in a panic and, despite firing their weapons madly, seemed unable to even hit the giant wolf before them, let alone injure it.

"So that's what lunacy looks like." said Michael.

"Really?" said Mitch. He turned his head to watch Boar, yet leaned out and fired without looking. Across the room, a merc pitched over onto the floor.

"How..." Michael was about to ask, but then decided not to. "Enough of this. I am a vampire." He switched clips and came out from behind cover.

The mercs must have thought him mad. One popped his head up to take the obvious kill shot, but was cut down by Michael (who was much faster on the draw than any mortal.) A second did the same, only to take a round dead center of his forehead from Mitch.

Michael fired burst after burst at the remaining mercs. They returned fire, bullets ripping through his undead flesh. Mitch killed two more, and then Michael another before his gun ran dry. Only two mercs now remained before him.

He threw the AK into the face of the first, stunning him. With blinding speed, he pounced on the man and knocked him to the floor. Michael's fangs found his throat and he drank deep, his wounds healing from the fresh blood.

The second made to retreat. He backed into the door to the stairwell, firing a Glock pistol haphazardly at Boar, Michael, and Mitch. His shots only hit Michael, who was stationary while he fed. Mitch advanced.

"Enough." said Mitch. Up came the .45. It spoke once and the merc slumped to the floor.

Boar morphed back to human form, covered in the blood of the four or so mercs he'd mauled on his own. "Someone will have heard all that."

"Then we don't have a lot of time." said Michael, wiping the blood from his chin.

"How are you doing?" asked Mitch. "You got hit at least five times there."

"Good as new, thanks to the little snack I just had."

---

Michael took the elevator to the top public floor, one floor below where he knew the executive penthouse was located.

Mitch and Boar stayed behind to mind the store while Michael proceeded onward. It was a calculated gamble. After all, this was the very sort of thing Hiroshi wanted him to do. It was the whole reason Hiroshi had butchered Leigh and left his tell-tale weapon behind. This building was a trap.

But Michael knew that. He'd known that all along. The mercs downstairs would have proven a handful had he been alone. Mitch and Boar had evened the odds. Now he'd left them behind, a necessity to watch for police entanglement.

Michael stepped out into a cubicle farm. It was dark, save for a single flickering light at the far end of the room, near the alternate elevator that would take him up the final floor. Michael took a single step forward, knowing this room would be his next test. He reached under his trench and drew out his own katana. In his left, he drew his Beretta.

His vampire ears picked up the sounds of padded footfalls, nearly silent against the carpeted floors. Downstairs it had been mercenary soldiers. Now, Michael smiled at the cliché: ninjas.

“Really, Hiroshi, you taking your tips from the generic bad guy playbook?” And then, they were on him.

The first struck from the left, swinging a blade in a wide arc towards Michael's neck. He gave them credit; at least they knew what they had to do to get a killing blow. Michael deftly parried the blow and fired a burst from his Beretta into his attacker.

That seemed to ruin his night. The ninja twitched as the bullets ripped through his flesh and he fell backwards to the floor.

The second struck a half-second later and then the third. A quick slash of a ninjato and the Beretta fell to the floor, Michael's fingers still wrapped around it.

“Okay, not so cliché anymore.”

A fourth attacker came next. Unlike the others, he did not have the ninjato sword, but some manner of Japanese flail. Number four swung the flair in a narrow arc. Michael parried, but the weapon wrapped about his katana and gave him a solid blow in the chest. Michael heard the crack of ribs.

They came again. This time, rather than let himself be surrounded, Michael dropped and rolled forward, slipping between two of them and gaining better position. The move was unexpected and Michael came up with an arcing slash of his katana that took out attacker #2.

Number four came next, making another swing with the flail. This time, Michael caught the weight in his wounded left hand. His fingers regenerating before his very eyes, Michael gripped it tightly and yanked. That pulled the ninja off his feet and Michael planted his katana in his unbalanced foe's throat.

“You're dinner.” Michael said aloud, pointing at his last foe and taking delight in watching the last few millimeters of his pointer finger regenerate.

The ninja responded with a loud chi shout and charged. Michael parried his thrust, knocking the ninjato upward. His riposte arched downward from the right and cut across the man's chest. Blood exploded outward as the katana sheared through his heart and lungs.

Michael took a moment to savor a few gulps. He took in a breath and, confident his body was once again whole, he fetched his pistol and headed for the penthouse elevator.

---

The penthouse elevator opened up on another smaller cubicle farm. Michael wondered if he'd face yet another challenge here, but the room was well-lit and Michael heard not a sound with his sensitive ears. He strode forward towards the finely finished mahogany doors before him.

He opened the doors to reveal a well appointed office. At the far end was a large oak desk and behind the desk was Hiroshi Takagi, the sheriff of the Prince-Bishop's new order.

“I am so very delighted you made it this far.” said Hiroshi, coming to his feet slowly. “It is not often I find myself with an opponent worthy of my skills. You've been very well trained, but I wonder...is it enough to match three mortal lifetimes of skill with a blade?”

Hiroshi walked aside his desk to the wall, where he took down from an ornate display a katana not unlike Michael's own. “This blade belonged to my father and his father before him. We were samurai in the days when that meant something, before the Americans, before Perry corrupted the Emperor with western ways. I have not forgotten the old traditions in my unlife, so I am curious. Will you take my test? Will you embrace my challenge?”

Michael looked at Hiroshi with scorn. “You've made one mistake, Takagi.”

“Oh, and that is?”

“I didn't come here to fight you.” said Michael. “I came here to kill you.” Michael then whipped his Mac-10 from under his trench and opened fire full-auto into Hiroshi.

The vampire samurai was clearly not expecting that move. He tried to keep his feet as the Mac tore 30 rounds through his undead body. At its impressive rate of fire, the Mac emptied its clip in less than 2 seconds.

“Regenerate that, you fucker!” snarled Michael. “Oh, and for good measure.” Michael dropped the Mac and brought out the Beretta again. One burst, two, and then a third. He emptied the machine pistol into Hiroshi as well.

“Solomon told me something once.” said Michael. “Doesn't matter what it is, if you pump enough bullets into it, it will eventually fall down.” Michael dropped the pistol and brandished his katana. “Now I’ll make sure you stay down.”

Hiroshi came to his feet clumsily, his body riddled with bullet wounds, his vampiric metabolism clearly overtaxed by trying to heal injuries of that severity. Michael charged.

Despite his injuries, Hiroshi had not forgotten his decades of skill and practice. His katana slashed out, but Michael was quicker. He dove backwards limbo-style under Hiroshi's swing. Skidding on his knees, he came up behind the samurai and struck from behind. Michael's blade bit deep.

Hiroshi spun, his eyes wild and desperate. “I have walked this earth for over 150 years. I will not be beaten by the likes of you.” He thrust, slashed, and cut with blinding speed.

Michael parried each blow. Despite his speed and skill, Hiroshi's attacks were born of desperation and panic and Michael knew there would soon be a moment...and when it came, he took it.

Michael parried a particularly vicious swing from Hiroshi. With a violent shove, he pushed down his opponent's katana and then snapped his own blade back around in a lightning fast riposte. Hiroshi had no defense and Michael's blade cut deep, through flesh and bone and flesh again. Hiroshi's right arm came loose and with it, his blade clattered to the floor.

“This cannot be.” roared the Disciple. “And for what? For that woman? She was nothing. A whore, a gutter rat! She would never have amounted to anything. I can't die for the likes of her.”

Michael slashed and Hiroshi's head came free from his neck. “Wrong,” he said as Hiroshi's body turned to ash before him. “You will and you have.”

---

Michael, Boar, and Mitch walked into the Fox Club. Michael doffed his trench as Sarah came up the stairs. Michael ignored them as he put several weapons down on the bar. Not only the guns he had taken with them, but a few others they'd looted from mercs.

“What did you do?” asked Sarah. “You came back here briefly to arm yourselves and then left again without saying a word.”

The last thing Michael pulled out from his arsenal was a katana. He set it on the bar before her.

“I know this blade.” She admitted.

“Its former owner will no longer have need of it.” Said Boar.

“You didn't!”

“We did.”

“Why…” The word barely escaped her lips when Michael slumped to the floor. Sarah dashed over to him and scooped him up in her arms. His energy spent and his dark revenge accomplished, Michael surrendered to his grief. A soul-sick wail came out of his mouth and he burst into tears.

“What happened?” asked Sarah of Boar and Mitch as she pulled Michael tighter into her arms.

“Hiroshi Takagi butchered four innocent people tonight, including two toddler children.” Explained Mitch.

“My God,” said Sarah, reading between the lines. “They killed Leigh, didn’t they?”

“Killed doesn’t begin to describe what we saw tonight. Savagery, butchery.” Boar slumped onto a bar stood, his own strength spent as well.

“And Hiroshi is dead?”

Mitch nodded. “Michael went up. He came back down with that sword. He said nothing about what happened. He didn’t really have to.”

“No, I suppose not. Against that sort of foe…”

Michael stood up unexpectedly, nearly knocking Sarah over. "There's one more thing I have to do." He said coldly. His tears were gone. Only a mask of cold fury remained.

Sarah stood up, "Whatever it is, it can wait." She said forcefully, but kindly. "You're still in shock. Your heart broken. Your mind a mess." She moved to embrace him again and he shoved her away.

"I don't care. There's another that needs to die tonight." He reached for the katana. "The one who gave Hiroshi his orders."

"Oh, no, you don't." said Sarah. With her own blinding vampiric speed and strength, she smashed a nearby bar stool. Before Michael could react, she plunged a fragment of it into his heart. His body stiffened immediately and he tipped forward like a department store mannikin. "I won't let you kill yourself for this. I won't. I can't." She was on the edge of tears herself. "I love you too much to let you do this. Stay. Grieve. Let it all out, but don't go to him. He'll kill you and you know it."

She pulled the stake from him and his body loosened. "Stay." She pleaded again.

He stood up and gave her a glare of quiet rage. He then headed for the stairs without a word.

Sarah stood up and brushed the splinters of the shattered stool from her dress. "I've just lost him." she observed sadly.

"He's not himself." consoled Mitch. "Don't read too much into it."

"No, he's not." Sarah conceded. "And he never will be again."

---

The Prince-Bishop was in a pleasant mood the following night. Word had reached him that Michael's woman was dead. A blow had been struck and now it was time to gloat.

"Has the summons gone out?" he asked for the third time. He looked in the mirror as his thralls helped him into his tattered robes. The former Nightstyles was beginning to resemble the church the Disciples had turned it into and its office was now appropriately decorated with signs of its new sanctified purpose.

"Yes, your grace." replied Ernie, lounging casually on a nearby sofa. "He will be here."

"Excellent. Where is Hiroshi? He should be here to join in these petty procedings." The Bishop laughed in spite of himself. "Tonight we will see a pathetic upstart humbled and we'll have no more of this foolish defiance. We are the Prince. The throne is ours and ours alone."

"Or so Lazarus once thought." reminded Ernie.

"Is that your role tonight, my sire? The chariot slave whispering in my ear that all glory is fleeting? We are Kindred, blessed by God to serve as his dark angels here on Earth. Our cause is just. Our position righteous. None will stand against us and live."

Ernie shrugged. "Tonight may not go quite the way you think it will, my childe."

Shakespeare walked into the office. "Your grace, Michael Allens is here."

"Good. Have him stand forth in the sanctuary. We will be there presently."

Ernie stood up. He gave the Bishop a most curious smirk, like a child with a juicy secret, and then departed.

"Let us go ourselves then." said the Bishop aloud, dismissing his attendents.

The Bishop walked with deliberate pace down the stairs to the landing. He turned to see Michael standing in the center of what was once the club's dance floor. Alone, with none to stand with him. It was a delicious sight.

"Have you at last learned the price of defying us?" demanded the Prince.

Michael looked up at him. Their eyes met, but Michael said nothing. Instead, he brought forth from behind his back a red katana sword, a weapon the Bishop recognized immediately. Michael held it forth silently as the proud smile slowly faded from the Bishop's face.

"You didn't..." said the Bishop slowly, incredulously.

Michael turned and walked out of Nightstyles without a word.

The only sound was the mirthful chuckle of Ernie. "Oh, how I love a good surprise." he admitted.

"He killed Hiroshi!" bellowed the Bishop in rage. "He slew my sheriff!"

"Impossible, a rank novice like himself." interjected Darrel Mills.

"Oh, I think not." said Ernie.

"He'll be coming for us next." said the Bishop, his anger turning quickly to fear.

"I can almost guarantee it."

"He cannot succeed. Our rule is righteous! Our rule is just! Our rule is ordained by God!" The Bishop grew more hysterical with each syllable. "Michael Allens must die! I declare him anathema!"

"And who is left to carry out such a sentence?" reminded Ernie. "Francois? Good luck with that after the mocking reception you gave him here. Damian? His ally. Solomon? In torpor. Who is left to do the Prince's will?"

Realization came across the Bishop's face. "There is an answer. I declare in two nights hence a conclave of the Disciples to discuss this matter. We find a way to end this demon in our midst."

"Oh, I look forward to that. I'm curious to see what you'll come up with."

In the back corner of the former club, Max sat with Guy. "Perhaps we should do the Prince a favor." Guy admitted.

"Perhaps so." replied Max. "But are you willing to take him on if he can best Hiroshi?"

Guy gave no answer.

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