NOTE: This series takes place prior to the events of West Coast Avengers #1

I remember the darkness.

It was a strange time. Cold and lonely with swirling fogs and pain, much pain. I do not know how long it lasted. It could have been weeks or years, or perhaps minutes. Time seemed to have no meaning there in the shifting, swirling shadows. It could have been forever.

There had been a reprieve, however brief, when the man with the blue face had called my name and brought me forth. Strangeness within a broader strange time I was forced to walk the unending corridors of Limbo in the company of others so like, yet unlike myself: the man afire, the giant gholam, and the one-eyed ghost. I had died then I recall, but it was not the first time.

I remember my once-brother, his face at least. I remember battling him and the disappointment at having to do so. He had abandoned our father, and it was my duty to show him the error of his ways. It was my honor, an obligation that I would yield to no other. He had deserved that much at least, to die by my hand.

I apparently had died by his. I recall falling. I remember the pain in my neck; my last sight of my hat fluttering past caught on the wind…

Manhattan:
Midtown
Somewhat earlier…

Colleen Wing sat in her favorite chair in the offices of Nightwing Restorations, her smooth, bare legs propped up on the corner of her desk, her ankles crossed as she twirled a foot with a content smile. Her toenails sparkled prettily in the fluorescent lights, a dark shade of lavender that matched her kimono, not that anyone would notice once she donned her tights and leather-riding boots. Still, just knowing that her nails were sculptured and painted again made her feel just a bit more feminine. She had been missing that of late, she realized more so since she and her partner Misty Knight had signed on with Frank Drake.

It was a dull bit of drudgery at times, working for Drake, and a month ago if anyone had told her that she would be hunting vampires in the New York slums she would probably have laughed in their face. Considering some of the things that she had done in life, some of the places she had seen it was an odd position to take, but despite her past there were still some things that just did not sit well. With Misty she had run with Mutants, fought against would-be Egyptian Gods and visited cities that should have been no more than fables. Vampires however, that was something out of the storybooks. She did not deny that they existed- hell she had killed more than her share over the past few weeks, but she had yet to meet this alleged Dracula that Frank was so obsessed with, nor any of the others that he droned on and on about. All she had seen were the grunts and a few lieutenants in the Army of Undead, and they could all easily be labeled Mutants or mutates depending on who you talked to.

Still, she had had worse assignments, and despite Misty’s ribbing, Frank Drake was a hottie. Colleen Wing sighed, inspecting her polish closely before reaching for her black tights. She had to wonder what it was that seemed to draw her towards the zealots though. Back at first it had been Daniel Rand and his obsession with finding his parent’s murderer, Harold Meachum. Luckily Misty had staked her claim on Danny early on, and her psychic bond with the Iron Fist had pretty much eliminated any further interest in him for her. That had been little more than a crush of course, but not so long after had come Scott Summers, another man with a mission. Colleen should have realized straight off that he was obsessed with that Jean Grey and not even wasted her time. Grey had been dead when they first met of course, so she had thought there might be a chance, but Summers was first and foremost an X-Man; one of Xavier’s little tin soldiers. Summers was nice enough, and they had had some fun for a time but he was way too dedicated for her. Not so different than Drake, really.

Frank Drake was as obsessed with stopping vampires as Cyclops was at saving the Mutants. Straight off she should have seen the warning signs, but there was definitely something that attracted her to Mister Drake. He looked a bit scruffy, which was not her usual leaning, but he was a fighter too like Danny and Scott. Too, he seemed a one-woman man, and she liked that. She just needed to become that one woman.

His Rachel Van Helsing however seemed to be as big an obsession with him as the Vampire Lord himself. The woman was dead a few years now, put to death actually by Wolverine apparently after she had been turned. That should have been the end of her, but Drake still mooned over the ghost of the woman that had stolen his heart. Colleen needed to put that spirit to rest if she wanted to turn Drake’s head, and that meant being the best little vampire hunter that she could be she supposed. She had to become the obsession.

Colleen stood and jumped a bit, pulling her tights up her legs and snug against her hips then straightening the seams. She heard the television in the front office, the volume going up and down as Misty flipped though the channels as they waited for Drake to return. He had had some errands to do before sundown, and they had expected him back some time ago. He was just a little late, but still Colleen hoped that he was all right. It did not take much imagination to think that the Undead had gotten wind of their nocturnal excursions and had started hunting them with as much fervor as they had been stalking the vampires.

Misty seemed unconcerned though, and that was usually a good sign. Colleen smiled, sitting down again to pull on her boots, getting ready for the night ahead. Along with the tights, boots and kimono she would wear just the slightest bit of body armor, a polymer mesh tunic that was just a little proof against the slashing claws of the Undead. Even Misty had upped her armor after that battle with the Nosferatu in the sewers. It would not do at all to get some bizarre disease from a stray scratch or bite on the arm. Vampires did love to bite.

“Holee… Col, get in here!”

Colleen Wing ran to the front office without a thought, scooping up her Katana in passing, drawing the longer blade from its sheath. She had heard nothing untoward, but Misty was not one to cry out unwarranted, and Colleen saw immediately that her best friend and partner was on her feet and stuffing her guns into their shoulder holsters as she stared at the television monitor.

“What? Gilligan finally get off the island?” Colleen asked, glancing about the office. All seemed well and in place and she hesitated lowering her sword. Misty Knight nodded towards the TV.

“Take a look.”

Colleen looked at the screen and immediately saw her friend’s sudden concern. The television was hooked up with digital cable and had some ungodly amount of channels ranging into the thousands. Ten of those keyed into the building’s security monitors and it was one of those that the screen was displaying at the moment; the one focused on the Lobby. The image was scratchy and flickered with interference, a side effect of broadcasting in Times Square the cable installer had said, but the picture was clear enough to show that Frank Drake had returned, and he was not alone.

There were five of them, two men and three women by the looks and a shadier bunch Colleen had not seen in quite awhile. They were all dressed against the chill weather and apparently in disguise in long black coats and wide-brimmed hats. Still, even considering the scratchy image and the disguises she could see that one of the men seemed to be glowing, and one of the women seemed to have hair that was almost alive. Colleen turned, but Misty was already at the door.

“You comin’ or what?”

“Right behind you, partner.”

Colleen took a final glance at the monitor then hurried after her friend. It was a long way to the lobby and she hoped that Frank would be all right until they got there. Despite everything, he was still just a man after all…

BLOOD COMPLEX!

By Curtis Fernlund

I was awakened once more, later, more blue faces staring down at me. They called themselves the Kree and made promises that they had no intention to keep. They rebuilt me to their own ends, adding what they required and subtracting what they did not need. My body was improved through their unearthly sciences and I was given great gifts through their technology. They stripped me of my being however, their operations to restore my life taking what little humanity that I possessed. I had become little more than a killing machine at their hands, at least in the beginning.

They set me after their vaunted, hated foe, the Silver Surfer. I fought the soarer of the spaceways with a zealous fanaticism, promises of memory and past spurring me on. I used the technologies that the Kree had given me to fight the silver one, but in the end his power proved far greater to mine. He left me humbled and went on to defeat my masters, leaving me alone to my fate.

I traveled the stars using the weapons and devices of the Kree to make my way back to wherever I belonged. My memory was shattered, my humanity gone with the face I once bore. I wandered aimlessly for a time, lost once more in a new darkness; of space and of the soul.

Inexorably I made my way towards the Earth. Whether some distant memory of home or some unfathomable yearning, a calling to bring me back I returned to the system of my birth, though I would learn that later. By coincidence, or perhaps design my travels brought my path across that of the Silver Surfer’s once again. We fought, I hoping to wrest some memory that I thought he might hold, he simply to be rid of my interference and me. Perhaps he has never lived with the pain of death and loss, but I cannot hold his actions against him as he fought valiantly. We battled on the Moon, Earth’s singular satellite and our fight might have slain us both in time if not for the intervention of that dead sphere’s inhabitants-

The Inhumans…

Manhattan:
Midtown
Not so long ago…

Frank Drake stared at the woman before him trying his best to wrest control of his faculties back under his own control. He held his gun aloft, but his aim was unsteady and his will still weak. The Daughter of Dracula had that effect on him- on any man, making them little more than simpering pawns in whatever grand scheme she was currently following-

“C-Captain… America?” he stuttered, his mind still swirling from the slightest mental control that the woman had employed. She was beautiful of course, and not only a Vampire but a Succubus as well. She served in souls as much as the Undead, striving to undo whatever her father, Dracula was about. She was tall with raven black hair and alabaster skin, dressed in black leathers and stiletto boots with just a trim of blood red. Her smile was mesmerizing, her dark almond eyes hypnotizing. They were cousins…

Lilith laughed. “Of course. The vaunted Avenger, the Sentinel of Liberty, he called on us to answer the summons your hireling placed on his Message Board. The Internet is a marvelous thing Frank. You should be pleased.”

“I don’t…” Frank stumbled for words, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He was always like this when Lilith was around. “What…”

“My fault, I guess.” The man with the fiery glowing skull face stepped forward. He was big and bulky, and exuded a radiance that caused frank to point his sawed-off in that the direction. The man did not seem concerned in the least.

“Name’s Jim Skully,” he said, extending his hand. Drake ignored it, swaying on his feet and the glowing man finally shrugged, slipping his gloved hands back into his pockets. “I go by the name the Blazing Skull now though, for obvious reasons. I met up with Captain America a while back and he dropped my name into his database as someone to call on if he needed help outside the Avengers. I hooked up with this bunch though in the meantime- the Shock Troop! We’re Occult Investigators for lack of a better term, kind of like you were when you ran with the Night Stalkers for a time. Doctor Druid gathered us together originally. He’s dead now of course, so we follow Lilith.”

“But she’s-“

“The Daughter of Dracula! Yeah, we know. She’s played straight with us so far though, Drake, despite her family. From what I hear, you’re blood ties aren’t exactly pristine…”

“Skully’s right, cousin,” Lilith said with a seductive smile. She was confident to the point of arrogance, and with good reason. She was the potential heir to the Vampire Nation.

“We’re fighting the good fight now, my allies and me. We’ve encountered many things that needed eliminating, and now it seems that my father has come to the top of the list again. I-“

There was a shout and all heads turned to see the Daughters of the Dragon come storming out of the stairwell and into the lobby proper. Misty Knight had her guns drawn as she burst through the outer doors, and Colleen Wing slid right up between Drake and his apparent assailants holding her sword high and ready to defend, or attack.

“Frank?”

“I’m… I’m fine Colleen.” Frank Drake shuddered once again, feeling the last of Lilith’s influence drain away. He reached out and put his hand on Colleen’s shoulder, willing her to stand down.

“They’re friends, apparently. On our side at the very least. They’re answering Misty’s call for help.”

“Good to know,” Misty said, but Drake saw that she kept her handguns at the ready. She eyed Lilith warily, and the last member of the Shock Troop that had yet to expose herself.

“Allow me to introduce my teammates, cousin. Perhaps that will set your mind at ease.” Lilith turned and gestured at her allies. “Skully you know now. Once he was Skull the Slayer, a normal man caught up in the ambitions of aliens. He found a mystical belt of power, which gives him strength and limited invulnerability but at the price you see, the loss of his human form.” She turned slightly, gesturing at the tallest of her group. “N’Kantu was an Egyptian prince before deceit and deception stripped him of his titles and regality. Now he is reborn as the Living Mummy, a man lost in time.” She pointed to the woman cloaked in shadows. “Shadowoman is a Mutant of sorts, and a wielder of the Dark Force. The less you know of her the better I think. Our final member you know quite well I think, Frank. She-“

“I can speak for myself, thank you.”

Frank Drake’s eyes went wide to hear that voice again. It was the voice that had originally caught his attention as the Shock Troop had appeared. He knew that voice, even after so long…

“Rachel?”

Colleen Wing’s eyes went wide as the woman stepped forward, her hands reaching up to the hood that concealed her face. It couldn’t be. Not again…

“No, Frank, you ass.” The woman pulled back her hood revealing a wild mane of blonde hair and a beautiful face despite the scars that marred her forehead and cheek. “Not Rachel.“

The woman stepped forward and drew back a fist suddenly throwing her weight into a punch that struck the stunned Frank Drake squarely on the jaw. Colleen winced at the force of the blow, feeling a bit of sympathy as Frank flew back, lifted off of his feet with the force of the blow to land sprawled on the sidewalk. Colleen stared as he blinked, rubbing his jaw and thumbing blood and saw for the first time the steady stream of rats and roaches that was scrabbling down the street.

“What the fu-“

“Not Rachel, Frank! Bastard! Marlene! My name is Marlene Drake! Your fucking wife!”

Colleen Wing blinked, her attention returning to the woman. She surely knew how to pick ‘em.

It was Black Bolt, the liege lord of the Inhumans that stopped my battle with the sentinel of the stars. It was he that took me in, perhaps in sympathy of our shared silence, their own science that healed the scars created by the machinations of that other race distantly related to those dwellers on Earth’s Moon. My time with the Inhumans was short but peaceful and though they restored the ways of my flesh with their Terrigen Mists, I found that they could do nothing to repair my soul, nor find my lost humanity. Not to say that they did not try, but I was beyond their means, apparently.

The Inhumans moved on eventually, as did I. The Earth, forever in the lunar sky beckoned and I knew that there lie my true and final destiny as well as my beginnings. I used those technologies of the Kree scientists a final time for that last length of my journey home to take me back to the world of my origins. Both the Surfer and the Inhumans deemed me to be of Earth, a human despite the far-flung distance of my rebirth. If there were answers to be found, it would be there.

My return however was as random and jumbled as my wanderings in space. I was drawn to lands, places that seemed familiar but held no true meaning. I recognized things; buildings and images but all were shattered and cracked in the mirror of my memory set in no order and with no true meaning to me. I was lost…

Manhattan:
The Lower East Side

Dagger stared, her eyes brimming with tears as she tried to get closer to Cloak. His screams of pain and terror were killing her, ripping at her heart but try as she might she just could not gain any ground. She could not reach his side to help him.

For every step she seemed to take forward she was dragged back two more as the armies of undead swarmed and surged. She had lost count of the numbers that she had slain, her daggers of light sending most back to whatever fiery hell that they had crawled out of. But for every one that she killed there seemed to be two, three, more to take up the fight. True, they fell easily enough as her daggers seemed almost tailor-made for destroying them. They were slow as well, most of them at any rate, their army made up of turned homeless and street thugs for the most part. The only ones that seemed able to fight were the Orientals dressed in black and red. They were fighters and quick and knew something of the martial arts. Too, strangely, her light daggers had less effect on them though exactly why she had no idea.

Still, what the light would not cleanse her own fighting skills would. The Orientals were fast compared to the others, but to her they all seemed to be moving in slow motion. If the daggers failed her own hands did the deed and the Orientals fell finally, if not as easily. There were just so many. She was getting tired.

Dagger leapt up spiraling and twisting to land lithely atop a light pole. She almost fell, slipping on the rain swept, icy metal, breathing hard as she reached out to the top of the pole for support. The wind had picked up again and her perch swayed under her weight, but she just needed a moment to catch her breath and get her bearings. Luckily none of the vampires seemed gifted enough to use their legendary shapeshifting powers to turn to bat or mist to reach her. It was enough that they gathered below on the street, snarling and cursing as they clambered atop one another to try and reach her.

Thunder boomed in the distance, lightning lighting up the street for a quick heartbeat. There was another storm blowing closer on the winds and moving quickly. She had to end this. She had to find Tyrone and get away before they were overwhelmed.

She scanned the street, biting her lip at the carnage she had helped to cause. There were bodies everywhere sometimes piled two and three deep. Even in the rain they all seemed to be smoldering, those that had not burned away into nothing as vampires were wont to do. She assumed that those remaining were freshly killed and simply took longer to-

Dagger shook her head. She was thinking too hard, getting tired and drained of energy. She needed to replenish her strength and that too meant finding Cloak. Easy enough from her vantage high above. He was there at the far end of the street, trapped within the swirling, writhing darkness of his own powers gone wild. Even from the distance she could see the whites of his eyes huge with fright, his mouth open in a gaping, endless scream. He was in agony she could tell. She could feel it through that special link that they shared and his pain made her cringe in her own brand of terror. What would happen to her if he died, if his bond with the darkness was stripped away? What would happen to Dagger?

Tandy Bowen shook her head again and grimaced. She was thinking too hard again. Better to end this than find out. She took a deep breath and tensed, leaping once more into the breach…

He was cold hard steel wrapped around a solid bar of iron crashing down on bone. He was a hammer shattering brittle glass. He was the storm smashing the mighty oak to slivers…

He was an idiot!

Paladin cursed, punching another of the long tooth’s squarely in the face. He felt bone pulp from the impact and the thing staggered back hissing, but he just did not have the strength to kill like that. Not these ‘vampires’ at any rate. They had a healing regenerative power that would put the Mutie Wolverine to shame.

He spat, kicking and shoving like he was in a high school fight, all his battle skills thrown out the window as the numbers of his attackers simply swelled. They were slower than he was, but only just, and the difference was waning with every blow as Paladin started burning up his third wind. He should have simply stayed on the rooftop and fired into the crowd for all the good he was doing on the street. His gun had affected most of these, the street scum and the homeless dregs in the mob, though his stun gun did little more than knock the creatures senseless for a time. It did nothing against the Orientals however, as they appeared made of sterner stuff like the three monkey men he had first encountered, and the big one of course.

He was the hero however, and even though he was sure that he was not going to be paid for any of this he just could not stand idly by and watch the girl- Dagger- get overwhelmed by these freaks. Too, there was the other one to consider, not to mention a little thing called satisfaction.

Paladin turned at the sound of the boy screaming again. It was a horrible sound, like when he crushed Montoya’s balls down Mexico way; fucking drug lord ass hole pushing crack on grade school kids! Like the boy’s soul was being ripped out. Soul… balls… same thing. It was nasty.

There was a cloud of thick shadows swirling around the boy- Cloak- almost writhing like it was alive. From what Paladin knew that might not be far from the truth. He could see Cloak within the darkness, glimpses as his cape whipped around. He was gaunt and seemed almost to be shrinking, his dark face pale and his eyes wide and white. He could see the big one behind him too, that same arrogant smile on his lips as he clutched his claws into the boy and his cloak. The dark shadows seemed to be creeping up the big guy- Dracula supposedly, though Paladin still had his doubts. It almost seemed as though the ‘vampire’ was leeching the boy’s powers, stealing Cloak’s dark force and sucking it into himself. Whatever-

Paladin charged forward as lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled in response and for a quick second the undead seemed to be confused. The rain doubled, poring now as Paladin crashed through the mob racing towards the boy, bowling over any that were in his path. That was where the real fight was. Dracula, and whatever he was doing to Cloak, stop that and this whole shit was through.

He saw a flicker of white from the corner of his eye as he waded into the crowd, pushing and shoving and lashing out on sheer adrenaline. The girl had been resting, but she was back in the fight again, her daggers of light flashing and firing up the street. The black top was slick with rain and blood now, and it was hard to step without stomping through a corpse writhing about on the ground. They were all corpses of course not that it really mattered. Scum was scum, though apparently dead was not necessarily dead.

Paladin burst through the group, tossing the weaker vampires to the ground, driving his palm into the face of one, his knee into the groin of another. Still they clung to him, trying to drag him down. They were a dedicated lot, whether from stupidity or devotion to their lord he did not know or care. He fought on, calling on the last reserves of his strength, knocking the last away as he reached the outer rim of the darkness, just a few steps from Dracula and the boy. He heaved, trying to gather his breath.

“This- this ends now… you fuck! Where’s- Where’s the scrolls…”

Dracula glanced his way, that annoying grin on his lips. He was mouthing something and the boy locked in his grip was shuddering in agony, almost spent. Odd that the terrifying Cloak, scourge of the underworld was nothing more than a skinny little black kid in reality. Paladin swallowed hard as Dracula’s eyes seemed to glow a fiery red, drilling into his soul.

Something was clawing at his legs. He could feel the scratching and nibbling even through his kevlar armor. The blasted undead again, no doubt trying to drag him back out of the darkness at their lord’s silent command. Paladin turned, fist raised and ready to strike. He screamed.

“Ahh! Jesus! Fuck!”

Rats! Hundreds, thousands of rats were swarming the street and clawing their way up his legs. They were all over him, their beady eyes pink and glowing wildly in the firelight of smoldering bodies. Long sharp teeth gleamed as they snapped and bit at him, their scrabbling claws digging in as they scrambled up his body. Paladin screamed again and started swatting maniacally at the horrid creatures- some the size of cats- dancing away and kicking them off. He could hear their screams and squeals as he crushed them underfoot, no place safe to step that was not a writhing mass of slimy fur and tail. He slipped in the slick blood and pulp and screamed again, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he struggled to stay on his feet in the swarm. If he fell he was dead, they would bury him in a moment.

“Chill, son. I got this.”

Paladin felt a hand fall on his shoulder, a strong grip holding him in place and upright. He was panicked but tore his gaze away from the vermin to see a big black man standing at his side. He was old with gray streaking his dreads, his face creased with lines of worry and concentration. He seemed unconcerned over the horde of rodents however, swatting one casually aside that had climbed too high on his long, black coat. He took a long, slow drag from the butt of his cigarette before casting it away into the swarm, exhaling…

Incendium!

Paladin screamed again as the world erupted in flame…

My travels took me to the ancient land. China beckoned from somewhere in the mists of memory, though why I did not know. My once-brother was from this land, and there were flashes of others, a glimpse of a young woman with a cold, cruel smile, an older man that stirred the very fires of my heart and being. He was the key to my humanity I deemed. It was he that I needed to find.

He found me however.

I learned that there was little escaped his notice there in the lands that were his by right of birth. A stranger in a strange land seeking answers dressed as black as a moonless night would surely draw his attention and he sent his followers to gather mine. It was a test I now know, the seemingly endless battles, the unending ranks of warriors sent unto me to as proof of my worth and identity. I was dead to him of course, and he was not one to be fooled.

The battles led me across a bloody landscape and up into the very halls of his home. We met finally, I with nothing more than body and desire, he surrounded by his minions watching from the heights of a simple throne, lord of all he surveyed. With a glance he set the last of his horde upon me, but I was not to be turned away with my goal in sight, the answers to all of my questions just a few steps distant. I fought as I never had before, with unbridled fury and determination, his finest warriors falling as wheat before the scythe.

I stood before the Celestial at last, my body heaving and tired, blood flowing through the rips and tears of my tattered armor. There was a fire in my eyes, a burning in my soul for answers to the questions I raged to speak. My silent screams were deafening, but the Lord of Strange Deaths seemed unconcerned, the slightest smile creasing his thin lips. He uttered a single, simple word and all of my unspoken questions were suddenly washed away in a crashing flood of memory…

M’Nai…

Manhattan:
Midtown
Minutes ago…

Everyone stared at Drake as he struggled to rise most feeling as though they had intruded on something private. Domestic quarrels were the worst.

The Shadowoman hovered there ready to act if things got ugly, a sneer of disdain wrinkling her nose and lips. N’Kantu sneered as well, but then he always did, his ragged face locked that way forever. Even the Blazing Skull seemed flustered, torn between staying out of the way and offering the man a hand up from the filthy sidewalk. Only Lilith seemed unconcerned, her attention drifting to the army of rats and mice that were scrambling down the street and throwing traffic into chaos. She was smiling.

“My father calls his armies,” she said, glancing at the woman that had just knocked Frank Drake on his ass. “Marlene?”

“I feel him,” the blonde snapped, finally turning her fierce gaze from the man she claimed was her husband. “I feel something anyway. Downtown, someone’s screaming. I hear him…”

Colleen Wing and Misty Knight finally stepped forward, still on guard as they hefted Drake back to his feet. Colleen eyed the blood trickling from Drake’s lips but he seemed unconcerned, his attention riveted on the blonde.

“You okay, Frank?” she asked as he pulled away from the Daughters of the Dragon. He ignored her question, her concern as he stepped towards Marlene. She whipped a crossbow up suddenly from the folds of her huge, billowing cloak, a white, wooden quarrel pointed directly at Drake’s chest-

“Marlene-“

“Back off, Frank!” she cut off his whine, her finger playing at the trigger of her weapon. Her eyes seemed to spark and crackle with hate, and Colleen wondered just what Frank Drake had done to her to instill such a passion.

“Children…” It was Lilith’s calm, cool voice that finally broke the tension, drawing everyone back to the task at hand. “My father is calling his minions to him, and I sense his power running amok even as Marlene’s psyche touches the agonized screams of the child. Time to go to him I think.”

“Where?” Colleen asked, her Katana still at the ready should the woman fire at Drake.

“The Lower East Side,” Misty said, holstering her guns, “where this all started I figure.” Lilith nodded.

“I don’t suppose any of you heroes can fly?” the Blazing Skull asked glancing at the Shadowoman.

“I can’t carry this many,” she said with a frown, “even if Lilith turns to mist. It’s too much.“

“No problem.” Misty Knight charged out into the street kicking away at the army of rats in her path. The horde was dwindling, but there were still enough of the ugly little creatures to get in the way. Traffic was a nightmare with cars smashed and piled up. There were people injured as well, probably some dead with others getting trampled in the mad rush to get away. Her old police instincts tried to kick in, a part of her wanting to stop and help and try to enforce some sort of control over the situation, but there were other more important things to consider. She had to look at the bigger picture, remembering that somewhere downtown all Hell was breaking loose- again. Just another day in the Big Apple.

Misty scanned the streets quickly looking for a car both big enough and fast enough to get them all downtown in a hurry. She smiled as she saw the perfect vehicle, almost laughing at the irony. It was a mobile advertisement of sorts, a converted Hum-Vee that ran up and down the avenues between the two theme restaurants called Jekyll and Hyde. The back half of the truck had been sheered away into a flatbed that had then been decked out with mannequins; custom made skeletons in various states of decomposition. It was perfect!

Misty Knight ran forward and grabbed the door, the fingers of her bionic right hand digging into the metal. With barely an effort she tugged, ripping the door from its hinges and tossing it away. The two men inside the cab were staring at her as though they had seen a ghost.

“Gentlemen,” she said with a calm, reassuring smile, “I am confiscating this vehicle for the good of humanity. Out!”

The two men gave no argument as they scrambled out of the truck and ran as fast as their legs would carry them. Misty smirked and turned back to her erstwhile comrades.

“Let’s go!”

I was at my Father’s side when he met with the other. He was tall and oddly distinguished with an arrogance about him, a certainty of his very being. He stank of death, of being dead and I knew that we had much in common.

They spoke as equals it seemed, which I found strange. There were very few that the Celestial found worthy of his direct attention; the Englishman perhaps simply for his perseverance and determination over the years, one or two of the Council of the Seven, which he ruled, the sorcerer maybe and Doom. He spoke with the man with honor however, and the Undead Lord spoke likewise in return.

They formed a pact that day, each in turn offering the secrets of life eternal. My Father would supply his vaunted elixir and the minions of the Council. The Dark Lord would in turn provide his strange ‘Kiss’, changing the hordes of the Si-Fan, the Yakuza and Tong, the Hand into an unstoppable army of undead might. Both would use and control the Horde for their own ends. My Father of course to take back his domain, the world, and the Vampire Lord to gather those things that he needed to conquer his own goals; the Scrolls of the Seraphim, the Cloak of Shadows and the Stone of Yrrdsdral.

It would take time of course, and faith between both men. They sealed their pact in blood, a precious commodity to both, and quickly set out to achieve their dreams. My Father summoned his best, the Council’s Elite while Dracula readied himself for the task ahead. It would be exhausting, even for the vaunted Vampire King to turn so many so quickly. I feared my recently found humanity was once more in jeopardy, but I was a slave to my Father’s slightest whim. He had after all given me life and purpose when he took me in, a swaddling scarred orphan. It was the very least I could do. My life for him…

I was to be the first…

Manhattan:
Soho

The sirens were screaming as Alex Morgan fumbled for his keys. It was pouring rain now, again, and lightning was crackling across the sky in jagged bolts, thunder blasting almost shaking the ground. Despite the pounding downpour he could see the red glow of fires burning somewhere south and east. Too, there was something happening uptown as well as he heard police sirens wailing off in that direction. Too far to be bothered with in any direction. Still, it was annoying, coupled with the roar of the storm and his own foul mood. Even the rats were agitated.

The streets were full of the filthy beasts the entire walk back from the club. The trains were shut down because they were over-running the subway tunnels, the cops turning people away as they descended the stairs decked out in riot gear. Alex figured that the storm had flooded the sewers driving the vermin into the streets seeking higher ground. It had happened before, but never to the extent he was seeing now. The gutters were flowing with running water, the drains clogged of course and the intersections deep and dangerous. He did not care though, as long as the loft was dry and the rats weren’t congregating there. Eric’s little anti-vermin wards should keep them out.

There were definite advantages to having a magician as a lover, but sometimes they were hard to find. The whole Occult Detective bit was starting to wear thin and Alex was finding it harder and harder to deal with Eric’s attitude that seemed to be spiraling down and dark of late. Their argument over his callous disregard of the little girl he had rescued- from vampires no less- had been the final straw. Alex had shifted into ‘cold-shoulder’ mode, not that it seemed to make any impression on his significant other. They needed to resolve this, but Alex didn’t really see either of them giving an inch. They both had their pride, after all.

Alex Morgan shoved through the door and pushed it closed behind him, making certain that it caught. The building’s foyer, such as it was, was dark and looking up he could see that the lights were out in the stairwell too. Fucking slum lords and supers, may they all burn in Hell!

Lightning flared again and Alex sighed. The storm had probably knocked out the building’s power. It was old- Pre-War- and had had little by way of renovations that the tenants had not done themselves. Alex shivered as thunder rumbled echoing through the silence. His ears were still ringing from the blaring music at the club, adding to the eerie quiet that seemed to ooze within the building. He had gone to the Bank in a fit, needing to get away from Eric but truth be told his heart was not into the club. The bands were loud and raunchy and there had been no short supply of tight ass to pick from, but everyone who gave him the slightest smile reminded him of the love he’d left behind. He missed Eric. He hoped that he was still at home.

Alex Morgan cursed to see the door to the loft was ajar. Did Eric think they were in Kansas for God’s sake? You just didn’t leave your door open in Manhattan, no matter the neighborhood. Hell, Donald Trump probably locked his doors with all the security he had.

“What the-“

Alex whispered as he opened the heavy fire door and heard the whine of strained hinges as it almost fell to the side. He saw the police bar bent in half, the shattered remains of the dead bolts scattered about the hardwood floor within.

“Fuck!”

They had been robbed. The perfect end to a perfect day.

Alex stepped into the loft, his finger flicking the wall switch out of habit, cursing under his breath to find that the lights were out here as well. There was the slightest illumination coming from the windows, a sudden blinding glare as lightning blazed. He staggered, trying to find the living room and the coffee table therein.

Alex groped about and finally picked up the gaudy dragon statuette that Eric kept on the coffee table before the couch. He flicked at the tail, hoping that Eric had refilled the butane, smirking as fire flickered from the gaping jaws. Alex hated the table lighter but was suddenly glad that he had never gotten around to tossing the ugly thing out. There were candles in the kitchen he knew, starting to head that way.

Alex turned as something fell upstairs. A thump in the darkness he shivered suddenly feeling like a teenager in a Slasher movie.

Don’t open that door!

Don’t turn on the lights!

Is that you Freddy?

Alex giggled as he moved towards the stairs that led to the upper loft, Eric’s Sanctum Sanctorum. He hated that name and the place in general. Eric Arcane’s little shop of magic horrors situated right above their bedroom. Alex could not remember how many nights he had lain in bed expecting some oozing slime to come dripping through the ceiling and steal his soul. Tentatively he stepped up onto the first stair. He hated going up there.

“Eric?”

Don’t go up the stairs!

Don’t turn on the lights!

Alex cradled the Dragon Lighter in his arms as he stepped into the upper loft trying to light his way. Rain was pouring in from the broken skylight, dark clouds roiling just overhead. The room was a shambles, all of Eric’s books and vials and shit strewn about in a jumbled haphazard mess. There was a slight glow coming from one corner, a bluish light that Alex did not even want to know about but he found his eyes drawn to it. It was that stone his lover had brought back from the ghetto, his latest obsession.

He ignored the glow, staring at the broken glass on the floor and the hole in the skylight. They had come in that way too. He had to call the cops, but with the fire on the East Side and whatever was happening uptown he knew he would get the patented 911 bum’s rush. Still, he had to-

Shadows swirled before him and Alex gasped as a flash of quicksilver shot out in front of him. He staggered back feeling pain in his chest, wondering what was happening now. He looked down at the ragged gash in his coat and shirt, his eyes growing wide at the dark splash of blood that was quickly spreading over his chest. He looked up in confusion.

There was a little man there, barely four feet tall he imagined and dressed totally in black save for the silver-looking claws on his hands and feet. No! There were two of them, the second stepping from the shadowy corners and holding that fucking rock. They were small and thin, like skeletons dressed in funky costumes, capes and black fencing helmets on their heads. Alex staggered back a step, his chest afire with pain…

“Eric…”

Something fell on his back and he screamed. The Dragon Lighter went flying from his hands as he spun about, clawing at the thing- the third little man that had landed on his shoulders and wrapped its legs about his arms and chest. A flash of silver and blood spewed from his throat.

Alex stumbled back, his feet stepping into empty space as he tumbled head over heels back down the stairs. He slammed hard onto the floor at the bottom, his eyes wide with fright as he saw the stream of blood spurting from his throat.

“Oh God…” he whimpered, clutching at the wound, his hand quickly drenching with blood and doing little to stop the flow. He gasped for air, a wet and ragged sound as he tried to crawl towards the door. He heard a scrabbling sound behind him and thought of the rats.

Something ripped into his back and he screamed! He felt something warm spreading beneath him, soaking his pants and he realized that he was dying. His screams strangled in his throat as blood spewed from his mouth, a bitter iron taste mixed with bile.

Lightning blazed again, thunder rolling behind drowning out his final desperate pleas of mercy in an earth-shattering rumble. He was crying, begging, his last thoughts of Eric as something loomed large and tall in front of him. One of the little men-

Silver…

Next Issue: The excrement is really hitting the oscillator now! All the players are almost in place, and Dracula’s master plan is just a step away from fruition! Be here next time as Frank Drake and his rag-tag army of vampire hunters come face to face with the Lord of the Undead in…Blood Bath!

I still have a couple surprises left…