Marcus Pelegrimas - Blood Blade

The Nymar hadn’t seen it coming.

Wincing at the quick pinch in his neck, Misonyk looked down at Cole’s fist. Something shimmered within Cole’s grasp, as if the pale moonlight had wrapped around it instead of shining directly upon it. Only when he shoved away from Cole did Misonyk see his own black, oily blood dripping from the end of a needle that appeared to hover in the air beneath Cole’s fist.

“What? What’s…?” Misonyk stammered as he reached for the aching spot in his neck.

Cole knew he should run, but he couldn’t resist holding his arm out and wiping away the greasy residue that he’d smeared onto the antidote-filled syringe from his emergency kit in the scant moments before Misonyk had gotten to the car. If those towels with the Mongrel substance hadn’t been at the top of the pile in the trunk, he might not have had enough time to fully cover the thin plastic tube. Fortunately, Paige had collected more than enough from the trashed hotel room.

Misonyk’s hand twitched, and Cole was just fast enough to slap it away before it could close around his throat. The Nymar leaned his head back and started to let out a pained grunt, but quickly began to gag on the venom he’d collected in his mouth. Coughing and staggering a few more steps, Misonyk dropped to his knees and grabbed the earth beneath him as the distant sirens grew louder.

Hacking up a strained laugh, Misonyk said, “The wheels are…already turning. I am the only one who could…control the fire that has been lit. And when your authorities arrive, the monkeys you try to protect will…throw you into a cage…just as they did to me.”

Walter had climbed down from his perch and walked up to Cole while keeping his rifle trained on the remaining bodyguard. “He’s right. There’s a bunch of cops headed this way. Whatever was distracting them before isn’t holding them back anymore.”

“And they will…find bodies,” Misonyk promised. “Here and…more in the years to come.”

Although still holding his head up, Misonyk was losing the strength to keep it there. Death wrapped its arms around him, starting at the spot where the antidote had entered the vein in his neck. A pale gray shadow spread throughout his body while draining the moisture from Misonyk’s skin. The thick black markings beneath the Nymar’s flesh dulled like paint left too long in the unforgiving elements. A faltering breath escaped Misonyk’s throat and the tendrils dwindled into thin, quivering lines.

Since he’d dropped the syringe and didn’t have another to replace it, Cole picked up his double-ended spear and faced the remaining Nymar.

The bodyguard stalked forward, but as his employer crumpled to the ground like a broken cement statue, he backed away from Cole so he could run into another section of the park.

Turning to Walter, Cole asked, “What’s going on with Paige?”

Walter had his rifle reloaded and against his shoulder. “There’s enough cop cars headed toward this park to form a parade,” he said while pointing his scope toward a part of town that had suddenly become very active. “Looks like they’re chasing someone. Aw, hell! Someone’s already firing back at them!” Placing a finger to his earpiece, he spoke in a quick rush. “Paige? Can you hear me?”

Henry held Paige against the garage in a way that prevented the other Nymar from getting to her. Then again, the other Nymar weren’t her main concern.

“Hungry,” Henry groaned as he sniffed the oily blood on her neck and the front of her jacket. “So…hungry.” With that, he slammed her even harder against the wall. His claws scraped against her torso and his teeth gnashed against her stomach in a flurry that peeled away the outer layers of body armor before getting to the thin layer of werewolf hide beneath it. The Half Breed fur absorbed some punishment from Henry’s attacks, but more of the impacts were getting through the heavy plates that lay against her body.

A voice drifted through Paige’s head that made her wonder if Henry was doing more damage than she’d originally thought. She slammed the side of one weapon against Henry’s temple in a blow that would have dropped most men. He reeled a bit from the impact but quickly recovered. When a freshly turned Nymar got bold enough to try and tear off a piece of Paige for himself, Henry slapped him away like he was swatting a fly. Paige took advantage of the small opening to deliver a blow to Henry’s other temple with her left weapon. It didn’t do any damage, but moved him back just enough for her to pull away and use her clubs.

The scent of Nymar blood was thick in the air as she used the sharpened ends to deliver one uppercut after another. Henry’s misshapen face swung back and forth like a speed bag but was tough enough to withstand her assault.

And then, like a gift from above, a bullet whipped through the air to tear off a chunk of Henry’s scalp. Backing up a few steps, Paige heard the sirens in the distance. She couldn’t see the flashing lights yet, which meant she still had a bit of time before adding the police to her laundry list of problems.

Henry’s torso swelled, and his ribs creaked outward to accommodate the swelling. He reared up and swung his loosely attached head to holler at Walter’s section of the park. When he started to turn toward Paige, she hopped sideways and then jumped forward with her left arm extended. The straight point of her left weapon dug into Henry’s skin, glanced off one rib, and tore a deep scratch into his side, which she used as a target for the sickle in her right hand. Her aim was true and the curved blade sank in almost a quarter of an inch.

Activity from the streets behind the parking structure was intensifying. Sirens blared, voices shouted over loudspeakers, and shots were fired.

Henry let out a pathetic whimper, took one limping step forward and then was hit in the side by another high-powered rifle round. That shot was followed by another, which dropped him to one knee. Paige circled around so she could get a look at Henry’s side without being in the line of fire. One more bullet whipped through the air and landed with a distinctive hiss as the round’s coating reacted with Henry’s Nymar-infested blood.

Paige took one of the syringes from her jacket pocket, popped off the cap and rushed toward Henry to give him the injection. When she slammed the syringe down on the wound, she felt the needle snap like brittle straw against him.

“All right,” she said as Henry snarled at the incoming sniper rounds. “Looks like I need to hit a softer spot.”

She dropped her left weapon back into its holster on her boot and focused her attention on the weapon in her right hand. Once the point of that stake was down to something close to a needle, she cocked it back, reached under her jacket at the small of her back, and twisted her body around in a tight circle. The lightning-fast movement snapped her arms around like whips. When her left hand emerged from beneath her jacket, it was wrapped around the handle of the Blood Blade. Her momentum allowed her to slice through the skin along Henry’s ribs and cut through several layers of hardened muscle. She drove her right arm forward to send the finely honed point of her stake directly into the deep wound she’d just made. Henry was already starting to heal, but Paige was just fast enough to drive the stake into the wound and bury it several inches between his ribs. From there, she closed her eyes and willed the impaled end of the weapon to split apart into three separate sections.

When Henry arched his back and let out a bellowing cry, Paige knew the weapon was doing its job. She could feel the petrified wood changing shape as if it was an extension of her own arm. While that should have been enough to bring Henry down, it was only adding fuel to his fire. She cocked her left arm back so she could do even more damage with the charmed blade. Before she could land the blow, however, the back of Henry’s fist caught her in the shoulder with enough power to knock her loose and pull the stake free. Because the stake had blossomed inside of him, however, it snagged muscle, tore flesh, and even chipped a few ribs on its way out.