|Spiritual Paradox (standard:fantasy, 721 words) [1/2] show all parts|
|Author: Virtual Adept||Updated: Oct 21 2000||Views/Reads: 2395/1||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The rumored Seeker of Gaia Vampire Clan begins making itself known. Based on Vampire: The Masquerade and original clan creations by Virtual Adept.|
Spiritual Paradox By: Virtual Adept (I wrote this story before I did some serious growing up about 2 years ago. I thought I might submit the first half and see how it did.) “I swore I wouldn’t let myself be coerced into another one of these damned all night stakeouts.” Sgt. Wilcox slumped forward, letting her head hit the firm rubber steering wheel. For a moment, she considered leaving to go home to her more desirable waterbed. But she couldn’t. She had promised to take this detail, although now she couldn’t recall why. It was in the middle of one of those “Why would you be there?” parts of town where there were more rats than people. She lifted her head from the wheel and once again scanned the area. The glowing digital clock on her stereo caught her attention. "Only Nine o’clock? Jesus H. Christ....” She mumbled to herself. Sgt. Wilcox took another quick scan of the street with her binoculars before popping in one of the last CDs she had. Then, it happened. She wasn’t sure WHAT had happened, but something did and at about fifty miles per hour down the sidewalk. It was in a hurry, she gathered by watching the flurry of old newspapers and discarded refuse left in the wake. Wilcox decided to leave the van, despite all common sense. Before venturing out of the vehicle, she double-checked her sidearm. She quietly opened the door, and slid off the seat closing the door in the same manner. This was a truly sorry part of town. Only the angrily scribbled graffiti provided any color on the old, derelict brick buildings and apartment complexes. The only lights were either the stars or the trashcan fires lit by homeless vagrants in hopes of regaining some warmth. Sirens sounded in the distance, probably responding to another punk kid knocking over a Gandhi-Mart. The overall sorrow of the area was almost denser than the air itself. A small breeze of cool air sent shivers down her spine, and she folded the collar of her jacket up. Just as she was about to look around the corner, another speeding object came over the rise in the street, and was hurtling directly toward her. It was a man, and a very fast one at that. All she caught was his trailing white trench coat as he sped past her, on foot. Wilcox started to follow, when a gunshot rang out. The second speeding man stopped and jerked back. Her first instinct was to go and try to help when his body fell, but what she saw next changed her mind. The man only stopped, he didn’t fall into a pool of blood. Now partially facing her, the man showed no emotion as the particularly well-aimed gunshot wound in his left shoulder blade emitted a bright white light, and then vanished! The man turned, and slid a long saber from a sheath on his belt. “Hey!” She cried out. “You can’t be carrying that around!” She hollered at the stranger. A hail of gunfire rang out in the street, and the man was struck with at least a half a dozen bullets. “Get down!” He hollered, seemingly unfazed by the assault. Every wound instantly began glowing as the injuries once again vanished. He surveyed the area, and saw that the attacker was crouched behind a rusted out Chevy Impala across the way. The man effortlessly leaped into the air, about fifty feet or so, and landed behind the car. Wilcox heard a scream and then the unmistakable sound of steel cleaving flesh. Despite the instinctual fear, this was all to interesting to just walk away from. She hesitatingly began running toward the car. She crouched down in front of the vehicle, and peered around the corner. The stranger was holding a severed head, which strangely had a fanged mouth. A strange tattoo, like an inverted anarchy symbol was sloppily emblazoned across the left side of the face. Below the head, lay a giant pile of bloody ash. “You, killed that.. what... the hell was that? I’m calling this in!” She pulled a Motorola radio from her inside breast pocket. The man replaced his sword, and looked down at Wilcox. She looked up at the stranger’s blank white, glowing eyes and fangs and promptly fainted. Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Virtual Adept has 6 active stories on this site.
Profile for Virtual Adept, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.