[i]this one is okay... It needs some work. please critique!!!*
The moon glowed crimson in the ominous sky. Sirion looked up at it briefly as he stepped out of the bar, nodding its greetings to the reddened night. He continued to wipe the blades of his spears down. The cloth hissed as it touched the blood, and disintegrated as it cleaned up the mess. Such acidic stuff.
A stray drop fell onto his hand, and began to burn his flesh. He eyed the black liquid, unaware of the burning sensation that scarred his skin. The pain came sharp, and with a quick flick of the wrist he sent it off of him, letting it wither on the ground until it disappeared.
He sighed; he needed to be more careful. The vampires were starting to get more confident. Attacking at random. Maybe he should have killed the two that were in the bar.
He wandered down the dark streets, with the occasional lamplight letting its dim light glow on his pale skin. He walked alone; no human would dare walk on such a night. He smiled to himself. But he would.
A lone Motorcycle leaned on one of the dilapidated buildings. Its sleek black frame matched shadows that ran across it, hiding it from view. Sirion looked around carefully before slowly lifting it up and mounting it.
A randomized poly theme burst from his pant leg. He sighed, setting the bike back against the wall. His hand dove into his pocket, fidgeted around for a few minutes before pulling out a thin phone. He looked at the name before answering it.
“Taren…” he breathed. “What the hell does he want?”
He flipped it open, and pressed it to his ear. “What is it?”
“Want a job?” Taren’s voice was deep, yet smooth and confident.
“Huh…” Sirion let his mind wander for a few seconds, debating whether or not it was necessary to make some extra money. “Yeah, sound good. What’s the job?”
“The usual.” Taren replied, the static waving in and out. “Vampire in house, people want it out. It’s in the Veranda homes, number 86.”
Without replying, he snapped the phone closed, dropping the phone back in the pocket. His former friend was no more than a business partner, a person to share the frugal profits earned with the mercenary jobs.
Still to think that they had kept in contact for the past ten years was an accomplishment in itself. Sirion let his mind reminisce as he thought back to when a friendship was a real thing between them. He could only chuckle at the naivety of their lives back then. Their jokes, training, everything between them was an adventure to them. Shana and Circe too…
He instantly pulled away from his memories. Unwanted things were being remembered. He quickly lifted the bike off the wall once again and mounted it. With a quick flick of the key, it revved to life. He twisted the acceleration to its fullest capacity. The wheels screeched on the cracked asphalt, sending up gray smoke. The front wheel lifted into the air, and he sped into more darkness.
The deteriorated buildings soon disappeared from view, as the road opened up to a residential area. To be called, at least. The houses rotted on their foundations, warped by the fear of the people that occupied them. Windows were barred, doors bolted, and not a hint of light came from any one of the residences. At night, it truly was a society of fear.
Sirion looked over briefly at the crooked sign barely staying stable on the side of the road. The Barely legible letters spelt out his destination: Veranda Homes.
With a sharp lean, his bike skidded down the small road leading to the higher estates. Leaving the destroyed homes behind, the buildings now became more sophisticated, and well kept. The yellow bull grass that had infested the old homes were now thin green lawns of simple perfection. A safer civilization, no doubt. There were even a few lights on in the rooms.
Life was no longer a search for happiness; it was a fight for survival.
Children did not play outside, laugh with friends, and enjoy their simplistic thoughts on the future. They hid in their homes, usually unaware of what waited eagerly for them outside. And yet, there was a weapon in every house now. As if it could actually help.
83…84…85… He counted in his head, watching each house blur by. He only just spotted the figure in the road. His hand squeezed the break, wearing the tires down even more as it poured smoke once again. He twisted to the side, letting himself and his bike hit the ground and drag across the blacktop. Sparks shot up as the metallic exterior scrapped on the surface, letting out a horrific screech.
The lone figure did not move, only lifted its leg and press hard on the motorcycle as it came inches from impact. It stopped instantly, and limped back onto the road. With a light groan, Sirion shoved the bike off of him, getting to his feet. He glared at the figure in the road.
“What are you thinking?” he hissed, approaching it. “Do you have a death wish?”
“You didn’t need to stop.” The voice rang in Sirion’s memory. The deep, smooth voice belonged to only one person.
Taren raised his face up, letting his features be exposed. His large, thick 6’4” frame was chiseled with thick muscles, shadowed with darkness despite his pale skin, much paler than Sirion’s. His body was covered crimson, similar to the color that glowed in his eyes. His legs were half exposed, covered only by red shorts and Thick black boots. His chest was almost bare, covered only by a red sweat jacket. Thin chains hung out from the sleeves, eventually curving up and disappearing behind his back. The chains eventually connected to two thin scimitars sheathed on his back, ready and willing to come out on a single pull from the chain.
His face was nonchalant and emotionless, yet perfected in every form. Platinum hair fell slightly over his eyes, only adding to the chilling factor of his dark demeanor. Still, he nodded a simple greeting to his former friend.
“Sirion.” He said simply. “Good to see you still alive.”
“If you could call it that.” He replied with a wave of his hand, desperate to avoid the small talk and get the job over with. “So where are the clients?”
Taren nodded slightly over to the front porch of the richly furnished house. Huddled on a small swing was a frightened family, letting secret whisperings escape their lips towards each other.
“They won’t speak to me.” He said, half laughing. “Naturally. Compliments of being a vampire.”
Sirion almost smiled. Without replying, he slowly walked over to the parents clutching the small child in their hands. They looked up briefly, and clutched the shivering boy even tighter as they saw Sirion
.
“Please don’t hurt us!” the father whimpered, his thin bifocals falling down his nose as a tear jumped out. “We just want to be safe!”
Sirion held up his hands in innocence, trying to portray that he was harmless. “I am here about the vampire in the house. Are you the ones who look to get rid of one?”
“Y-yes.” The father stuttered, shaking almost as much as his little boy. “It came out of nowhere, and we came out as fast as we could.”
Sirion nodded, unconcerned about the little details. “Did any of you see the vampire?”
The parents glanced down at the little boy. His six-year-old frame seemed broken, frightened. Sirion almost considered asking the boy about it.
“Five hundred.” He said finally. “I don’t know what I am getting into, so I ask for this much.”
“F… five hundred!” the father burst. Though still in shock, his mind still worked the money. “Not possible! We wouldn’t last! Please, at least make it four hundred. At least that much!”
Sirion licked his lips. He sighed, exasperated, but nodded. “Done. On one condition. You allow the other one in to help me.”
Sirion looked back at the vampire standing several feet away. The father followed his eyes, and let out a small gasp.
“But isn’t he… one of them?” he said, spitting out the last phrase like it was poison.
Sirion’s eyes didn’t change. “It’s my final offer. Unless you want to sleep out here, in even greater danger.”
The father shook his head vigorously. “N-no. I-it’s fine.”
“Good.” Sirion turned, and started toward the front door, making a motion at Taren. “If I am not out in an hour, you may want to find another to fight.”
“Mister…”
Sirion stopped as the little voice tickled his ear. He turned back, to see huge blue eyes looking back at him, the soft face begging for hope.
“Mister, you will make it go away, right? You will make the evil go away?”
Sirion chuckled. He ruffled the hair of the child. “I promise that everything will be okay.”
A smile spread on the little kid’s face. “I will get to play again?”
Sirion nodded. “Have lot’s of fun for both of us, okay?”
The child beamed. “Okay!”
As the boy ran back to his parents, Sirion could feel a little hope creep into him. Maybe things weren’t lost yet. He pulled the spear off his back, gripping it tightly. Only one way to make sure.
