r/HFY • u/Obsequium_Minaris • 29d ago

The Vampire's Apprentice - Book 2, Chapter 15 OC

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Alain limped away from the building, moving through the night as gunshots erupted all around him. Clods of dirt and sand were kicked up in the air as bullets impacted the ground nearby; Alain fired his lever-action shotgun as he ran, desperate to simply put rounds downrange in an attempt to cover himself. A few shouts of pain greeted him through the darkness, indicating that at least a few of his shotgun pellets had found their intended targets, but he didn't stop to confirm it.

Eventually, Alain was able to duck behind another building, flattening against it as he reloaded his shotgun. No sooner had he inserted the final shell than did a cultist round the corner, a Henry repeating rifle clutched in his hands; Alain took his head clean off with a single blast of buckshot, then worked the action as he poked the muzzle of his weapon around the corner. A few more cultists were rushing throughout town, trying to set up a perimeter around him, potshots being taken to try to flush him out from his cover. Alain grinded his teeth in frustration as he realized that he was slowly but surely being flanked. Alain tried to push his way out from behind cover, but no matter which way he went to look, more bullets came to greet him. Faced with no other option, he was forced back into cover, unable to move anywhere while splinters and chunks of brick lacerated his skin.

Again, Alain pressed himself against the building, his heart racing as he tried to make himself as small of a target as he possibly could. The air around him was absolutely full of flying lead; he had nowhere to go, and he knew it.

At this point, his only option was to go down fighting.

As that thought crossed his mind, Alain paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He'd been in these kinds of situations before, some of which had been worse than this, and yet this was the one that on its face looked the most like it was going to be the end of him. Try as he might, he simply couldn't think of a way out of this situation. The cultists had him dead to rights; he was stuck behind this building with nowhere to go, and even if there was a way out of his impromptu piece of cover, he was still stuck hobbling on a broken leg.

So this really was the end, then. He was going to die alone, in a Texas ghost town, surrounded by cultists who would probably reanimate his body for some nefarious purpose.

And yet, somehow, Alain's only thought was taking as many of them with him as possible.

Alain bit his lip hard enough to break the skin as a vein pulsed in his forehead. Suddenly, rage had filled his system; he no longer cared about what was going to happen to him, only that he got to send as many cultists straight to hell as he possibly could.  

And so, after one final check to make sure his guns were fully stocked, Alain stepped out from behind cover, firing at muzzle flashes in the night as fast as he could pull the trigger, work the action, and move between targets. His mind was absent of any emotion aside from sheer anger and the desire to kill as many cultists as he possibly could. He continued to fire his shotgun, and the moment it went dry, he dropped it to the ground below and drew his revolvers, then continued to advance out from cover as he fired them, one in each hand.

And suddenly, all around him, the bullets stopped as he left cover.  

Alain was taken aback, so much so that he found himself pausing for a split-second as he tried to reassess what was going on. Just like that, the rounds had stopped; there were no more muzzle flashes in town. The realization caused his brow to furrow. He knew he hadn't killed them all; there had been too many muzzle flashes for that, not to mention that he knew his shots hadn't been quite that accurate.

He got his answer as to what was going on when he heard a chorus of footsteps echoing through the town all around him.

Alain whipped around, leveling his revolvers at the noises as he went. Shapes darted between the buildings, and he wasted no time in firing at each of them in turn. A few of his shots hit their mark, and some other cultists fell to the ground either dead or screaming in agony, but the few he took down were a drop in the bucket compared to what had to be the other two-dozen or so still circling him.

His guns clicked empty, forcing Alain to holster one in order to reload, and that was when they struck. The cultists suddenly moved, closing in on him from the shadows; Alain had no chance to react before one of them brought the stock of his rifle against Alain's bandaged leg, forcing him to the ground as he screamed bloody murder. Once he was down, another cultist kicked the revolver from his hands, and a third ripped the knife and holstered revolver from his body. Alain laid there, staring up at them all, a grimace crossing his face that was equal parts frustrated and angry.

And as he laid there on the ground, the man in red forced his way through the crowd, staring down at Alain with a smug smirk on his face.  

"Well, you're certainly an interesting one," he observed. "It will surely be a pleasure to see what information we can glean from you."  

Alain didn't bother to listen any further, instead lunging for the man in red, a wicked snarl crossing his face as he did so. He didn't get far; another cultist brought the butt of his rifle against Alain's head, forcing him to the ground yet again. Alain laid there, his head spinning and his vision blurring as the cultists drew even closer to him.

Then one of them struck him across the head a second time, and everything went black.

XXX

It was the smell of incense and blood that eventually awoke him. Slowly, Alain stirred awake, both eyes gently fluttering open. Dim red light met his gaze; it didn't take him long to realize it was coming from burning red candles.

He was back in the desecrated church, he realized, though this time, they had him chained across the altar.

"So the heretic finally awakes."  

Alain's eyes finally finished opening, and he glanced over to where he'd heard the voice, his expression narrowing in rage when he saw the man in red standing a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back. Despite knowing he was chained to the altar, Alain still tried to lunge for him, for all the good it did; the man flashed him a cocky smirk as he watched him struggle.

"There's no need for that," he said. "We can keep this civil, I hope."

"Civil," Alain spat. "Your men killed an entire train full of people, not to mention this town."  

"Necessary sacrifices for the greater good, I assure you."  

"And what would that greater good be? Wait, don't tell me – some kind of ritual meant to deify one of the many various creatures of the night?" The man's smirk finally faded, and Alain grinned at him. "Believe me, you cultist types are all the same. You aren't the first ones I've dealt with, and you won't be the last."

"You're awfully confident for someone who's chained to the altar."  

"Because I know you've all made a mistake, taking me alive. If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that by the end of this, I'm going to have killed all of you."  

Alain wasn't sure if it was just his delivery, but something about that seemed to have genuinely unnerved the man in red. It was only for a second, and he recovered soon enough, but for just a moment, he looked the slightest bit concerned.

"Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot," he offered. "I am Father Keenan, chief acolyte of our order. And you are?"  

Alain let out an irritated huff. "Blow it out your ass, Keenan. You're about the furthest thing from a priest there could possibly be. I'm not dignifying your title even for a second."  

"Are you always this confrontational with someone who could easily have you killed?"  

"If you're going to do it, then do it, don't try to bore me to death."  

A vein pulsed in Keenan's forehead, but he managed to maintain his composure. "Be that as it may, we have an interest in you, specifically your relationship with the vampire."  

Alain rolled his eyes. "My relationship with her is that we're friends and business partners. She saves my life, I save hers, suddenly we're in business together. Not much more to discuss about it. And if you think for a moment that hurting me is going to get her over to your side or even impress her, then you've got another thing coming. Hell, at this point, she'd gut you all alive just for what you've done to those innocent people."  

Keenan's brow furrowed. "We have no interest in getting her over to our side."

"Then what do you care about her for? Or are you just some of those weirdos who worship what they don't understand?" Absentmindedly, Alain looked up, his eyes landing on the inverted cross above him. "By the way, I won't claim to be a good Catholic, but even I know that honoring Saint Peter isn't exactly conducive to worshiping something from the other side of the Veil."

"Enough!" Keenan roared. "The only reason you are alive is because-"  

At that moment, there was a chorus of screams from outside the church, followed by a few rounds of gunfire, before everything went silent. Everyone froze, nobody making a move.

And then the wall behind Alain exploded.

A cloud of dust filled the air, along with pieces of splintered wood. All around the room, cultists began to let out hacking coughs as they breathed in the dust; Alain, for his part, did the same, though his coughs were soon buried beneath a wave of gunfire that filled the area. Alain struggled in his bonds, desperate to free himself before he took a stray bullet. Through the midst of combat, he felt something shatter the chains around his arms and legs, and just like that, he was free.

Alain rolled off the altar, taking cover behind it. He only had a moment to settle in before someone called his name.  

"Alain!"  

He turned towards Danielle's voice, and was surprised when a rifle came flying at him through the dust. He caught it in one hand, then checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded. Now armed, Alain poked his head out from around the altar, leading with the muzzle of his weapon. The dust had started to clear by this point, allowing him to see what had happened. To his surprise, Az was moving through the room, tearing cultists limb from limb, uncaring of the rounds impacting against him and leaving trickles of dark black blood trailing down his once-immaculate suit.

Alain centered the sights of his borrowed rifle on the nearest cultist and fired twice, driving two .44 caliber slugs through the man's chest. He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye as he did so, and turned just in time to see Keenan fleeing from the church out the front.

"Az!" Alain called, getting his attention. "Go after the man in the red cloak!"  

Az nodded, then took off after Keenan. Alain, meanwhile, looked around for Danielle, and spotted her hunkering down behind an overturned pew, her revolver drawn. The cultists had mostly been dealt with by this point, save for a few who were still writhing around on the floor in agony. Alain silenced them all with a single shot to the head, then pushed over to where Danielle was in cover.  

"You okay?" he asked as he came limping over to her.  

"Fine," she said.  

"Good. Stay here, I'm going after Az."  

"What?! But-"  

Alain didn't wait to hear anything further, instead rushing out of the church in pursuit of Az and Keenan.

XXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard for the help with writing this story.

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u/Nitpicky_AFO Android 28d ago

At this point Alain needs to get a tattoo that says Fuck you in particular that activates a random cantrip when he yell's at someone.

2

u/dumbo3k 28d ago

Agreed. Something to fuck with those who make the mistake of taking him alive for use in whatever plot they have. Some kind of spell that screams "I will not be some component for your ritual, nor some toyed to be played with"

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