Hacks from Hell, Unlimited

                   in co-operation with

           Evil Entities for a Darker Tomorrow's
                     Department Three

                          and

      The Whip Cream and Razor Blades Corporation's
                 North American Division

                        presents


            Dawn of Darkness: Into the Abyss


  A Vampire Princess Miyu / Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter
                       Crossover

                          by

                     Joey O'Leary
                          aka
                    The Apprentice

        Anita Blake, Jean-Claude and all other characters taken from the
Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter novels are property of Laurell K. Hamilton.

        Miyu, Larva, and all other characters taken from Vampire Princess
Miyu are the property of Toshihiro Hirano and Narumi Kakinouchi.

        Jeremy Feeple and all other characters taken from Ninja High School
are the property of Ben Dunn.

        Mousse and all other characters taken from Ranma 1/2 are the
property of Rumiko Takahashi.

        Count Ragoczy Saint-Germain and any other character from her works
are the property of Chelsea Quinn Yarbro.

        Unless otherwise noted all other characters are the mine.  Please
get permission before using them.


Thank you's go out to:

        Megazone, Gryphon, ReRob and everyone else who's wrote something in
that epic tale known as Undocumented Features.  You're the ones responsible
for getting me interested in Manga and Anime, again.  

        Darren Steffler (aka Twister) for Twisted Path and Twister.  For
showing me the joys of Ranma 1/2 and reminding me that it *is* possible to
have a great self-insertion fanfic without reading UF.  And for Puck, the
Canadian god who, it seems, is about to father a race of half-elves all on
his own. 

        Bert Van Vliet.  For revealing to us that it is possible to be more
of a pain to Sylia than Priss and Mackie combined.  Frankly, I'm surprised
you haven't given her an ulcer yet. 

        Hitomi Ichinohei.  For amazing me with the number of fanfics she can
have going at once, yet have all of them be of superior quality.  I'm still
working (some) on that BGC 'fic I told you about, Hitomi.  Believe it or not,
it's what's caused me to create this one.

        Barry Cadwgan.  For giving me (in no particular order):
spellchecking services; inspiration; ideas; comments and criticism;
encouragement; and assurances that just because I'm able to write characters
like Set, is no reason to see a psychiatrist.

        For White Wolf and the rest of the FFML.  For great stories and
a chance to have this thing looked at.

        To Toshihira Hirano and Narumi Kakinouchi, for giving us Miyu.

        And, finally, to Laurell K. Hamilton.  For showing me that it was
possible to mix horror, fantasy, mystery and a bit of romance together.  For
giving us vampires that are truely monsters, but showing that humans could
be monstrous as well.  For Anita Blake herself; a strong, smart heroine who
doesn't shriek when the monsters are after her, but instead gives them nine
millimeter headaches.  And for Jean-Claude; a hero and villian all at once
whom I can't help but root for.


        Any praise, comments, corrections, advice or out-and-out flames that
you decide shouldn't be made public should be sent to:
        tim.oleary@pei.sympatico.ca
But, please, put something in the header so the other people I share my
account with will know it's for me.

Thanks.

_____


Act 1
        Of Pain and Pleasure

Chapter 2: Doctor Frankenstein Meets the Marquis de Sade

        "In the end you will submit -
         It's got to hurt a little bit"
                - New Order, `Perfect Kiss'

        <Surprise!  You're dead! - Faith No More - The Real Thing>

        "I could almost hate good ol' Mother Nature right now," grumbled
the unassuming young man in the front passenger side of a car that had seen
better days, and that hadn't seem someone cleaning up the insides in quite
a while it seemed, as he stared out at the snow covered landscape, with
more coming down all the time.  It almost seemed as if the windshield
wipers were waging a desperate struggle against an army of white paratrooper
ants and the ants were winning, hands down.  "She gives us rain on Christmas
friggin' morning and more freezing rain then snow all winter.  So it's the
month of April now, right?  Winter's over, right?  Wrong!  As an April Fools
Day joke, she gives us our first snowstorm of the year! Even for the Great
White North.  Even for Canada," here he took a deep breath, perhaps in an
attempt to calm himself before continuing, "This. Is. Wrong!" By this point
the grumble had grown to a low volume rant and he was punctuating his
words with hand and arm movements that would have looked more appropriate on
the deck of an aircraft carrier.

        The driver didn't turn in the slightest as he calmly stated, "Hate to
tell you this but on the island this is pretty much the norm for winter, and
it's not unusual to have snow until the end of May."  A smile touched his
lips for a moment as he heard his passenger's low moan of despair and the
repeated thumping noises from the passenger side for several seconds
afterwards.

        The passenger visibly calmed himself by taking off his fogged-up
glasses and starting to clean them with a kleenex while grumbling, "Might as
well be wearing Mousse's glasses for all I can see from these things."  With
a sigh he turned his head to his taller, older looking and dark haired
co-worker in the driver's seat and stated, "Thanks again for offering me a
lift when our shifts ended.  I love to walk, it's just about the only
exercise I get these days, but not in this type of....of....abomination."
With this said he slumped back into his seat and returned his attention to
trying arrange it so he could see more with his glasses on then with them off.

        The speaker was a Caucasian male who looked to be in his late 'teens.
Unremarkable brown hair appeared to be attempting to form a mix of afro and
the 'wet-finger-in-the-light-socket' look as he tore off his blue winter cap
from his head in disgust.  He appeared to be around five feet and nine inches
tall, and had the look of someone who was in decent shape but really should
think about cutting down on snacks and fast food.  The face was hard to pin
down; it wasn't thin or fat, nor was it square or round or even made of all
angles.  It was the kind of face that a real spy would want, a face that
would be forgotten within the shortest possible time by the viewer's brain.
The only distinguishing features, if they could be called such, were his eyes.
They were a brown that seemed to almost be amber, then the speaker put the
bronze framed glasses back on his face.  Immediately their lenses darkened
those orbs to a plain, muddy brown and, if it were possible, made him seem
even more forgettable. The speaker had thought, on more than one occasion
after he discovered Manga and Anime, that he had been given looks that
definitely could have been referred to as 'The Feeple Effect'.

        The observer to all this didn't even bother looking at the driver
after making sure that he couldn't be either an asset or a hinderance to him.
It wasn't as if he'd ever come to something, or anything for that matter,
now.  With a small start, the observer ceased his musings and his
arcane examinations of his target.  The car carrying his... chosen was
about to make a rather sharp turn, near a gas station.  It was the perfect
opportunity.  A shift here, a tug there and reality bent itself, only
slightly but that was all the observer needed.  Now, to view the vessel's
reactions, Set thought with a smile.

        The passenger sat bolt upright as the car started to spin and he
heard his benefactor shout, "Shit!  ICE!".  His face swung back and forth
between the view of the rapidly growing gas pumps and his friend's
white-knuckled hands as he tried, in vain, to turn the steering wheel for a
few seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity.  Then it was too late to do
anything other than look at the sign advertising the gas prices at this
particular Shell gas station and think that it looked like another gas
pricing war had started in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.  Just before
impact he started to scream "FU-", which is generally considered (after
translation and in its complete form, of course) to be either the most
commonly uttered word before death in the multiverse or at least the second
most common.  Then the car hit the Super Unleaded Self-Service gas pump dead
on.  A split second later a rather large ball of flame erased the car, it's
occupants and the entire gas station.

        Emergency personnel would never be able to explain why that
intersection had a solid coating of black ice when there hadn't been rain
in days and the temperature had never risen high enough that day for any of
that day's snow to melt and then refreeze.  They did, however, find what they
believed to be sufficient pieces of the skeletons' of the car's occupants
to legally declare both to be dead.

        They were wrong.

***

        As soon as he heard the first faint moan from the human Set turned
his attention from the Void to his guest.  As the young man's body started
to writhe and his eyes to flutter Set licked his lips in anticipation.  He
could feel his chosen's pain as his awakening mind reacted to the signals
being sent by various parts of his body, and soon Set would see to it that
he would feel the human's fear as well.  It would serve nicely as an
appetizer to his upcoming feast.

        He doesn't look, Set thought in amusement, like he's doing so well.
His dress pants and shirt were charred in various places by the flames that
had erupted a split second before he had been pulled to... safety by Set.
The jagged-tipped bones thrusting out of a hole near his shirt's right
shoulder quite clearly signified that his right are was broken.  Shards of
glass had caused the various cuts on his arms, which he had instinctively had
used to shield his head at the last second before impact.  These injuries
had resulted in blood darkening his white dress shirt with its pale
green-gray and red stripes.  The blood was also on his black dress pants
and brown leather snow boots, but their colors made the blood less obvious
and dramatic.  His hair was darkened to black and plastered to his head by
blood and sweat.  Although, some of the blood and the... other things
on him were from his friend, Set idly mused to himself.  So his condition
wasn't as bad as a casual observer would have thought, yet.  He no longer
had his green and yellow winter jacket, his brown scarf, his deep blue
tuque or even his grey and red tie.  After all, Set thought, his parents
should be left something to help identify their poor, dead child.

        Finally, after a few minutes, the human's eyes stayed open and
started to dart around as he observed his surroundings, and the Set.  There
was, Set mused, nothing much he'd learn from the black nothingness that
characterized the more occupied portions of the Void, although he no doubt
wondered what was providing the light to see by.  His eyes visibly widened
and his face grew pale as he finally paid attention to Set.  Or, to be more
specific, Set's eyes.  It's time to start the show, Set thought as he smiled
kindly down at his prey.

        "So," Set asked in a jovial tone of voice.  "How are we feeling
today?"  This said, he crouched down so the prone human would be able to see
the sparkle in his eyes.  Eyes that did not belong in a human face.  His
friendly smile grew wider as the human started to not only generate more
fear but more pain as he tried and failed to move.  Set's smile once again
grew wider at the human's moan of pain and fear, and the twisted, clenched
look on his face.  This caused the human's fear to increase once again.  It
was a buffet of shades of fear and sensations of pain.  It was a buffet
that Set gladly fed upon.

        The human did nothing for a few seconds.  Then his tongue came out
to wet his chapped lips.  He flinched slightly at the sensations this caused,
since not all the glass and flame had been stopped by his arms.  He gave an
even greater flinch as he realized that not only was he licking blood, but
also other less identifiable things as well.  But, finally, he started to
speak in a horse croak.  "I'm dead, in pain, with someone who's got eyes
that wouldn't look out of place on a cobra, and I'm having my first hangover.
No disrespect meant, but I've had better days.  I'd guess that rules out
Heaven or plain non-existence from the list of `What afterlife do I get?'"

        The human paused for a second, visibly gathering his courage before
continuing in a normal conversational voice that almost hid his fear.
"You're a demon, aren't you?  This is Hell, isn't it?  I've got to admit it
isn't what I imagined it would be like."  Set couldn't help but blink his
eyes as the human rambled on.  "Care to tell me what put me in the red in
Saint Peter's book?  Lying?  Taking the Lord's name in vain?  Saying that I
wasn't sure that God existed and, even if he did, that He either wasn't as
good or as powerful as the Bible said?  Come on, at least tell me what tipped
the scales?"

        Set just couldn't help himself any longer, he instinctively stood
back up and started to snicker.  Despite his best efforts it grew into a
deep, malevolent chuckle and then evolved into echoing laughter.  This caused
the human to shake with fear and instinctively try to move more than just his
head again.  As before, all that occurred was that he received yet more pain.
And, as before, Set gladly drank it and his prey's ever-growing terror in,
as a man dying of thirst would water.  Finally, after what could have been
seconds or eternity, Set was able to stop laughing.  But his eyes sparkled
enough to rival diamonds and he had a wide, delighted grin on his face.

        After staring at the human for a few more minutes Set spoke, in the
joyous, lilting voice of a little boy about to pull the wings off a
butterfly.  "I'm afraid you're misinformed as to your situation, dear boy.
However, I'll gladly fill you in.  First, you are not dead.  I pulled you
to safety from that car just before you would have died.  Second, I'm neither
an angel or a demon.  Why, I'm not even Christian!  And, finally, this is
not an afterlife, it is the Void.  The place where all worlds, dimensions
and realities meet.  It is nowhere and nowhen, and it is therefore also
everywhere and everywhen.  I'm afraid we won't be passing its main 'tourist
attraction', but I prefer to avoid the bustle and bother that's always
around that eventful place."

        Set silently watched as the human blushed furiously in embarrassment
and felt the fear he was giving off lessen steadily.  Finally, his fear
almost gone, the human looked Set in the eye.  "Thanks for saving my life,"
he quietly said.  "My deepest apologies for the unintentional insult, sir.
Can you tell me what happened to the car's driver?  Or if my parents know
I'm still alive?   How soon can I go home?"  The human suddenly stopped
talking for a second as a grimace slashed across his face and Set felt the
human's pain spike for an instant.  His voice was horse once more when he
started to speak again.  "And where can I get medical attention?  All I've
been able to move is my head, and what I have been able to see of myself
isn't all that encouraging.  Also, I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm
feeling," he gave Set a weak, crooked grin before continuing, "some pain."

        Set looked down on the human with a serious expression, gave a
sad sigh and shook his head slightly before quietly replying.  "I'm afraid
your friend is dead."  As he watched the human's reaction to this expected,
but still unwanted, news Set fed on the mental agony being produced.  It's
time, Set thought gleefully, to lower the boom.

        Set's demeanour changed instantly.  His expression became pleasant
and his voice now had an undertone of laughter.  "He wouldn't have been
any use to me, so I didn't bother to save him.  In fact, the only reason
he's dead is because he was in the same car as you.  You see, I wanted you,
so I arranged your accident."  Set paused to allow these facts to sink into
the human's mind and to savour the increased mental agony produced.  "Don't
feel sad, though, you are wearing parts of him after all."

        Set started to smile and his eyes once again started to sparkle.
"As for your parents worrying about you," he calmly stated, as he basked in
the fear and pain, mental and physical now being produced by the human.
"Have no fear, I left enough evidence at the scene of the accident to
convince anyone investigating it that you're dead too.  Maybe, if magic and
psionics weren't ridiculed so much on your world, someone might learn of my
little switch.  But as it is..."  Set shrugged expressively and sighed
loudly.  "Oh well.  C'est la vie!"

        By now Set's expression was one of malevolent gloating as he paused
yet again to take in the shock, fear and pain chasing one another in an
endless, futile attempt to escape.  Set just stood their silently,
feeding off these emotions as the human just opened and closed his mouth.
He was so far out of his depths, had felt so much pain, and his views of what
was and what wasn't had been so totally destroyed that his mind tried,
unsuccessfully, to shatter itself.  Finally Set decided it was time to lower
the other boot.

        "As for your inability to move," Set continued on in a gleeful tone
of voice.  "That's my doing.  It cuts down on the annoyances you could
create.  And as for your pain," once again Set paused, grinning insanely as
he once more drank in the almost intoxicating mix of terror and pain the
human was giving off.  "I belong to a race known as the Shinma.  Our name
could be translated to mean `god and demon' in English.  We all, in one way
or another, feed off humans."  Set crouched back down besides the human's
head and smiled gently as his chosen turned his face away from him, before
continuing to speak in a softer and gentler tone of voice.  "I feed off fear
and pain.  Not just physical agonies, but mental ones as well."

        Set waited until his left hand gently forced the human's face to turn
so they were looking into one another's eyes before speaking.  It started
out as a whisper but steadily grew stronger as Set continued.  "You should
feel grateful to feed me, after all it's the duty and the privilege of the
gazelle to feed the leopard.  And you've been even more deeply honored.
You're essence resonates on a frequency so close to... another's to be
almost identical!  With your help I'll lead my race to its proper place on
our Earth.  And after that, not to sound cliched, the possibilities are
endless!"  Set ran his eyes up and down his captive's now sweat-soaked form
as he continued to speak.  "Admittedly, since you're a mere human you'll have
to be reinforced to meet my requirements.  But that can be accomplished much
more easily and quickly than finding you was."  Set lowered his head and
licked the left side of the human's face from chin to forehead.  An
animalistic whimper of terror slid from his chosen's lips as Set placed his
lips by the human's left ear and breathed, in a loving whisper, his next
words.  "I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time, or at least I will."

        The human shivered silently for a few seconds before he,
surprisingly, spoke in a calm and unemotionally tone of voice normally used
by employees at Denny's at eleven P.M. "Check please, garcon.  I'd like to
lose consciousness now."  And with these words barely uttered he did fall
unconsciousness.  And, once this had occurred, the flows of pain and fear
that Set was feeding upon suddenly vanished.

        Set instinctively jumped to his feet and immediately started to scan
the human.  As he did so he started to mutter to himself the results of this
scan.  "He's still alive.  Still sane.  The spell to prevent fainting from
physical pain is working correctly...  Wait a second, there's nothing here
to keep him from fainting due to mental shocks!"  Set brought up a hand to
cover his face as he shook his head in self-disgust.  "First not putting
something on her in L.A. to keep her from burning her own mind out, now
this!"  Set exhaled a long, drawn out sigh before continuing.  "Twice in a
month, this is embarrassing."

***

        Ask any one you chose in 'The' St. Louis social scene what was Arthur
Fitzwilliam's most peculiar quirk was and the answer would always be the
same.  No matter who you asked, they would mention his love of the local
wilderness.  About once a month this only child of an 'old money' family
would pack his scruffiest clothing and camp out in the 'wilds' around
St. Louis.  He always told his peers it was to get back to his roots and
find himself.  No one ever seemed to notice that the night of the full moon
always seemed to occur during his camping excursions.  Or that he absolutely
despised silverwear, too cliched he'd always say when asked on this quirk.
Of course these peculiarities could be forgiven by a tolerant society.
Especially when the man in question was known as for his deep pockets,
fabulous parties, and for never getting upset over his legendary bad luck
at gambling.

        Of course if you were a member of, or had connections with, St.
Louis's lycanthropes you'd probably have known the real reasons behind his
camping trips and his dislike of these eating utensils.  It was because
Arthur Fitzwilliam was a werewolf.  Like all those afflicted with the
disease of Lycanthropy he was strongly allergic to silver and simply had to
shapeshift to a non-human form during the night of the full moon.  This also
explained why the otherwise perfect fashion plate always chose his worst
clothes to take with him on these trips.  Transforming to either his animal
form or the 'half-n-half' form of a wolfman tended to render his clothes
useless.  Unless he needed rags badly, that is.  

        Still some of his peers, in both circles he moved in, wondered just
how he kept himself in the black.  True, his family was well off and he was
an only child but his father was known to only give his exasperating son
a modest, by 'high society' standards at least, allowance to his son.  He
did lecture at Washington University, true, but there wasn't a great demand
for his services there either.  Despite what many would have said, holding a
Doctorate, a Master's degree and a Bachelor's degree wasn't a guarantee of
employment.  At least not when those degrees were, respectively, for
European history, Magical theory and Preternatural biology.  Many said it
was due to wise investments on Arthur's part.  Other's claimed links to
organized crime. While Arthur did do well on the stock markets and on the
loans he made to others, and while he did know people in the most unusual
places these were not the true reasons for his admitted wealth, let alone
his true worth.  If Arthur had wished to tell the where's, how's and who's of
his fiscal success he'd likely have started off by saying that it was those
same degrees that his father constantly told him were a waste that were
responsible.  Them and the lively curiosity he still had, now in his mid
forties, that had led him to go into those fields of study.

        Of course none of this mattered to the man in question.  Having just
finished cleaning himself of the grass, dirt, blood that were the result of
the Pack's monthly meeting and then sleeping in the nude by his tent, not
to mention the clear fluids that always were released when a lycanthrope
shifted to a non-human form, and changed to a pair of dark blue jeans and
white golf shirt Arthur's mind was on the package he'd just received before
going on his 'camping' trip.

        The grey package itself was not so engrossing to Arthur, nor was
the fact that it had come from Paris, France.  He did wonder, in passing,
what had caused the sender of the package to decide to leave Spain though.
No what had started an exited fluttering in his stomach was who it was
from.  The name of the sender was a friend of his.  Even more importantly,
the sender was the servant of someone whom Arthur owed his monetary
well-being too.  Someone Arthur considered to be a mentor, a teacher, a
colleague and a friend.  He ran one tanned hand through short hair just as
curly and blond as it had been while he had been at Wash. U. as a student
and running back for it's football team.  Many of his acquaintances would
mention, in faintly jealous tones of voices, that he still looked as good,
and as young, as he had back then.  This too he owed, at least in part,
to his mentor.

        From the package he pulled a bulging envelop and two opaque,
unlabelled, sealed plastic containers.  Leaving the containers alone for now,
he broke the black wax circle that had been used to seal the envelop closed
and pulled out several pages of correspondence out of it.  As he started to
read Arthur couldn't help but smile.  Even though they had a private code
that allowed them, and fellow scholars to exchange information on the Art
without being obvious his old teacher often wrote to him in languages other
than English.  This time it was Latin, in the style popular when Nero ruled.

        His bright blue eyes started to dance after the first page, and by
the time he finally looked up from the letter a wide smile seemed to threaten
to split his face open.  He picked up one of the containers and fervently
kissed it before letting out a joyful bark of laughter and address the
container, and it's contents.  "Finally!  With you and your companion I'll
be able to come up with a fabric that will be able to shift with me!  I knew
you could do it, Count!  I'll never be able to thank you for this!"

        "Well, I can tell you that you're right about the never being able
to thank him part," a mocking voice drifted to Arthur's ears from nowhere.
He was still trying to figure out where it had come from, since he couldn't
sense anything, when suddenly his chest felt like something had exploded
in it.

        He found late that afternoon by fellow lycanthropes that he'd
invited over earlier to have supper with him.  The found his body over
several pages and two unsealed plastic containers.   His heart was missing,
but his head was found to be have just have fallen in a nearby bush.  It was,
one of those present remarked, almost as if it had been twisted off like a
beer bottle's cap.  Whatever had been in the containers had been soaked with
blood, as had all but part of the bottom of the last page, which contained a
signature.  There were no footprints or other visual signs that any one had
been there.  Nothing appeared to have been taken.  There were no foreign
smells on Arthur's body.  Nothing.

        It was finally decided that night to get rid of the body and all that
Arthur had brought with him.  A blood test would have shown that Arthur
Fitzwilliam had carried Lycanthropy, his acquaintances might be considered
possible lycanthropes as well.  Never mind that Lycanthropy has been
medically proven not to be contagious in human form or that discriminating
against those that had it was illegal, it still happened.  In that it was
just like AIDS.  And the cops?  Where had they been when the last publicly
known teacher who was a lycanthrope had been firebombed?  No, it was finally
decided by those concerned, best to handle this 'in-house'.  One of the
first things to be done, it was decided, was to find out who was this `St.
Germain' that sent Arthur that letter.

        Two days latter the police opened a missing person's case on one
Arthur Fitzwilliam, at his father's urging.  Nothing was learned.

***

        Just a few more minutes, Josee thought as she quickly walked in
the warmth of a humid July night.  Just a few more minutes and I'll be in
the District.  Just a few more minutes and I'll be surrounded by crowds
and in one of the most heavily policed areas of St. Louis.  Just a few
more minutes and I'll be safe.

        If there had been another person on that back street with this
pale-skinned woman with hair going down to the waist of her dark green dress,
they would have heard her snickering as she tried not to laugh at the irony
of her current fears and longings.  They also would have noticed that she
constantly scanned her surroundings with wide green eyes.  The careful
observer would have noticed her fangs and, with the background her pale skin
and fire-engine bright red hair provided, would realize that the beautiful,
but extremely nervous, young woman was a vampire.

        A vampire wanting the police!  Oh, what a change two years can make,
Josee chuckled ruefully to herself as she tried to focus on something other
than her fear.  Two years since Addison vs. Clark, since the U.S. Supreme
court declared that vampires were legally alive.  Two years that we've had
the protection of the law, that we could own property.  Two years since
killing one of us without a death warrant was, legally, murder.

        And now St. Louis has a serial killer that went after vampires.
Someone, or a group perhaps, that had managed to kill eight vampires already!
Of course the police only knew of three killings.  Despite what the law said,
cops weren't in a big hurry when it's the monsters that are the victims of
crime, Josee thought viciously.  So why should we trust them?

        And why tell the world just how hard hit we are, Josee thought as
fear started to creep back into her heart.  I was a vampire when Capone all
but ruled Chicago but I'm not a master vampire.  Some of those murdered
were and most were older than me, some of them were much older than me.
Josee shivered from something other than the cool wind which was keeping
things to a tolerable level of heat and humidity as she continued down a
train of thought she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried.  The one who
brought me over was considered the fifth most powerful vampire in the city,
now he was considered the third.  We've searched, spent money, threatened and
we still don't know who or what's killing us.

        That's why I'm longing for police and crowds, Josee thought as a
mocking grin painted itself on her face.  That's why a vampire is varying
her patterns from night to night, and staying as much as possible in well
lit streets.  A vampire afraid of the night!  Josee expelled what her long
dead mother would have told her was an unlady-like snort as she tried to
cheer herself up.  I'm just being silly, it's not as if...

        Suddenly Josee felt both her arms pulled roughly behind her back and
instinctively tried to break free.  Like all vampires she could bench press
a pickup truck, but she couldn't move her arms, not even an inch!  A liquid
chuckle of delight rolled by her left ear as her arms were held even more
tightly and Josee couldn't help but wonder what held her?  Even now the only
sign that anything was near her was what felt like a hand grasping both her
arms.  There were no other hints that she wasn't alone on the street.
Nothing she could see, hear or even smell told her that she wasn't alone.
But she wasn't, she wasn't.

        "Do feel free to scream," a pleasantly lilting voice breathed by
her right ear, "I've seen to it that the neighbours aren't disturbed."  Then,
moving quicker than humanly possible, even more quick than a lycanthrope, a
tanned arm in a white suit jacket shot in front of her and then through her.
Josee screamed in pain and terror as flesh was forced back and ribs broken
by the hand.  A hand, she realized in a growing sea of terror, searching
for her heart.  Just before the hand reached it's target she screamed a name.
The name of the one who brought her over, the name of her master.  She
screamed with, quite literally, her last breath, "Jean-Claude!"

        And then the pain was gone and all that was Josee fell into a black
nothingness.

        The body was discovered shortly past midnight.  The first officers
arrived on the scene within five minutes from the District.  Less than two
minutes later a call to the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team, RPIT,
went out.  It didn't take too long for the Spook Squad to fill out their
reports.  After all the MO was the same:  the victim was a vampire, heart
torn out and taken, and the head torn off.  As with the others no sign that
the perpetrator, or perpetrators, had used any tools or weapons.  Chalk up
victim number four to St. Louis's latest serial killer.  And pray that the
press didn't pull its thumb out anytime soon.  After all, it was prime
tourist season.

***

        Nothing.  No sound, no feelings, no smells, no images or thoughts.
Just the Darkness that embraced me.  Then reality started to reveal itself
to me again.  I couldn't see well yet, but at least I could think, and I
could hear some faint moaning.  As I blinked my eyes in hopes of focussing
the images they were showing me enough so I could interpret them I
suddenly realized that I knew the voice that was making the noises, it was
my own.  At the same time the fog that crouched around my mind and sight
retreated enough for me to discover five facts.  First, that I couldn't move.
Second, that I was in a rather large room, with black walls and a black
floor.  Although I couldn't see the ceiling due to the wall of shadows, I
felt safe in assuming it too was black.  Third, I really didn't like the
decor of the room.  Fourth, that Mr. Psycho-in-White was a few feet away,
looking at me with a small, kind smile on his face.  And, finally, that my
glasses were missing.  You know, I franticly thought to myself as I firmly
closed his eyes again, I liked Nothingness more than this.  Maybe I can
convince it to let me back in.

        Unfortunately, I stayed aware and awake despite my best efforts
otherwise.  After what could have been seconds or hours my 'host' decided to
break the silence.  The soft, jolly voice drifted into my ears and mind, it
shattered a silence so pervasive that I hadn't even noticed it, until it was
broken.  "Well, well. So, we're back in the land of the living. So, please,
tell me what you think of my little playroom.  And be honest, please, it's
as much for you and my other visitors to it as it is for me, after all."

        Despite myself I opened his eyes and took in the sights of the room
again.  As he did so he couldn't help but notice that his attention was
always drawn to his captor.  He stood out like an honest lawyer in this room.
His white three-piece suit and white hair was, quite obviously, in definite
contrast to the walls, floor and the shadows that seemed to form the ceiling
of the room.  After two or three minutes of looking I opened my mouth and
calmly replied.  "Well, I like the basic color scheme but I'm just not sure
about your furniture, or the accessories for this room.  I don't recognize
most of it, but things like Iron maidens or racks don't really turn my crank.
But they do look very new, If you've redocorated the place just for my visit,
then I'm deeply touched.  You really shouldn't have gone through all that
fuss just for me."  Mr. White just blinked those reptilian eyes and looked at
me, mouth slightly ajar.  I had spoken as if asked about the chances of rain
this weekend, not what I thought of what was obviously a room dedicated to
inflicting suffering.

        He looks almost as stunned over what I just said as I feel!, I
thought as I mentally shrieked at myself.  You idiot!  You utter moron, are
you trying to get me killed?!?  You're strapped down on a black slab of
something, in a room from a S & M wet dream with a friggin' psychopath and
you say THAT!  Do I really have that big a death-wish?!?

        After mentally berating myself I received yet another unexpected
surprise, I was given an answer to my question.  The first thing I heard
was a mocking chuckle, but it didn't seem to come from 'Mr. Wonderbar' and it
seemed to echo in my head for a few seconds, then I heard him.  The voice
was calm where mine had been stressed.  The venomous sarcasm that all but
dripped from the words twisted it almost beyond recognition, but I still did.
It was my own.  Somehow I knew it was the part of me that made jokes that
even I didn't understand, the part of me that let me put my foot in it more
times then I wanted to remember.  It was my pessimism and my self-disgust;
after all, it was the honesty in me.  It was obviously not very happy with
me at the moment.  Oh, grow up already!  I've got a bad memory but even YOU
should be able to remember our last conversation with this jerk!  We're dead
already, chum.  What do you think those nice steel chains with those lovely
hooks and barbs at the ends are used for, dickweed?  That bastard's not going
to get any satisfaction out of me, if I have any say in it!  And, if you
don't like it, tough!

        This, I thought with the calm of someone who's gone so far into the
realms of terror that they reach, if only for a split second, tranquillity,
is definitely not good.  You know what they say about 'you're in trouble only
when you start answering yourself.'  But, I mused while taking another glance
at my surroundings hoping to find a way out, I'm right about my fate.  I'm
quite thoroughly screwed.

        By the time I let out a small sigh of relief that I hadn't gotten a
reply from myself on that thought and my host had regained his composure and
was standing right beside my prone form.  He just gave me another one of
those cheery smiles of his and his voice was so happy it was disgusting,
even before you considered what he was saying and doing to be happy.  "My,
you are the unusual one, aren't you?  I almost wish I'd met you under
different circumstances, you just might have been an interesting dinner
companion all on your own!  But to answer your question on the decor; no my
toys aren't new.  I prefer to use clean instruments so I won't get distracted
by thinking of past masterpieces while working on my current project. I am
pleased to know you like the basic decor, though.  And as for you not
knowing what most of my accessories are called or used, don't worry.  I'll
make sure you learn something about every last one of them."  Then he
laughed, it sounded like one of my nephews or nieces laughter.  It was kind,
it was friendly and its creator did no wrong.  Despite my promise not to give
him any satisfaction I shivered and futilely pulled at bonds that I couldn't
see, and only felt when I tried to move.  All he did was laugh louder.  Just
as before I couldn't help but wonder why I kept on thinking that I heard that
way of speaking and smiling before. 

        "You know," he mused aloud after a few seconds of silence, "I really
should work harder on my self control.  I mean, I rushed two meals that
could have been very satisfying just to get the last components for this
feast.  But I've been working towards this meal for a while you know, and I
still have things to do afterwards..."  He stopped for second, pulling three
objects out of a pant's pocket that shouldn't have been able to put any one
of them in.  The first was a blue-green, oval semi-circle.  The second was
a dark blue rectangle with angled corners.  The third was a bright red, the
color of fresh blood.  It looked to be an angled rectangle on top of a
pyramid.  "So," he said with obvious relish, "let us begin!".  He held the
first and the third objects in his left hand and, with his right hand, placed
the second in my left palm.

        The second it touched my hand I gasped, it was so warm!  Then I
gasped again as it slid into, and through, my hand!  Then I began to feel it,
truly feel it.  That's when I started to scream.  I screamed as I felt every
part of my body, every single cell, engulfed in flames.  But that wasn't
so bad, really, it was what was going on in my mind that hurt the most.  I
wasn't me anymore.  I was someone who had been born with a silver spoon in
his mouth.  I was someone who had eaten human flesh and had savoured every
last bite.  I was someone who had grown up with the best clothes, the best
education, the best EVERYTHING that money could buy.  I was someone who had
caught lycanthropy for being just a little too willing to experiment with
an ex-girlfriend.  I was someone who had rebelled against my father's wishes,
to become a business man, to take over the family's companies.  I was someone
who felt the moon's dance in his very genes.  I was drowning in the memories,
feelings, experiences of him.  But the worst thing was that HE was in me too,
call it his soul, his mind or his essence; it was in my mind with me.  And
with every passing second I couldn't tell what was me and what has him.

        I/He could see the red gem in his captor/killer's hand as he put the
third object in his left palm.  The constant screams echoing through the
room, halting only long enough for me/him to breath, rose to even more
agonized pitch as it touched me/him.  I/he couldn't help but attempt to laugh
as the burning heat I felt faded, as a freezing chill replaced it.  Then she
hit my/his mind.  I was a woman who had her life planned out by her parents.
I was of the dead, yet still lived.  I was told that a proper lady's place
was at home, serving her husband, raising children.  I had sunk fangs in
countless throats, killing immesurable numbers of human beings and felt it
wasn't wrong.  I had met someone with velvet black hair and dark blue eyes
that were almost black.  He had understood my wish to make something of
myself!  He had offered me a way out!  I drank the blood of the living, and
loved it.  A small part of me/him/her couldn't help but think that if
I/he/she had been given the red object's contents before the dark blue
one's, that I/he/she wouldn't have survived.  I/he/she wished he had given
us the red object first.

        We could see him reaching out with his right hand again, about to
deposit the blue-green object in our palm.  We had regained some control over
ourself, although not enough so we could keep me from screaming as I felt
myself overwhelmed by two stronger wills.  As I felt my thoughts pushed aside
for our thoughts.  No, we didn't have complete control, but we had enough to
make a fist with our left hand.  He just turned his head to look us in the
eye and snarled at us to open our left hand.  We felt like laughing at him.
True, we were a new born, but between our components we had over one hundred
and fifty years of experience.  Then we felt our hand open and, still in
shock, watched him place the blue-green object in our palm.

        And then I/he/she stopped screaming, for what I/he/she felt was pain
far beyond my/his/her ability to handle or my/his/her memories of previous
agonies.  And then the memories hit my/his/her brain.  I was never human.
I was worshipped as a god.  I was feared as a demon.  Humans were my prey.
I was of the clan that broke away from the rest of my race long ago.  I was
there before the pyramids.  I was Shinma.  I/he/she/it suffocated with
knowledge and experience.  I/he/she/it drowned in power that those accursed
bonds kept me/him/her/it from using.

        We opened eyes that we did not remember closing and looked at him.
We knew him now, which was good.  It helped to focus our hate, it helped us
hide our fear.  He looked at us with elation, he knew that he had what he
wanted, he had us.  Our lips curled in disgust as we spat his name out at
him, "Set".  That word spelled out our hatred more than anything else could.
Of what we would do to him, given the chance.  He felt it, we could tell.
His smile vanished and his eyes stopped sparkling.  But, after a few minutes
of silence he recovered.

        "Well," Set said in voice that held only a shadow of his previous
happiness.  "It's obvious that I've succeeded in bring you back, my dear.  I
must admit that I didn't think you'd burn your own mind out, that was
inspired.  Unfortunately, for you that is, that spell had a built-in function
to capture souls.  I put it there just in case you found away to kill
yourself despite the compulsion not to."  By now his voice was back to its
normal cheerful self.  Set turned away and walked towards a black cabinet
as he continued to speak to us.  "In the month that's passed since then I've
had a lot of time to think on what I wanted to do to you.  Of course the
fact that you're in a male body now does change things slightly, but I'm
adaptable."  After rifling through the top drawer for a second or two, Set
started to walk back to us.  One of his hands hidden behind his back.  "You
really should be grateful to me," he remarked as he stopped on our left
side, near our feet.  "You'd soon burn out that mortal's form just by
yourself.  Not to mention the other two I put into him."  As he spoke he
took off our left winter boot and sock, and placed them carefully aside.
"Of course, without them, you'd have killed him the moment his essence met
yours.  He may resonate almost perfectly with you, but your strength would
have just been too overwhelming."

        He stopped just for a second to run his eyes up and down our form.
He then let us see what was in his right hand.  It was a knife.  It had a
black handle that had that smoothness that comes with frequent use and good
care.  It's blade was about a foot long and, surprisingly, was smooth.  There
were not teeth or flared curves or anything else we would have expected from
Set.  Our expression must have shown our surprise, as he grinned gleefully
at us before correcting us.  "Yes, we'll begin with this knife.  Don't worry
about it not cutting you, it has a high silver content.  Just the thing you
need for werewolves and vampires.  And, in my hands, it will be able to
affect another Shinma.  Don't worry about the edge, either.  I made sure it's
nice and dull!"  Then, laughing, he slowly started to lower the blade towards
our foot.

        This memory isn't pleasant for us, but we focus on it, as we have
focussed on others.  It is still better, less painful, than what we would
be experiencing in the now.  The smells of blood, burning flesh and waste.
The pain from cuts and bruises, burns and broken bones, and so many other
things.  The taste of blood, waste and other things.  The knowledge that
not all we taste is of ourself.  The sight of our body covered in blood,
waste and other things.  And knowing not all of them from us.  The sight of
our body trying to heal itself, its regenerative abilities pushed beyond
their limits.  The sight of all the `toys' Set has introduced us to.  The
sight of Set himself, clothed only in what now covers our naked form.  The
sounds of blood and other things rushing down channels to the drain that is
in the center of the room.  Still, things aren't as bad as they could be.
We don't hear ourself screaming, begging or promising to do anything for Set
anymore.  We stopped when our voice finally gave out, now we can't even
moan.

        At least Set is not in our head now, playing with thoughts and
memories as he has our body.  In fact we have not felt any pain from our
body for a time.  We are not sure how long, time has no meaning for us
now.  Only what we think.  Only what we sense.  Only pain.  Only Set.

        Set is moving back towards us, staying on our left side.  Perhaps
he wants to make sure we can see him with our working eye.  His body is
flushed with the energy he has fed off of us.  From the pleasure he's gotten
from hurting us.  From breaking us.  He speaks softly as he brushes what's
left of our brown hair and we strain to hear every word even as we shudder
in hatred and fear from his touch.  "I just want you to know that you've
been better than anyone else before you.  You've lasted longer than anyone,
even your old friend from Detroit.  But all good things must come to an end,
sooner or later.  I just can't seem to get you to feel any physical pain any
more, and the efforts I have to go through to get fear or mental agony are

cancelling out any energy I get from you."  He stops long enough to run his
left hand up the length of our body.  We can't even find enough energy to
shiver.  He gently kisses what is left of our lips before looking us in the
eye and continuing.  "I'd just like to say that I was right and thanks.  I
did have a wonderful time."  We feel the pressure on our head from his right
hand increasing as we feel pressure in our chest.  Set lets us see the heart,
our heart, crushed in his left hand just before his starts to turn our head.
The last sound we hear is his voice, joyous laughter bubbling in it.  "This
is your heart.  This is your heart on drugs!"

        We are falling into a black abyss.  A perfect nothing.  We aren't
afraid of it.  Nothingness is our friend, without pain or fear.  Parts of
us think, as our thoughts grow dim and fade away, that perhaps now we will
go to Hell.  There is no fear in these thoughts.  How could there be?  We
have just left there.  And, finally, the black nothing completely embraces
us.

***

        Set looked down at the dead body, checking it's aura for any traces
of her blue-green essence.  "Nothing," he mutters to himself in the quiet
that once again cloaks his playroom.  "I've totally drained her.  And all
the other pieces of all the other essences will leave on their own."  He
looks at the form again, focussing on the back of the head which is now
facing forward.  "I've given you that much of an honor for the service you've
done me and all the Shinma boy," he says to the cooling corpse quietly.
"I've killed you the same way I would have another Shinma.  But how should
I do with your body?"  He snorts and waves his hand.  The corpse slides into
the once-black slab it's on.  "Let chance decide your resting place.  It will
certainly give someone a surprise!"  Set laughs quietly as he walks towards
one of the walls.  A door that wasn't visible suddenly opens as he nears it.
just before it closes itself his voice echoes into the room, "Soon, I'll be
ready for you little Guardian.  Just patiently wait for me to finish
adjusting after this feast, Miyu.  Then, I'll be there for you."

***

        The walls of the living room were that off-white of all apartments.
The carpet, before the body stained it, had been vanilla white.  The rough
boards that shut out most of the light from the window did not go well
with the small, but neat, dinning room set or what else could be seen of
the apartment.  The body was bombarded by what light squeezed though the
cracks on the boards.  It most definitely did not match the decor.  Suddenly,
it's eyelids opened, but what they showed wasn't eyes.  It was an inferno of
conflicting colors.  Bright red that was tinged with yellow, dark blue tinged
with green and brown all rolled in those sockets for an instant before
joining together into a black fire that just as suddenly vanished.  Just
before the eyelids, or to be more precise what was left of them, dropped
back down to cover the eyes they showed something unusual.  The left eye,
the one that you could still tell was an eye, now had an amber pupil.

-End of Chapter 2-

        Next Chapter:  Drinks, discoveries, and the fine art of deal-making!