You quickly head down the staircase of the basement, descending into the dark basement, lit by a dim candle. You slow down as you notice the counters piled with jars filled to the brim with red liquid. A bloody metal table sits there with unopened leather straps, a series of tubing and IV's connected to it. You're certain that it's equipment to drain the blood of victims the Thrall captures, to feed his master when he doesn't wish to hunt for himself. 


However, the highlight of the room is a large, ornate coffin, leaning against a concrete wall. You've seen enough coffins in your life for any man, but this one is a fairly nice one. It's solid wood, cherry, with brass handles, sitting up on its side so its resident can sleep standing up. The face on the front of the coffin shows a grinning, gargoyle-like face made of brass, its eyes shining at you. You flinch at the sight of it, nervous about what lies behind it.


"Let's do it," Father Féval says.


You hurry up to the coffin, readying your shotgun as Father Féval takes the other side. 


"I take the chest, you take the head," you say, as Father Féval nods.


Quickly, the two of you perform the breaching mechanism. Swinging around and standing back, you quickly measure the size of the coffin and roughly calculate where the center of its heart is. You aim, your fingers tightening on the trigger as you fire the weapon, as does Father Féval.


Your shotgun bucks, firing lead and magnesium shards directly through the heavy wood of the coffin. You fire three times as the wood splinters and explodes away, your shells bursting through them as they tear through the coffin. Father Féval's rounds tear through where the head of the vampire should lie, bursting through the wood and hitting through inside. After a few seconds, the sound of gunfire calms as you look at Father Féval.


"Let us confirm the kill," Father Féval says.


Stepping forward, you grab the handle of the coffin and wretch it open, tearing open the splintered and almost destroyed door. Staring inside, you find splintered wood and torn apart coffin... but no vampire, or no ash to show a clean kill.


"That was expensive," a dark, chilling voice says. "You'll pay for that."


Your voice chills when you hear the voice, but you know it's not the time for tears. Turning your head, you find yourself staring up at a tall, deathly pale figure standing behind Father Féval, its arms wrapped around him, baring a pair of ivory daggers that descend from its upper jaw, fangs so sharp and long they could tear out Father Féval's throat in an instant. It's skin seems almost entirely hairless except for the thick black hair that hangs down from its head. Its eyes, however... its blood red eyes betray an inhumanity that you'll never be able to comprehend. 


"Don't move, or your friend gets it," the Vampire says. "Drop your weapons. Slowly."


"Shoot it!" Father Féval gasps, as the Vampire steps almost perfectly behind the priest, obscuring your shot.


Surrender isn't an option. This creature needs to die, or neither you nor Father Féval will ever get out of here.

You wait for a better opportunity

You stand, stern and waiting with your shotgun raised. The Vampire laughs, his fangs bared as he holds them above Father Féval's neck. Father Féval simply stands perfectly still, slowing his breathing as he stares blankly ahead, slowly mouthing "Do it".


"Come on!" the Vampire laughs, reaching his arm down and tapping on exactly where Father Féval's heart is. "Right here. Blow out your friend's heart and maybe you'll get me. You'll get rid of my shield, either way."


With the Vampire's arm having moved around to Father Féval's chest, Father Féval's hand has been released. Father Féval slowly reaches his hand down to his belt, staring ahead. He slowly lifts up his jacket, reaching under to grab the silver crucifix affixed to his belt. He slides the cross free, holding it tightly in his hands. He looks at you, nodding ever so slightly in an almost imperceptible gesture. Father Féval swings his arm back in one solid gesture, jamming the crucifix into the Vampire's eye.


The Vampire screams, a horrible rasping noise of anger and pain beyond what should come out of any human lungs, like the scraping of concrete on concrete. It grabs at the crucifix jamming into it's eye, hissing as Father Féval ducks out of his grasp, rolling to the side, giving you the perfect open target.


You raise your shotgun, aiming it at the vampire's heart. You squeeze the trigger, doing what you should. The blast of lead and burning Magnesium shards tear through the air, bursting forward and exploding through his heart, and causing his flesh and clothes to catch up in flames. He screams out in pain, forced backwards from the sheer force of impact. You pump your shotgun, firing another blast as it hits the Vampire in the head, which snaps back as his head erupts through melting flesh. You pump another, and another, and another round into him, as his inhuman body erupts into fire, flesh turning into ash as he collapses backwards against the wall, the force of the shells leaving the Vampire stumbling back as it gasps. It's flesh continues burning away to ash as the creature collapses to the ground, and soon there's nothing but an ash pile left. 


"Thanks," Father Féval nods, looking down at the ash pile that was previously about to tear out his throat. "We should burn this wretched place to the ground and get out of here. Too much of a story here if they find the blood extraction equipment."


A bright ringing noise startles you from behind, and you almost open fire in that direction as you redraw your revolver. You find yourself staring at a simple cellphone sitting on a table, vibrating and ringing away. You pause, looking at it with confusion.


"What is it?" Father Féval asks you.


"A phone," you answer, as you walk over slowly, reaching down and flipping open the phone, lifting it to your ear.


"Hello?"


"Hello, Mr Matasan."


Your blood chills for a moment, as you take a deep breath, terror ringing through you.


"And who may I be speaking to?"


"My name is Hrólfr Gaange. It's a pleasure to meet you."


"Is there something I can help you with?" you ask.


"You don't seem particularly afraid, Mr Matasan."


"Should I be, Mr Gaange?" you ask, trying to keep your calm.


"Of course not. It's just refreshing to speak to a new person without them being so terrified. Now, let's be quite frank, Mr Matasan. You killed one of my agents, and their thrall, did you not?"


"I did," you say, not wanting to waste the time that would've come from lying, since you know the creature's certain about these facts. 


"Interesting. Good. He was a weak, impulsive creature. He wasn't useful. Quite frankly, he was a threat to our existence. But you... you could be of assistance to me. You have potential. I want you to work for me." 


"No," you reply, almost instantly, prompting a dark chuckle from the bastard. 


"I understand. You've dedicated your life to protecting the innocent. But, so have I, Mr Matasan. I may be a vampire, but I do what's necessary for this world. I don't stalk through the streets at night attacking helpless women hiding in their beds. I'm not one of these crass specimens that wants to blot out the sun, or who wants to enslave mankind, or raise a legion of damned souls. I like the world the way it is. And I'm going to keep it safe from darker creatures of the night. I keep the world of darkness under wraps, as you do. I keep my dark brethren in check. I protect society. You could help me with that, and do a far better job than you do as a mortal." 


"No," you say again.


"Think about what I'm offering you. Immortality, riches, power, strength, speed, intelligence. Everything you could want." 


"I can't do that, Mr Gaange. I think you already knew that, though."


"Oh, I did. But I'm not looking to recruit you right now. I'm offering you a favor. You types never take the power offer. You don't join my side out of power-lust. You join out of desperation. A day will come when you need me. Perhaps you need some arcane knowledge. Perhaps you need money. Perhaps a cure for some unknown disease. Anything you ever need. Just... keep this phone. My number is under Mr Black. Generic, i know. When you need me, call. I can give you anything you want. And what do you lose for that? Your finite mortality, your weakness, your diseases, your poverty... a fair bargain, no."


"I'm not going to..." you begin to see, before a dark voice interupts you.


"Keep the phone. I know you don't think you'll need it, but you might. I'll talk to you sooner or later, Mr Matasan. Best of luck to you tonight. I've heard it'll be a big one."


The phone beeps as Mr Gaange hangs up on you. 


"What was it?" Father Féval asks.


"The target's vampiric master."


"What did he say?"


You pause, looking down at your phone as you try to think through what to do. You know Féval wouldn't support you taking the phone, but he doesn't have to know what was discussed.

You take the phone

Thinking long and hard, you decide to take the phone. Perhaps it could be of some use. Maybe. Hopefully, you never have to use it, but you didn't survive this long in the field by turning away potential gifts, and you're not going to start now. Everything you can use in the fight against darkness, you will use.You slide the phone into one of your secure pockets, buttoning it up and patting it to make sure it's secure.


"Nothing important," you say. "Just threats and bullshit. I'll take the phone back to the techs and see if they can trace the call, find us a master."


"It won't work," Father Féval says. "It'll be untraceable. Vampires, especially masters, are far too clever to do things like this. Far too clever."


"I want to try," you lie.


"So be it," Father Féval answers. "Let us begin the clean-up, William. We have a lot of work to do. The techs can wait."


You nod, and the two of you quickly set apart eradicating the evidence this place ever existed. The two of you pack up the jars of blood into the truck, for disposal somewhere that won't be investigated. You also take the IV and tubing, before grabbing your fuel cans. You quickly perform the same patterns, spreading it through the house evenly enough, focusing on that you need destroyed and that which is most flammable. With the two of you, the clean-up is surprisingly quickly the two of you working quickly in silence neither one of you wants to break. Once that's done, you head out of the house and set the home alight, watching as the flames run through the house and engulf it in an inferno.


"A job well done," Father Féval nods. "One more soul sent to its judgment. We should get back. There is more work to be done. Unless you would like to watch the house burn? Pyromania is a common turn for many a man in this line of duty, no?"


You don't feel like watching the house burn, not feeling the usual satisfaction of watching a lair of darkness light the shadows as a beacon of warmth and light. You just feel tired, even more so knowing that you're not finished your work tonight.


"No, I'm fine. Let's go," you answer.


Father Féval nods, shaking your hand before returning to his sedan, and heading off into the night. You head back to your truck as well, climbing in and heading off down the road again. The drive goes by quickly, as you turn your radio up until it's almost blaring some inane Norwegian pop song, and continue off down the road. 


It's not long before you pull up to the old country house again. The signs of the night's lateness are more obvious, now. A few of the vehicles parked outside are dented or have blood smears or bullet holes, and the Hunters that walk about them seem more exhausted. You head into the house, taking a moment to appreciate the light of the fireplace. But, the night is still young, and you have targets to hit. 


You walk towards the sitting room, one of the old house's converted into a "base of operations" of sorts. Although as Hunters, you tend to work independently, only using the Lodge for resources, resupplying and rest, as well as letting them know every so often you're not dead in the long periods of investigation and tracking in trying to find the lairs and dens of beasts, and trying to distinguish psychos and fools from men tainted by the demonic, or worse. 


However, it's the night of the Hunt, that beautiful night of the year where you wipe out the monsters that dwell in the shadows in one quick sweep, not even giving the bastards time to flee or figure out what's going on. And on the night of the Hunt, sometimes you need to work together. While maddened werewolves and loner vampires are easy prey with modern technology, hard-work, training and of course the element of surprise, when the creatures of darkness work together, so must you. When that happens, you plan and prepare in the lounge. 


You walk into the lodge, finding a large table with a map stretched across it. A half dozen men stand around it, all of whom you recognize as veteran Hunters. The leader of the group is the head of the Lodge, a man known as Ernest Collier. The old man's scarred, wrinkled face smiles at you as you enter. Ernest's too old at his age to still hunt, having since lost the physical peak that Hunters are required to be at, but his mind is strong and he's well experienced. Thus, he serves the cause through leading the lodge. Everything from supplying Hunters to recruiting to planning the larger hunts falls under his purview.


"William. I heard your hunt with Father Féval went well. I'm glad. How did your earlier target go?"


"Successfully," you say simply.


The next man in the room you see is Father Féval, who nods at you once more. As always, cold and calculated.


After him stands former-Unteroffizer Hans Hirsch. The tall man has dark black hair and light eyes, his face decorated with a long scar that goes vertically just left of his left eye. He leans over the table, scanning the map. His finger gently runs across hunting paths through the thick forest as he whispers to himself. Hans is a strange man, with a taste for drink, cigars, cigarettes, whores, gambling... anything he can get his hands on. But, he's a good hunter, having served in the military of his home country and having a great record on all his previous hunts.  


The final man is an Alaskan by the name of Russel Sloane. Time has taken the black from his thick beard and the hair from his head, but left the man's strength, speed and cunning, and only given him experience and wisdom for the trade. He's a powerful Hunter, and took the shift from bears and wolves to Kushtaka and Tupilaq with ease. He smiles at you grimly when you enter, his face showing a hint of more worry than usual.


"Are we ready to start?" you ask.


"We're waiting on someone," Russel says.


As you raise an eyebrow, the door swings open and you find yourself staring down at a young boy, barely in his mid teens. 


"This is my boy Wyatt. Now that's he's a full man, we'll be taking him on tonight's hunt, showing him how we fight. I filled him in on the details."


"Pleasure to meet y'all," he smiles nervously, as you look him up and down.


He's young, short, weak and skinny. You don't think he should be coming out, but he's a man more than you would normally have for this mission, and you're not going to be telling his father how to raise his own child. 


"Take a seat, Wyatt," Ernest smiles. "We're going to go over tonight's details."


Ernest takes a seat, as you stare down at the map ahead of you, which shows you a massive woods, with several hunting paths, potential lairs and scenes of incidents highlighted.


"Let's recap for those who didn't get to hear it directly from me!" Ernest says. "There's been several mauling's in these areas, and we've had reports a werewolf pack is responsible. Not just one werewolf, but an entire pack of about six to twelve creatures. We're taking a small team in their to set up an ambush, draw them out and kill them all. The plans' simple. Take a truck into the woods with a mutilated deer carcass, slathered in human blood. The scent should draw the werewolves into your area, where you'll have set up an overview to take them out. Simple."


You all nod, the review of your plan unnecessary for everyone but Wyatt.


"We're heading off in an hour and a half. I want all of you prepared and by the truck for then, understood?"


There's a chorus of affirmatives, as Ernest smiles. 


"Good to know. Best of luck, men."

You prepare for the night's final hunt

You head to the old house's dining room, where a large wooden table sits. It's empty, the rest of the Hunters out and about in the world. The kitchen is brimming with the light and heat that activity tends to bring. A scarred Hunter is busy working in it, cooking an extensive meal. You vaguely know her, a young Spaniard by the name of Lola Garcia. The hunter's missing three fingers on her right hand and her right eye from a Gargoyle attack, so she's on recovery and acting as the Lodge chef for the time being.


Tonight's meal, as with most Lodge meals, is very garlic heavy. Traditionally, Hunters have lots of garlic. In the old days, when the Hunters first rose up, garlic was an invaluable tool. Many monsters of the night could easily track a human via smell, so the first Hunters used garlic to disguise their scent and confuse their prey. Of course, it wasn't long before the smell of garlic became associated with Hunters, and they had to change tactic. Still, garlic is still popular among the Hunters as a meal, both to keep up the tradition and for a good luck charm. 


Tonight, the meal is potatoes, lamb and gravy, flavored with garlic. You take a bowl, returning to your seat with the rest of your squad of Hunters. While you didn't feel hungry during the night's exploits, now that the food is in front of you and you get to smell it, you feel just how hungry you are. You quickly grab your knife and fork, and begin wolfing it down. Within a minute flat, your bowl is empty, and you have to weigh up having any bit of respect from your peers against the joy you'd get from licking the bowl clean.


Afterwards, you head to the main bathroom. You shower yourself, a nice treat, washing off the dirt, sweat, blood and grime that's coated you over the night's events. Having the hot water stream over your skin has a cleansing, almost purifying effect on you. You make sure to scrub extensively, trying to wipe off any scent of your "human side" that might be lingering. Afterwards, you get dressed in your best hiking boots and what clothing you have that's warm, tough and flexible, which is admittedly pretty much everything you have. You pack up your shotgun with its shells filled with silver shards as well as a hunting dagger with a silver edge and your revolver. Making sure you have all the survival gear you need, you head out to the truck.


With twenty minutes left in the day, you move to your desk. It's laid out with your papers, your grinder, your filters and a large bag of your personal supply of Marijuana that helps you get through the darkest nights with the worst nightmares, pulling out your record player. You quickly flick through what few Vinyl you have, before going back to the one you most often return to. With (What's the Story) Morning Glory? emblazoned proudly across the top, you smile as you remember your father giving it to you for your eighteenth. Dad actually had a taste for music, and always liked them, as did you. You flip on the vinyl, setting your alarm for fifteen minutes, and sink into your desk chair as the songs play.


The next fifteen minutes is a thoughtless bliss of unforming memories, but soon, your alarm bleeps you awake, and you head out to the others. The group is assembling outside, taking a worn out pick-up. Russel and Wyatt are loading a moose carcass into the back of the truck, while Hans, Father Féval are already getting into the truck. You quickly hurry up, as Russel looks at you.


"Willy! You ready for this?"


"Always am," you nod, as Russel hands you a jar of golden liquid.


You uncap the jar, gently sprinkling the deer piss over your coat. Thanks to werewolves' naturally keen sense of smell, it's best to coat yourself in this disguise, despite how disgusting it is to you. 


"Ha! Perfect! Let's go! I'm driving up front with Frenchie and the German. You can come up front with us or sit up with Wyatt and the bait."


You look at Wyatt, who looks pale and nervous, a hunting rifle in his hands. His father is either indifferent to his son's fears or ignorant of them. Part of you wants to sit in the front where it's warm, but another part of you feels like you should comfort Wyatt.

You take the front seat

"I'll go in the front. It's cold tonight," you say, swinging your shotgun into the front of the pick-up and clambering in next to Hans. He looks at you, a cigarette sitting between his lips.


"William," he says. "You look tired, my friend. How's hunting been?"


"Been better. Been worse," you say. "Confirmed kills, no injuries, no escapes. I've had worse days," you say.


"I hear that. Had to track down this fucking "werewolf" for two months. Found out it was nothing but a very cunning wolf. I was playing the role of a normal human hunter for two months."


The truck pulls off, barreling down the road. You lean back in your seat, the car heading deep into the woods. You rest your shotgun against your shoulder, staring out the window. It's a silent journey, with all of the veterans of the hunt being far too quiet for any inane chatter, especially before the hunt. 


It's a long, boring drive, as you watch the tress pass by, shrouded by shadow. It's a waiting game until the drop zone, as you focus on nothing at all and let your mind drift to avoid getting yourself psyched out.


"We're about fifteen minutes out from the drop soon. We debark in ten, then we hike into the target spot and set up," Russel says. "This'll be a good one, boy, don't you worry."


You stare out the window at the darkened trees, waiting patiently. Russel Sloane, perhaps nervous bringing his boy out, tries to start a conversation.


"The moon's out pretty bright tonight, isn't it, b... Shit, shit, shit!"


Suddenly, the car swerves, as you hear the recognizable sound of car tires bursting. The car slams off the road, hitting the embarkment as you find yourself momentarily free-falling. You panic, reaching for your rifle, before the world goes black.

You consciousness fades...

You open your eyes as blurry vision returns to you. You're covered in broken glass and enveloped in darkness, but your eyes slowly begin to make sense of your surroundings. You're sitting in the truck, looking around as you hear the nearby howls of nearing werewolves. You blink, feeling a rush of pain go through your numb body. Your skin is grazed and cut up, blood running down your skin as your bruised flesh and broken bones scream out to you in pain. 


Turning your head to the side, you see that the side door is open, with Hans leaning against the door with an assault rifle in his hands. He looks around rapidly, blood dripping down his face from a large cut on his forehead.


"Guys! We have to get out of here!" he yells. "Let's go."


You look to the front of the car, where Father Féval is either dead or unconscious, while Russel is stirring from unconscious the same as you. 


Gunfire erupts out as Hans begins opening fire at the shadows. You watch as he sprays the woods with gunfire.


"We need to go! Come on!" he screams.


You reach down, trying to unbuckle your seatbelt, before you see Hans smashed from the side, a wall of fur and teeth tearing him off into the darkness as he screams. You unbuckle your seatbelt, deciding what to do. You're in a confusing situation, heavily injured, being attacked by an unknown force of werewolves. You're practically out of options.

You grab your shotgun and open fire

You fumble for your shotgun, grabbing your weapon and sliding out of the car. You grab the car's broken door frame, lowering yourself onto your better leg. Wincing as you prop yourself up, you raise your shotgun and aim it at the night. The darkness is alive, with figures darting in and out of the threes. You only get terrifying glimpses of blood-coated teeth glistening, fur matted with gore or claws that could rend your flesh from your bone in an instance. 


As the shadows grow closer, the light of the moon seems to retreat, letting the darkness consume the trees and what dwells with in them. You hear Hans' screaming off to the side, before it's cut silent with a sickening crunch of tearing sinew and snapping bones. Your breath catches in your throat, but it's not the time for whimpering or weakness. You raise your shotgun, firing into the night at the creatures. You blast at the trees, and one of your shots rewards you with a pained yelp from one of the creatures, causing you to grin. You continue firing, before you hear the sound of crushed glass and the thud of something heavy landing on metal behind you, shortly replaced by the low, bestial ground of your night's "prey".


You pause, hearing the noise behind you. Slowing your breathing, you know what's going to happen, and take solace knowing your time has come. Hoping you give the bastard something to remember you by, you drop to your knee, rolling to the side and firing your shotgun directly at the werewolf. Silver back burns through its fur and flesh, and it lets out a howl of pain and anger, swiping its claw as you. The blade-like claws tear through your throat, killing you instantly, but as your body collapses to the ground, you know you at least made the monster suffer.