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 leave the phone

Refusing to make any deals with the enemies you hunt, you drop the phone onto the group, watching it bounce along the hard concrete as it breaks, plastic splintering. You raise your shotgun, firing at it as it explodes in a shower of lead, magnesium and plastic. You step back, shaking your head. No use leaving any potential evidence for the fire department investigating this place.


"Nothing important," you say. "Just threats and bullshit."


"As always," Father Féval says. "Let's get out of here, William. There's nothing left for us here."


Your job done, 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."