There are those who stand on the precipice between the shadow world and our own, fighting back against the hordes of darkness. For one such man, the hunt is never-ending. He is a vampire hunter. An Avenger. The Legendary Daywalker. Or better known as....

The radiant blue sky shines above the island of Madripoor. Located in Southeast Asia, the port nation is home to the capital city also named Madripoor. The city itself is divided into two disparate economic districts. Hightown, a place of exorbitant wealth and advanced technology and Lowtown, an area marked by extreme poverty and lawlessness. A man emerges from an alleyway, his trench coat flowing and immaculate, a resolute expression on his face.

Blade has picked up the trail of some vampire dignitaries in Lowtown and has enlisted the services of fellow hunters Duvall and Lennox. The three men confer via radio to discuss their imminent plan of attack.

Duvall: Saw some men wheel in a few long metal crates. The guests of honor I'm sure. And the windows are blacked out.

Lennox: Looks like they've recruited some of the locals to use as extra security. Some of em can't be older than 16.

Blade: Pick pockets and stick up kids most likely, just trying to make a few bucks. I'll take care of them.

Duvall: Best not to attract too much unnecessary attention or extra bodies.

Blade: Lennox, are you in position?

Lennox: First person that moves is getting one in the head.

Blade: On my mark....3...2...

Before Blade can signal the assault on the vampire gathering, a woman screams gets his attention.

Woman: (in Cantonese) Help!!! It took my baby!!!

Blade curses to himself as he sprints towards the location of the screaming.

Blade: Lennox, Duvall. Hold your positions, a child was kidnapped nearby.

Lennox: F^%k. Do you want some help?

Blade: No. I'll handle it. We can't have the suckheads get away.

Lennox: Right.

Blade manages to find the woman in hysterics, her words incomprehensible. All she can manage is to point off into the distance. The labyrinthine maze of dead ends and alleyways force him to leap atop the roofs of the dilapidated structures. He pauses briefly, allowing his heightened auditory sense take in the filter through the sounds in the vicinity. The child's heartbeat is like a cacophony of terror, pounding intensely, as Blade's vampiric senses direct his gaze to a bulky figure heading towards the shoreline. With a snarl, he's closes the gap in flash and places himself between the figure and the water.

Now able to get a better look at the kidnapper, he sees the retched creature. A hybrid of man and shark, the beast's damp, pallid, grey skin gives it an eerie appearance. He bares his razor sharp teeth in an act of intimidation which has no effect on the battle hardened dhamphir. Blade glances the small child sobbing uncontrollably under the villainous fiend's arm.

Blade: Put the kid down.

Tiger Shark: The child's place is amongst the peoples of the deep. Stand aside bef-

brrrrratatat!!!

Several bullets hit Tiger Shark square in the chest, but cause no harm or even discomfort. He lets out a low growl as he places the child on the ground. It's then that Blade gets a good look at the youth. His eyes are abnormally large like those of a fish, his face smooth and hairless even upon his browline. The boy's eyes fix upon his would be savior momentarily, tears streaming his cheeks. He seems to come to his senses and darts off in the direction of his home. The villain opts not to give chase.

Tiger Shark: He'll come to understand his true calling. In the meantime, I'll make sure your death is as agonizing as possible.

Blade offers no reply as he unsheathes his sword. Tiger Shark kicks up a large amount of sand into his face, hoping to obscure his vision. Fortunately for Blade, his sunglasses shield his eyes from the sand, allowing him to side step the aquatic brute's bull rush. Like lightning, the swordsman's weapon finds its mark, leaving a gash in Tiger Shark's back.

Tiger Shark: Argh!! You son of a bitch. I'll bite off y-URK!!

Tiger Shark gurgles and chokes, grasping at the stake driven into the gills on the side of his face. He coughs violently as he rips it out, copious amounts of blood staining the sand at his feet. His beady eyes glaze over as his baser instincts kick in, drool dripping from his mouth onto his chest.

Tiger Shark: Bast..bastard. You're dead.

paff!!!

Blade continues to be a man of few words, his only response to the death threat is a tennis ball sized sphere he flings at his opponent. It strikes with pinpoint accuracy, hitting Tiger Shark squarely in the nose. The impact causes him to lurch back, as a cloud of sunglow colored dust coats him from head to toe. The smell of garlic fills the air as he coughs uncontrollably, the substance his making eyes and throat burn. He curses the swordsman as he gasps, trying with all his might to get his breath back. The vampire hunter takes advantage of this opening by making a quick exit.

Utilizing his incredible olfactory sense, the hero picks up the scents of both the woman and her child. He manages to track them down in a matter moments, the woman still barely able to get a word out, as they both sob in the corner of their shanty.

Blade: (In Cantonese) We have to hide you somewhere. Please come with me and I'll keep you and your boy safe. What's your name Miss?

Woman: Hua

Blade: Okay Hua listen carefully. I took care of the problem, for now. There's a good chance he could come after your son again, so we need to put some distance between you. Do you understand?

Hua: Yes. Yes.

Blade: Good. Follow me and stay close.

Blade: Lennox, Duvall, do you read me?

Lennox: Blade, what's up?

Duvall: What happened?

Blade: Abort the mission. I just stepped into some deep shit. I need to get this woman and her son out of Madripoor.

Duvall: Damn. I'm kinda still in the mood to shoot someone.

Blade: You might regret saying that.

Lennox: You said they need a ride off the island right? I know a ship that can provide pass-

Blade: No ships. They can't travel by water. That a$&#*le would sink it in under a minute.

Lennox: Who?

Blade: Didn't ask.

Duvall: Oh well. I'm heading your way now.

Lennox: So we have a new mission then.

Blade: He'll be plenty pissed after that stake and garlic he just got. Wait...wait....I just remembered there's a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse here in Lowtown.

Duvall: How do you know that?

Blade: I might've peeked at a S.H.I.E.L.D. file or two without permission over the years. If we can reach it, maybe I can stall him out long enough for help to arrive.

Duvall: We Blade. WE are gonna stall him.

Blade: Most of our weapons won't even phase him. So we need to move fast. I'll try and trace Fury's scent.

Blade double clicks a button on his kevlar vest, which beeps and glows a soft blue before fading. Elsewhere, inside a suite in one of Hightown's more luxurious hotels, Boy Thing is watching My Hero Academia. He turns to the glowing blue light on the bed beside him.

Boy Thing: Mrrp?

To be continued in Part 2

Downtime

Downtime

1

It's dark outside, the stars each holding their place in the sky, for the time being. Most of England is asleep in bed. But this isn't like most places in England, it's MI 13. MI 13 being a special intelligence agency tasked with locating and eliminating "weird happenings" within the United Kingdom. Days and night routinely blur together, sleep being a luxury to those who worked for the clandestine operation.

MI 13 is headquartered in The Shard, a 95 story skyscraper located in London. The observation deck atop The Shard, is empty, except for one tall, dark individual. His name is Eric Brooks, but he's better known as Blade. Born to a mother bitten by a vampire during childbirth, he received all the strengths and none of the weaknesses of vampires, save for bloodlust. Taught in the ways of the hunter, his name is feared throughout the shadow world as the legendary Daywalker. He looks down to the bright lights of London as he smokes a small, hand rolled cigar.

His lover and fellow MI 13 agent (as well as pseudo-vampire) Jacqueline Falsworth, aka Spitfire, walks up beside him and leans against the metal rail. She brushes her long, blonde hair away from her face, her blue eyes shining in the dim glow of the cigar. She glances down at the cigar in his hand. Her face scrunches up with a slightly annoyed expression.

Spitfire: Smoking again?

Blade takes another pull on the cigar and then exhales. He turns to face her with a smirk.

Blade: This is a special Chinese herb. Helps me fight the thirst and it calms my nerves.

Spitfire: Uh huh and when are you ever nervous?

Blade: You make me nervous...sometimes.

Spitfire blushes, but the darkness of the night makes it impossible to see. She nudges him with her elbow, hardly able to contain the smile on her face. She steps in front of Blade and places her arms around his neck, going up on her tip toes to compensate for the difference in height.

Spitfire: Hmmm. I wonder how I could possibly make you nervous.

She plants a kiss on his neck and then another before dropping back down to normal. She smacks him on the arm as the annoyed look returns.

Spitfire: Give me a kiss

Blade: (in a faux Cockney accent) Apologies milady.

Spitfire: Very funny.

Spitfire hits him a little harder than the first time as she lifts her head up. The two share a kiss, before a beeping sound coming from his pants pocket interrupts the mood. Spitfire gives a knowing look and sighs.

Spitfire: Duty calls.

Blade: Guess I'll finish smoking this on the way downstairs.

Blade checks his PDA to be briefed on the fly. The message is short and to the point.

Double homicide. Assist London police in the investigation. Possible ritual murder.

The duo suit up before working their way to the sub levels of the building. Blade wears his typical black form fitting shirt with black tactical pants and boots. He also has a chest holster which is pulled down and towards his lower rib cage on his left side. Knife sheaths attach at the right shoulder and in the back at the waistline of the holster. Spitfire dons her friction resistant yellow costume and matching red mask, boots and gloves.

Now dressed for the mission, the two head towards the armory so that the hunter can outfit himself with various types of edged weapons, firearms and explosive ordnance. A slenderly built man in his early forties with brown hair and brown eyes is tinkering in the experimental weapons lab. He is the MI 13's quartermaster and head of R&D, O. He glances up from his work for a moment and takes notice of the two heroes walking past.

O: Blade, Spitfire! Do you have a moment?

They quickly double back and enter the lab where he is waiting. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and beckons them over to the table where he's standing.

Blade: What do you have O?

O: Our department has been working tirelessly to produce improved tactical armor for our agents in the field. This is trial number 11. Would you do the honors?

O gestures towards the adjacent room, where a vest has been placed over a torso made from ballistics gel.

Blade: As soon as we get back. Shouldn't be too long

O gives them both a nod and gets back to his work.

Spitfire: Our R&D department has been beyond impressive lately. O said they've been also working on a new weapons system.

Blade: Yeah, I've been working closely with him. The prototype should be ready soon. Government funding actually being put to good use for once.

The two make a quick stop so Blade can get a few weapons. Blade grabs his custom revolver, dubbed Ogun's Hammer. The revolver is capable of firing shotgun shells, rifles shells as well as .45 rounds. In addition to the revolver, he grabs two trench knives, whose composition is an alloy of steel and adamantine. Now with everything in order, they are briefed via PDA about the mission. They head to the garage and hop in an armored SUV and head off.

They are arrive to a large section of the block they parked on cordoned off with police tape and barricades. As they approach an officer eyes Blade nervously. The lead detective waves them Blade and Spitfire past the barricade to the crime scene.

Detective: Thank you both for coming. I'm Detective Miller.

Blade shakes his hand and steps past to get an up close look at the grisly scene.

Spitfire: Pleasure to meet you Detective Miller, given the circumstances. Is there any CCTV footage of what happened?

Miller: Yes our boys have it right here. Would he like to see it?

Spitfire: He'll view it when he's done looking over the area.

Miller: Ok so here we are, about 4:15, nice and quiet. A random pedestrian here and there. Now, fast forward a minute or two. See that?

Spitfire: Aston Martin Vanquish. In this area? A bit out of place I'd say.

Miller: Now there's someone walking down the street and naturally the car catches their eye. Now right there, you see the driver has their attention.

The two stumble backwards away from the car as blood splatters over the pavement. A man exits the vehicle, impeccably dressed in a black three piece suit and bowler hat. In one hand is a cane, in the other a handgun. He stands over his two victims and empties his weapon. The murderer places the gun inside a handkerchief and sit it atop the roof of his luxury car. In one smooth motion, he draws a sword from the cane and decapitates both corpses. They pause the video as Blade walks over to Spitfire and Miller with a grim expression on his face.

Blade: Left a business card. The ink has his blood in it.

Miller: How do you know that?

Spitfire: Just trust him on that detective.

They take a moment to look at the card, which reads:

The Gentleman Killer

Man about town, Soldier of Fortune, Accomplished composer

Serious Business Inquiries Only

Spitfire: So we have a killer who fancies himself as some sort of James Bond meets Jack the Ripper. Not to mention he's carrying around business cards. We've seen stranger things though.

Blade: As gruesome as this crime is, it doesn't really fall under the typical criteria requiring our involvement.

A look of incredulity sweeps over Miller and Spitfire's faces. Blade raises his hand to assuage their fears of his seemingly apathetic approach to the situation.

Blade: We'll assist as best we can. I assume you've identified the victims.

Miller: Yes, Dina Ward and Casper Burress. We haven't informed any immediate family yet. What a sick son of a bitch.

Spitfire: Just go about the investigation as you would any other time Detective. Whatever it takes. We will let you know if we find anything.

Miller: Right then. Thank you both.

Detective Miller shakes their hands and walks off to report to his superiors. Blade begins to turn away when he pauses momentarily.

Blade: Bodybag or cuffs?

Miller. Cuffs, unfortunately.

The two heroes walk back to their SUV and drive off.

Spitfire: I'm glad you didn't brush this case off. I was a little worried for a second.

Blade: You should know me better than that, but honestly this isn't our line of work. Murder is a police matter.

Spitfire: I understand that there always seems to be some demon trying to conquer our dimension or some vampire apocalypse looming. At the end of the day it's all about saving people though.

Blade: Well now they'll owe me a favor for this. So let's find this asshole and bring him in.

I'll keep this as short and sweet as possible. I wasn't fully aware of his career as a comic artist at the time. What I do know, is that fate lead me to meet one of the coolest, genuine people I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. I wandered aimlessly at the GPCC looking at women and peeking at many of the things I had no intention of buying. Being a Blade fan didn't afford me a ton of options lol. Enter Tommy.

He and his team were friendly and interesting as anything that was going on in the entire building. We sat and talked about Blade, werewolf movies, the best ways to get home from the Expo Center and (sadly) his health issues. I found myself unwilling to walk away because we all got along so well. I got a Blade commission and when he learned that I'd be coming back the next day, Tommy offered to keep it longer and give it more detail. When I returned the next day, I received a badass Blade picture, as well as a few pics with them all. I eagerly looked forward to hopefully seeing them again next year. I just got the bad news not even an hour ago that Tommy had passed. Although I didn't really know him, I felt blindsided like I had lost a friend. In my experience, it really is a rare privilege to meet people who you can just click with so easily, so it really hurts. My heart goes out to his wife and family, as well as any fans of his out there. We lost a great one. Thank you Tommy, rest in peace.

New York City, 12 am

Several homeless people gather around a barrel in search of warmth, as flames brightly flare from inside of it . A tall, brown skinned man strolls past casually, his trench coat blowing in the wind. He unchains the door to a rundown apartment building and steps through, before rechaining it from the inside. He follows the stairs leading down to the basement, the smell of mold filling the air. Water drips from the old leaky pipes that line the ceiling and forms little puddles all over the floor, as rats and insects scurry all over the floor as he ventures further into the darkness. He eventually reaches the old boiler room, which is now little more than a pit where the floor collapsed. Several feet below is a pale man, gagged and bound at his wrists and ankles with zip ties.

Blade: "Feeling a little more talkative now?"

The man's face is bruised and bloody. He appears weak, as if he has been subjected to a vicious beating within the last few hours.

Man: "Please...I told you everything that I know."

Blade: "I have information stating the big man who took control of the drug trade was here in New York. Whoever it is has been running vampire ash from here to Italy, that's a problem. Since I don't really feel like running all over this city looking for clues, I figured maybe you could help me out.

Man: "I'm a small timer, a dime bag here or a quarter there. A little bit of the hard stuff every now and again. That was the first time I sold the sh-t. And I don't know a damn thing about vampires man."

Blade: "Is that why the ash you were peddling was in a bag marked with a vampire glyph?"

Man: "Glyph?"

Blade sighs and exits the boiler room, leaving the man screaming for help.

"PETE!" Jack screams.

Pete stops dead in his tracks and looks over at Jack.

"Get outta here, run!"

Pete obediently complies, dashing off into the night while the man tracks him with the shotgun. Jack is hesitant to attack the man, but sees no other choice. He runs at him and swiftly receives a back kick to the jaw. Jack stumbles off the road and into a small ditch, getting completely covered himself in mud.

"Why does this shit keep happening to me? Owww." Jack asks himself aloud.

He checks his jaw to see if it was broken before peering back onto the road to see where the man was. He appeared to be gone, but the pouring rain made it very difficult to see much of anything.

"Just when things start to approach the normal end of the spectrum..."

POW!!!

The unmistakable sound of a gun being fired cuts through the sounds of the storm. Jack spins around, looking in all the directions trying to find where they had gone.

POW!!!!

Another shot rings out, this time Jack could spot the muzzle flash in the distance

"Pete."

He rushes over to where he saw the flash and sees Pete lying on the ground bleeding, with the mysterious gunman standing over top of him. Jack pulls his knife out from his belt and throws it at the man. The knife flies straight and true until the stranger catches it in his hand effortlessly.

"Awww come on!" Jack yells before charging at him.

The man points the gun at Jack, while he pockets the knife. "Why are you so eager to die with this thing?"

"This thing is my friend. And it appears you're a psycho and a thief. If you're gonna kill us, can I at least be buried with my knife? The thing has saved my life more times than I can count."

With the man distracted, Pete smacks the shotgun from his grip and tosses him several dozen feet away. Jack's face break into a smile for a moments until he sees the man flip in mid air and land on his feet.

"Let's go Pete!." he yells as

Somewhere outside of San Francisco 9pm

The moon sits low in the sky as a heavy rain falls down on a remote truck stop named the Roadrunner's Refuge. The sign above the door is heavily faded and the windows cracked and dusty. The entire place had the feeling of a fraternity. Various patrons sit inside the booths or at the counter, many sipping coffee and trading stories of exotic cargo they've hauled and crazy women encountered on the open road.

A lone man wearing a trucker hat and sunglasses sits in the corner sipping a glass of orange juice.

His stubble covered face breaks into a smile as the waitress brings his order to him. She is young, early twenties with dyed long blonde hair. Her hips have a certain sway to them when she walks and the patrons watch intently as she moves.

"Thank you very much." He says with a smile, never taking his eyes off her.

"Anything else I can get for you?"

He shakes his head. "No that should be it." He says still smiling.

"Ok well let me know if you need anything."

As he looks down at his plate his smile quickly fades.

"What the hell?"

The steak he ordered was burnt to a crisp. He takes his knife and fork and tries to cut a piece off, struggling. He turns his attention to his side, a baked potato. He jams his fork into it, getting a nice amount and scooping it in his mouth. He shakes his head in displeasure.

"Unbelievable." he mutters. "Excuse me sweetheart!"

The waitress comes from behind the counter and heads back over to where he is seated.

"Yes sir?"

"We have a serious issue here." He looks at her name tag. "Nicole. You see this steak is blacker than my first wife's heart and this baked potato is just as cold as she was. You think you can help me out?"

Nicole had to fight back a smile. "Absolutely, let me just take that for you and we'll get you a new steak and potato."

"Thank you so much. You're too kind Nicole."

Nicole nods politely and takes the plate back into the kitchen and returns to apologize for the mistake.

"We're sorry about that."

He nods and waits for his new order to come, pats his hands rhythmically on the table to pass the time. After about a half hour, the new food comes. This time the steak is cooked to perfection and the baked potato is hot and steamy. He hungrily hacks into the steak, taking little time to chew. The baked potato is scarfed down even quicker. He sits back with a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Now that is a good meal."

Sometime later he has paid for his food and is out the door. Thunder and lightning now accompany the rain as the weather worsens. The trucker climbs into his rig and departs.

"This is Jack Burton in the Porkchop Express and I'm talkin' to whoever is listening out there...If some ancient Chinese sorcerer comes out of thin air in the middle of a goddamn alley while his buddies are flying around on wires cutting everybody to shreds, and he just stands there waiting for you to drive your truck straight through him with light coming out of his mouth, you just remember what ol' Jack Burton says at a time like that: "Just turn the damn truck around and get the hell outta there A.S.A.P."

A black muscle car quickly approaches the truck from behind and zooms past, screeching to a halt not too far up the road.

"Oh come on, what the hell is this?!"

A tall, muscular black man emerges from the vehicle wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket carrying a sawed off shotgun. Jack gets his trusty knife ready for trouble and steps out of the truck.

"Look pal I don't know if you saw the Terminator too many times or what, but ol' Jack Burton always pays his taxes on time.....Usually"

The man gives him a disdainful look.

"Do I look like I work for the IRS?"

"As good a guess as any other. I hope you don't plan on taking my truck. I been through enough hassle with it already."

"I want what's in your truck." he says threateningly.

"Nothing in there but some cases of cheap perfume and some cotton t shirts." Jack remarks snidely.

"Well then you won't mind if I take a look."

"Go right ahead, hey take a couple shirts if they'll fit ya."

The man stalks over to the cab of the truck and opens fire.

"Jesus!" Jack yells.

Pete, Jack's pet demon monkey careens through the door and charges the man with arms flailing.

@Bartolo's penthouse apartment 3 a.m.

Illegal activity's benefits were apparent. As the Daywalker entered from the rooftop pool area he stopped to take it all in.

"Damn, maybe I'm in the wrong business." he thought to himself.

The green granite countertops match perfectly with the dark oak cabinets in the kitchen as well as the golden sink fixtures. Pristine marble floors from wall to wall and Corinthian pillars scattered throughout. A large crystal chandelier hangs above the stairwell leading to the second floor. The crime boss was sound asleep in his bedroom, on the second floor of his luxurious penthouse when he received a visit in the dead of night.

He wkaes from his sleep gasping for air, ice cold water soaking his shirt.

"Gaaghk uuhhh!" What the... *coughs* the f-ck?"

"You looked thirsty, so I got you a drink. Nice place by the way." Blade says as he points a handgun in the man's face.

Bartolo reaches underneath his pillow for a gun, but finds nothing. A look of disbelief sweeps across his face before he looks back at the intruder.

"That gun wouldn't have helped. Let's talk business, vampire ash for example."

"Oh. You're a vampire. Why didn't you say so?"

The criminal reaches over and presses a button hidden on the nightstand beside the bed. Several lights overhead click on shining U.V. light throughout the entire room.

"Mulignan. Should've figured."

He gets a swift backhand for the remark. Blood trickles out of the corner his mouth.

"I'm not one of them. So about the ash, you have something against vampires?"

"No. Just found something more lucrative than the usual stuff."

"How did you get the ash?"

"A couple guys approached me a few months ago. Said they were vampire hunters and wanted to do business together. Sounded like bullsh-t so I didn't take them serious at first until they let me sample the product. It was legit, so I cut a nice deal with them. They bring in the stuff, I sell it, we split it 40-60."

"40-60? You're okay with that arrangement, sounds like you're getting short changed."

"With the type of cash I bring in with it, 40-60 is highway robbery. I don't know their names, so don't bother asking."

"You do realize this gun is loaded right. I don't have time for bullsh-t."

"I don't know. They have a drop off point where they leave the merchandise. I leave their cut and go on my way."

"So tell me when the next shipment is coming in. If you lie to me, I won't be as pleasant next time."

3 Days Later.... 12 a.m.

The drop off point is located on the outskirts of the city, in the warehouse district by the waterfront. Mist blew off the water as the wind kicked up, fog rolling in from the distance. Hiding himself within the shadows, Blade waits atop a roof for the delivery to be made. He focuses his superhuman senses, taking in every sound in the darkness, every scent in the air and every subtle movement in the distance.

A black Humvee creeps up with it's headlights turned off. Two men decked in black tactical uniforms and gear emerge with sub-machineguns in hand, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Another exits from the passenger side and heads around to the back of the vehicle. He opens the back and retrieves several duffel bags, no doubt containing copious amount of vampire ash. Even from a distance it's familiar smell filled the vampire killer's nostrils.

As he emerges a sniper reticle focuses directly on his head. A single bullet flies through the air, the perfect kill shot. The sword of the Daywalker flashes like a lightning bolt as he deflects the bullet casually. The sniper barely has time to fully comprehend what just happened. Through his scope he can see Blade turn towards him and wave his finger in disapproval. He chokes as a senbon lodges into his throat.

He can hear men shouting into walkie talkies as he sheathes his sword. "Man down! I repeat man down! Target is in the area."

"Amateurs." he mutters as he hears a helicopter approaching in the distance.

Faster than the human eye can see, he leaps down on top of the Humvee and tosses a white phosphorous grenade onto the duffel bags incinerating them. The two men trained their guns on where they thought he was, but he was already gone.

WHOOM!!!

One man's head slams against the side of the vehicle with a loud thud as the dhamphir appears and disappears in a split second. The man's associate opens fire in his general direction, the bullets passing through the after image of the vampire killer and hitting his comrade in several vital areas. Blade reappears behind him and snaps his neck.

CRRRRRIIICCK!!

The Humvee speeds off into the night with the trunk area still wide open. Dozens of armed men begin to converge on the hunter from every direction all wearing similar tactical gear as the fallen ones. Reaching down, he grabs one of the guns and fires a shot at the driver, hitting him in the back of the head. The military vehicle veers off course and plunges into the cold water.

The chopper arrives moments later flashing a spotlight down on the lone hero. He can smell the ash based drug seeping out of their pores as the men draw closer. Several leap at him with inhuman speed, but they are not accustomed to it and their coordination is somewhat sloppy. One after another they fall to the ground dead. His katana rips chunks of flesh from bone, splattering blood onto the pavement. Several more attempt to dog pile on top of him. The remaining men open fire on the melee indiscriminately in the hopes of hitting Blade, killing many of their teammates in the process. He breaks free and leaps upwards towards the helicopter grabbing hold of one of the landing skids.

He flips inside and stabs one of the passengers through the chest. The other attempts to jump out the helicopter, but is caught by his collar mid-leap by Blade. The razor sharp sword cleaves his skull in two pieces before his corpse is tossed back out the chopper. The pilot is feeling extremely conflicted about the situation. His passengers were just killed and he was unsure whether to try and escape or just keep flying the helicopter. The constant gunfire from below didn't help much either.

"Stop shooting at me you a$$holes!" he screamed.

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Blade looks down below to see one of the men aim an RPG at them. He leaps out the helicopter and swings his sword, unleashing a wind blade. The force of the techniques carves a line through the pavement and makes contact with the rocket a split second after it leaves the launcher, causing it to explode. A large portion of the men are killed in the blast as their own grenades and ammunition ignite, triggering more explosions and bullets flying in all directions. The stragglers meet a similar end as the others as Blade commandeers the chopper and launches a kamikaze attack with it.

A couple miles away the escaped passenger of the Humvee is running as fast as he possibly can, soaked from head to toe. People stare at him in shock and awe as he runs in and out of traffic. He spots a man talking on his phone and knocks him to the ground before stealing his cell phone. Frantically he punches in a phone number and ducks into an alley as it rings and rings.

"Come on dammit."

The phone clicks as someone on the other end picks up

"Yes?"

"It is done. They are all dead."

"Clearly it is not. You are still alive."

"Well yes, but I.."

"The number must be EXACT!!! You know what you must do. Finish your job."

"I....I will for the glory of the.."

"Hey a$$hole, give me my f-cking phone back before I kick your a$$. You junkie bastard."

The man he had knocked down had come for his phone. He punches the man in the face, breaking his nose and slams the phone on the ground. Blade tackles him and slams him against the wall.

"Who is running the ash?"

He responds by spitting in Blade's face. Blade reacts as any rational vampire hunter would. He punches him in the stomach hard enough to make the man piss himself.

"Now, who is running the ash?"

"It doesn't matter. The vampire scum will be exterminated soon enough."

The Daywalker pulls out his sword and stabs the man in the shoulder. He screams in pain as he is pinned to the wall.

"You'll find out what you want to know soon enough."

With that being said he severs his own arm as he writhes to get free and then grabs the sword and sloppily slits his own throat. He lies on the ground choking on his own blood and is soon dead.

Suddenly a familiar energy starts to become more tangible. The chill in the air gets thicker as the hair on the back of Blade's neck stands up. A low ringing noise fills his ears.

"Son of a bitch."

The Victorian Mansion moments later

The ground begins to tremble as the animals in the surrounding area begin to run away from the mansion. An echoing chant can be heard emerging from inside, low at first then rising to booming levels.

Sacrifice of a neighbor's blood

Flesh of self given by thine own hand

The value of a tribute paid

Corrupted flesh split by a hunter's blade

The rest eternal of the dark ones broken by storms

Unleash from earth untilled for purity of the ancient reformed

Rise from the depths, our master the glorious White Worm!

A decayed hand emerges from the soil in the catacomb.

A thick, foul odor filled the murky, stone walled catacomb. The catacomb itself is the pristine compared to the rest of the estate. He had only mused at the idea of the mansion housing a hidden dungeon, but this proved to be the case as he pressed further and further underground. Rusted shackled were scattered throughout and dried blood smeared on the walls.The smell of wine and decayed flesh lingered near one spot in the wall. The brick in this particular section did not match in color to the areas on either side of it. As strange as most would have found this, he kept moving, wine and corpses was not on the agenda this night.

Past the catacomb was a large room that appeared to have been recently renovated with modern accoutrements. A wide corridor to the back of the room stretched into the distance, hanging work lights adorning the walls. He placed a finger to one of the lights. They were slightly warm, meaning someone had been inside the room not too long before. In the center of the room were five large caskets. There was no need to open them up, since he could already smell their contents.

Voices floated down the corridor, reaching his ears long before the individuals themselves did. The work lights clicked on as they got closer showing two men walking down towards the caskets..

"Go ahead and try to take a little to sell on the side Francis, Bartolo will have your balls cut off and then force you to eat them."

"Bartolo won't do sh-t as long as nobody tells him anything Lillo. If nobody tells, we can make more than that a$$hole pays us for crap like this."

"Hey what the f-ck?!" Francis yells in surprise.

"What, what did you see?" Lillo asks, pulling a handgun out.

"A black guy with a trench coat and sunglasses."

"Never get high on your own supply. You're crazy man."

The two men entered the room pointing their flashlights in every direction, every corner.

"Scared of the haunted house Lillo? Ghosts and mysterious black men stalk the halls at night. Boo!"

"I'm not afraid Francis, I simply don't like it in here. You've heard the stories about this place though."

"Yes yes I have. A cult practiced ritual sacrifice to summon some dark god from beyond this universe. Now the souls of those they wronged walk the Earth in search of vengeance. Blah blah blah. Let's just get what we came for and leave."

The two men open a casket and retrieve several bags of gray, powdery substance, They place the them inside the backpacks they had been wearing and turn to leave.

"I'll be able to track them later. I need to get rid of all this right now."

1:30 AM Somewhere in Europe

A lone male figure stalks down a cobblestone road silhouetted by moonlight. Winter's approach leaves a frigid nip in the air, every gust like a cold whip. The winds howls as it blows through the trees. Autumn leaves scrape across the ground as the winds pick up.

A large Victorian style mansion can be seen in the distance surrounded by a large brick wall and iron gate. As the man draws closer, it becomes clear that once the luxurious house has fallen into decay. The vibrant tones of the red paint have long since faded. The grass in the yard has become overgrown, many of the windows broken or covered in dust and the front door barely hangs on its hinges. A murder of crows sit atop the roof.

"This is straight out of a Hammer film." the man says in a basso tone.

He pushes open the gate and wades through the high grass of the front yard before climbing the cracked stone steps to the front door. The door falls off the hinges as he reaches out to touch it, slamming loudly as it hits the floor of the porch. He sighs as he steps across the threshold and inside, fallen door crunching softly under foot.

The interior wasn't much better than the exterior. Thick layers of dust covered every single inch of the house. Cobwebs dangled from every nook and cranny of the moldy ceiling. Various insects skittered across the floor from one hole to the next. Tattered drapery hung from broken windows, flapping loudly as the cold air from outside blew in. He walks into the parlor where a candelabra with half melted candles sit on the lone table.

"Silver. This could be useful."

He ventures back through the foyer and into a living room. Several sconces line the wall, all with the waxy remnants of candles. Suddenly, his senses alert him to the faintest hint of magical energy, emanating from a subterranean section of the mansion. He hurries through the living room and into the kitchen area located towards the back. There is no sign of any doors leading to a basement. As he takes another look around he notices a false wall beside the stove. With a single punch, he smashes the wall to pieces, crumbling down the stone stairwell spiraling into the darkness.

"Hidden dungeon." he scoffs as he steps down and out of sight.

Awkward...that's how I always felt. I could never be comfortable in my own skin. I kept to myself in school and didn't have many friends, if any. The other kids would whisper behind my back and call me names. Sure it bothered me a little bit, but no one knew the true me anyway.

Things at home weren't much better. My parents were very religious i.e. judgmental and hypocritical. Everything everyone else did was wrong and everything they did was so righteous and perfect. My father was constantly cheating on my mom and she was a compulsive liar. When Sunday rolled around, they would haul me and my older brother Matt to church and put on the facade of the ideal suburban family. I just kept my head down and stayed out of sight as much as possible. If my parents knew my secret they would probably disown me. Every night I went to sleep crying and hoping there was a place for me to fit in.

My life felt miserable and I felt trapped with no way out, so I decided to finally just end it. I took a couple bottles of pills from our medicine cabinet, hopped on my bike and left home during the night. I didn't know where I was headed, I just knew I didn't want anyone I knew to find me. I rode as far as I could as fast as I could. Days passed by before I made it to the city where I picked an alley to spend my final moments. How cliche right? I unscrewed the lids to the bottles and popped an assortment of pills into my mouth and...I couldn't do it. I spat the pills onto the ground and began crying hysterically.

I don't know how long I was there crying, but I didn't stop until I heard a voice ask me if I was okay. Completely scared the crap out of me. His voice was deep and raspy and he had the build of a pro running back. When he invited me inside to his apartment I didn't know whether to be terrified or relieved so I simply nodded. Part of me hoped that he was some kind of psycho. Maybe he could do what I couldn't.

Immediately upon entering I noticed how much bigger the man was in a well lit room. His face was that of a man who had aged gracefully, no longer young, but still full of life. The room was lined with several trophies and medals from various martial arts tournaments. He went into the kitchen and brought back a bottled water for me to drink.

"What's your name kid?" he asked.

"Chris."

"My name is Michael. It's nice to make your acquaintance."

I forced a weak smile and began sipping the water.

"Ok, do you live around here Chris?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

I hesitated. I was trying to come up with a good lie. I didn't want him to call the police or try to get in contact with my parents. Clearly he must have known what I was thinking.

"We should let your parents know you're ok. I'm sure they are worried sick."

"No!"

I had jumped to my feet, nearly losing my balance as I did. My hands were trembling.

"I don't want them to know where I am." I said as I began sobbing.

"Why? Tell me what's wrong."

I felt at ease, more comfortable with him than anyone I had ever met in my life. I opened up and told him everything. Who could he tell anyway? He was a stranger, albeit a kind one.

He listened intently until I had finished and began sharing stories about his early days as a troubled youth and how he had grown into the man he was. He then gave me the card of a former student of his, someone like me.

"I know it's difficult right now, but things can get better and they will. For right now we have to get you home Chris. Is that okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah I guess."

"Just hold onto that card I gave you. Rose is a good woman and she can help you."

I gave him my mom's cell phone number and he called her. She kept her composure well. She only muttered a simple "We'll talk bout this when you get home." I was surprised she didn't rush to come get me. What would the neighbors think about the Paulsens' runaway son being dropped off by a big black man? We got into his car and Michael drove me back home. The whole ride I just tried to play out how the fight with my parents would go, with each scenario more far fetched than the last. I imagined Professor X coming and mind wiping my folks so I could join the X-Men. When you're a twelve year old comic geek with no friends your imagination can run wild.

When we arrived it was a little after midnight and my dad's car was missing from the driveway. I figured he was on one of his late night escapades. Michael walked me up to our and knocked. My mother answered the door, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Mom what's wrong?" I asked, with genuine concern that surprised me.

"Your father...he.." She turned, ran down the hallway and into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"See what I deal with?" I asked rhetorically.

"No one is perfect Chris, keep that in mind. Take care of yourself. If you need someone to talk to you have Rose's number."

"Wait. Do you still teach martial arts?"

"Not in a long time. Why? Interested in learning something?"

"Maybe."

"Ok kid. Perhaps I could show you a thing or two. Good night."

I could still hear mom crying as I lay in my bed. My brother came in and sat at the edge.

"Missed you man."

"Thanks,"

Where did you go? Why did you leave?"

I don't wanna talk about it Matt."

"I'm your brother. You can talk to me about anything. We both have crazy parents ya know."

Matt was right. I had left him to deal with those two goofballs alone.

"Yeah sorry." I paused for a second to try and think of a good subject change. "I met a karate teacher today. I might learn some badass moves."

"Okay Karate Kid, it's late. Please don't say ass. You sound so cheesy when you try to cuss." he said with a chuckle. "Get some sleep and we'll talk about it some more in the morning."

"Good night Matt."

If I thought my life was hard before, it was nothing compared to what was still to come.