He could have cut the air with a knife.

Unfortunately, he hadn't brought one, and reaching for the gun in his waistband would have likely ended with him in a vampire’s hip flask.

One of them, a mountainous fellow with eyebrows like hedgehogs, stepped forward and gave a guttural growl. “Who the fuck are you?”

Every nerve screamed at him to run away. To fight. To do something. He checked over his shoulder: there were three more vampires behind him, for six in total. Plus the twenty new recruits.

He had to think fast.

“Content ratings board,” he said. “That last ‘f*ck’ should have been censored.”

The lead vampire sneered. “Says who?”

Another one stepped forward to his right, a tall man with a crew cut and a chinstrap, pushing his glasses up his hooked nose. “There is no ratings board on the internet. He’s lying.”

Jack scrunched his face, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Alright, you got me. But there’s one thing you’re forgetting.”

The third vampire stepped forward, a woman with purple hair and a face full of metal. “And what’s that then?”

“F*ck,” said Jack, throwing the asterisk at the one with bushy eyebrows. It embedded itself in his eye socket, and he screamed, taking a knee as he tried to tear the offender out.

It wouldn’t kill him. Just like in the legends, vampires were dreadfully hard to end; there was a little truth to all of them, though they were mostly nonsense.

Garlic, for instance, is a wonderful vampire repellent. This is not because they are weak to it, or allergic, but because being pelted by garlic is generally unpleasant, and tends to give one the urge to run away.

Vampires weren’t immortal: their cells simply reproduced endlessly, and at lightning speed. Only by instantly killing one would they truly be dead. Somewhere along the line, their blood had become supercharged by quintessence - the energy which made magic possible – enough to turn the recently deceased into their brethren.

“F*ck F*ck F*ck F*ck F*ck F*ck F*ck F*ck!” Jack unleashed a flurry of censors upon his opponents, like a dervish as he spun and slung the punctuation at the six vampires. One of the men behind him dodged and closed in, and Jack reached into his waistband.

One of the new vampires started screaming, eliciting a chain reaction whereby the soundtrack changed from faint whirring and breathing to shrieks varying in pitch, from ‘distressed whale’ to ‘oops, I’ve stepped on my balls’.

He was about to pull his gun on the guard advancing from behind, but halted when an exploding door wiped the man out.

The boom rattled his eardrums, and he couldn’t hear anything but ringing.

A petite woman with red hair and a leather jacket stepped through the entrance, casting a disdainful eye over the warehouse.

***

They were all staring at her.

That was good: she wanted their attention. It looked like the hedge witch had been right on the money, since the place was full of vampires. Except for a homeless man in a motorcycle jacket, who was staring at her with a pinched expression. He was probably begging to be converted, so as to become the predator, instead of getting a real job.

She could ignore him.

The two in front of her looked like guards. All matter was made of atoms, and all atoms governed by the nuclear strong force, of which she had mastery. It required immense focus and energy, though, to manipulate things on that level; it wasn’t something she could do often.

She dematerialised the guards, pivoting to face the larger group with a grim smile. There were twenty or so huddled in the corner, and three talking with the homeless man. One was pulling something black and jagged out of his eye.

She looked at the homeless man. Maybe she did need to keep an eye on him.

She advanced on the vampires, a snarl bubbling in her throat. She summoned a kinetic blast, sending a man with glasses splattering on the far wall. She turned to the woman, some kind of punk, and sniffed.

“Where is my sister?” she said.

The vampire shrugged, sneering. “Dunno. Shoulda paid more attention, shouldn’t ya?”

Lydia grinned. Waving her hand, she snapped the vampire’s neck, a sickening crunch echoing across the walls. She turned to the survivor, who was struggling to his feet, blood still pouring from his eye.

She kicked him down, advancing and stomping repeatedly on his chest. She drove her heel into his ribcage, as though she were trying to dig his lungs out, each strike punctuated by a word. “Where. Is. Jessica. Blackwell?!”

He coughed and gasped, spittle and blood flying from his mouth. She could hear whimpers, some his, some from the group behind him.

They were right to be scared.

“Tell me!” The words were like sandpaper on her throat.

He laughed. “Fuck you, princess.”

She giggled. In her hands, she held the secret to nuclear fusion. Not that it was much of a secret. UV could kill anything in the right concentrations, and a vampire would turn to ash without much prompting, so she created a sun in her hand.

And shoved it down his throat.

He exploded in brilliance, flickering embers spreading throughout the space. She looked up, eyes wild and mouth twisted, and stepped towards the whimpering parasites.

According to the hedge witch, that’s where Jess was. But she hadn’t made herself known to her. She had to find her, whatever the cost.

She clenched her fists and glared at the man in the motorcycle jacket standing between her and her quarry.

***

Only a person with nothing can understand what it’s like to lose everything.

His own weakness had defeated him, and he had betrayed himself, and his family. It was something he only wished he could forget. But he couldn’t, and so he was left to understand the pain of others.

Even if he had nothing, he could still walk with his head held high. Still fight, against a cruel world and himself, to protect the things that were important. It was the only way he could sleep anymore.

So, he placed himself between the crazy sorceress and the vampires, rifling through his brain for details on the conflict resolution book he’d read in school.

She chuckled, eying him the way one would that suspicious puddle beneath the urinal. “Get out of the way, peasant.”

“No.” He could hear the sounds of fear behind him.

She looked deep into his eyes, and he felt his blood freeze. Was it too late to beg mercy?

She said, “move.”

“No.”

Her lip twitched. “Do you know who I am? I-”

“Yeah. And I don’t care.”

She huffed, and suddenly he was kissing the cool stone floor. It felt like an elephant had taken a seat on his back, fulfilling the dream of every environmentalist to get closer to the earth, almost merging with the floor.

He managed to gasp, and watched as the woman strode towards the vampires.

He put his hands beneath himself, and pushed. He screamed. Lydia turned to him, an eyebrow quirked.

“Stay down,” she said.

Jack let out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a scream, his eyes bulging from their sockets as he rose to a knee. Every bone was being grinded, cracking and creaking and crying. “I can’t let you hurt these kids.”

She scoffed. “Kids? They’re monsters.”

He glared from beneath ridged eyebrows. “The most monstrous looking thing here ain’t stood behind me.”

She chuckled, venomous condescension stabbing into him. “Poor little tramp, playing the hero when you don’t understand a thing. These creatures took my sister, and now they’re going to pay.”

He pushed both hands on his knee, trying to heave himself up, but only succeeded in making himself cry out. “What would a bunch of newborns have to do with your sister? They’re totally innocent!”

She sneered. “Until they’re not. What use is there in trying to protect beasts who would drain you dry given half the chance?”

His chest wrenched, and he grit his teeth. “You’ve got it wrong. You wanna call them beasts, or monsters, then fine. But that applies to everyone. There’s a beast in all of us. That mass of hate and rage and spite, howling and fighting to get out, and it never goes away. Not really.” He felt a rush through his body, resolve surging in his veins. “Some people try to run from it.” The violent quivering of his legs didn’t stop him from inching to his feet. “Some try to hide.” His face twisted in agony as he tried to straighten his back. “And some just give up.”

Finally, he stood tall, his gaze drilling into hers. “But some people fight it, and be they vampire, human, or whatever, everyone deserves the chance to try.” He tried to take a step, but he couldn’t. “Now it’s your chance.”

Her eyes were wobbling, and her mouth didn’t know what to do. After a moment’s contemplation, she said, “mercy is a weakness that leads only to repetition,” and stepped past Jack.

He looked on, helpless, acid rising in his throat. He had one card left. “And if they’ve turned your sister, will you say the same thing?”

She stopped and turned, her nostrils flaring as she raised a hand. He flinched, waiting for the end to come, but it didn’t. He opened an eye to see her stopped, tears tracking down her cheeks as she clenched her fists tight enough to draw blood. She fell to her knees, and bawled.

She just wanted her sister back.

***

Hannah hadn’t known what to expect when the strangers walked in. Was it a rescue, a comedy skit, or a slaughter? She had cheered for the scruffy man as he threw punctuation, and for the overpowered magus, who had wiped the floor with their tormentors.

But then she had come for them, and the thoughts had evacuated their minds, replaced by a magnetic repulsion from the fighting.

The group had only known each other a couple of days, but with the constant hunger and abuse, bonds formed quickly.

After the initial screaming, somebody had elbowed somebody and the consensus had become to keep quiet, and maybe slip away in the chaos. Hannah’s heartbeat had been rocking her entire body, her quaking nerves frayed, but she had stayed optimistic.

And now, the biker man was explaining Nightcorp to them, and giving assurances of their safety, while the little magus felt sorry for herself. The other vampires began filing outside, and she made to follow them, giving her new friend Mike a reassuring tap on the shoulder.

He smiled.

Then she was stopped by the man, who was holding up a picture, looking between it and her with a furrowed brow. “Oi, that’s too exact a likeness... what have they done to you?”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean? They drained my blood, drank it, and turned me into a vampire.”

His face faulted. “Nah, last time I checked vampirism doesn’t do-” he gestured at her - “this to people.”

She pouted. “What are you talking about?”

He threw his hands up. “Your colour scheme. You’re completely monochrome!”

***

Jack had seen a lot of things in his life. Monster cats, flying parties, and even a carnivorous doner kebab, once upon a time.

But he drew the line at humanity in greyscale.

“Seriously,” he said, “what’s wrong with you?”

She put a hand on her chest, gasping. “I was born like this!”

A pregnant silence ensued, until Jack said, “your mother’s really worried about you. If you want, I can take you to her. I’m Jack, by the way.”

Before Hannah could reply, an orchestra of screams and blasts erupted from outside, and they both looked through the door with dread.

Jack shot outside in time to see the last of the newborns fall, blood arcing from the hole in his head, a beam of white light boring through him. In front of him was something akin to the effect of shining a laser pointer in a hall of mirrors, as well as a field of twisted, smoking vampire corpses.

He felt the bile rise again, but this time it was alight. Screwing his eyes shut, a shiver ran through his being, panic fluttering in his chest. He remembered eleven years before, and the sight of mutilated bodies in his kitchen. The stench of blood. The cold grip of fear on his soul.

A silent scream ripped from his mouth, and he looked over the carnage.

This couldn’t be allowed to stand.

He heard a whooshing, and looked up, seeing three vampires suspended in the air. Two men, and a woman.

The woman and one of the men wore long hooded cloaks, floating to the sides of the man in the middle. He had long, curly orange hair, and a face canvassed by a spider-web of scars. His clothes looked fit for a period piece.

He looked down at the warehouse’s yard with a disgusted frown. “We left them alone for ten minutes...”

Jack’s periphery vanished, until all he could see was that one man. “You. You’re Lawrence Crispley, right?”

The man looked down at him, and smiled. “Oh, look. New blood.”