A Lovely Night in D'hoba
D'hoba, Adiya.
April 16, 1965.
Adiya was ugly, rancid, a corpse left to bake in the sun. Like a corpse, it did nothing but rot in the heat, and the sun is bright and hot in Adiya. There once stood a mighty empire that sought to summon a God, to be the throne of the deity that would come and end the world. Then that empire died and the God never came. Then came a kingdom of warrior princes who swore themselves fealty to the opposing God, to be the sword that would defend the world. Then it became a territory of the Romans, prosperous but prostrate to the mother of the world. Then the Sieenese Empire rolled in, and it was more of the same kowtowing and subservience, but to an even lesser thing. Now it is a splintered mesh of city-states and power-broking organizations vying for control over a Roman client state, a situation so hopeless it was no longer fit to become a territory of any empire. Who knows how much the body that was Adiya would degenerate and for how long. This was why Kha'id al-Mee hated Adiya.
Is it a surprise, to anyone, of the presence of the occult? The remaining gift of that Dark Empire of the Ancient Days? People wished to live, so they flocked to the remnant of the time when Adiya was alive. Evil, but alive. Yet, the wonder came in the comedy of it. The Black Ways, selling one's soul, offering the life blood of others, raising and communing with the dead. Adiya did much dealings with death during its short life, but its short life could tell anyone that, just as much as its long and agonizing death. In this sense, the undead are the most alive in Adiya, for they have a connection to the nation itself that no one alive can replicate. Adiya is dying slowly and they are dying slowly, both patiently waiting the anticipated end of their existences by the hands of God. Yet, neither rushing to their grave, for there is only one place God puts things so unholy and corrupted, and it is reason enough to ward off death for one more day every day. A deep kinship could be felt between the creatures of the darkness and the sinful desert itself. This was why Kha'id al-Mee loved Adiya.
D'hoba was a mixture of this love and hate. A city closest to the Black City of Ad'iya, and basically in the middle of the desert, which both contributed to it being the smallest and thus weakest of the city-states. This physical weakness bred corruption, and corruption bred different kinds of weakness beyond the physical. Seeing one of the Merchant Princes or Patricians of the city was like witnessing someone who owned a basket of fruit to do nothing with it but watch it rot into filth and dirt. It made a dead man wish he could puke again. Yet, there was that Adiyan charm of slow and delayed death. A city like this always had desperate men coming and disgusted men leaving. A city like this left plenty of bodies abandoned in the alley ways and gutters for just the coins in their pocket. A city like this was full of angry, blood thirsty people able to snap at any moment and murder someone on a whim. A city like this offered a vampire so much if he was clever.
A man was walking down the streets, the clinking of Adiyan gold in his pockets, the big and burly men ghosting him, and the perfume Kha'id al-Mee could smell across the city; the Adiyan vampire smiled for he was familiar with this prey. This man was rich and fat, a sloshing fleshy barrel of blood, an overripe grape about to burst sanguine all over the place. Best of all, Kha'id al-Mee found no holy symbol or icon on his person or a single glint of silver or similar materials, nor on his guards. A man with nothing but gold to protect himself with, a decent shield against humanity, but not so much against a vampire. This was too easy.
"Hm, didn't know birds flew around this late." The man muttered, an attempt to reassure himself that he was not hearing the flapping of bat wings as he walked down the sidewalk. Many hated bats, it was understandable to pretend they were not preset when they likely were.
His guards were more sceptical, but it was not a dire threat to his security so it was not worth their worry.
The good fortune of Kha'id al-Mee did little to settle his stomach, if anything, the growing promise of a satisfying drink intensified it. So, the moment the rich little man stepped three paces into an alleyway where residents knew better than to question a murder, the bat fluttering above him transformed into something like a human and fell right being him without making a sound as his feet hit the pavement. Of course, his guards made a sound. Mostly screaming, cursing, and readying their guns. The little man, one last polite gesture to making Kha'id al-Mee's task all the more easy, did not scream. He simply turned around, opened his mouth, and quietly turned a few shades more pale as the cloaked giant of a man who, somehow, snuck up on him raised and swung a very large cleaver in and through his thick neck. His guards watched in petrified horror as the vampire, not wishing to leave bite marks that would give him away to city authorities, picked up the portly patrician and shook him up and down over his gaping mouth. It was like the man was a cracked open barrel of alcohol and the vampire an exceptionally strong alcoholic wishing to pour every last drop down down mouth. Eventually the flow of blood slowed, and the vampire gently tossed the corpse to the ground whilst licking his lips, savouring the taste. There was much more blood left in the dead man, but taking it out would require biting, and there was still the issue of his guards. Fortunately, silencing the guards and slaking his thirst had the same solution.
Gunfire ensued, gunfire that did little more than pepper the buildings behind Kha'id al-Mee with bullets as the guards aimed for a giant man clad in a cloak, not a giant man clad in a cloak that instantly transformed into a gust of mist. From there it was a dance of crimson death, Kha'id flowed through their bullets, turned into a man behind the nearest guard, and swiftly decapitated him. Then the next, and the next, until there were four corpses lying on the concrete, enriching it with their scarlet liquid. Kha'id disliked eating off the ground like a dog, but the rushing energy of murder and desire for feeding got the better of him tonight. For a few minutes, the 'Night Hawk of the Gilded Desert' quietly sucked up blood off the streets until he knew he had just enough in his stomach to still his thirst for tonight and left enough in his victims to fool the forensic experts. Such was the life of an Adiyan vampire that did not wish to spend his life running from the law all day and night. The Orthodox Church, though distant in a place like D'hoba, was vigilant for significant signs of trouble. Yet, despite his caution, he still bumped into it.
A few minutes after he finished his meal and transformed back into a bat, it happened. It was heralded by what Kha'id thought was a truck falling from the sky and landing behind him. The vampire perched itself on a nearby lamppost to get a good view of the thing that had landed. This was something bizarre. It was a thing made of metal, it's skin nothing but cold alloys painted purple with white, silver, and gold symbols of the Orthodox Church attached to it. It looked like a walking shrine, with smoking incense burners hanging about it and faintly glowing candles attached haphazardly where they would not hinder the metal creature. It was shaped like a human, it had two fittingly large arms and legs for it's massive body, and a head that would have been a good size for a human but looked far too small for this monstrosity. A full twelve feet of humanoid machinery stood in the street now. How something so big managed to just jump in at a moment's notice was beyond Kha'id. However, that was not the first question that came to mind, the Adiyans, for all their dabbling in the Black Ways, had invented some bizarre methods of fighting bizarre things; the question was what it was supposed to do and, if it was supposed to kill vampires, if it had seen Kha'id.
"Where are you?" A voice echoed out of the metal man. "Step out, and let us end this peacefully."
Kha'id remained silent, he did not move, he simply remained perched on the lamppost. If he remained completely still, he might not be seen, he did not want to leave D'hoba so soon for breaking one of the Church's toys when he could avoid it. The metal one's head spun a full three hundred sixty degrees at a slow but purposeful pace. It stopped for a moment, as if to think, if a machine could think, and then immediately turned its 'face' (the head had a pair of lenses set up in it like a pair of eyes) to Kha'id.
"According to my databanks, bats of such size are not native to the city of D'hoba." It said.
Everything was still, the vampire and the machine locked eyes for a moment, then another and another, each waiting for the other to make a move. A dead man and a machine, a staring contest between such things would sound comical if it was not so boring. At least, that is what Kha'id eventually decided, when he leapt off his perch and took a more combative form. There was a chance that the cleaver he brandished was made up of a much weaker metal than the machine, but a vampire could easily make up this weakness with simple brute force. Before the metal man could raise a fist to defend itself, Kha'id struck the head, expecting at least to leave a dent and knock the creature off balance. The cleaver shattered into hundreds of shards, and the metal man's eyes remained locked on Kha'id.
"Do not be afraid." The robotic voice tried to speak as warmly as it could, presenting its hands open to the vampire. "Ask the Lord for his forgiveness, and then I shall send you to him. There will be a moment of pain, but if you truly seek to atone for your lost humanity, it will be followed by eternal bliss."
"... Come again?" Kha'id tilted his head. "You do know what you're talking to, right? My great-great-great-great-great-great-great predecessor was fucking Cain. I've had plenty of time to consider God, and if I wanted to ask for his forgiveness, I would have done it already."
"Do not doubt the power or mercy of the Lord." The machine gently stepped closer to Kha'id. "His great punishments are equal only to his great gifts. I am testament to the generosity of the Lord."
Kha'id was clearly talking to some mad robot the Orthodox Church had filled up with libraries of scripture and propaganda. But, he could take advantage of a preacher-bot. With a clever grin, he went for the legs, or, more specifically, the pavement underneath them. If he could not move the machine, he would move the ground it walked on. Digging his hands into the ground and lifting up the section of street the robot stood on. Except for the exact spot of land where the robot stood, it's weight keeping it firmly in place. Kha'id, caught in a mixture of desperation and frustration, tried crashing the section of concrete, asphalt, and earth in his hands upon the Orthodox automaton, but all that did was knock all of it's candles and incense burners off. The rumbling and crashing also woke up quite a few people within the section of city, windows lighting up and people yelling about what could possibly be going on.
"... I do not believe you desire the Lord's mercy." The machine stated bluntly.
"What gave you the clue, genius?" Was the only thing Kha'id could say.
"Then I shall present his wrath." And the robot turned into a blur, the force of its feet shattering the ground it stood on and adding it to the hole Kha'id had made of the street.
Kha'id's first instinct was to turn into something a little more harder to hit, a mouse could easily duck the punch that swiftly flew over it. Not waiting for the robot to seize the initiative, Kha'id scurried around the machine's legs to attack it from behind. Unfortunately, the robot thought of that first. With a speed undreamt of for such a heavy piece of machinery, the bot turned around, kicked a foot upward and then into the ground. It missed Kha'id, but turned the entire street into a sizeable crater, and shook several buildings nearby. At this point, as the force of the impact threw him through a wall, Kha'id decided that the subtle approach could go fuck itself and that D'hoba was not worth the trouble. Kha'id leapt out of the building, ignoring the screams of the occupants, and then melted into the ground. The machine took a moment to realize that Kha'id had melded into the earth and raised a foot to smash the ground before the vampire got behind it. This made lifting the metal beast much more easy when Kha'id materialized behind it and grabbed it's one rooted leg. It was an amusing sight, seeing the beast lifted in his hands like a rag doll. A very heavy and dangerous rag doll, but a rag doll nevertheless in how it's arms and legs flailed around as Kha'id plucked it up and threw it into the air. It bounced off near the top of a skyscraper and landed a few miles away from Kha'id. A spout of dust and deathly silence was all that came from it after that.
"Well, now that's taken care of..." Kha'id heard the sirens off in the distance. "I suppose I should leave this place tomorrow, before the Church brings down the Inquisition on this city."
The police arrived to the scene of the devastated street and damaged buildings. None of the witnesses really able to describe what just happened, and none of the culprits present at the scene of the crime. Save the cloud of mist speedily drifting away from the smoke and fires. What a mess that thing made, and for Kha'id to bust it and escape regardless of its intervention. Whoever in the Orthodox Church authorized its deployment was likely to get reamed by the Pope himself. The thought made Kha'id chuckle for all the trouble that damn contraption gave him.
It was a quick flight to his lair, if an abandoned section of the D'hoban sewage system could count as a lair. Kha'id thought he did a good job of the place, a few protection runes here and there to ward off intruders, and a rune of warning in case if the protections failed. Kha'id would not call himself an admirer of Adiyan culture, but the widespread presence of the old Sarmatian magics was an aspect he heartily took part in. The best part of the lair was the spot where he hibernated, a cracked drainage pipe hanging from the ceiling. It had been long disconnected from the water systems, so the odds of Kha'id being flooded out were next to none. A perfect spot for a creature of mist to settle in and wait for the next night, or to await for any would-be hunter that stumbled in expecting a coffin or some other clichéd spot of rest. Kha'id had never been subjected to the pleasure of ambushing a hunter within his lairs, but he was certain that day would be sweet. The mist slipped into the crack, filled the pipe, and soon Kha'id drifted into sleep.
He awoke to the sound of thunder, and something smashing through the ceiling of his lair. The Orthodox Church was getting efficient, more than Kha'id thought. The vampire flooded out of his pipe before it was shattered by the breaking ceiling. He materialized himself into the form of a great man-beast, intent on tearing every little human that came down the hole in the ceiling to little pieces. Then the cold finger of realization tapped the back of his head. No sunlight came from the ceiling, no one in their right mind would raid a vampire's lair in any time less than the day. No footsteps echoed into his ears, nor Orthodox superiors barking orders to their underlings. It was all quiet, save for the sound of gears and hydraulics coming from the crater in the middle of Kha'id's chamber.
"How... ?" Kha'id asked the familiar figure in the settling dust and rubble.
"I followed the cloud of mist that was not acting like a natural cloud of mist." The Orthodox Robot explained. "Much easier to do with advanced lenses instead of eyes and the ability to run faster than most cars."
Kha'id did not respond, he tried to turn into a cloud of mist again, anything to escape the grip of the metal monster hunting him, but it was too late. In less than a second, it had leapt into the ground before him and severed his right arm with a punch to the shoulder. The next half-second was spent with a side kick severing his legs, and a metal hand grabbing him by the throat mid-air. The third half-second was spent with a metallic arm pulling off his last limb and then wrapping it's fingers around Kha'id's head. The fourth half-second was filled with a pause.
"... The devil have mercy on your soul." The metal monster uttered as harshly as its voice could allow before it crushed Kha'id's head into a paste.
What transpired was an act of industrialized killing. The chest and arms of the metal beast opened up, unleashing dozens of metal tendrils tipped with a variety of tools and grappling devices. Syringes loaded with holy water, liquified blessed silver, highly corrosive acids, chemicals that made bones brittle and flesh mushy, and other such things were injected into the vampire's body. Other tendrils were tipped with splints of wood or small flame-throwers that pierced organs and burned flesh, respectively. Some other tendrils with suitable mandibles, working with the beast's massive metal hands, crushed and shaped the vampire's increasingly degrading body into a form that would fit inside the creature's insides. Longer tendrils grabbed the severed limbs and bits of head that were on the ground and added them to the meat-grinder. Eventually, the vampire was a liquid flowing into a special container within the machine's guts. With its work completed, the contraption of the Orthodox Church set off to return to its staging area.
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"Well done, Project Barbara." An elderly man clad in a layer of lab coat and a layer of priestly robes took the container dangling between Project Saint Barbara's fingers. "This one will certainly provide interesting results for testing."
"Thank you, father." Project Barbara responded, with an almost cheery tone. "Will that be all the good Lord requires of me for now?"
"Yes." The priest-scientist affectionately patted the arm of the devout cyborg he constructed scant years ago. "Go to Section D for maintenance, and return to your quarters for further orders."
"Affirmative." Project Barbara saluted and obediently walked down the metal corridors of the complex where it was born to where it was instructed to go, shaking the hallways with each step.
The man ignored the shaking, mostly, as he set the container into a pressurized safe labelled; 'Remains of subject 'Night Hawk' recovered from Trial Run #5; codenamed Sanguine Tears.' Hairayya al-Sa smiled at the product of his work, and looked back at the safes containing the remains of trail runs one to four. Project Saint Barbara, Adiya's answer to the horrors that plagued it from its past, by building something worse and chaining it to the will of God. What could possibly go wrong?