Twilight Wanderings

[Arai]

The palest of golds lit the horizon, the red sun dipping into the edge of the earth. Streaked with pinks, purples, and crimson, the sunset was gorgeous. Too bad only one person was observing it. The black line of buildings jutting harshly into the soft pastels was unremarkable at first glance. But the straight lines and pointed corners were broken by a lonely silhouette. Arai sat alone, her legs dangling over twenty stories of air. A slight breeze ruffled her short red hair, making her unconsciously run her fingers through it. With a heavy sigh, she then looked sorrowfully over the horizon. Beautiful as it was, it couldn't lighten her heavy heart. The Den was behind her, ten or so blocks away, and she relished the distance. The meeting was done; a war was looming. In all the hustle and bustle of meeting newcomers, talking of strategies, and general business, it had been no problem for her to slip away unnoticed. Her running feet had carried her far away, away into the dimming light. She needed to be alone, to get away. In a way, Arai wished one of them would follow, would ask what was wrong. But even then she could not tell them. Her problems centered around Jasper. Be safe, stay away from the war, she thought to him. Who was she kidding? Jasper couldn't hear her, not across the ocean. But she did hope he would stay away from the war. The vampires were getting more and more vicious, and she knew they would kill him if they found of his fondness for her. If he showed up on the battlefield, the other lycans would not hesitate to kill him. She could not have that, and yet protecting him would mean eviction from the pack. There was far too much to this 'love' thing. Pete would feel so betrayed. Putting her head into her hands, she sorrowfully looked down. This was all so complicated.

After the soothing sunset had passed its brilliance, Arai figured it was time to get back to the Den. Vampires, it seemed, were trying to wipe America of all the lycans they could. The Den was the only safehouse available to most. They had not seen one of them in this city, but she could never be too careful. Of all the lycans, she would be the one who was least prepared to be attacked. True, she had taken self defense classes before the lycanism, but they weren't made to deal with extra strong, super swift vampires. Standing, she brushed off the seat of her jeans. For a second she stood at the edge, wondering. What would it be like to fall twenty stories? To feel the wind, experience weightlessness? It was not that she wanted to die. Arai was far from suicidal. But she did wonder what the falling would feel like. She always had. Sighing again, she stepped away. The empty rooftop only emphasized her loneliness. This building was deserted; only residence homes remained active after the bombing of New York. This place had been a business office. How much things had changed. Arai opened the door to the stairs, looking back at the blood red sun sinking ominously, leaving only darkness behind. Time was running out. And Arai was running from time. She began her descent down the stairs, opting to take them instead of the elevator. She wasn't sure if they were still working, and she didn't want a twenty story fall in an elevator. Falling in an elevator was totally different than free falling through the air. Stepping onto the top story, she began to search for the main stairwell. Nineteen flights of stairs to go.

[Cindralic]

Cindralic had orders for one of the first times in his entire life as a vampire. Never before had he been told to do anything beyond his own agendas. Now, within a few hours of meeting the master of his kin, he was already told to go and hunt. Now, Cindralic had no problem with hunting people down, there could be no mistaking this. Cindralic enjoyed the thrill, enjoyed the adrenaline that came with stalking and then the fight that usually followed. Cindralic loved it when his victims struggled because it simply made them all the more pleasurable when he finally sucked the very life from their being. Cindralic never turned anyone with the exception of a single man. The only reason that he had turned this man was to incite a war between the Incas. That one man, or vampire rather, was long since dead, killed by Cindralic. Nonetheless, that was the beginning of his tribe. His lesser vampires did whatever it was that they wished, they simply did not bite females. Cindralic had a perfectly logically reason for having not a single female vampire among his ranks. In any case, Cindralic had only turned one person. He believed that his abilities and his being a vampire were a gift and a curse from Lucifer. If the true master wished for others to receive what Cindralic had been given, then it was up to the master to decide and Cindralic would have no interference with his plans. Cindralic was fearful of Lucifer and no one beyond him. Cindralic realized that the being could take away his gifts and effectively kill him because of his age. Without his powers of regeneration and long life, Cindralic would never be able to last. His body would be several hundred years old. Cindralic was still skeptical as to why he had been sent on the mission. It was unusual for him to accept without killing the person that posed the question. However, for some reason, perhaps from the inkling of respect Cindralic had for Victor. Whatever the reason, Cindralic found himself stalking Arai in a massive city near sundown. Cindralic didn’t like Buffalo already. It was cold and Cindralic never had appreciated the cold weather. That was one of the reason that Cindralic chose to live in Mexico and South America. It was much warmer and more realistic to live. Cindralic had his black cloak wrapped tightly around him, but the wind blew and bit into his skin. Cindralic didn’t have the exact presence of a vampire master at the moment. People passed him and did not cower in fear. There were looks of fear and some women shielded their children from him, but that was to be expected. Cindralic didn’t have his usual persona about him, but he still dictated at least a considerable amount of fear. Cindralic knew that he was near the werewolf den. Very few vampires would ever come this close to the den of master werewolves because it was considered suicide. Well, Cindralic was suicidal and he didn’t give a d**n. He didn’t know where the den was exactly, but if he wandered around long enough he was going to find the werewolves or they were going to find him. There was not other explanations or any other possible event that could happen. Vampires could smell werewolves and werewolves could smell vampires. They were going to meet one way or another, it was just that Cindralic usually decided to dictate the how part. Cindralic didn’t like to be ambushed and he made a habit to not be ambushed. He did not appreciate things that were not in his control so he strove to keep them in control. Now, where was Arai?

[Arai]

Fifteen flights down, Arai stopped for a moment. She had little to rush for, save for the onset of the dark. It was beginning to get dim and shadowy outside, though Arai hardly noticed it. Her lycan senses gave her better night vision than a human, and only the absence of the burning sun indicated to her that it was beginning to get dark. For a moment she looked out the window. Everyone visible was hurrying home, eager to get back under cover during the night. Though the lycans had not killed any humans here, the recent bombing of the capital and other rumors of monsters in the alleyways were sufficient to spook the ones who lived here. Arai could see the den in the distance, the building of security, and mentally she planned her run there. Arai knew the foolishness of heading directly towards the building. Any following her would be lead directly there, though she doubted that anyone was following, and it would seem far to suspicious for a young woman to sneak inside a supposed deserted building. Though normally the people would not care, she did not look like a druggie nor a prostitute, and her clean look and healthy demeanor would just set off suspicions. The lycans would prefer that no activity was suspected in the building. Overall it was safer. And so far they had succeeded; no rumors of activity in the building had reached their sensitive ears. For the lycans did not stay in the den during the day. With no threat of vampires in broad sunlight, Arai had ventured out into the activity on the streets, listening, waiting for news of attacks, of deaths, of any rumor. For now they were safe.

Cautiously, again trying to not arouse suspicion, Arai descended the final flights of stairs. This building, too, was deserted, and it was her favorite spot to sit and think. She didn't want anyone else exploring here. Also, her caution had a practical reason. Being an office building, there was a possibility that the lycans could convert it to another den, or at least salvage a few choice items. Either way, so far this building had escaped looters. Arai chuckled silently to herself, thinking of what would happen if looters attempted to break into the 'deserted' warehouse that they dwelt in. That would be an interesting conflict. At the last flight of stairs, she stopped. Arai listened, waiting for any sign of people nearby. Her hooded jacket was dark gray, providing her with good camoflage among the concrete and darkness. She put the hood over her auburn hair. Though this was the states, and any hair and skin color were fairly common, red hair still drew the eyes of any person. Arai had long ago discovered this, and she now took extra precaution to not draw attention to herself. It seemed safe. Opening a small side door in an alleyway, the diminuative figure slipped out into the night. A few stars were beginning to make themselves known, and the thin crescent of a moon began to peek above the buildings. Arai had no time for the poetic beauty. She slipped onto the street, casually walking just behind a small family group. At the next alleyway she would slip off. It would take a while to traverse her roundabout route to the den, but Arai was confident that she would get there.

[Cindralic]

A pleasant darkness shrouded the world now. Cindralic enjoyed the darkness and the blackness that came with the night. It gave him so much more freedom and much more energy. Cindralic, as a master, was more than able to walk during the day but his actions were constricted and his wardrobe was limited. He owned the night and he owned the dark alleys, the black passageways, the seemingly endless winding roads and city blocks. It was going to be a cold night in Buffalo, but most of the people seemed accustomed to the harsh weather that Cindralic personally despised. Something besides the oncoming night drove these people to their stackable homes and apartment complexes. Cindralic could smell it in ever person that walked and hurried past him. There was a fear of the unknown among them. It was not a fear of the darkness, but what came with the darkness that drove these people to seek shelter in the light. However, was that not what all-living conscious creatures did? In the dark, seek out the light? Humans were mammals, like a lion or a gorilla or a weasel or skunk. When they felt threatened or scared, they sought protection in numbers or in their homes. When the darkness came, they hibernated or looked for the light. Such predictable and utterly ordinary creatures humans were. What purpose could they possibly have to be but the food and the prey of greater and more efficient beings? After all, it was the humans that concocted the idea of a food chain and survival of the fitness. The only problem with their logic was that they honestly believed that they were at the top of the food chain. If they could see reality, then they would drop at least two notches. Survival of the fitness was no different. Vampires were simply more agile, wittier, fiercer, more…fit, than humans and as such they were to dominate. It was as the humans themselves had said. The strongest survived and the vampires fit that category. Humans would never admit this. Their egos were too high, their pride to strong to admit that they were perhaps, not the highest class of being. Cindralic had long since understood the human’s lack of logic and overall stupidity. They were prideful and overconfident in their own technology and minds. It would truly take an act of a God that did not exist to create in them a fear that they were not the greatest. The civilians on the streets had become scarcer as Cindralic continued to walk. A vague description of Arai had been given to him. He knew that she was a red haired human, a female, shorter than males and she was lively. Beyond that, Cindralic had little to go on besides the fact that she usually traveled alone. Everyone traveled alone, most just had crowds to guard them. Now that those crowds had lessened, Cindralic could see everything more clearly than before. Cindralic looked, his eyes jetting from one side of the street to the other, scanning everything, everyone for anything and anyone that fit the description he had been given. One particular red head caught his attention. She was walking alone and had a hood on. She was attempting to protect herself from the wind that had blown up. She was even on the same side of the street as Cindralic. It made the hunt all the more easier for him. Cindralic followed her, his distance very slowly closing in as she walked. He was a creepy fellow, following behind the woman, but there were always creepy fellows in big towns. The woman took a sharp turn down an alley and Cindralic could not help but smirk at his good fortune. She had just killed herself by going down a dark alley. Cindralic walked to the beginning of the ally and threw up his hood before locating the woman with his superb eyesight. With the blink of an eye he had appeared before her. She let out a gasp but before anything else could happen, before she could utter another sound, Cindralic had put his hand to her throat. He held her up high with his firm grip, his sharp nails sinking into her delicate skin. He hood fell off revealing the long red locks of her hair. Cindralic cussed as his target maintained short hair. The woman tried to scream, but the cracking of her neck stifled it. A siren behind Cindralic muffled the sound of the woman’s limp body hitting the ground. The calls of two men rang in Cindralic’s ears. The sound of two vehicles pulling up to the end of the alley met with the sounds of four guns being cocked back. A light shown on him. Apparently, these people frowned upon a dark and shadowing figure pursuing a woman into an alley.

[Arai]

Following the small family, Arai soon slipped into the darkness as they passed a nearby alley. Her light footsteps sounded small in the encroaching black, and even with her lycan senses she was forced to stop for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Soon she was moving again. The pause also served as a moment to wait and listen. No one was following; no footsteps were heard. Having never encountered a vampire master before, Arai had no idea that they could teleport. In fact, her experience with the other warring race was limited. The only ones she had encountered were relatively weak and conquered easily. Plus, if her memory served her correctly, Namir, Pete, or Pablo had always been there for her. She had traveled what she estimated to be about a block. The den was about ten blocks away as the bird flies, but in her roundabout way it was more like fifteen. This was no problem for a track runner. But, with it being dark, she couldn't be careful enough. Coming to a fence, Arai checked over her shoulder. Only a single flickering streetlight shone on the concrete sidewalk, sending a pale halo of light through the darkness. Ahead was only the wall. But what was on the other side? Normally Arai would have never jumped it, never taken that risk. But her life was about risk nowadays, and she needed to get back to safety. Back to the den. And to do that she had to jump that wall. Her breathing was light, barely audible, and she listened. Her ears strained for any noise, any indication of someone on the other side. Only the wind whistled through the narrow gaps between the buildings, sending small papers tumbling down through the dirt. No one was there. Crouching, she prepared to jump, taking one last look behind her. Still, it was clear. She leaped. Her small hands managed to grab the edge of the wall, and kicking a bit she managed to pull herself up. "Crap!" she hissed in a low voice. In pulling herself up she had skinned the underside of her arm. But then she remembered her mission. Checking the other side of the wall before she jumped down, she saw only a few boxes and trash bags. No one was in sight. About to jump down, the small redhead tensed. Sirens wailed in the distance, slightly painful to her sensitive ears. Men shouted in the distance. There was trouble. It only emphasized to her even more that she needed to get back to safety, back to her pack.

It seemed strange to call people that she hadn't known for even a year her family. They were a disfunctional family, though. Being mostly teenagers and young adults, tensions and drama were high. Hopefully, she thought with a small sigh, that would end as they grew closer. Right now, she figured, it was much like a real wolf pack. Everyone needed to figure out their place in the pack, be put in their place. Then things would calm down. Or so she hoped. But now it was time to keep moving. Steeling herself for the landing, Arai jumped. Her hood flew off with the updraft of air, but she hardly noticed. Her concern was on not breaking a leg. Hitting the ground rolling, she popped up and stood on two feet again. Coming to the end of the narrow brick walls, she cautiously stepped out. Under a lightpost everything was clearer. There were few people in sight now, seeing as the moon was almost fully risen and the stars were beginning to pinpoint the velvety black sky. No one in their right mind would be out now. No one but the occasional druggie or cop. Cautiously she began to walk. Around that corner, she knew, she would have to cross the street and then go through another alleyway. The key was to not run, nor walk too fast. That only drew suspicion. So she meandered nonchalantly under the lights, avoiding eye contact with any of the few out, just headed towards that corner. Past the alleyway, she knew, she would be halfway there. Home - it was still strange to think of it as such - was so close she could almost smell it. Of course, enhanced genetics helped a lot. She was beginning, slowly but surely, to enjoy benefits from being a lycan. Perhaps it was not all bad.

[Cindralic]

The police. The simply thought of the humans thinking that they had somewhat of a judicial and authoritative rule of Cindralic made him sick to his stomach and simply pissed him off more than usual. Usually Cindralic was a pissed off person and that was often just because he was a tormented person and therefore he had the right to be so. Cindralic still had his eyes on the end of the alley that was not facing the police officers. His eyes were cold and collected, and yet, at the same time still burned with an inward hate and disgust for the humans that now had their ineffective weapons pointed at him. With Cindralic’s eyes looking down the alley, he spotted another woman that fit the description of Arai walking past the alley in a casual manner. She was across the street and down a block, but Cindralic’s eyes went further than normal human’s he could see her all the way from there. He was tempted to go after her right then and there and simply disappear from the spot he was in. However, that was not like him. It was not like him to run and when he was pissed he simply had to kill something. “Turn around and face us with your hands on your head!” One of the men called out. So, Cindralic turned around and face them, lifting his hands in the air. “On your knees!” the man yelled again as two of the officers approached him. Cindralic obliged, not ready to argue just yet. Another foot officer reached the scene and pulled his pistol, ducking behind one of the cars for cover as he watched the situation unfold. The two men approached Cindralic, but the second they laid their hands on Cindralic, he moved. Before the officers at the cars could even fire their weapons the two aggressive officers had fallen to the ground lifeless and Cindralic was before the first of the officers behind the vehicles. Shots fired and Cindralic just stood there, soaking in the pain and soaking in the bullets as if he wore protective armor. The first man fired one shot, the second man four and the third man emptied his entire clip into Cindralic’s chest before all was said in done. Seventeen shots were fired in all and not one of them had prolonged or prevented the officer’s deaths. All five men lay dead. The first officer lay with half his body inside the car and the other half underneath the left front wheel. The second officer’s head lay beside his limp foot and the third officer hung with a metal pole through his neck on a fire escape jutting out from the alley. Cindralic had no use for their blood. He had to find Arai now. The whole event had unfolded in less than thirty seconds, but he Cindralic could not be sure where Arai had gotten to before then. Cindralic walked to the alley again and reappeared where he thought he had scene Arai. If she had been walking much faster then she would have been out of his site, but he saw her, now with a full bead on her. He reappeared closer when she wasn’t looking. He was waiting, wondering what it was that she would go. He wondered if she was heading towards her den. He wanted her to go down a dark alley or somewhere more secluded. He did not fear the police, but they could become bothersome in situations where Cindralic needed his hostage alive. This was the second time he had been forced to deal with a live hostage. He much rather preferred to simply kill his victims and move on. Cindralic walked behind Arai a good two hundred yards. There were seven people between him and her and Cindralic was walking slowly. He was waiting for her to make a move, make an action to let herself be caught by him, caught alone. Then she would be doomed.

[Arai]

As she walked, Arai was unknowingly followed by a few drops of blood from her skinned arm. The crimson spots marked her travels as surely as a sign, but she was not worried about that now. Her sensitive hearing had picked up the distant sound of gunshots. That was strange. True, there was the occasional conflict, but what was strange about this was that more than one gun was being fired, and all those guns were being fired multiple times. There were few gangs around this area, and she had never heard any conflict like this. But then it stopped. Still, all the shooting made her nervous and on edge. Senses hightened even more, she continued. As she passed by a long store window, she began to watch the people that walked after her. It was a habit she had done as a child, just a laugh among friends. Was that person following you? He had been following for more than two blocks! Then she and her friends would run home and giggle about it, for the people 'following' were typically lost in a newspaper. But now the game had lost all of its amusement. Now it was a matter of her safety. Perhaps her life. She counted six people before she passed the window. None of them seemed to be following her, for all were just hurrying to their own homes. Arai relaxed momentarily. One person passed her. He was walking faster, obviously in a hurry. And he obviously wasn't following her. Still Arai kept her pace, trying to look like just another unfortunate woman out a little too late. She didn't dare check over her shoulder, let the panic show in her steps. It was harder than it looked to walk calmly when you were nervous and ready to be home. At the corner, a couple went the opposite direction from her, scurrying across the road to a small home. Now there were three people behind her at least. Too many for her to duck into the alleyway she planned to. Mentally she growled. That would mean another block of walking and running to get to the den.

As she walked past that alleyway and another person passed her by, Arai suddenly had a strange sensation. True, she had heard of the supposed 'sixth sense' and even experienced something like it on occasion. But those were always just a 'someone is watching you' situation, one that made her slightly uneasy and picked up her pace a bit. This was overwhelming. The evil, the sense of foreboding was so tangible she could almost feel it wash over her like an ocean wave. The current carried her into a place of dark uncertainty. The tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rose. Something was terribly wrong. But as much as she wanted to, Arai did not look behind her. Another person crossed the road, and now Arai was nearly alone on the street. For no reason other than internal comfort she kept well under the street lights. The artificial light would do no good against any attack, but it still made one feel a bit stronger. Arai, however, had never really felt strong. The only times she had ever felt any ounce of power was every full moon, and then she was not even herself. Raw power was unleashed then, yes, but she could not control it nor dictate the use of it. To be trapped to this fate of unquenching furiosity was what scared her the most about her new life. Perhaps someone at the den could help her, one of the masters maybe. But for now she could not worry about that. A few small beads of sweat began to shimmer on her brow, and she licked her lips nervously. The danger blared in her brain like the sirens that wailed earlier. She had an awful feeling that she, for some reason, would not be going back to the den tonight.

[Cindralic]

This woman was paranoid. There was nothing to be said other than that. Of course, Cindralic could still think a few things about her. The wind was blowing towards Cindralic and he was downwind from Arai. He could smell the werewolf scent and he knew that this time, his efforts and his search would not be in vane. He had the correct target now. Cindralic was not the type of person that was going to let his target slip out of his sights easily. Even though Arai began to walk a bit faster, it was not going to save her in the end. She was lucky that this was one of the few times that Cindralic could not kill his victim. Oh, how badly Cindralic had the urge to simply appear in front of Arai and jut his sharp claws into her neck and rip out her throat. Cindralic could taste her blood on his hands; see the warm liquid dripping down her limp body as it fell to the sidewalk. The blood of a werewolf was rather enjoyable, but any human blood would do. Cindralic personally enjoyed the blood of a brave people. The cowards and the weaklings of society never tasted good to Cindralic. Cindralic could smell the fear in Arai as she ran faster, measuring her surroundings and trying to decide if she was truly in any danger. Arai was in more danger than she ever could think of. A master vampire probably had never tracked her. She might have engaged a normal vampire before and been able to defeat them, but Cindralic was beyond anything she could have fought previously. Cindralic almost reveled the idea of fighting yet another werewolf. They were far more admirable opponents and much more difficult to defeat. They presented a greater challenge for Cindralic and that was a rare treat. Cindralic had to move faster to maintain his visual on Arai as she began to move faster. One by one the people between her and him went off in their separate ways. It was becoming more and more evident that he was following her. In a few moments it wouldn’t matter because Cindralic would be atop of her and he would be concluded his mission. She walked under the light of the streetlights. Cindralic knew that she was not going to be protected by artificial lights. Cindralic waited until one of the last people had left the street and it was Arai and he, one hundred yards apart. Cindralic shortened that gap in the blink of an eye. In one more moment, Cindralic was behind Arai. Cindralic had rather good timing because when he reached her, she was walking past yet another alley. Cindralic’s cold strong hands pulled on her shoulders and with an effortless motion, he threw her in the alley. The darkness had by now completely covered the world. Night had fallen and this was Cindralic domain. Cindralic heard a few sirens in the distance. There were no doubt police investigating the massacre of their fellow officers. Cindralic smirked as he stepped into the shadows towards Arai. He could smell her fear; he could smell the hopelessness in her blood, in her breathing. He could smell that he was dominant. She could only think of a few possibilities of who was before her. She had to know that he was a vampire, had to know that at this moment, he owned her.

[Arai]

That heavy cold hand on her shoulder confirmed her worst fears. The nails, unnaturally long, dug in and held her. Arai did not fight back for pure reason of being surprised. Within seconds she found herself in a dark alley. She had been followed, and she recognized that cold dead smell. A vampire. Only one, but she could feel that evil, smell the determination in him. Arai knew that, considering she was a lycan, he would not turn her. He would slay her, no doubt grow strong on her blood. But though she was reluctant to fight in the war, reluctant to be a werewolf, something else kicked in to save her life. It was survival instinct, inbred strongly even as a human and pumping through her veins. Adrenaline began to flood through her, the body's own survival mechanism, and everything seemed to slow. Her pale gold eyes wide and a bit panicked, she could see him stalking towards her, hear the thin rustle of his long cloak as the dim lights caught the wet shimmer of his deadly eyes. Arai could sense his thoughts, know his evil intent. For a timeless moment, predator and prey stared at each other. Then the wolf, typically kept locked deep in the recesses of her mind, began to take over. Fight! it howled, driving her to at least protect herself. This was no ordinary vampire; even she with her limited experience could sense that. Evil and power hung about him like the black cloak he shrouded himself in. This only made her drive to survive all the more stronger.

Scrambling to her feet, she faced him. The instinct injected into her with that fatal biting told her that a wolf off its feet was a dead wolf. But rather than go straight for him, she decided to evade. A fight against this powerful one would end badly, and evasion was the only option left to her. Letting him catch her was hardly an option, after all. Turning, she ran, headed down the alley. There was a wall here again, and with the help of adrenaline and driven by panicked energy, she cleared it easily, landing on the other side without incident. Shoving through cardboard boxes, she headed back out to the streets. The sirens sounded again in the distance, and she knew with horrible realization that the shots and sirens earlier had no doubt been connected to the dark hunter. Though she had been a runner before thsi life, she had never run this fast before. Her feet were blurred on the pavement, her short red locks whipping behind her as she gasped in her frantic escape. The lycan in her veins was helping, pushing her to unbelievable speeds as she zipped down the block. She was far from being fast enough to be only a blur, but still she was clocking it at speeds unheard of for any human. Arai was far from human, however, and she was grateful for this small favor as she ran.

[Cindralic]

Why did they always find the need to run? Why did the ones that Cindralic track down always run? Cindralic was rather disappointed with this woman’s reaction to his presence. He was expecting a werewolf to give him a fight. Werewolves that he had encountered in the past had always fought him. They had never run from him even though they probably should have. Cindralic had never lost a fight, whether it was against a human, vampire or werewolf. Cindralic was a killer and he had been killing more than most vampires had been immortal. It was interesting that werewolves and vampires thought themselves immortal. Granted they had qualities and capabilities that gave them an advantage in battle and would make them seem as if they could never be killed. However, no matter how invincible both creatures thought they were, neither of them was invincible. Vampires could be killed just like werewolves. When Arai began to run from him, Cindralic raised his dark eyebrow, his menacing eyes watching her as she hurdled over a wall. Cindralic appeared behind it, still watching the young vampire run for her life. Cindralic saw no real reason to run when he could simply teleport to a closer location. She would go tired soon enough or Cindralic would simply become irritated and stop the chase. Cindralic teleported behind her again. He would do this every time she believed that she had run a safe distance away. It would probably discourage her after a short time. Cindralic began to hear sirens everywhere around him. The dark streets of Buffalo began to become lit with the sirens and search lights of police cruisers and spotlights. Cindralic knew that Arai would make her way towards the police and seek their shelter and protection. That would be just fine with Cindralic because it didn’t matter where she went now, she would not escape him. His arms were long and he could reach her anyway. He had her scent in his nostrils and he could track her wherever it was that she chose to go. A police cruiser pulled in front of Cindralic and he jumped atop the roof. He stood there as the men in the car exited their vehicle and turned their weapons on him. Cindralic jumped into the first officer on his right and brought him up, using the man as a shield as he approached the other officer, throwing the dead man into the second officer. The second officer struggled and fired two shots before he was silenced by a crushing blow to the skull. Cindralic looked to the street and teleported behind Arai again before she made it to the corner, grabbing her hard by her shoulder and pulling her backwards towards the ground, thudding her body harshly against the unwelcoming pavement. Cindralic was now in no mood to run or give chase to this woman. Several more police cruisers rounded the corner and Cindralic took Arai by the scruff of her shirt neck and leapt up several stories onto the nearby building’s rooftop. There he threw Arai to the ground again, backing away from her. He wondered if she would fight him, if she would attempt to defeat him in battle or run again. Of course, where could she go? She was on a roof and not even a werewolf could survive the fall.

[Arai]

As she ran, Arai's thoughts were filled with panic and a strange calm. The panic was the human side, running from what she feared, trying to escape. The calm was the wolf side. It was not a peaceful calm, not one to feel content, but a more calculating feeling. Her primal nature was to analyze and figure out how to come out on top. The running gave her time to do that. After all, 'he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day'. However, Arai strongly doubted that this applied to vampires and werewolves. As of yet she had not fought, though she had done her fair share of running. As she ran, the sensation of overwhelming dark evil would recede for a small time, then suddenly loom again, a brick wall in her senses. He was powerful to be able to teleport like that. It only made her more determined to avoid a fight with him. The sirens wailed in her ears, making her panic heighten. At the same time, however, she was slightly annoyed at the piercing jolt of sound. She did not run for the policemen, though her first instinct was to do so. Her experiences with the resistance taught her that human law enforcement was just as hostile to werewolves as it was to vampires. She would not make that mistake again. Her scars from the last time had just recently faded. At least, the physical ones had. Mentally she would never be the same. But that was life; changing, adapting, growing. After any experience, good or bad, one could never be the same again. However, even if she had run towards the protection of the law, she would not have reached it. That cold, sharp hand was on her shoulder again, slamming her down. Her arms were now coated in a thin film of blood from breaking her fall. Then she was flying. Well, not so much flying as suddenly on the roof. A crushing grip had yanked her upwards, traveling too fast to really comprehend what happened. Then she was thrown down again.

A breeze ruffled her hair, cooling her skin and her panic. She was on a roof, up too far to jump. The vampire, whoever he was, stood there, waiting. Waiting for her to fight back. Normally she would not have given him that pleasure. But here she had no choice. It was fight or die. Arai was not ready for death to chill her skin, for eternity to judge her soul. She wanted to live, wanted to live very badly indeed. It was only this looming choice that made her do what she did. In times of trouble, your instinct guides you to do things you would never have tried before. Arai hated the lycan side, the wolf that bit her, the scars from that encounter slashed so cruelly across her stomach. But here she embraced it. Or rather, it embraced her. The fighter, the vicious side, took over. Without a full moon, Arai transformed. It was not a conscious decision, only a gut instinct that told her to. Without really knowing how, she forced her small frame to grow. Her slender body became engorged with rippling muscles covered by a thick cinnamon coat. A bushy tail swished behind her, coming down between two powerful legs ending in massive paws. Her arms lengthened, her fingers shortening and becoming blunt paws ending in jagged black claws, ideal for ripping through flesh and digging into bone. Small triangular ears sprouted from her head, now a wolf's head with a blunted muzzle and a black nose. Only her pale gold eyes remained the same. Now, as a wolf, she towered over the vampire. Well, maybe not towered. She was around seven feet tall now, small for a lycan, but still larger in bulk than the vampire. This change in height made her less afraid. A couple hundred extra pounds of pure muscle helped. Ready for a fight, she snarled at him, lifting black lips to reveal glistening white canines ready to splinter his bones to dust. Arai was done with running. It was time to fight.

[Cindralic]

So, she was going to fight him after all. Cindralic had not left Arai much of a choice. He had secluded her from any chance of escaping, gotten her alone with him. It was obvious that Cindralic wanted to fight, and he didn’t want to fight a little girl either. He wanted to fight a werewolf. Finally Arai decided that she was going to fight him. Finally Arai decided to stop trying to run, stop trying to cower, and stop trying to escape him. She was doing what so many werewolves had done in the past. She was going to fight him to the death. Even though Arai changed into her werewolf form, Cindralic was still a bit disappointed. She was only four inches taller than him in her full adult werewolf form. Cindralic was 6:8 and a monster of a man. Arai was only seven feet tall and it was simply disappointing that he was not fighting a more insurmountable foe. Still, it would be better than fighting a frightened woman. Cindralic was no fool or novice to this fighting game. Arai had already established this in her mind, of this Cindralic was sure. Cindralic had been fighting for many, many, many years and he was much older than the werewolf standing before him. There was but one werewolf that could rival him in age and she was, according to rumor, locked in a prison by the vampire master, Victor. Hence, she posed no threat to Cindralic. In his mind, he didn’t really even see Arai as too much of a threat to him. Yes, the fact that she was a werewolf and she was transformed, without the help of moonlight, concerned him. It meant that she was powerful and that she had at least some control of her power. However, her size was not impressive. Arai was no doubt considered the pup of the pack that she belonged. Cindralic stood there, facing this werewolf unafraid and unwavering in his resolve to complete his mission. It was obvious that Cindralic would enjoy the impending fight. Cindralic casually moved his hand to his chest and slipped off his dark over cloak and even folded it a bit, placing it calmly on the ledge of the building before he turned to Arai. There was no fear in his eyes. There was a hint of excitement, a hint of adventure and pleasure. Cindralic was looking forward to this. Aria no longer stood and looked at him with fear as she had first done when he had thrown her to the ground. She no longer wished to escape him. That lack of fear would make the taste of her blood sweeter to him. Cindralic would not turn her, as he turned no one and that would be contrary to his mission. However, he was not beyond biting her and drinking at least some of the blood that seeped from her beastly form. Some people found such an action erotic, but Cindralic was given a different pleasure from it. It meant that he was in control, that he commanded the situation that he was master and to him, there was no greater pleasure in the world. Cindralic had set the stage, set the fight, prepared the battle, and prepared both parties. Cindralic was already in complete control of this situation, just as he liked it. Now, it was simply time to finish what he started. Cindralic took a step forward and as he did so, he shifted out of his human solid form and a mist formed around Arai. This was a gift of the masters, of the true warriors of the vampire race. If Arai had doubted that he was a master, she surely did not think such a thing now. The air grew cooler and dark as the mist engulfed Arai, surrounded her, the mist thick and seemingly chocking her. Werewolves were physical beings; vampires were… something beyond that. Then, Arai felt a cold powerful arm, and then sharp claws digging into her back with an incredible amount of force before it was gone and the damage done. Arai was not fighting to kill Cindralic, she was fighting to survive.
(Sorry if that seems a bit godmoddish, but something’s a vampire can do sort of just sound that way)

[Arai]

(s'okay. I get that. There's really no other way to write that)

Arai was far from being considered the pup in her pack. In fact, she was one of the oldest of the new generation. Only Jarrod exceeded her in age, and that was only physical age. Lycan wise, Pablo was older than she. The fact of the matter was, no one else had seen her in wolf form. This was the first time she had been able to transform without the help of a full moon. Arai supposed the ability had been there for a while, but only her recent acceptance of her new self had unlocked it. The other lycans didn't know of her diminuative wolf size. She could see the logic in it. She was small in real life, only a bit over five feet, and so it was not unusual that she was small as a werewolf. But even if her smaller size was an issue in a fight, she was often turned to in matters of medicine and intelligence. She did not fight by brute strength, but rather by cunning. However, she had never been in a fight with a vampire master before. This was all a new thing to her. Arai's only consolation was that the police had not found them, for they would no doubt shoot her along with the vampire. After all, she was the most noticable, being a large wolf on two legs. The mist surrounded her, the vampire disappating from her view. The mist was the vampire, but then again it wasn't. The other race was strange, thier abilities unusual. Arai did not know much about vampires. The mist chilled her, even through her thick red fur. Her lungs felt tight, her head spinning with suffocation. Sharp pain, throbbing and intense, ripped through her back. Her back arched as she snarled in agony.

Nails dug into her back, and she knew it was him. Whoever he was, he was intent on his purpose. But the killing blow did not come, instead it withdrew. She could feel the blood, thick and warm, running down her back and pooling around her paws in sticky crimson puddles. Her lycan abilities meant that she would heal, but not so quickly that it would not affect her. The slashes were deep, and yet they did little more than cause pain and strengthen her desire to live. Life had been far too short for her to let go of it so easily. Howling, she vented the pain through the raw noise. Too late she realized that the noise might call the others to her aid. Stay away! she pleaded mentally. Rarely did she communicate that way, but it was Arai's only hope right now. She could die against this vampire, she realized, and he would kill the others. The loss of one would be of little effect in the scheme of things. The entire council could not die for her. But she would do the best she could to fight. Arai would make the others proud, though they could not see her. She attempted to turn and grab the arm, trying to hurt the physical part of him. Vampires could be hurt, she knew, for she had killed one before. But did they die? Supposedly they had no soul and had died before becoming vampires. Arai didn't wish to know the gory details of how one became a vampire. But they could be vanquished, that she knew, and whether or not they truly died was of no consequence right now. This evil entity must be vanquished somehow. He was not invincible.

[Cindralic]

No, Cindralic was not invincible, but he usually came off that way due to his powers, his strength, and his ability to fight and regenerate. Werewolves possessed the same gift and ability of regeneration and that was a similarity that caused Cindralic to believe that they had the same creator. Even if they had the same creator, it did not mean that said creator didn’t want for Cindralic to kill her. She was no doubt a bit unnerved by the fact that he had dissipated into a mist form. She let out a painful exasperation when he struck her back and Cindralic was pleased with her lack of restraint. Several werewolves that Cindralic had fought refused to feel pain and never let out any indication that they were in pain, not even up to the second Cindralic killed them. Cindralic wondered just how close to the den Arai had gotten. He wondered if the other werewolves would be able to hear her cries, hear her screams of agony and pain. He wondered if they would come to try and save her, if they would come and attempt to kill Cindralic. It would be interesting to see whether or not the werewolves would have the courage and stamina to take on Cindralic, even if they were a good number of them. Cindralic had fought nine werewolves at once, but that was many years ago in Brazil. It was not an experience that Cindralic wished to relive, but it was also not an experience that he would not revel the challenge. Cindralic was strange in that way. Cindralic would put himself into a seemingly insurmountable situation just for the challenge and adrenaline rush that came to him. This was not too entirely challenging for Cindralic, but he would fight none the less. There was no way that he was going to come all this way and not attack and conclude his mission. Cindralic felt her massive paw come in contact with his arm, but before she could truly get a firm hold on it, he became fully mist once again. There was a short period of time that it took Cindralic to change from one form to another, time enough for Arai to deal him some damage if she was good enough, if she was fast enough. Cindralic was not opposed to be struck a few times by his opponent. In reality, he preferred that his enemy struck him at least once during a fight. It showed that they were actually worthy of his time, worthy of his skill. Cindralic turned once again from his mist form to his physical form, appearing behind her. There was a cold smirk on his face, and nothing could be seen in his black eyes and dark face. In fact, there were few distinguishing characteristics and features about Cindralic’s face because everything was so dark around him. A light that had been on near Cindralic sparked out, and everything was blackness again. Cindralic stood for a moment and opened his right hand, summoning his demonic weapon. The black sword formed liked the mist into Cindralic’s hand and became physical and deadly. The weapon was dark, like Cindralic’s soul and Cindralic could wield it like to other. If Arai was not already at a disadvantage, she most certainly was at this moment. Many of her kin had died by this sword, their blood still staining it. Cindralic longed for Arai’s blood now, longed for the blood of a new werewolf. Cindralic disappeared; reappearing to Arai’s left, slashing his sword down towards her left shoulder. Then without waiting to see if his blow had struck her or not, he reappeared behind her, striking his sword towards her right leg behind the knee.

[Arai]

The flesh she had grabbed dissolved and slipped through her claws. A growl of frustration escaped as she bared her teeth. However, this proved that he was not untouchable. Her jagged claws ripped at misty air, and then it disappeared. He had changed again. Every second she fought him, Arai became more familiar with his methods. He could dissolve into mist, but could resolidify parts of himself. When he did so, it took a short time for him to change back to mist. That was when she could strike. The mist, enveloping and chilling her to her soul, was not something to be attacked. She did wonder how long he could stay in mist form, if it took energy to do. Before she could ponder much longer, the mist was gone. Whipping around, her tail sweeping the hard concrete, she saw him become a vampire again. Though he was smaller than she, the overwhelming sense of evil made him seem more powerful. Which he no doubt was. Arai was far from a master, and as such did not expect to win against this vampire. But that did not mean she could not try. The strangest things happened; any fluke or mistake would be taken full advantage of. His cold eyes glared out at her, and the impression Arai got from him was of total blackness, both in physical being and in his soul. Or lack thereof. The mist began again, and yet he did not disappear. Instead, something more appeared. A sword. Strange that he would choose a weapon that was viewed as outdated. Arai knew better. Swords could not win in a gunfight, but here he had the advantage. A sword was sharp and quick if weilded properly, and she did not doubt for one second that he knew how to weild that sword.

Already the deep wounds on her back were beginning to heal, the thick skin knitting together to cease the flow of lifeblood. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of death and blood, that strange coppery smell that tantalized and disgusted her. Her wolf side saw the appeal in blood, knew its strength. But she knew it was her blood, her strength in puddles on the ground. But the reserves of strength and energy were barely tapped. The blow came fast, almost too fast for her to react. The tip slashed through tendon and muscle in her shoulder, and she beat a hasty retreat. Using the force of the blow in her favor, she followed the backwards push and fell rather ingloriously on her back. Rolling, she popped back up, avoiding the sword at her legs. The left arm of the werewolf now bled, crimson spatters marking her movements. A grimace of pain wrinkled her snout, angering her at the same time. Not waiting for him to attack again, she charged. Paws pounding hard on the pavement, Arai went low, both fists clenched together and poised to strike upwards below his ribs. The move, if it worked, would be enough to fling him backwards over her back, and then she would turn and strike again. Arai was angry enough to fight this time.