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Kill flight of the Nosferatu
Justice under the dark light of the obsidian moon...
Hymn of death. (Audio).
Over hills and dales, oceans and rivers, towns and cities of industry and commerce, doth the Nosferatu fly. The eternal shapeshifter unseen in the night sky, glimpsed only by those with second sight. The age-old predator seeks his prey, weighing the sales of justice under the obsidian moon.
"We the Nosferatu. We do not worship. We are the proud ones. The lonely ones. Eternal. Aeons past. We fly the night."
Ethical in modern times, the ancient Nosferatu species take prana when needed, just enough, rarely too much... but sometimes far too much. The dance of predator and prey always has a fine balance.
Moved by righteousness, this Nosferatu seeks to mete out justice, flying the astral night world to the one that must pay. He will draw the life force, the prana, from the wrongdoer, until he is sucked dry. A wild beast when roused, our Nosferatu will rip asunder the very psyche and soul of those humans who, mindless and driven by emotions, do their evil.
Lair of the undead
Hours before he embarked upon his astral flight, our Nosferatu was lounging in an antique leather armchair back at one of his lairs, a modest manor house in Wiltshire, England, not far from Avebury Circle.
His consort reclined upon the ornate Georgian sofa.
"My dear," said our Nosferatu. "In the human realm, too many so called 'good' people do nothing. This is not the way of the Nosferatu. Justice should be meted out to those that harm brother and sister beast, and the innocents of humankind, the children."
"I understand," said his consort. "You are riled by this David Patricks fellow. He did, after all, take a riding crop to the bare behind of a four-year-old boy child, thrashing him mercilessly for no good reason... not that there's EVER a good reason to do that."
"Quite so," replied our Nosferatu. "Plus there was the feline hurled against a wall by this individual's methamphetamine-spawned child, born of a drug-addled whore."
Taking a swig of brandy from a crystal glass, he added, "Tonight I shall fly the night realm. Justice shall be served, and I shall feed. This Mr Patricks' chap will find his very soul hurled to oblivion, not the absurd hell of the imbecile Xtians... his soul will be no more - after, of course, he is sucked dry."
As our Nosferatu descended into the yard of Mr Patricks, he felt the exhilaration of his beast inside come to the fore. Like any predatory creature, a ferocity came over him as he focused on tracking down his prey.
His form now half-corporeal, he tried the back door. Locked. It was 2am, after all. He assessed the house, looking for entry points. Spying the upstairs bathroom window was ajar, he leaped up onto the wall that surrounded the yard. This brought him in reach of the window. Pulling it up he was able to climb through and into the bathroom itself.
Silent and stealthy, moving like a cat, he made his way across to the landing. His acute hearing picked up breathing in one of the two bedrooms. He slowly opened the door and went inside. Mr Patricks was sleeping. Our Nosferatu stood at the foot of the bed. Strange, unearthly growls came from his throat, as he made ready to pounce. Mr Patricks awoke with a start, utter terror in his eyes as he beheld our Nosferatu, now full beast, ready to feast upon the wrongdoers' life force, poised to tear him asunder.
"Who... who... what... are you?" asked Mr Patricks shaking with fear.
"Your nemesis," replied our Nosferatu, matter-of-factly.
With that he sprang, grasping Mr Patricks by the throat, growling and hissing like some kind of wolf-snake, and tearing into his throat, sucking the life force from this quaking human's very being.
Our Nosferatu felt prana flowing through his body, energising him to the point of sheer exhilaration. Looking the fading human directly in the eyes, he said, "Do you repent your evil? What you did to the boy child? What your corrupt spawn did to the cat?"
"Y...y... yes..." sputtered Mr Patricks, "please don't, please spare me... I didn't know what I was doing, I...I...I will do anything you ask..."
Our Nosferatu smiled a sadistic smile, "Death certainly does NOT become you..." With that he sucked the last traces of life force from Mr Patricks and watched him whither into a lifeless husk. "But it's fair to say, oblivion DOES become you," he whispered.
Gathering his composure, he made his way downstairs to exit by the front door.
Walking down the neon-lit street of the small town suburb, our Nosferatu relished the cool night air, the sheer vibrancy of the beast upon him, pulling in the ambient life force left behind by the sleeping humans, who had no idea that a Nosferatu had come to town...