A Godfather Falls

[Mircea]

They'd been talking about it for nights, the 'hideout' near the mall where all manner of thugs could be found, but Mircea had been largely disinterested in the affairs of human criminals while they left him unaffected, though he couldn't deny that this building's proximity to his Amara's Necropolis had caused him to pay more attention to it than he might otherwise have done. He had watched, over a night or two as more and more vampires limped out of the building, bleeding and broken, some few even simply tossed out of the higher windows to crumple on the street below. He couldn't help but concede that it was interesting that these humans were strong and skilled enough best his kind, even some of those he knew to be capable fighters were creeping away, dejected and defeated. It was Phoenix's exit that had heightened his curiosity to the point when he simply could not ignore it any longer; he knew well that the girl could fight, had bled at her hands more than once himself and so, to see her sent from the place empty handed had drawn him into it, weapons strapped to his form.

Knives adorned each of his upper arms, strapped in place with simple leather sheaths while his beloved Ileana rested at his left hip, secured as ever to his belt. There had been some debate regarding the advantages and difficulties involved in taking his bow and, finally, it had been decided that the close-quarters of the building would not lend itself to the weapon, quick and skilled as he was with it. Instead, a rifle was slung across his back, where his quiver would usually reside and a handgun nestled beneath his right arm, the strapping of the weapon's holster pulling his shirt tightly over his chest.

Progress up the building was slow, the stairs between each floor sealed off by electronic locks and only some of the thugs trusted enough to be gifted a key, but he had made his way up little by little, his wife meeting him halfway to allow him the opportunity to rest with her for a short time and indulge in something other than bloodshed. The time with her had been precious and thoroughly enjoyed before, with a kiss and whispered words of luck and safety, the couple had parted to resume their hunts and still higher Mircea had climbed, certain his Habren would not be far behind and even occasionally guided by her friend, Max, to aid him on his way.

The fifth and final floor found him out of breath and slightly the worse for wear, forcing him to pause and collect himself even as Max wandered off in search of the source of the recent commotion and the bloodied vampires streaming in and out of the building. Once found, Mircea took some time to simply observe the 'boss,' and try to determine what was so special about him. Most of those who he had seen wounded had been afflicted with various bullet wounds and those he had already fought had certainly favoured the ranged weapons and so it seemed that the solution was to deny this man the opportunity to make use of his favoured strategies and force him into a close-quarters fight where he could not hope to match the sheer strength and experience of the old soldier. He and Max even took a few moments to talk, the little wraith confessing that his mistress sent him to keep an eye on her husband and so, knowing how she worried, Mircea had set the wraith up where he could safely see all that would soon happen and report back to Habren that he was indeed safe and well when it was done.

Of course, the effectiveness of a surprise attack could not be underestimated and so it was that the vampire set his rifle at his shoulder and stepped around to stand in the doorway of the boss' office, whistling sharply to pull the gangster's attention from his phone call to the immediate danger. No sooner had he looked up with widening eyes than Mircea squeezed the trigger, sending a single bullet roaring forward to knock his opponent back, out of his chair and to the floor, a fair sized hole in his chest, Mircea assumed, but not quite hitting his heart as had been hoped.

He began to step forward to finish things quickly, his rifle slung back around to his back to let his fingers reach for his sword, but the gangster was either hardier than he appeared or had some unseen protection beneath his clothes that let him recover quickly and let off a volley of shots to force Mircea back to the safety of the office's exterior, reconsidering his next move. Deciding what was good for one was good for him, he let off a few shots of his own, forcing the mortal back into hiding behind his desk and giving Mircea time again to enter the room, this time exerting himself a little to lend him speed, but the boss knew his building better than the vampire had managed to scout out in his short walk from stairs to office and so the human slipped from his grip once more, escaping the confines of the office through the door Mircea had entered from.

With a snarl voicing the beginnings of his frustration, Mircea clenched one hand and then swept it forward, grasping the room's existing shadows and forcing them to expand and rush his would-be victim, engulfing the human in a complete darkness that left him stumbling blindly into furniture in the room beyond and providing his attacker with a rough location, even if he could see no more clearly through the darkness, he let off another couple of shots in the general direction of the disturbance he had heard and was rewarded by another grunt of pain that announced at least one had found its target.

Gritting his teeth, Mircea swept his hand in front of him again, this time imitating a swing of his sword with the clenched fist and shaping the shadows into sharpened edges capable of causing true, physical damage, but already the gangster had managed to stumble out into the light beyond the blanket and avoid the harm that had once killed the vampire so many years ago.

Perhaps it was his dislike of using the power to wield darkness as a weapon and eliciting such memories within his mind, or perhaps it was simple frustration that the mortal simply refused to die as he should, but whatever the cause, Mircea felt a sudden rush of strength come upon him, muscles shifting and growing unnaturally beneath his flesh and straining his shirt beyond its ability to contain him, ripping at the shoulders and arms as he moved forward. Stooping down to grasp the fallen form by the collar of his expensive, tailored, bloodied suit in one hand and a leg in the other and simply lifted him clear of the floor, spinning slightly as he did and releasing the higher of his two grips to let the man swing in front of him for a few feet only to be stopped dead by the wall Mircea had aimed him at. Plaster cracked and bones audibly snapped, but it wasn't yet enough and the vampire reversed his course, dragging his victim across the floor before his speed picked up enough to again drag him clear and launch him across the space to crash heavily into the wall opposite, a satisfied snarl following the movement.

Again he followed in, expecting to confirm that the limp form on the floor had succumbed to his mortality and would no longer provide an annoyance and distraction to the man's evenings. Still, the human would not learn either his place or his fate, though, and had the gall to send a flash of a silver-edged blade at his face, forcing lightning-fast reactions to bring him barely a hair's breadth out of the way and retaliate with his own. His arms crossed across his chest as the blade continued to come at him and he continued to move, just dodging each attack to give him the second or two to draw his own blades from their sheaths, bringing them to bear in unison when his arms unfolded one more and leaving two neat, deep, parallel lines of crimson to open up one below the other across the gangster's throat, severing his windpipe, jugular, carotid and voice box all at once and finally forcing the man to slump and bleed out, his life ending quickly, if not painlessly.

Still, he had put up a fight and so Mircea at least took the time to gently close his eyes in death. It was then that he noticed the item around the man's neck; a curious trinket, for sure, and not something he would have expected a man such as this to possess. He could all but feel the power radiating from it, suggesting that it had been this, perhaps, that gave the dead man the strength to achieve all he had and survive for so long against so many. Curious, Mircea plucked it from the chain it resided on and threaded it instead on the leather strip around his own neck for later inspection. Between himself and Habren, they were sure to determine its origin and purpose before too long passed.

And so it was that the Godfather had fallen. It was only a matter of time before his sons and daughters of the gun realised he was no more and made their own way in life.

At least those who had survived the curiosity of the old man...