(Fic) I write too much
Post-camp, Pyramid in Buffy's world. Inspired by the last line and by some of the essaying Ken and I were doing. Shorter than the last one!
The attack had gone badly almost from the start.
What the three of them had believed to be a simple vampire nest had quickly become something far, far worse. They had penetrated deep into the lair - an abandoned warehouse - before they had realized something was awry, and only Omi’s vigilance had allowed them time to fend off the first furious assault. Now after four successive ambushes, they stood in a tight circle, back to back and surrounded by snarling vampires. It seemed neither side was willing to make the next move.
The stalemate was not to last. From behind a stack of crates, three figures stepped into view, robed and hooded in black. They moved in eerie synchronicity, and Francescu’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the lines of sorcery that bound them to each other, foci for the power of a greater whole. The leftmost barked a guttural command and the circle of vampires burst inward, even as the three warlocks raised their hands.
The room dissolved into chaos, snapping fangs set against claw and dart and spell. A vampire lunged inward at Omi, but Ken was instantly there, tackling the creature bodily with an inarticulate battle-cry. Another charged Francescu, who incinerated it with a gesture. But enormous power was gathering around the warlocks, and Francescu turned to face them, drawing on his own sorcery and preparing to take their spell on his wards.
But then one of the three collapsed, a crossbow bolt sprouting from one dead-black eye, and Ken swept past Francescu to eviscerate a second with a sweep of his claws. The remaining enemy was no match for the sorcerer’s power; pale light washed across him, stealing the vitality from his flesh and leaving behind cold, dead stone. Francescu felt a smile spread across his face, an expression mirrored by his companions, and the vampires quailed back from them as they turned.
The enemy had no chance; they were outnumbered, twenty to three.
The attack had gone badly almost from the start.
What the three of them had believed to be a simple vampire nest had quickly become something far, far worse. They had penetrated deep into the lair - an abandoned warehouse - before they had realized something was awry, and only Omi’s vigilance had allowed them time to fend off the first furious assault. Now after four successive ambushes, they stood in a tight circle, back to back and surrounded by snarling vampires. It seemed neither side was willing to make the next move.
The stalemate was not to last. From behind a stack of crates, three figures stepped into view, robed and hooded in black. They moved in eerie synchronicity, and Francescu’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the lines of sorcery that bound them to each other, foci for the power of a greater whole. The leftmost barked a guttural command and the circle of vampires burst inward, even as the three warlocks raised their hands.
The room dissolved into chaos, snapping fangs set against claw and dart and spell. A vampire lunged inward at Omi, but Ken was instantly there, tackling the creature bodily with an inarticulate battle-cry. Another charged Francescu, who incinerated it with a gesture. But enormous power was gathering around the warlocks, and Francescu turned to face them, drawing on his own sorcery and preparing to take their spell on his wards.
But then one of the three collapsed, a crossbow bolt sprouting from one dead-black eye, and Ken swept past Francescu to eviscerate a second with a sweep of his claws. The remaining enemy was no match for the sorcerer’s power; pale light washed across him, stealing the vitality from his flesh and leaving behind cold, dead stone. Francescu felt a smile spread across his face, an expression mirrored by his companions, and the vampires quailed back from them as they turned.
The enemy had no chance; they were outnumbered, twenty to three.