Betrayed

As Kyle continued downtown, now over Harlem, he dipped closer to the ground, using his vampire vision to zoom in on the details below. He grinned wider.

His spreading of the Bubonic Plague has really worked. Pandemonium and chaos ruled. Those pathetic little humans were scrambling every which way, racing their cars the wrong way down one-way streets, arguing with each other, looting stores. He could see that most humans were covered in the horrible sores indicative of the plague. He could also see the corpses, already piled high on nearly every street corner. It was Armageddon down there. And nothing made him happier.

It would only be a matter of days until every human in the city fell. At that point, Kyle and his men could easily wipe out the rest of them. They would feed as they had never fed before. And then would enslave the rest of the human race.

The only small obstacle that remained in his way was the White Coven, those pathetic vampires who fed only on animals, who thought they were better than everyone else. Yes, they would try. But they would be no match for the Sword. When he finished with the humans, he would wipe them out next.

First, and most importantly, he would take back his place in his own coven. And he would do it brutally. Rexius had made a grave mistake in punishing him, Kyle thought, as he reached up and felt the hardening scars all along the side of his face, his horrible fate, his punishment for letting Caitlin slip away. Rexius would pay for each and every one of Kyle’s scars. Rexius was powerful, but now, with the Sword, Kyle’s power was even greater. Kyle would not rest until Rexius lay dead, at his own hand, and until he himself was declared the new supreme leader.

Kyle smiled wide at the thought. Supreme leader. After all these thousands of years. It was what he deserved. It was his destiny.

Kyle and his men flew and flew, over Central Park, over Midtown, over Union Square, over Greenwich Village… and finally, they reached City Hall Park.

Kyle descended gracefully, landing on his feet, and the flock of now hundreds of vampires landed behind him. Kyle’s army had grown beyond belief. What a way to return, he thought.

Kyle was about to head to the gates of City Hall, to crash down its door and begin his war, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Something that bothered him.

Kyle used his vision to zoom in over several blocks, and to look closely at the pandemonium in front of the Brooklyn Bridge. Hundreds of cars were stuck in traffic, jammed up against each other, backlogged in front of the bridge. All wanting to get out.

But the bridge was cordoned off. Blocking the way were several military tanks and trucks, on top of which sat dozens of soldiers, machine guns aimed at the crowd. Clearly, no humans were being allowed off the island of Manhattan. The military must not have wanted the plague to spread. They had probably locked down all the bridges and tunnels.

On the one hand, that was exactly what Kyle had wanted: it made life easier, since all the humans would be trapped in Manhattan, and he could kill them all more easily.

But on the other hand, now that he actually saw it with his own eyes, it made his stomach turn. He hated authority – of any kind. And that included the military. He almost sympathized with the masses of humans, clamoring to get off the island. They were being stopped by authority figures. Kyle’s veins burned at the thought.

At the same time, a new idea came to him. Why not let some humans off the island? In fact, that would only serve his purpose. They would spread the plague further. To Brooklyn, to start. Yes, that could be very convenient indeed.

Kyle suddenly lifted back into the air, flying towards the base of the Brooklyn Bridge. Immediately, the hundreds of vampires followed him, on his heels.

Good, he thought. They were loyal and obedient, and they didn’t ask questions. This would be a very convenient army indeed.

Kyle landed at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge, setting down on the hood of a car, and the hundreds of vampires landed on cars behind him, the sound of their boots click-clacking as they touched down.

Car horns suddenly flared up. It seemed the humans didn’t like people walking on their cars.

A new rage washed over Kyle, as he thought of the ingratitude of these pathetic humans, blaring their horns as he had come to help them.

Standing on the hood of a Saab SUV, blaring its horn at him, he stopped. He had been about to jump down, to deal with the military, but instead, he slowly turned and looked down through the windshield, at the family glaring up at him.

It was a typical pгеррy family. In the front seat sat the husband and wife, 40s, and behind them, their two kids. The husband rolled down his window, and reached out and shook his fist at Kyle.

“Get the fuck off of my hood!” the man screamed.

Kyle, standing on the hood, got down on one knee, reached back, and thrust his fist through the windshield. He grabbed the man by his Polo collar, and in one motion, yanked him towards him, right through the windshield. Glass shattered everywhere, as the screams of the man’s wife and children lit up the night.

Kyle stood on the hood, grinning, lifting the man, holding him up high over his head.

The man was whimpering and crying, head covered in blood from the shattered glass.

Kyle reached back, and with a wide grin, tossed the man through the air like a paper airplane. The man went flying, hundreds of feet, and landed somewhere back there in the traffic, on the hood of some other car. Dead, Kyle hoped.

Kyle got back to business. He jumped off the car, and trotted towards the huge tanks blocking the bridge. Behind him, he could feel his hundreds of soldiers following suit.

As Kyle approached, all of the soldiers tensed up. Several of them raised their machine guns and pointed them at him.

There was a perimeter of no cars or people a good hundred feet away from the tanks, one which no one seemed willing to cross.

But Kyle happily crossed the line, walking right into the open space, right towards the tank.

“Freeze!” a soldier yelled through a megaphone. “Do NOT come any further! We WILL shoot on sight!”

Kyle smiled wider as he kept marching, right towards the tank.

“I said FREEZE!” the soldier screamed again. “This is your LAST warning! There is a curfew in effect. We have orders to fire on anyone at night!”

Kyle grinned even wider.

“I own the night,” he answered.

Kyle continued towards them, and suddenly, they opened fire. Dozens and dozens of soldiers fired their machine guns right at Kyle and his men.

Kyle felt the pain of all the bullets ricocheting off him. One after the other, they all bounced off his chest and arms and head and legs. They felt like raindrops, but stronger. He smiled at the thought of these pathetic human weapons.

Kyle saw the horrified expressions on the soldiers’ faces, as they began to realize that he was unfazed. They clearly couldn’t fathom how he was still walking. Or how any of his followers were, too.

But they didn’t have time to react. Kyle walked right up to the closest tank, got under it, placed both hands under the treads, and with superhuman strength, lifted it way above his head. He walked several feet, carrying the tank above his head, and came to the railing of the bridge. Several soldiers, off balance, fell off the tank as he walked. But dozens of others clung to it, grabbing hold of the metal, trying to hold on at any cost.

Big mistake.

Kyle took three running steps, hoisted the tank back, and threw it for all he was worth.

The tank went flying through the air, dozens of feet, clearing the railing’s edge.

It was airborne over the Brooklyn Bridge, plummeting down hundreds of feet towards the river. The tank turned and turned, and soldiers screamed as they fell off of it, plummeting. It finally hit the water with a massive splash.

Suddenly, the traffic jam came to life. Without any hesitation, the anxious New Yorkers stepped on the gas, and their cars sped through the now-open lane onto the bridge. Within seconds, hundreds of cars were racing out of Manhattan. Kyle looked at their faces as they went, and could see that many were already infected with the plague.

Kyle grinned wide. This was going to be a beautiful night.

Three

Samantha watched the massive double doors open up before her, creaking as they went, and felt a pit in her stomach. She walked into her leader’s chambers, accompanied by several vampire guards. They were not restraining her – they would never dare – but they did accompany her closely, and the message was clear. She was still one of them, but she was under house arrest, at least until she’d had this meeting with Rexius. He summoned her as a soldier, but he was also summoning her as a prisoner.

The doors closed with a crash behind her, and she saw that the huge chamber was filled. She had not seen a turnout like this in years. There were hundreds of her fellow vampires in the room. Clearly, they all wanted to watch, to know the news, what had happened with the Sword. How she had let it slip away.

Most of all, they likely wanted to see her punished. They knew that Rexius was an unforgiving leader, and that even the smallest mistake demanded punishment. A transgression of this magnitude would demand an extravagant punishment.

Samantha knew that. She was not trying to escape her fate. She had accepted a mission, and she had failed. She had found the Sword, yes, but she had also lost it. She had allowed Kyle and Sergei to steal it out from under her.