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Chapter 79: The Bloody Massacre III
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Every kill spoke of hate, shredding them apart, and when they finally managed to disarm his sword, Blade did nothing but leap back for a split second before jumping back in.
But this time, he had two daggers that would soon prove to be even more destructive.
The truck, guided by Alice, never slowed. It swerved around fallen trees and craters, its heavy frame crushing vampires that stumbled under its wheels.
The battle was a brutal symphony of prepared science versus ancient evil.
Silver and garlic were chemical weapons. UV light was area denial. Sonic disruptors were crowd control. Decapitation and staking were the final, messy cleanup.
Tony's repulsors and Adam's force-augmented weapons provided the sheer, destructive power to turn supernatural resilience into dust.
For minutes that felt like hours, the roof of the truck was a charnel house. Dust piled up only to be blown away.
Ichor stained the white armor black. The air reeked of flesh, burnt undead flesh, and the cloying sweetness of decay.
Finally, a momentary lull. The immediate, frenzied wave had been broken. The road behind was littered with dissolving forms and small fires.
The forest to either side seemed quieter, the crimson eyes holding back, watching from deeper shadows.
The truck rolled on. On the roof, Tony's armor was scored with deep claw marks, one repulsor emitter sputtering.
Adam's Null suit hissed, venting heat from its overworked systems, one mechanical arm hanging limply, its servo crushed by a vampire's superhuman grip.
Blade leaned against the truck's side, hanging by, breathing heavily, wiping black blood from his daggers. His coat was torn, but his eyes still burned with fierce light.
They had survived the first assault. They had moved the convoy forward.
But Blade lifted his head, his Dhampir senses stretching out.
He smelled colder, older, more patient hunger moving through the trees, flanking them, preparing for the next rush... More filth.
"Catch your breath," He rasped, reloading a cartridge of silver shards into a forearm launcher. "They're not done."
The brief respite was a lie. The silence that followed the first wave's slaughter wasn't retreat; it was an intake of breath before a scream.
Adam knew it. They were too close. They were quickly approaching Dracula's sanctum. The next wave wouldn't be any gentler, only harsher.
It came not as a surge, but as an eruption.
From the treetops, from the ground itself, from behind rocky outcrops, they launched.
These were not the ragged foot soldiers. These wore remnants of finery; tarnished chainmail over rotting velvet, Napoleonic officer coats caked in grave dirt, the occasional sleek modern combat gear.
Their eyes burned with a colder, more intelligent crimson. They moved with a terrifying synchronicity, a pack mentality honed over centuries.
The first sign of the escalation was the impact. A vampire in a rusted cuirass landed on the truck's roof like a meteor.
The armored plating buckled under the blow with a deafening CRUNCH. He was stronger than any vampire they had faced before.
Tony, standing nearby, was thrown off balance. Before he could bring a repulsor to bear, the creature was on him, claws scrabbling against the gold-titanium alloy, scoring deep, shrieking furrows.
Its strength was monstrous, a concentrated ton of undead muscle.
JARVIS's threat assessment spiked crimson in Tony's HUD.
Reaction speeds exceeding baseline predictive models. Kinetic force exceeding Mark II dampener thresholds.
"Okay, new plan!" Tony yelled, repulsors flaring on his feet. He shot vertically into the air, just as another vampire leaped, its claws snagging on his ankle and almost dragging him back down.
He kicked free, leaving shreds of armor behind. He ascended to twenty meters, becoming a hovering gunship.
His repulsors switched from wide dispersal to focused, cutting beams. He snipped a vampire in mid-leap, slicing it in two at the waist.
But from below, others hurled chunks of rock and fallen trees with cannon-like force, forcing him into evasive maneuvers.
This was no longer a ground brawl; it was aerial denial under artillery fire. The vampires they were facing seemed smarter, not just foot soldiers.
On the roof, Adam became the eye of the storm. His six mechanical arms were a blur of violence and destruction.
But now, when a vampire clad in moth-eaten samurai armor closed in with katana-speed, Adam didn't block. He knew better.
The force behind the swing was enormous; he didn't want to face all of that directly, so despite being surprised by the variety in Dracula's army, he still responded swiftly.
Envy: Brittle.
The curse, invisible and instant, settled on the vampire's outstretched arm, or rather, the sword held by the vampire.
As Adam's vibro-blade met the creature's own decaying sword, the ancient steel succumbed; it shattered, and the curse traveled up the limb.
The vampire's own supernatural strength, turned against it, caused the bones in its arm to snap like dry twigs.
It stumbled, shrieking in confused agony, and a second arm with a pneumatic spike punched through its chest cavity.
Another, a hulking brute with the build of a blacksmith, charged through a hail of silver mist from the truck's emitters, its skin sizzling but its momentum unbridled.
Adam met its charge, and as its claw descended…
Envy: Slow.
The world certainly didn't freeze for the creature, for Adam's curses weren't yet so strong, but its perception did.
Its lightning-fast swipe became a languid, dreamlike arc.
Adam's mechanical arm, tipped with a circular saw blade, had all the time in the world to rev up and meet the claw.
There was a spray of black ichor and severed digits. A follow-up blast from an arm-mounted micro-missile launcher, loaded with phosphorous-silver charges, blew the staggered brute into a walking bonfire.
Blade was in the thick of it on the ground, having abandoned the truck to meet the onslaught head-on.
He was a dervish of silver and wood, but the elite vampires pressed him. They used tactics, flanking him.
One scored a deep gash across his back with a rusty sabre. Another landed a kick that sent him skidding across the rocky road, his ribs cracking audibly.
But Blade only snarled, the pain a familiar companion. His Dhampir physiology knitted the flesh, set the bones with a sickening pop he ignored.
He spat blood; his own, this time; and launched back into the fray, his movements fueled by pure, furious will.
He was here for the purge, and he wasn't about to be deterred.
Adam, seeing the pressure on his ally, acted. A vampire was about to sink its fangs into Blade's exposed back from behind.
Envy: Stupefy, Slow, Brittle.
The vampire's thinking seemingly dissolved into a vacant, drooling stupor. It seems that the intent to attack Blade was still there, but the vampire was still confused, hesitant, and slow.
Blade, sensing the opening, spun and drove his stake through its heart without breaking stride, dusting it before its mind could clear.
'Thanks for the assist...' If Blade's eyes could speak, that's what they would've said, but he was too busy and exhausted to speak, and he was not stopping.
"The truck!" Adam commanded through the comms, his voice strained but clear. "We clear a path. Now!"
He unleashed his Technopathy at its fullest. The truck's engine roared, not just from fuel, but from Adam's Mechanical Force flooding its systems, enhancing its power output, reinforcing its frame.
Tires bit into dirt, and it surged forward like a battering ram.
Adam leaped from the roof, his mechanical arms propelling him in a long, powerful arc over the advancing line of elite vampires.
He landed in a crouch thirty meters ahead, directly in the path of the densest part of the undead wall.
His arrival was announced with brutality. One mechanical arm snapped forward, its tip opening to unleash a continuous, searing laser that cut a horizontal line through three charging vampires, bisecting them at the waist.
Another arm launched a cluster of grenades; explosives are useful, but the grenades weren't that.
Normal grenades are too inefficient in comparison to the nets of woven silver filament that entangled a group, their flesh burning where it touched.
But they kept coming. One, moving with the grace of a dancer and the speed of a striking asp, slipped under his defenses.
Its claws raked across his torso armor, gouging deep. Adam frowned, feeling the impact through the suit.
He didn't step back, however, as a third mechanical arm, ending in a heavy, spiked crush-gauntlet, swung around and clamped onto the vampire's head.
There was a wet, pulping SQUELCH as the skull collapsed like a rotten gourd. He discarded the dissolving body.
Ahh, god did that feel good. Adam couldn't help but smile, licking his lips.
Oh, how much he looked forward to visiting hell, so many demons there to massacre, including Mephisto. It will be orgasmic, he knows it.
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