Stuck in the dark, dank of a basement, I am being trained by a slayer to become one of his kind. One week ago I was in a different dark and dank basement just about to become one of the Undead when the slayer burst in and rescued my bedraggled, befuddled self. Did I thank him? I started to until I realized that he had been like a shadow I could not shake for a week or two- he had lured the vamp by using me as bait and that did not sit well with me. So, after he unties me and helps me up from the slab that was about to become my final resting place, what do I do? I punch him, square in the jaw.
The slayer had rubbed his slightly swollen face and then tossed his head back and brayed laughter for about five solid minutes. Great Scott! I had thought to myself at the time. Here I stand in the dark of some strange basement, the metallic smell of newly spilled evil and foul blood hanging thickly in the air around me and the man who has killed that creature is laughing! What the hell kind of nightmare have I stumbled into.
Fast forward to now- the slayer is training me. Apparently, there is something that draws the vamps to me, and something that makes me a natural to being a slayer. Okay, a natural if I ever get over the urge to herp up my lunch every time I think of that black, noxious blood oozing out of those soulless bodies. Yep, nothing like being dubbed the Nightpuker or some other stupid comical, comic book sounding name. The slayer that was training me was himself known in his circle as “The Knightslayer” or simply just Slayer. Painfully original, no?
He has fought back a smile a time or two; I seem to amuse him when I am not
astronomically pissing him off. He has suggested that letting the vamp feast on me might not have been such a bad idea after all. He has mentioned that he would like to sit me on my fanny a few times. There have even been a few moments where he has wondered off, muttering under his breath in words I could only dare imagine.
I struggle to focus, the more time I spend with him, the more important it becomes for me to please him. When did that happen? He tells me to take my stance and I do, swallowing hard as I stare directly into his eyes. His next command is to lunge toward him, which I do, cursing the heavy sword that comes between us. I lift it, and take the swing, shocked as always by my own insane speed. I catch my slayer ( and for the life of me, I don't know when he got that designation either.) and watch as a trickle of blood slips down his arm. Mortified, I drop the blade and grasp his newly injured arm.
“I am so sorry.” I say quietly, my hands trembling as I gauge the extent of the damage.
“Only doing what I have been training you for, silly” He smiles gently and my heart flips over. “Now you see it?”
“See what?” I am still puzzling over the way that I am feeling.
“The reason you are being so hastily trained. No one has ever left a mark on me. No one. The vampires have never even so much as touched me and you half assed your way through your training, daydreaming and whatever the hell else you were doing, and you make contact.”
I smile a little bit, and then lunge forward once again, catching him completely off guard again. No weapon this time, only my lips. Looking back, the slayer may have preferred fending off the sword.
