"Until the day I die, I'll fight you freaks," Abelard Adewale shouted, and the tall, burly young Nigerian man boldly swung his fist, and connected with the jawline of the pale-skinned man before him. Tall and slim, with alabaster skin and reddish brown hair, the dark-clad man did not even flinch, but instead carelessly, almost casually, took the brunt of the hit. It had little to no effect on him, of course.
"That's your problem, son, you're not fighting freaks, you're fighting the Undead," said the Pale Man, and he grabbed Abelard, shook him like a rag doll, then sank his fangs into his neck. Abelard struggled mightily against the unstoppable force that gripped him, but to no avail. The Vampire's fangs sank deep into him, drawing out his precious blood, and then leeching it away before replacing it with an unnatural poison...
"I'm not your son, you patronizing piece of shit," Abelard bellowed, right before he swooned, weakened by blood loss. The Pale Man stood over the fallen body of his latest victim, and licked his lips with a tongue far longer than it ought to be. Satisfied, he bent down and reached for the young Nigerian man's neck, intent on snapping it to prevent reanimation. A sleek hand gripped his fist, putting a stop to his effort.
"Raul, don't slay this one, he'll make an excellent acolyte," said a feminine voice, and the Pale Man, who wasn't accustomed to being addressed by his real name, or having his hand gripped by a hand stronger than steel, actually froze. Raul, the aforementioned Pale Man, turned to face she who had dared to lay a hand on his person. Even though he'd quit breathing ages ago, and stopped being a person in the true sense, there were things he would simply not tolerate...
"Samira, you forget your place, this annoying upstart Negro is my kill," Raul said, fangs bared, and the figure facing him stared at him impassively through eyes that were solid black. Tall and curvy, with dark bronze skin and long, curly black hair, Samira was just as lovely now as she'd once been, back when she'd been a mortal woman in the environs of Mount Liban, during Lebanon's French colonial days.
"Raul, you forget whom you're speaking to," Samira said, and she actually tut-tutted him, to his everlasting annoyance and anger. Raul faced Samira, man to woman, monster to monster. Samira smiled, revealing pearly, unnaturally white teeth that would have made any dentist proud, and what she did next was so unexpected that Raul, for his centuries of experience among the Undead, didn't even see it coming.
"Argh," Raul gasped, as Samira lashed out at him with sleek fingernails which extended into wicked claws, digging into his chest. In one smooth move, Samira ripped out Raul's non-beating heart, and held it before the ancient Vampire's astonished face before he turned to dust. Samira smiled with smug self-satisfaction before turning her attention to the slumbering human body that lay before her.
"You got no idea what you're in for," Samira told Abelard Adewale's sleeping form, before gathering him into her arms. With her burden in her arms, Samira took off at a rate of speed that few beings would ever achieve. Moving in an almost cartoonish manner, Samira crossed the distance between the Donkor Hills and Port Harcourt, where a boat awaited.
"Welcome aboard ma'am," said a tall, burly and dark-skinned man whom Samira recognized as Ibrahim, Captain of the Eja Shaki. Samira smiled at the man, bowed her head gently and then handed her burden to his shipmates. Two young Nigerian men grabbed Abelard and took his still sleeping form below deck. Without further ado, the ship sailed away from Port Harcourt under cover of night.
"Game, set and match," Samira said to herself as she went below deck, to the sun proof box in which she traveled. It contained a mattress, and a few other items that would ensure her comfort during the daylight hours. Since time immemorial, Vampires used their access to wealth to ensure the loyalty of mortal men, thus enabling them to move about in the mortal world largely undetected.
