“I am somewhere between Riverside and the Rainbow River,” Charles said. “Okay, that’s not the river’s name, but with all the chemical runoff, most people around here will at least recognize the nickname.” The camera panned around a stark, industrial street lined with blocky buildings in drab, solid colors. Sprayed almost randomly along the walls were splotches of graffiti of varying artistic talent. Other patches showed where older vandalism had been painted over. “I suppose this area is part of the docks, but I didn’t realize they ran this far south. I kinda thought Riverside was, well, beside the river.” Looking back up the road, the towering forms of the housing project still loomed within the thick black smoke clogging the sky. Turning the opposite direction, Charles paused.

“I’m not sure how well it’s showing up on the camera, but there’s some kind of iridescence in the air. You can probably see the end of the haze there. That can’t be natural.”

Over the river, the cloud of smoke ended, cut off as though with a knife in a sharp line. Beyond, the sky was a deep, clear blue. A slight shimmer filled the air, shifting colors like light through a soap bubble. Subtle and indistinct, it was swallowed up by the smoke, only to reemerge when the breeze shifted the pall.

“What is that?” Charles asked.

“A barrier to keep the zone separate from the outside world,” a voice said. Charles turned to look at the speaker. The man squatted on the lip of the roof of a primer gray cinderblock structure that had been defaced by multiple gang tags. His limbs and trunk were long and thin. His face was drawn and gray. His hair was short and disheveled by the breeze. His clothes were battered and stained with blood. He was trying to smile through pursed lips, and his piercing gaze had an unsettling quality to it.

“Who are you?”

“I am Doctor Gardener, erstwhile savior of the underserved.”

“Okay,” Charles said, hesitantly.

“You need not introduce yourself. I have seen your videos, and I am disappointed.”

“Disappointed how?”

“You have become something more, yet you refuse to embrace it. Instead, you cling desperately to a past which has mistreated you.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Neither did I, once. I came to this part of the city thinking I could save these people from the institutions which had been stacked against them. I sought only to lift them up from this nightmare realm which I believed had been imposed upon them.”

“And?” Charles asked.

“And they spat in my face. Sometimes literally. They had no interest in my offerings, only in the carnal satisfactions and crass materialism from which I’d come to uplift them. I offered them salvation and they mocked me. ME!”

Charles made an uncertain noise, trying to formulate a response.

“Then the plague came, and I was enlightened.” Gardener rose to his full height. His arms, legs and torso were longer than his clothes had been cut form giving his a lanky, even gangly build. The gray of his skin was closer to that of the concrete than a sickly pallor. His fingers ended in hardened talons, and his teeth were sharp and serrated. “Those who choose ignorance and squalor are no different to the zobie, shambling aimlessly through their lives seeking to satiate base needs and abandoning and pretext of higher thought. They exist to serve as prey for us, the hunter.”

“Uhh… you’re a ghoul,” Charles said. If Gardener heard, he didn’t appear to notice.

“And when those outside wished to end our hunt, I had to lock them out.” Gardener gestured towards the sky.

“Our?” Charles asked.

“Yes,” Gardener said. “Those who were chosen to be Children of Xolotl.” He spread his arms wide, motioning towards the other gray-skinned figures emerging from alleyways and around corners, encircling Charles. Their elongated limbs and bodies made them all taller than Charles, though they probably weighed no more than he did. Their clothes were cut for a human physique and came up short on arms, legs, and midriffs. They were all stained and splattered with blood. They grinned with serrated teeth and hungry eyes.

Charles bolted for the only gap in their encirclement. Gardener hopped down from the roof, bounding after Charles on all fours as soon as he hit the pavement. His followers did likewise, their beast-like gaits easily pacing Charles as he ran. The only woman in the group leapt on the side of a chain link fence then hurled herself at Charles. He ducked under the arc of her leap and darted to the side to avoid a lunge from another of his pursuers. Darting down an alley, Charles tried to gain some distance. Breaths ragged, he glanced over his shoulder at the two directly behind him, almost missing the four that tried to clode off the end of the alley in front of him.

Dropping one shoulder, Charles plowed into the midriff of one of the ghouls, bowling over the gangly man and charging on. Talons raked at his cape, tearing rents in the fabric, but failing to grip it. Darting to the left and right, Charles couldn’t find a path past his pursuers down either direction on 1st Street, and had to bolt down another alley. The ghouls bounded atop dumpsters and along fire escapes to try to get ahead of the vampire. Charles fought to move faster, his lungs huffing with every frenzied pump of his legs.

A brick wall rose up before him, bare of windows below the third floor. Ghouls scrambled into alleyways to either side, cutting off his escape routes. The only option Charles’ eyes fell upon was the gray doors into the building proper. He was startled when the handle turned easily and the doors swung open. Skidding to a stop, he realized that there was no salvation to be found within.

The room had once been a gymnasium, the lacquered wooden floor and bleachers announced as much. What it was now was a cross between a slaughterhouse and a shrine. Gnawed, cracked bones were stacked in the corners or in heaps along the walls. Intact bones were sculpted into effigies and icons of inhuman forms lining a processional way to a bone-festooned pyramid of gym equipment. Atop this structure was what had to be the primary cult figure, a grotequery of bone and dried sinews wearing a headdress of fingers and blades. Everywhere, there were stains of dried blood. The fresher splotches and recently deposited bones dripped writhing maggots and clouds of flies filled the air. Perched before the altar was Doctor Gardener.

The clang of steel punctuated the sealing of the entryway behind Charles.

“Your inexperience in the hunt is obvious,” Gardener said, “As we were able to drive you exactly where I wished you to be.”

“So it seems,” Charles said, gaze darting between the seven ghouls with him in the gym turned temple. “I don’t usually get chased by people who are out of their minds.”

“Are we though?” Gardener asked. “Are you not the one who has been blessed with power you avoid, and a nature you fight against with every meal? The beasts upon which you were meant to subsist are the same which we hunt. But now you needn’t worry, for we shall answer the prayer for failed to make.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are truly a blessing to us, for your flesh renews. We merely need to repay it in blood. Blood which we would otherwise let go to waste. You are truly an infinite feast.”

Gardener grinned, and Charles drew his sword. Laughing, Gardener scooped up a length of steel pipe and hopped down. Charles turned about, trying to keep his length of blade between him and all seven of his opponants. At some secret signal, all seven surged forward at once. Gardener’s pipe came down on Charle’s sword arm as the other six siezed whatever part of the vampire they could get their hands upon. Bey weight of numbers, the six bore Charles to the ground, binding his wrists and ankles. Bending down out of view of the camera, Gardener rose again with Charles’ sword in hand.

“I expected more of a fight,” Gardener said. “Whatever you do, don’t kill him.” He strolled back towards the altar, placing the sword in the hands of one of the bone effigies. Some of the others began wandering away. The female ghoul tugged on Charles’ mask until she found a way to pull the hood off of his head.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she said, “They look delicious.” She smirked at the reaction she got. “Zeke – Doctor Gardener – really is a genius. You should listen more to what he has to say.” She stroked Charles’ cheek, though the look in her eyes was of feral hunger, not tenderness. It was Charles who bit first, sinking his fangs into the ghoul’s wrist. The bite drew sqeals of protest and rivulets of blood. The others turned back as she tore herself free. “You son of a-” bleep, she said, cradling her bleeding wrist. Charles rose from the floor, going from prone to upright without use of his limbs.

Bleep, Gardener said, “Get him, before he-”

Charles snapped the steel cables with which he’d been bound, his eyes glowing blood red. With a backhanded fist across the cheek, he sent one of the ghouls sprawling. As the others surged towards Charles, they appeared to slow down as he continued to move at normal speed. The omnicam sped up its frame rate as Charles put on a burst of speed, ducking, blocking, punching, and throwing the ghouls, he sent them scattering. Despite his alacrity, Charles failed to avoid Gardener’s pipe, which struck his jaw with a thwack and spun the vampire about. Ducking the return swing, Charles put some distance between himself and the cult leader.

Despite the slow motion recording, Gardener’s words could still be made out.

“Rip him limb from limb,” he said as his underlings picked themselves off the floor. Snatching up whatever weapons were within reach, the ghouls charged. Charles grabbed his sword from the effigy in time to block a femur with his forearm. Bone snapped, sending shards flying as the omnicam’s frame rate sped up again. Charles drove his sword deep in the ghoul’s chest, drawing a spurt of thick ichor. Tugging the blade free, he spun out of the way to let the body fall towards the floor. The scene became a ballet of blood as Charles parried and wove between blades and bludgeons to strike at his assailants. The sword sliced through thin limbs and necks, painting the air with glittering globs of scarlet.

The distortion of the audio stole the impact from the crunch of bone or the his of parting flesh, but the ruin left in the sword’s wake was evident in the falling bodies. Bone was bad enough, but steel on steel was more than the former leaf spring could take. It shattered as Charles tried to parry the pipe. Part of the edge was left in the club, but the bulk of the blade tumbled over Gardener’s shoulder. The pipe cracked across Charles’ skull so hard it bent. Staggering back, the vampire shook his head to try to clear it, but the ghoul was already lunging again.

Grabbing Gardener with both fists, Charles ripped. The ghoul’s eyes widened as his head tore away from his shoulders. An arc of gleaming crimson orbs appeared to hang in the air as Charles hurled the ghoul’s corpse and cranium in different directions. That extended instant ended as the camera resumed normal time and the blood splattered the grotesque altar.

Gasping down air, Charles looked about him. There was nothing but carnage and corpses, none of which persisted in moving.

* * *

The video started with Charles in his button-down shirt in front of his wall of cardboard. Though his shirt was neat and spotless, his face was tired and drawn. His eyes were red, save for the inner ring of his irises, which remained green. Stubble had grown on the sides of his head, but he’d kept his face clean shaven. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m not sure how long the previous video is going to stay up. Might even get my whole channel canned just for putting it up. Still, I had to let people judge for themselves what I did. Some of those ghouls were undead. Others…” Charles visibly steadied himself. “I acted entirely in self defense, though the District Attorney hasn’t decided if he’s going to press charges or not. The Community Fund is treating me as persona non grata, because you’re not supposed to do that under their system. I was never actually admitted, so it’s not as if I swore not to kill and broke that oath. It’s just…” Charles looked down at his hands, which were shaking. Balling them into fists, he buried them in his lap. “I only got a mouthful of blood. As I mentioned, quantity effects duration. My powers ran out almost as soon as the bodies hit the floor. It’s not like I could keep that up indefinitely, I had to end it as quickly and definitively as possible. But-”

Charles said.

“People are asserting that Gardener’s order not to kill me when they had me bound hand and foot means I wasn’t permitted to use deadly force. They’re ignoring the fact that he changed his mind right quick when I was no longer trussed up like a roast turkey. Still… not a day has gone by where I don’t relive every moment of that awful battle. I close my eyes and I’m haunted by the memory of ripping a man’s head off with my bare hands.” He held up said hands, which were still shaking. He dropped them back into his lap and took a moment to regain his composure.

“After the cult was… was dead, the magic users outside the cordon were able to undermine their barrier. Martin Van der Veen has already expressed interest in discussing that operation, and what we found at the cult hideout. Assuming I’m not in court, and still have a channel. But, that’s for another video. The authorities have begun clearing the zone block by block. Riverside catching fire meant that containment was no longer a viable political option. It’s… ugly out there. No one is really sure how many people are dead. There’s still a chance the infection will break the cordon, even with all of the precautions being taken. Every person they find is going into individual quarantine. I don’t know what they’re doing with those who refuse or resist, and I’m afraid to ask.”

There was a visible cut, though little changed in the video frame.

“I am going to have to apologize to Dennis. The ghouls ripped your original cape to shreds. I’ve been pricing replacements. But it may be a while before I splurge on something like that. Once the zone is clear, my job with the city ends, and I’ll have to find something else. Even if I don’t lose this channel, I don’t know how many viewers will stick around once the crisis has passed. I do have a lead on something. One of the local stations has enquired if I’d be interested in cohosting their late night movie shows. Apparently it shows public domain horror movies, or something along those lines. I might give that a shot. I mean, my notoriety is one of the few things I’ve got to bank on.”

Charles gave a wan smile.

“In more immediate good news, the guy who made my original sword is still in the business, and he’s had more practice since then.”

Picking up a blade from out of frame, he held it up so that the camera picked up the wood-grain pattern in the steel. The crossguard had a skull and bat wing motif, and the grip was wrapped in dark red leather.

“I think you guys can see it, but isn’t that a beautiful pattern? He has even started making videos of his work, and has a special on making this sword in particular.” Charles put the blade down. “I’ll link to those videos in the description. Check out his work, it’s even more amazing than I remember.”

Charles thought for a moment.

“Ah, well, I think I’ll sign off now, until there are more developments.”

Reaching forward, he turned off the camera.