I've renamed the thread to reflect it better. As these tales come to me I'll add more of them, hopefully showing some more of Hunters long life. While these current ones are epic fights, I will add some that are less combat oriented later. Your comments and criticisms are most welcome.

It Ends Tonight

I decided to delve into Hunters past and write up one of his many adventures. Please read and review.

Hunter dashed down the alleyway, ripping the crossbow bolt from his shoulder. It stung like hell, and he cursed himself for his overconfidence. He knew full well that Matthias had learnt of his vulnerability to wood, and would equip his men accordingly. For the past twenty years Matthias and his band of madmen had followed him across Europe, from England to Romania. They’d even burnt down the mansion he’d had in Transylvania for over a century. It ends tonight.

With a powerful leap he was up on the rooftops and swiftly circled round to the inn he was staying in. He stayed low to avoid being spotted. Matthias was on his horse in the village square, holding a torch. Next to him were two men with crossbows, one of which had shot him earlier. Spreading out through the village the rest of his men, all armed with wooden clubs, were searching for him. Silently he slipped into his room through the window. He retrieved his sword, and was belting it on when two of Matthias’ men burst into the room.

Moving before either could react he rushed them, slamming them out into the corridor wall. Tossing one aside he extended his fangs and tore into the other’s next, ripping out the jugular and drinking the blood. The first man got to his feet, shouting for help. Hunter tossed aside the corpse and turned. The man held his club in front of him in a defensive stance. Smiling wickedly Hunter walked down the corridor, exerting his will. His eyes bored into the others mind, causing him to relax, and lower his club. He stood their passively as Hunter sank his fangs into his neck. So engrossed in his meal Hunter failed to notice the three men who had come up the stairs.

“Simon!” one of them shouted, and the three of them charged. Hunter spun round, knocking Simon to the floor, his sword materialising in his hand. In one fluid motion he knocked the first man’s club aside, swung back, slashing his throat, and then drove the sword point between the ribs of the second, piercing his heart. The third man swung his club, which Hunter blocked with his forearm, grimacing with pain. Grabbing the club he pulled it out, exposing the man’s arm, which he then severed. Crying out in pain the man fell back, clutching at the bloody stump.

“Oh come now,” Hunter chided, “Matthias didn’t make nearly as much noise when I cut his arm off. I’ll even give you your club back.” He held the club out, handle first. The man ignored it, weeping in agony. “I only give those who fight me a quick death,” Hunter told him coldly, as he grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet, “You’re pathetic, and because of that you are going to die slowly and painfully.” With three quick slashes he severed the man’s remaining limbs and dropped him to the floor, leaving him howling in agony.

*****

The inn. Matthias had suspected that the bastard would house himself there. He could hear the sound of fighting inside. There was no use in sending more men in, in an enclosed space they could not bring their numbers to bare, and their enemy’s superior strength and speed would be best utilised.

“Gregory,” he called to one of his men, “set the building ablaze.”

“But sir, there are people in there,” the man protested.

“In housing that monster they brought death to themselves anyway.” Matthias spat back, “Better they die than he live.”

Reluctantly agreeing the men took their torches and threw them through the window. A few of them threw theirs up onto the roof, and soon the whole building was on fine. Matthias allowed himself a small smile, watching as the flames flickered about the inn.

*****

The smell of burning wood reached his nose, and he realised that Matthias had set the inn on fire. Rushing to his window he leapt out, landing in the street below. Walking around the burning inn he entered the village square, his chin and sword dripping with blood.

“I’ve had enough of your interference Matthias,” Hunter shouted, “This ends, tonight.”

“Agreed,” Matthias shot back, “neither of us flees tonight.”

“To the death,” Hunter smiled, “your death.” With that he sprinted forward. The crossbowmen fired, but he rolled to one side and was then amongst the rest. A dozen men with clubs were swinging at him, but he moved with a liquid grace, unmatched by any human opponent. Weaving through them he parried and dodged blows, while slashing out in response. Decapitating two men he felt a blow to the ribs as a club caught him. There was an audible snap as one of his ribs broke. Reversing his sword he stabbed then man behind him and turned, using his corpse to block two crossbow bolts. Wrenching his sword free he fixed his gaze on one of the crossbowmen, while still defending himself from the clubs.

*****

Matthias saw Gregory turn to face Lucas. Too late he realised that Hunter had him under his sway as Gregory shot Lucas through the next. Grabbing his pistol Matthias shot Gregory before he could do any more damage.

He paused, staring at the smoking weapon. His obsession for revenge had just made him shoot a man in cold blood. Moments before he had set an inn full of innocent people on fire. In his pursuit of the monster he had become one himself, sacrificing the innocent for his own goal. How had he let this happen?

*****

With the crossbowmen dealt with Hunter from defence to offence. He stabbed a man through the chest, leaving his sword embedded there as he caught and broke another’s arm, then threw him into two more, before pulling his sword free and throwing himself into the rest. Smashing their clubs aside he slashed both across the throat, a spray of blood hitting him. Revelling in the slaughter he turned to the two who had been knocked down by their injured comrade.

****

“Stop!” Matthias called out, dismounting from his horse. Hunter paused, breathing heavily, “You two, take James and leave, now. I should never have brought you into this, any of you. Leave, and don’t come back.”

“But we can help you!” one of them insisted.

“No you can’t,” Matthias told him wearily, “all you can do is die for me, now go.”

Reluctantly the three of them left and Matthias turned to Hunter. “I want you to promise me something. Promise me you won’t go after them.”

“Is that your last request?” Hunter asked, licking blood from his lips.

“Yes,” Matthias consented, “too many have died in my pursuit of you.” Far too many. He would honour his pledge to finish this tonight. He knew that the chances of him defeating Hunter in single combat were next to none, but he would not ask anyone else to die fighting for his vengeance.

“They I shall let them go, on one condition. You tell me why you’ve hunted me all these years?”

“You mean you don’t know!” Matthias raged. He devoted twenty years of his life to trying to kill Hunter and the bastard didn’t even know why!

“No,” replied Hunter calmly, “I always assumed that I’d killed someone close to you, but I don’t know for sure.”

“You don’t remember killing all my family and friends?” Matthias shouted in disbelief, “the woman I loved!”

“I’ve killed a lot of people in my time,” Hunter explained, “you’ll need to be more specific.”

“A wedding, twenty three years ago, at Ely Cathedral,” Matthias said, fighting to hold back his tears. The memory flooded back to him. He was waiting by the alter, beside him best friend Adam. The music started and then she entered. She had never look more beautiful. As she walked down the isle the rest of the cathedral seemed to melt away. She stood opposite him, and the priest cleared his throat to begin when the doors slammed shut.

There he stood, Hunter Antonescu. He did not know the man’s name at the time, but he was splendidly dressed in an expensive suit. His uncle stepped forward asking why he was here, and Hunter reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder with a gentle smile. Then with a flick of his wrist he grabbed and broke the man’s neck. Immediately his brother and father along with several friends rose and closed in on Hunter, while everyone else ran to get away from him, only to fins all the doors barred.

He placed himself in front of Elizabeth, who was rooted to the spot, ready to defend her with his life. Looking on in horror he saw Hunter tear through his friends and family with contemptuous ease. Stalking down the isle, his arms drenched in blood, he approached them. Matthias swung at him, but Hunter caught his wrist and hurled him into a confession booth where he passed out.

Waking he saw a scene that has haunted his nightmares ever since. The broken bodies of his friends and family were scattered about the cathedral. Looking toward the alter he saw Elizabeth, still standing there, splattered in blood. Hunter was stalking around her slowly, taking her in from all angles.

Lifting her veil his traced his bloody fingers across her face leaving red streaks. Tears flowed freely down her face as he drew her to him and slowly sank his teeth into her neck. Matthias tried to move, to help her, but was paralysed by the pain. He was left with no choice but to watch as Hunter slowly drain the life from him beautiful bride.

“I was to marry Elizabeth,” he told Hunter, “the most beautiful woman that I have ever met. Then you came. You’d already barred the other doors, so when you came in and sealed the door behind you there was no where to run. My uncle George was the first to approach you, and you broke his neck like a twig. At that point most of the guests panicked and tried to flee, but a few of the men went to fight you, including me. You shattered us, throwing me into a confession booth, and then proceeded to butcher the rest. I was still just conscious when I saw you take Elizabeth. You had saved her till last, and you…” His voice began to give.

*****

“I drained her slowly,” Hunter finished, “savouring every last drop. Yes, I remember now.” He was merely passing through Ely when he spotted that some event was going on in the cathedral. Walking up to it he heard the sounds of a wedding coming from inside. It had been sometime since he had enjoyed a true bloodbath and gorged himself. As he was planning to leave England soon anyway this seemed the perfect opportunity.

Swiftly barring the doors he entered and slaughtered them all. He saved the bride till last, slowly drinking her blood, and savouring every sweet drop. “I thought that you were all dead.”

“No, I survived, and killing you became my only reason to live, to avenge Elizabeth.” Taking a deep breath he drew his sword and advanced.

“Seeing as you only have one arm I’ll keep my left arm behind my back,” said Hunter, “You’ve been one of the greatest foe I have faced to date, you deserve that much.”

Matthias lunged, but Hunter stepped back, knocking the sword aside. Matthias pressed his attack, slashing and swiping, but Hunter dodged around the blade, before lashing out, scoring a deep cut across Matthias’ chest. Staggering back Matthias readied his sword waiting for Hunter to press the advantage, but instead he circled, waiting. Matthias attacked again, his sword flashing in the firelight form the inn. Hunter effortlessly deflected the attacks, giving ground until his back was against a wall. Then he slashed Matthias’ thigh, circling away. Limping back Matthias held his sword in a defensive posture. Hunter then moved in to attack, Matthias barely blocking, being driven back against the wall. Then he saw an opening.

Lunging Matthias drove his sword between the bones of Hunter’s forearm. But instead of pulling back, Hunter pressed forward, driving the sword deeper, but forcing it aside. With only one arm Matthias could not push him back, and was powerless as hunter whispered in his ear, “Goodbye, my old nemesis,” before tearing his throat out with his teeth. Hunter drained Matthias before removing his sword from his arm. The wound would heal in a few hours, but his rib would take weeks. Taking Matthias’ horse he rode on towards the next town. He was meant to meet someone there about a certain duke that they we're willing to pay handsomely to have removed...

After talking to Emerald I've come up with this, Hunter's encounter with the original Wolfman. Please read and review.

The Wolfman

Hunter was closing on the target. He caught wind of this creature almost a month ago, and been tracking it ever since. It hadn’t been hard to follow. The beast left a bloody trail of slaughter in its wake. Having faced no challenge in the one hundred and twenty years he’d lived he looked forward to squaring off against something that could actually threaten him. He was so close now, his enhanced hearing could hear sounds of it gorging on something.

As he listened the sounds changed. The eating sounds were replaced by the sound of bones cracking and muscles contorting, then mutterings. “Oh my god,” came a voice. It was speaking German, but Hunter was fluent, along with several other European languages. “Not again, not again,” the voice began repeating over and over.

*****

Dieter crawled back away from the carnage. Carnage wrought by his own hand. When he reached the wall he clutched his knees to his chest and began weeping. God was punishing him. He had had those lustful thoughts towards the maiden, and in doing so, God had unleashed the daemon within. It had killed all those people, before subsiding and letting him back in control.

Dieter had forgotten how many times he’d sinned and it had unleashed the daemon. It had all begun in his own village. Herrick had been courting Sascha, a woman that he himself desired. His jealously let the daemon out, and it slaughtered half the village, including his parents and Sascha. At least his little sister, Valda, had been spared.

He left the village after that, making his way across Germany and into France. He had tried to control his sinful nature, but whenever he failed the daemon wrought havoc. It had happened once more, at the cost of many lives. If only he had the courage to take his own life, but among his other faults Dieter was a coward, so he simply at there in the alley crying over the cruel punishment God had given him.

*****

His curiosity overcame him and he walked around the corner. The sight was not dissimilar to some of his handiwork. About a dozen people had been brutally dismembered and scattered about this alley. Blood was everywhere, along with body parts. As best he could make out at the victims contained at least two small children, three men and a woman. The others were all too badly mauled to tell. The only thing moving in the alley was a young man, dressed in rags, hugging his knees to his chest and murmuring to himself.

“You there,” Hunter called out in German, “what has happened here? What did this?” The man ignored him and continued his ramblings. Hunter went too him and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. “I asked you a question peasant, what did this.”

The man looked up slowly. His face was gaunt, with sunken, golden eyes. “I beg of you my lord, kill me. Please.”

Hunter was stunned by the request, and released the man’s shoulders. “Kill you?” he asked.

“Kill me!” the man pleaded, tears streaming down his face, “Kill me before I kill others!”

Hunter smiled a wicked smile. “You did this didn’t you?” The man nodded. “You’re the monster that has carved its way across Germany and half of France.” More nodding and weeping. “How?”

The question froze the man. “There is a daemon within me,” he replied after a long pause.

“And how does it get out?”

“When I sin,” the man sobbed.

“When you sin?” Hunter was confused, how could he get this man to sin and trigger the transformation.

“God punishes my sins by unleashing the daemon,” the man wailed.

Sins. Since discovering his abilities Hunter had paid little attention to religion. Especially since discovering his immortality, since he need not fear judgement as he will never die. However, he was fairly certain that anger was a sin. “Tell me, have you any family?”

The man seemed puzzled by the question, but answered. “Aye lord, a sister.”

“And where does she live?”

“Back in my village, in germany.”

“Would that be where the daemon was set lose first?”

“Yes,” said the man, breaking into tears again.

“Good, now I can find her and kill her.” This statement shocked the man into silence. “For you see, I am a daemon.” He extended his fangs, which glistened in the moonlight.

*****

Dieter was frozen in terror. He’d never faced a daemon before, despite having one inside him. First he was gripped with terror, but soon rage over came him. This daemon would not touch Valda.

“Abomination!” the he cried, staggering to his feet. “I shan’t let you!” He lunged for the daemon, who caught his wrist and flung him into a wall.

“You can’t stop me,” the daemon said, with an evil smile on its lips. Dieter’s rage reached its peak as he climbed to his feet. He realised too late that the daemon within was stirring. Franticly he tried to suppress it, to contain it. But it was too powerful and he began to convulse. His began to bulk out, his muscles bulging. Course black hair ran across his body, and his nails extended to claws. His face extended outwards, the teeth extending to dagger like points.

The daemon was lose

*****

Hunter roared in satisfaction as he drew his sword and charged. The beast moved quicker then he expected, batting him aside and knocking him flying down the alley. Hunter hit the ground hard, but rolled back to his feet in a fluid motion. His opponent was already moving, bounding after him. Realising the danger of being knocked into one of the wooden buildings and seriously injured he sprinted out of the village, the creature right on his heels.

Once clear of the buildings his spun around, slashing the creature across the muzzle with his sword. However, it kept coming and barrelled him over. Pinned under its bulk Hunter couldn’t use his sword, so scrabbled for the dagger in his belt. Just as he reached the hilt the creature bit into his shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain. He plunged the dagger into the beast’s stomach, causing it to rear up in pain.

Hunter used the gap to roll away, swiftly getting to his feet. His shoulder throbbed where the creature had bitten him, but it would heal in an hour or so. The beast charged again but he was ready this time, sidestepping and slashing its flank. With remarkable speed the creature whirled round and caught him with its forelimb, knocking him back thirty feet and into a fence. His back screamed with agony from the impact and the splinters of wood embedded in him.

The beast advanced cautiously as Hunter regained his feet. A swipe of his sword caused the creature to pull back. The pair of them circled, looking for an opening, Hunter found one, and fainting left he dove right, driving his sword between the creature’s ribs. Howling in pain the beast leapt on his, wrenching the sword from his grasp and snapping it on the ground, embedding the blade further in its chest.

He shielded his face with his arms as the creature clawed at him, tearing his forearms and chest to bloody ribbons. But the sword had found its mark and the attacks slowed, before finally stopping as the creature collapsed on him. For a while Hunter just lay there, exhausted.

He had been overconfident, and had that las strike missed he would likely be dead now. Rolling the beast off his he staggered to his feet to see a crowd of people gathered around. They began cheering, and it took him a while to realise they were cheering for him.

A girl of about sixteen came forward thanking him for slaying the monster that had plagued their village. Hunter smiled at her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He drew her to him slowly, as if to embrace her. Then his fangs extended and plunged into her neck. She gasped in surprise and the crowd froze in horror as he began to drain her.

A man, presumably her father, stepped forward to pull her from him, but he reached out and effortlessly broke the man’s neck. The crowd fled in panic and shut themselves up in their homes.

Hunter drained the young girl dry before tossing her lifeless corpse aside. He could already feel his wounds healing, except for his back. Walking back into the village he went to the stables and selected a horse. Mounting it he rode towards a nearby town. He needed someone to dig the splinters out of his back and a new sword. Having heard about a sword master near by who was supposedly the best in Europe Hunter decided to go and pay him a visit.

They're great, however, I would have liked to see more emotion and description from the victims--Matthias and the Wolfman--as to his wedding and the horrors you committed and the Wolfman's crimes... Maybe even his transformation.

But that's just me (I'm a sucker for detail). Overall they're great!

I'll go over them at some point giving them a view from both sides, as opposed to just Hunter's.

Nice, noticed a couple of spelling mistakes but I always do when reading stuff ;D having 4 centuaries to look back on must give you quite alot of room for many more stories like these (hint, hint)

Origin

Hunter had finally reached the farm. The walk had been exhausting, and he leaned against a gate post to catch his breath. He felt embarrassed, knowing that most boys his age could probably run form his home to the farm and back, where as here he was, winded like an old man.

“Hey Hunter,” a voice called to him, “You come to collect the milk?” His friend Bogden made his way down to the gate. Despite being the same age as Hunter Bogden was almost a head taller, and a good size broader. While Hunter wasn’t skinny, he wasn’t the biggest of boys and was dwarfed by Bogden’s size. Still breathing heavily Hunter could only nod.

“Well just wait here then,” said Bogden with a smile, “I’ll bring them down.” Gasping his tanks Hunter slumped to the ground as Bogden headed back up towards the farm. He returned a short while later with a big metal container of milk. Setting it down by the gate Bogden extended a hand to help Hunter to his feet.

“Thanks,” said Hunter as he reached for the handles, but Bogden beat him to it and hefted up the container.

“Allow me,” he said, “I’m headed home anyway and your hose is on the way.” That wasn’t strictly true, as there was a short cut he could have taken that would cut off about half an hours walk. Hunter didn’t object, as he knew it would take him three times as long to bring the milk back.

“I own you one,” he said, as he and Bogden set off back towards Hunter’s home.

“So when are you going to get your breathing checked?” Bogden asked. For the past two weeks Hunter had been having trouble breathing, which was why he was wheezing after reaching the farm.

“If it’s not improved by the end of the week father will call upon the apothecary,” said Hunter, already beginning to breathe heavily.

Bogden shuddered, “He’s a creepy old git, rather you than me.” The two of them chatted as the walked, or rather Bogden talked and Hunter nodded or shook his head, as he soon became unable to speak from gasping for breath. When Bogden slowed to allow Hunter to get his breath back Hunter waved him on, determined not to slow them down.

Reaching his home Hunter motioned for Bogden to set the milk down by the door as he collapsed on the grass, gasping for air. Setting his burden down Bogden sat by his friend and waited for him to recover. Finally regaining his breath Hunter sat up and patted his friend on the shoulder. “You’d best be off, the sun will set soon.”

Casting a glance skyward Bogden grunted his agreement and stood up. Hunter rose with him, offering his thanks again for carrying the milk, and then waved to his friend as Bogden headed home. Turning back Hunter picked up the milk and headed inside.

“There you are,” his mother said, bustling about their small kitchen, “we were beginning to wonder if you’d be back before sun down. Go and set the milk down in the pantry, dinner’s almost ready.”

Breathing heavily once again Hunter hefted the big container into the pantry and returned to the table. Sitting down he sniffed the air, smelling the wonderful aromas of his mother’s cooking. She was a tall, thin woman, with a kindly face. Her long hair was tied back as she prepared the evening meal. There was the heavy thud of boots as his father entered. Hunter’s father was of average height, but very well muscled. His mother, who was almost as tall as his father, looked so frail by comparison.

“Did you get the milk?” he asked. Hunter nodded. “Did you carry it home?”

Hunter hung his head answering, “Bogden offered to carry it for me.”

“So you’re breathing’s no better?” asked his father as he took a seat at the head of the small table. Hunter shook his head. “Looks like you’ll have to see the apothecary then.” Hunter let out a groan, to which his father held his hands up and said, “I said I’d give it till the end of the week, so you’ve got three more days to improve.”

Hunter raised his head and smiled at his father as his mother began to serve up. It was a simple meal of vegetable stew with crusty bread, but it was still delicious. They ate in silence, all enjoying the good food. Once they were finished his mother cleared away the dishes.

“You’d best get some rest,” Hunter’s father told him. Hunter didn’t argue, as he knew he was right, so rose from the table, kissed his mother goodnight and went into his small room. Stripping off his day clothes he put on a night shirt and collapsed onto the straw pallet that served as his bed.

That night his had fitful dreams. In his mind he saw everything through a red haze. He sought the beat, the pulse of things around him. Sensing a pulse he moved closer, seeking to find its source. Locating it, he pounced.

Hunter snapped upright. He was drenched in sweat and breathing rapidly. Slowing his breathing he looked around, not knowing for a moment where he was. Finally identifying his room he relaxed. The echoes of the dream still reverberated around his mind as he lay back down. He spent a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering if sleep would ever claim him, until eventually his drifted off.

Two days later Hunter was sent to the farm again, this time to collect eggs. His breathing was no better, in fact it had gotten a little worse, but he set off on the long trek regardless. This time he was forced to stop about halfway to collapse by the side of the road and catch his breath. When he finally reached the farm he leant against the gatepost wheezing and looking around for someone.

With no one in sight he forced himself towards the farm house to go and collect the eggs. Half way up the path he could no longer breathe. Gasping for air he sank to his knees sucking in breath after breath to no avail. His vision narrowed to a small tunnel with the farmhouse, not a hundred feet from him, at its centre. He dragged himself forward a little before finally passing out.

Red. Blood red. He only saw red. A beat. He snapped his head to the right. Another. Another. A steady pulse. He moved towards the beat. A wall. Between him and the beat. Too weak to break. His head moved to and fro. Opening. He moved to the opening. The beat. He stepped towards the beat. It quickened. He closed on the beat. It was racing. He lunged.

Bogden had been told to go and collect the eggs from the hen house as the Antonescu’s would be looking to collect some today. He wondered if Hunter would manage the trip, or if his mother or father would come to collect the eggs instead. As he wondered past the cattle shed he heard a commotion from within. All save one of the cows were out in the fields. Daisy had been unwell, so was in the cow shed. Curious he approached and stuck his head round the door. What he saw made his heart skip a beat. “Hunter…?”

Drink. Breathe. Satisfied. No. Need more. A beat. He span round. There. Pulse. Racing. Lunge. Overpower. Bite. Drink. Breath. Drink. Breathe. Hunter gasped, sucking in a huge lung full of air. The feel of it invigorated him, so he took another long, deep breathe. He felt something warm and wet on his chin. Curiously he pressed his fingers against it and looked at what it was.

Blood. The sight of it alone shocked him. He hastily wiped his chin, but could still taste its metallic tang in his mouth. It was then he realised he was sitting on something. Hesitantly he looked down. Bogden! Hunter sprang up off his friend, appalled by what had happened. Bogden’s throat had been torn out. The sight made Hunter want to vomit. Turning around, so he didn’t have to look upon his friend he was greeted with another terrible sight. A cow lay motionless on the floor, its throat shredded. Hunter staggered back from the animal, only to trip over Bogden’s body. Scrambling to his feet he did the only thing he could think of. He ran.

Fleeing the farm he ran through the woods, running and running, trying to get away from the scene back at the cattle shed. But no matter how far he fled he could not outrun the memory. The sight and smell of it was vivid in his mind, and so he kept running. Finally, when he was so deep in the woods that he didn’t know where he was, he stopped.

Tears ran down his face as he wept for what he had done. Sinking to all fours he began to vomit violently. Having emptied his stomach he sat with his back to a tree and cried, choking sobs escaping his throat. He didn’t know how long he had sat there crying, but he was finally brought out of it be a man’s voice.

“Well well,” came a deep gruff voice, “what do we have here.”

Starting to his feet Hunter looked at the two men. The one who had spoken was a huge bear of a man, Hunter barely cam up to his chest. If the first one was a bear the other was a rat, a little shorter than Hunter and very skinny. The bear held a big axe in his huge fists while the rat twirled a knife in each hand.

“He’s trespassing on our land,” whined the rat from behind the bear, “he’s gotta pay.”

“Too right he has,” the bear growled in agreement, “so boy, what do you have to pay us with?”

“Please sir,” Hunter stammered, backing up to the tree, “I’m just a poor peasant. I didn’t know this was your land. I’m sorry, please leave me be and I promise to leave and never return again.”

“But if we let you go then we’d have everyone thinking we were soft, and that they could stroll through our territory and get away with an apology,” came a third, and far more menacing voice, “So I’m afraid we’ll need to make an example of you.”

From around the tree stepped the third, and by far the most sinister figure. Bigger than Hunter, but not as big as the bear this man had a look in his eye that showed him to be the leader of the three. A wicked looking curved sword hung from his belt, and by the way his fingers rested on the hilt he looked like he knew how to use it. Hunter had met the wolf.

“If you can’t pay us, we’ll just have to take your head,” the wolf explained with a wicked grin, “We’ll mount it on a pike at the edge of our territory so others won’t make the same mistake.”

That was too much for Hunter, and he bolted. The rat moved faster though and tripped the boy, sending him sprawling. Before he could get up the bear grabbed the back of his shirt and lifted him bodily from the floor. Holding Hunter up the bear drew back his axe in preparation to cut off the boy’s head. In panic Hunter struck out with a fist catching the bear on the jaw.

The crack of bone was audible as the bear’s jaw broke under Hunter’s first. Crying out in pain the big man dropped Hunter and staggered back. Landing lightly on his feet Hunter just stared in amazement, first at the bear, then his fist, then back to the bear again.

Hearing a growl behind him Hunter span around to see the wolf’s hand going for his sword. Instinctively he lashed out, catching the wolf in the chest before he could draw his sword. The breaking of the wolf’s ribs was clearly heard as the force of the blow knocked him off his feet. He landed heavily, and didn’t rise.

The sound of steel moving through the air caused Hunter to turn to the rat. He saw the knife flying through the air and raised his hand to block. The blade hit the palm of his right hand, sliding between the bones and stopping a hairs breadth from his face. Hunter cried out, but more in alarm than pain. In truth, the wound didn’t really hurt, it just stung a little.

Turning his hand over he grabbed the hilt of the dagger and pulled it out of his hand. He watched in amazement as a scab quickly formed over the wound. Looking back up he saw the rat running. Stunned by what had happened Hunter looked around. The bear was unconscious, but the rise and fall of his chest could clearly be seen, unlike the wolf, who was motionless.

Absentmindedly tucking the dagger into his belt Hunter quickly walked away, not wanting to be around when the Bear awoke. He was replaying what had just happened. Three unarmed men had just been beaten by a single unarmed boy, who had breathing problems.

Had. Hunter took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs. He could breath, and easily. Now he thought back he had been breathing easily since… since he killed Bogden. Hunter stopped suddenly as the memory came flooding back. Bogden, lying there lifeless with his throat torn out. Hunter, with blood on his lips. It was too much, all too much. Hunter snak to the forest floor and began to cry.

I'm unhappy with Origin at the moment, so am going to redo it. I'll leave it up for now, but hope to change it soon.

I have put up the beginnings of a new revised version of Origin as well as the next bit of Witch Hunter. Please feel free to comment in this thread and keep your eye's open for more to come in Origin and Witch Hunter.

Great work! Wonderfully written, and with an enthralling pace, I agree with Ted: keep them coming. Though it would be great if at some point more information about the women, and the religious order I presume she’s working for and how she knew about your allergy to wood could come through.

Posted up the next part of Origin and Witch Hunter

Hmm...I need to look up this Witch Hunter order *smiles devilishly*

*cringes* Wow..... nicely written Hunter. Very descriptive.... *winces again* lol

Updated Origin and Witch Hunter.

Due to the length I’m forced to split this story into two posts.

Witch Hunter

Hunter stood atop the tower of the nunnery with his arms crossed over his chest and looked down on the assembled sisters. While many were old and decrepit, there were plenty of young, vibrant women for him to feast on. Grinning savagely he cast about for someone that took his fancy. He soon found her.

The young woman entered into the garden dressed in a simple novice habit, but it did not hide her shapely figure. He watched as she approached the mother abbess, whispered something to her that even his acute hearing could not pick out but that the mother abbess nodded to, then join the rest of the convent in prayer. Knowing now what he wanted he unfolded his arms, looked at her once more, and then stepped off the tower.

Landing heavily on the tailed roof of the cloister with the audible cracking of slate under his feet he swiftly leapt off and down onto the ground. All the sisters were looking at him with expressions of shock. That would soon change. Hunter casually strode over to the mother abbess.

“What is the meaning of this outrage!” the woman demanded with a look of barely contained fury on her face. Hunter stopped before her and bowed. As he did so he cast about the assembled women, fixing his eyes on his target and blowing her a kiss that the bother abbess could not see.

Rising from his bow he looked the woman in the eye. “Forgive me mother abbess, but I am weary from travelling, and am in search of nourishment.” As he spoke his eyes wondered to the young woman, gliding over the pulsing vain in her neck, before locking eyes with hers. There was something about her hazel eyes that caused his sight to linger on them a moment, before returning to the mother abbess.

“Well,” huffed the mother abbess, “it is customary that those seeking aid approach the gate and knock, not scale the walls and leap into the garden like some sort of lunatic.” Giving him what he assumed she must think a stern gaze and would probably have had nay novice quivering in their habit she waved an arm over to one of the benches. “If you would kindly wait we shall see about feeding you once we have finished our prayers.”

“Actually,” said Hunter in a semi-thoughtful tone, “I’m hungry now.” Moving with supernatural speed the back of his fist connected with the side of the mother abbess’s head which exploded in a shower of blood, bone and brain that splattered the closest nuns. Looking on in disbelief the others simply stared as he stared forward and began to rip his way through them.

His arms lashed out at those around him, breaking limbs and shattering bone, but his eyes never left the young woman’s. She stared defiantly back at him, and unlike the rest of her companions who were now fleeing from the carnage. Reaching her he paused, less than ten feet from her, his eyes locked on hers.

She cast aside her novice habit that revealed underneath a white leather out fit. It covered her completely, save for her hands and her head, and was skin tight. Hanging from her neck was a small, white, wooden cross on a fine silver chain. Around each thigh three pointed wooden stakes of the same white wood as the cross were strapped, and another on each upper arm.

Hunter arched an eyebrow. Now this he had not bee expecting, but it made it much more fun. Grinning savagely at her he said, “You are no nun.” Rather than answer the woman whistled, and from the buildings that surrounded the garden men emerged in white leather all brandishing white wooden clubs. A rough head count came to about twenty. The odds hardly seemed fair, he’d defeated twice that man men armed with swords. Taking a ready stance he let them charge, clubs waving and a war cry escaping their lips.

Blowing the woman another kiss Hunter exploded into action. Spinning he kicked a man in the throat, crushing his windpipe and dropping him. Catching one man by the wrist he snapped it, causing him to drop his club, before Hunter knocked him into two of his companions. Turning to face another he dodged the swing of a club he drove a finger into each eye socket, bursting the man’s eyeballs.

Turning back to the woman he saw she had a stake in each hand. She stabbed at him, but he danced around the while knocking out a man to his left. Grabbing another man he pulled him in front as a shield as the woman lunged for him. The stake went straight through the man’s heart.

Shoving the corpse at the woman he turned back to her man and attacked. Dropping to a crouch he swept his hands forward and around, sweeping the heels from under two men. Continuing the motion round he caught their ankles as they hit the floor and drove them around towards their heads. There was an audible crack as both their legs broke.

Rising to his feet he lashed out with both hands sideways, knocking two men flying. As he did so he felt a sharp pain on the inside of his left forearm. Wincing slightly he spun to see that the woman had extracted herself from her companion. He looked down at his arm, expecting to see a deep gash, but instead only saw a shallow cut. Staring at it in amazement he didn’t see the club coming.

It slammed into his ribs, causing agonising pain to blossom from the impact. Having swords shoved through his ribs had been less painful. The force of the blow drove the breath from his lungs, and his knees gave way as he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes as he tried to draw breath. His ribs were broken, something that had happened before, but this felt so much worse.

He managed to raise his head, to look the woman in the face. She sneered at him, blowing him a mocking kiss before spitting in his face. Looking over hunter’s head to someone behind him she nodded. A club cracked down on his skull, giving him instant, shattering pain, before he mercifully passed out.

*****

He awoke to a dull ache pulsing through his body. After a moment he suddenly realised something was terribly wrong. He hadn’t ached in years. Whatever injuries he had sustained since the fateful day he discovered his powers he healed in a matter of hours at most. He had never woken up feeling anything less than fine.

Sitting up suddenly he winced in pain and lay back down. His throbbing head hurt far worse than he thought it had any right to, and he raised his hands to touch it. It was only then he realised that his hands were bound. Not only that, but had been stripped before being throw into this place, and could feel the cold stone under him. Focusing on the bindings he saw his wrists were tied with rope. Frowning in annoyance he flexed his arms outwards to break his bonds, only to be rewarded with a searing pain in his left side.

Stifling a cry he ceased his efforts and the true nature of his predicament was beginning to sink in. He had been badly injured, and the wounds had yet to heal. The ones who had captured him had him at their mercy, and from the look on the woman’s face before he was knocked unconscious had not a hint of mercy. To still the rising panic he tried to think of why he was still injured.

It must have had something to do with their weapons. They had all carried wooden clubs, save the woman who had her stakes. Wood… Casting his mind back he couldn’t think of a time since gaining his powers when he had been harmed by a wooden object. Could it be that wood was his weakness? In his travels he had heard many stories of ancient heroes, such as Achilles, who were all great and powerful, save for a single flaw. In the case of Achilles it had been his ankle, and a single blow to that weak spot had crippled that otherwise unstoppable champion. Was wood his Achilles heel?

His contemplations were interrupted by a loud clanging sound that made him look up and take note of his surroundings for the first time. He was in a small stone room with no visible windows and a single door. The door was a large wooden thing, iron bound and very sturdy. Light flooded in through the now open doorway, causing him to squint. Framed by the light was a silhouette of the woman.

“Who are you?” he called out to the figure.

“Your end,” came the cold reply. He sat up slowly, his various wounds protesting against the course of action, but his pride would not let him take whatever was going to happen lying down. Two large men entered the room, each bearing a torch that finally illuminated her.

“How did you find me?” he demanded.

Instead of answering she came over and placed a boot on his chest, forcing him painfully onto his back. “How is not important,” she told him, “Why is. You are an abomination, an affront to God. Only by your suffering can you amend for your crimes.”

With a nod to the men both placed their torched in brackets in the walls. On seized his arms and the other his legs. He fought against them, but his wounds had left him weakened and they over powered him. Stretched on his back he could only glower at the woman as she knelt beside him and set a small wooden box on the floor. Opening it she reached into it and held up a wooden splinter about two inches long.

Wordlessly she drove the splinter into his chest, just above his heart. He could not help but cry out as the pain wracked through him. It felt like an iron hot poker had been driven into his chest. Just as the pain was beginning to subside and he was bringing his breathing back under control she stabbed in another splinter. His screams echoed off the walls as he fought with renewed vigour, but his strength had been sapped, and he could not break the grips that kept him pinned. She rammed over two dozen splinters into his chest before finally relenting.

Eventually the screams died away, to be replaced by a sharp, shallow breathing. It felt as if his chest were aflame. He couldn’t catch his breath to curse her, so had to resort to glaring at her, knowing that he was helpless. Taking another splinter she trailed it down his chest, over his stomach and towards his groin.

“How many young girls have you violated?” she asked him. He couldn’t bring himself to answer so she continued, “How many did you rape before killing? Dozens? Hundreds? That’s what you intended to do to me wasn’t it? Well, this if for all those girls.”

With a sharp thrust of her hand she drove the splinter into his penis. The cry that emanated from the cell made all who heard it flinch. All save one. The woman did not so much as bat an eye, instead drawing another splinter and holding it above his groin.

*****

Hunter didn’t know how long it had been since the pain became too much for him to think clearly. There were holes covering his body from where she had driven the splinters. Each one of them burned more fiercely than he would have imagined from such an injury.

He spent a long time just lying there, trying to gather the strength to move. Eventually he pulled himself painfully into a sitting position to see some bread and water. Crawling slowly over to it he grabbed the beaker of water in trembling hands. He had screamed himself hoarse and desperately needed water.

Gulping down half the beaker he forced himself to leave the other half until he had eaten the bread. He tore off small chunks, and chewed slowly, making the meagre meal last. As he finally swallowed the last bite he picked up the beaker in his now steady hands and drank slowly.

As he drank he began to think of how he could escape. He was weakened, so couldn’t hope to fight off all the men. In his present condition he would struggle to take any of them on alone, never mind in numbers. He was fairly certain that all of the ribs on his left side had been broken by the impact of the club. It made breathing painful, but he had to focus on the solution, not the problem.

There was no way he would escape if he could not stand. Finishing the water he set down the beaker and began the arduous task of trying to stand. The task was made all the more difficult as his hands were still bound. Rolling onto his front he pushed himself up with his arms until he was on all fours. Getting just that far had been painful enough, but he knew he had to go further. Slowly he brought one of his legs up until his foot was on the floor. All his wounds screamed at him to stop, to lie down and rest, but he wouldn’t. Placing both hands on his knee he pushed, hauling himself up onto his feet.

He wavered, threatening to topple, but despite the pain and his current weakness he remained standing. Sending one foot forward he took and experimental step forward. The motion almost threw him to the floor, but he caught himself. He took another slow, painful step, and then another, and another. With his ribs screaming in pain and all his splinter wounds burning Hunter slowly began to pace around his cell, circling first one way, and then the other.

He continued to pace until finally he could stand no longer and his knees gave way. Dropping to the floor he allowed himself a grim smile. He wasn’t beaten yet. Rolling onto his back his acute hearing heard someone approaching. Shuffling near to the door he lay motionless with his eyes closed, feigning sleep. A clack was heard as someone slid back the view slit. Hunter remained perfectly still, only the slow rise and fall of his chest showing he was alive.

There was another clack, followed but the grating of a key in the lock and the creak of the hinges as the door swung open. A man entered, not looking at Hunter and instead going towards the plate and beaker. Waiting for the man to step close enough Hunter kicked out with both feet, connecting with the man’s kneecap.

Crying out in man the man dropped to his knees and Hunter rolled to a sitting position. Reaching out with his bound hands he gripped the man’s throat and pulled it towards him. Extending his fangs he plunged them into the man’s neck, drinking up the warm blood. The man tried to struggle, but Hunter was now latched on and wouldn’t let go. He could feel the man weakening as Hunter stole his strength.

Eventually, having drained the man dry he let the corpse drop and lay back. The blood had given him strength, but the exertion had aggravated all of his wounds and he needed to recover before he could press on. He only allowed himself a momentary respite as he knew someone could come along at any moment. Crawling to the door he pulled out the keys and swung it shut. Now anyone passing would have no reason to suspect anything.

Sitting with his back against the door he now rested, gathering his strength. He waited a full fifteen minutes before proceeding to the next stage of his plan. Crawling back to the man he searched the body for anything that may aid his escape. There was a wooden club and a small silver dagger, but nothing else. Taking the dagger he cut his bonds, slicing himself in the process. Next to his other wounds he didn’t even feel the cut.

With his hands finally free he undid the man’s belt and put it around himself. The leather armour he wore would be a poor fit, so Hunter didn’t bother with it. Slipping the dagger and the keys onto the belt he used the club to help get to his feet. Taking a few shaky steps towards the door he paused, listening for any sounds in the corridor beyond.

Satisfied it was empty he slowly opened the door and looked out. The pain in his side flared as he leaded around the doorframe, causing him to wince in pain. He shoved the pain down, focusing on his need to escape. Stepping into the corridor he close the cell door behind him and locked it, attaching the keys to his belt. Gripping the club tightly in both hands he began moving slowly, partly to keep quite and partly because of his injuries, he headed right, where he had head the dead man approach from. His sharp senses detected people up ahead and he pressed his back against the wall, the cool stone doing little to alleviate the burning pain of his wounds, and slid along it towards the corner.

Once close enough he could discern that there were two men around the corner. Retrieving the keys from his belt he gently tossed them out into the line of sight of the two men where they landed with a gentle clink. The conversation between the two men halted and Hunter heard the footsteps of one of them approaching. Remaining as close to the wall as he could he waited until the man stooped for the keys before striking.

Moving from his position he raised the club high above his head and brought it down on the stooped man with as much force as he could muster. The handle jarred his hands painfully as the club smashed into the man’s head, causing him to crumple to the floor. Dropping the club he yanked the knife from his belt and flung it at the other guard who was advancing on him. The blade caught him in the throat, cutting off any cry of alarm, and the man collapsed.

Hunter froze for a moment, waiting to see if he had been heard. When satisfied that no one was coming he allow himself to sink to his knees. The exertion of killing the two men had been agonising, and he needed time to recuperate. Knowing that time was against him he grabbed the closest man and tried to speed his recovery. Extending his fangs he bit into the unconscious man’s neck and drank deeply. After draining that man he rolled the corpse aside and crawled over to the other. Pulling the dagger from the man’s throat he replaced it with his lips and drank up, recovering his strength.

Draining the two men had sped up his recovery and, while his wounds were still troublesome, he now had the strength to continue. Returning the knife to his belt he grabbed a club, forced himself to his feet, and pressed on. Soon enough he reached a spiral stair case. Not seeking to fight on the stairs, where his opponent would have an advantage of height, he strained to sense if anyone was coming down. Detecting nothing he began to climb. In his weakened condition lifting his feet to climb the stairs was a monumental task.

Despite his pain and weariness he did not stop in his climb. The blood from the men gave him enough strength to make it to the top. Pausing only briefly to recover he looked out beyond. He seemed to have emerged in a church of some description. He could only see one person, and they had their back to him. Beyond them he could see the doors, his way out. With only one more person between him and the exit Hunter could almost taste freedom. Padding forward silently he raised the club above his head.

He heard the twang of a bowstring, but knew that he would not be able to move aside in time. The bolt pierced between the bones of both forearms, pinning him to the wall. Howling in pain he dropped the club as the woman stalked over to him. As she approached she pulled out another bolt and loaded the crossbow. The bolt was made of the same white wood as the clubs and her stakes, and ended in a sharp point, with no metal head.

Reaching him, she looked him up and down. He was naked save for a belt, and pinned to the wall by both arms. Briefly he struggled to free either his arms from the bolt, or the bolt form the wall, but the pain was too much. Giving up, he stared into her cold fury of her eyes before he cracked him on the side of the head with the butt of the crossbow and everything went black.

*****

It had been almost three days since his escape attempt. He’d lost count of how many times she had tortured him since then, but it no longer mattered. His breathing was coming in laboured gasps. Soon it wouldn’t come at all and it would all be over. He would have the sweet release of death.

Faintly he heard the turning of a key in the lock and the door swinging open, but it didn’t matter now. He felt rather than saw the woman enter. She would torture him again, but he didn’t care. As usual two men pinned his arms and legs, but instead of the burning pain of the splinters another man grabbed his mouth, forcing it open.

Holding up the bowl she was carrying to his lips she poured the contents into his mouth. He drank instinctively, feeling the strength return to him. Only when he had finished did he realise what she had done. “NO!” he raged, and began to struggle in the men’s grip, but even with the blood she had given him, he did not have enough strength to break free.

“Did you think I would just let you die?” she asked, “You must suffer for your crimes, and as you have a long list of crimes your suffering will be equally long. You will only die when I say so.” With that the men holding him threw him into the corner of his cell and the left, locking the door behind them.

In his corner Hunter wept openly. There was no end. He had no freedom, not even the freedom to die when he chose. She had complete control, and had made her intentions very clear. Were it possible to will yourself dead Hunter would have, but he could not, nor did he have sufficient strength left in his limbs to kill himself. Instead he would suffer for as long as she decreed necessary. He had never felt so afraid and helpless.

All he knew was pain. He didn’t know how long the session had been going on, nor how many sessions he had had since his capture. The pain overwhelmed his mind. At that moment he wanted nothing more than for the pain to stop. He looked into the eyes of the man who pinned his arms, silently pleading with him to make it stop, one way or another.

“That’s enough,” said the man, “if you keep pushing you’ll kill him.”

The woman glared at him, and opened her moth as if to reprimand him, but didn’t. Instead she turned back to Hunter and seemed to regard him for a moment. Rather than answer she roughly pulled the splinters out, threw them in the box, slammed down the lid and stormed from the room.

While the pain had not gone, it had diminished, and Hunter could think again. He watched the men leave his cell, focusing on the one who had put a stop to his torture. Had the man heard his pleas? In the delirium of pain he wasn’t sure if he’d said them aloud or not. Even if he had said it aloud why should than make them stop? He still hurt too much to think clearly and abandoned any attempt to work out what had happened and instead lay there, taking the opportunity to let his body rest.

In the next session, when he thought that the pain would tear him apart, he once again gazed into the man holding his arms, the same man as before, and pleaded with him to make it stop.

“Enough,” the man said.

The woman looked ready to strike him for speaking, but rather than argue the point she withdrew the splinters and left. Hunter just lay there, letting the pain fade to the dull burn that was always there and focusing on the man who had stopped the torture once again. Just before the man left the cell he turned to look back at Hunter, then shut and locked the door.

And so it went on for a time, whenever Hunter thought the pain was too much, he would stare into the man’s eyes and beg for it to stop. Every time the man would halt the torture, and allow Hunter to rest. Over time Hunter became curious as to how he was doing this, and sought to test it. One day, when the man brought him food Hunter locked eyes with him and begged for another chunk of bread. The man left, and Hunter ate and drank what little he had been given, but a few minutes later the man returned with more bread.

Over the next few days Hunter began testing to see what he could get the man to do, and it seemed that any request that he thought of strongly enough the man would see to. In his mind Hunter began to formulate a plan to escape, and used the opening minutes of each session, before the pain become too much to think through, to gaze into the man’s eyes and telling him with his thoughts of how he intended to escape. Over time Hunter managed to place his plan in the man’s mind.

Finally, when he was sure the man knew what to do, he put his plan into action. The two men and the woman had entered his cell. While the men pinned his legs the woman set down he box and was opening it. Hunter stared into the man’s eyes and thought only one word, and put all his thought into it.

NOW!

The man released his hands and swung out. He backhanded the woman with a blow strong enough to knock her across the room and into the wall. The other man was immobilised with shock, and Hunter’s ally took advantage, pulling the knife from his belt and slitting the man’s throat. Grabbing the body he pulled it towards Hunter and placed the immortal’s lips to the wound. Hunter drank, gulping down the blood and feeling some modicum of strength return.

When he had finished his ally tossed aside the corpse before picking up Hunter in his powerful arms. The man who was helping Hunter was large, and powerfully built. He was the biggest man Hunter had seen since his capture. Carrying Hunter he swiftly exited the cell. Knowing that he would need at least one hand free to fight he slung Hunter over his left shoulder, gripping his club in his right hand.

Making his way swiftly down the corridor he had only one desire. Get Hunter to safety. Rounding the corner the two guards stared at him in surprise. Taking advantage of their hesitation he smashed the skull of on, before driving his club into the stomach of another. With the wind knocked out of the man he drove his knee up into the man’s face, dropping him.

Pressing on he alighted the stairs and emerged in the church. Rather than try to make his way past the guards and out the main entrance he slipped around to a side door that he knew of. Pulling a key from his belt he unlocked it and quietly opened the door. Beyond it was a single guard. In one smooth motion he pulled open the door and smashed his club down on the guard’s head. Pausing to see if anyone had been alerted by his actions he dashed off into the country side, heading for the nearest village.

He had already made arrangements, at Hunter’s silent bidding, and there would be a cart waiting for him there. Before reaching the village however he stopped at an abandoned farmstead. Inside was a blanket he had put there, which he wrapped Hunter in. Hunter gazed into the man’s eyes, instilling him with urgency. Picking Hunter once again he set off to the village.

The cart was waiting, and he wasted no time in placing Hunter inside. Tossing the last of the payment to the man who he had bought it from he got up into the drivers position, took the reigns and urged the horses on. He did not stop till nightfall, driving the horses hard through the day. Finally, reaching a town he stopped. Locating the inn he pulled up the wagon, cast a quick glance at Hunter, who had slept for most of the trip, before getting down.

Heading inside he secured them a room and a stable for the horses. Collecting Hunter he took the wounded man up to the room and placed him on the bed. Locking the door as he left he stabled the horses and collected a meal for both himself and Hunter. Returning to the room he locked the door behind him before setting down the food.

“Thank you,” said Hunter, his voce hoarse. As he spoke he focused on the man’s eyes, willing him to serve him.

“We are safe for now master,” said the man, holding a cup of water to Hunter’s lips so he could drink, “but tomorrow we must set off once again. They will come for us.”

“Who are they?” Hunter asked. And so his ally began to tell Hunter of the White Acolytes. They were a group of religious fanatics who believed that it was God’s will that they hunt down those who were considered abominations in the Lord’s eyes and made the pay for their sins. The only weapons they used were either silver, which was believe to be the most holy of metals, or white oak, which was the most holy of substances according to them.

The woman who had captured him was called Belladonna, and she was considered the Acolytes’ top witch hunter. As such, she was tasked with the capture and punishment of the most dangerous of abominations. Like Hunter. Having learnt of his foe Hunter was already planning revenge, but it would be a long time in coming, as he was still weak and would need to recover. Before sleeping he told his ally, Balthazar, that he needed more blood. It would speed his recovery.

However, they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, and as such he instructed Balthazar to go and procure him a whore. Balthazar did as he was instructed, and returned ten minutes later with a woman who would not be missed, at least not until they were miles from here. At a wordless signal from Hunter Balthazar clamped a hand across the woman’s mouth and held her close to Hunter. Pulling her head to one side he exposed he neck, and Hunter bit into it. The woman struggled briefly in Balthazar’s iron grip, before finally going still as Hunter drained her.

“Dispose of the body,” Hunter instructed, “and find me some clothes for the morning.”

Balthazar nodded, slinging the body over one shoulder and exiting quietly. Hunter lay back in the comfortable bed and slept, thoughts of revenge consuming his dreams.

*****

The pair continued to move across, leaving at sunrise and continuing on until sunset. Each evening Balthazar would find them an inn in which to stay as well as someone for Hunter to feed on. Together they worked their way across France and down through Spain. Once in southern Spain they went to one of Hunter’s estates and could at last stop.

There Hunter rested for a month, draining a human every day to speed his recovery. After a month, when he felt he had sufficient strength to walk again, all be it with the aid of a metal cane, he began to exercise his power. While still to weak to utilise his physical abilities, his newfound powers of the mind needed testing.

At first he worked on his victims, implanting suggestions. Eventually he moved on to doing more than that, and began making them forget past events. With each passing day he learned a little more about the extent of his mental abilities. Finally, after a long year of recovery, Hunter had fully healed from his ordeal.

With his body once again fully under his command he set about regaining lost strength, and began to get himself back into fighting shape. As he did he thought of how to truly get revenge on those who had done this to him. Eventually he settled on a course of action.

He would utterly destroy the White Acolytes with a force of his own, the Black Acolytes. While training to regain his strength he had Balthazar bring him strong young men. He used his mental abilities on each of them, giving them all an unyielding loyalty to him. After contacting local blacksmiths he began to arm them, in suits of black leather and weapons of black metal. At long last, one and a half years after his capture, Hunter was ready to strike back.

He issued the Black Acolytes with their orders, to seek out the White Acolytes and kill them. The first attack was lead by Hunter himself. Mounted atop a great black warhorse and suited in black plate armour he was a fearsome sight. Balthazar had told him of a White Acolyte stronghold in central Spain, and so he was marching on it with five hundred Black Acolytes at his back.

The White Acolytes were inside a large fortified manor house, but Hunter brought no siege weapons. Riding up to the gate he dismounted and pulled out a great war hammer. In half a dozen blows he had demolished the gate and they were inside. Hunter seemed to be violence personified, rending his enemies asunder with his sword, ripping them apart with his hands.

Only a single White Acolyte survived. After putting out the man’s left eye and cutting off his ears Hunter put him on a horse and sent him off to warn his fellows about what was to come. And so Hunter began to retrace his steps, carving a path across Europe, killing every White Acolyte he found. At every battle he sought to find her, the one who had held him captive and brought him pain he had not known existed. He wanted a chance to return the favour.