Chapter 9: British Royalties
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British people?
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Rain pattered down onto the car as it wound its way through several miles of grassland and moors.  Black clouds blotted out any sun trying to inch its way down onto this island nation.  Just when a ray of sun was able to break through the blockade in the sky, it was jealously taken away by the thick, swarming clouds.

Sam sighed with relief while she sat in the back seat.  Her breath stained the glass with a fog like residue.  She was tired of cars driving her out to the middle of nowhere, just so she could meet with stuffy old men.

Over a small rise came the view of an elegant manor surrounded by quaint gardens and statues.  She was finally at Lord Blud’s estate, and it couldn’t have come sooner.  Small cobblestone walls and hedge bushes lined the estate’s borders, slightly obscuring the mansion from view.  A short semi-circle of road was quickly traversed to the front of the time tested home.

At first glance, Sam thought the house was quite magnificent, but when the car neared the British household, Sam could see the wear and tear of an uncompromising mother nature.  The semi-circle of road was split and cracked with no shortage of bumps to jolt around any travelers.

The car finally pulled to a stop next to the front door.  A large overhang protected the entrance from the elements, or at least it did at one point in time.  Several holes leaked clear liquid falling from far above.  Paint was chipped and cracked, and not just on the overhang, but all over the mansion.

Sam couldn’t believe that this was the house of a wealthy British Royal, but the fact that Lord Blud was

 

standing in front of his door cleared all misconceptions from Sam’s mind.

Lord Blud stood smiling as rain pummeled down all around him.  His black spectacles were glued to his face, the same as they were at the Institute.  The large red-headed man, that Sam believed to be his servant, was standing in the rain holding a large black umbrella over the back door of the luxury sedan.  His face was drenched with rainwater, droplets falling from his red mutton chops that clung to the side of his face.  He opened the door for her and stood to the side, blocking any rain that might hit Sam.

Sam grabbed her one, elongated duffle bag, her axe safely nestled inside.  She had left Tentin back in the city they had flown into.  She didn’t want to haul her luggage all over the British countryside.  Tentin had put up a fight about her meeting with Lord Blud alone, but it was a fight she had won quickly.

“Nice weather we’re having, no?”  Lord Blud smiled at Sam.

“If you call this nice.” Sam stepped out onto the wet road and nodded to the tall red-head, “Thanks.  I haven’t got your name.”

The tall red-head’s face contracted a bit as he glanced over to Lord Blud.

“We call him the Ginger around here.”  Lord Blud stepped forward, “Let’s get out of this rain.  I’ll put some water on the stove.”  Lord Blud turned and headed inside his mansion, “Tea or coffee?”

 

Sam wiped some dust off of a table nearby.  A thick layer of the grime covered her finger, and she quickly wiped it off on her pants.  The inside of the house was a direct reflection of the outside.  Neglect of simple cleaning and maintenance had taken its toll on this once lovely manor.

“If you follow me, we can retreat to my study.”  Lord Blud stacked the last of the mugs on a tray the Ginger was holding.  “I must apologize for the clutter though.  I have minimal time to clean these days.”

“Clutter?”  Sam looked around at the almost bare house.  Only a few pictures and decorations took up shop in the hallways and rooms visible from where Sam stood.  She could feel a cold draft coming from somewhere deeper in the manor.

“This way.”  Lord Blud took the lead up a flight of stairs.  He held onto the railing with an iron grip; slowly taking each step, feeling the stairs with his feet before firmly planting them.

The Ginger nodded for Sam to go first.  His silence was disturbing.  She had seen him talk to Lord Blud at the Institute, but now he would only speak with gestures and grunts.

Sam adjusted her duffle bag and followed Lord Blud up the flight of stairs onto a small landing, where the stairs doubled back to a balcony that overlooked the foyer Sam had used to enter the mansion.  Shafts of dull light pierced the glass above the door, revealing even more dust and grim along the banister.

“Just at the end of the hall.”  Lord Blud’s hand slid along the wall, skipping doorways and sliding back along the wall again.

Sam glanced into the open rooms as she passed by.  They were stuffed full of boxes, some overfilling, others toppled over and left for the rats.  Papers and folders spilled from the boxes, as well as some old military uniforms and medals.  This must be the clutter he was talking about.

Sam stole a look behind her.  The Ginger lumbered behind, holding his tray of tea and coffee.  He smiled at her when he noticed her eyes fall on him.  His teeth were smitten with the unfortunate color splash of yellow.

Sam turned back just in time.  She had almost slammed into Lord Blud as he was opening a door at the end of the balcony’s hallway.

“Sorry, but it is a bit untidy.  I was not expecting to have guests over…” Lord Blud thought for a quick second, “Well, never really.  I didn’t have time to clean before you made your way here, either.  I had to fire all my staff, except for this lad here.”  He pointed a finger in the Ginger’s direction.  “So don’t be surprised by the mess.”

Lord Blud swung the door open, and a blast of hot, stale air slammed into Sam’s face without mercy.  She cringed slightly as she tried to breathe through her mouth.  She turned and let out an unstoppable cough.  The sight was far worse than the smell.

As Lord Blud entered, he cleared Sam’s vision could of the room.  While it was the only room with color in this monotonous, drab, house of grey, it was by far the dirtiest.  A fire raged in the stone fireplace, heating the small room to a thousand degrees and beyond.  The fire painted the bright red walls with flickering light, which were adorned with old pictures and paintings.

A large desk, and one identical smaller desk, sat in the center of the room with stacks of unorganized papers all around.  Clothes were piled randomly in different corners of the room, with small paths marked out between for one to walk through.  Small cages, holding various creepy crawlers, were set on ledges around the room without purpose.

“Come in, don’t be shy.”  Lord Blud made his way to a small bed opposite of the door.  The single bed was on a small raised loft under a window.  He threw his coat on the bed without hesitation.

Sam entered the room reluctantly.  This place was quite absurd.  She had no clue why she should be here.  There was loads of work to be done in tracking down Mr. Bartlett, not to mention the recent Breaburn conspiracy within the Institute.  Now, she was halfway across the world chasing some phantom cyborg warlord with a crazed British man and his servant.

The Ginger stepped past Sam, avoiding a pile of clothes, and placed the tray of beverages on the smaller of the desks.  He made his way to the only corner of the madman’s room un-ravaged by the chaos.

The Ginger gently pulled his coat from his body and folded it in a neat fashion.  He tenderly placed the coat on a trunk at the end of his bed.  A bright yellow flower was pinned on the chest pocket of his pinstriped vest.

The over-sized, red-head slumped up to the tray of smoldering hot liquids.  He placed one on the larger desk, and then he grabbed the coffee and handed it to Sam with a smile.

Sam took the beverage and nodded to the man.  He was quite odd.  Something seemed off about the two men.  Lord Blud was off putting and untidy.  The Ginger, as he was called, was kind and gentle.  There was more going on here then Sam knew, but she didn’t have time for games and small talk.  She had an agenda and she wanted to get to it now.

“I’m sorry, but aren’t we supposed to be hunting down a man in black escorted by cyborgs?  Or did I miss the memo?”  Sam sat her coffee down on a waist high stack of papers.

“Oh, dear, I mean Sam.”  Lord Blud caught his tongue, “Cyborgs are half human.  These are robots, true and true.”  He coughed into his hand before speaking, “To hunt down this man, we must know exactly who we are dealing with.”  Lord Blud sat down at the large desk and pulled off his spectacles for the first time, “And I believe I know exactly who it is.  I’ve met him before, a long time ago.”

Sam’s brow furrowed together.  It all made sense now.  She gazed upon the milky glazed eyes of Lord Blud.  His eyes stared off into space and beyond.

Lord Blud was blind.  He couldn’t see the man on the image at the Institute.  The Ginger had pointed it out to him.  Sam glanced at the Ginger, who sat sipping tea at the smaller desk in the room.  He had spotted the man in black while everyone else missed it.  The Ginger had to have a keen mind in that oversized body.

“If you know who it is, then you shouldn’t need my help.”  Sam turned to leave, “The only reason I took this mission was to help out a friend who thinks that the Institute is in danger from Breaburn.”  Sam still didn’t know what to think about Breaburn.  Breaburn wouldn’t sink the Institute; it was his only purpose in life now.  It was too important to throw away.  So he must be planning something bigger.

“Your friend is correct.”  Lord Blud’s words rang out like a gun shot.  “And your, lover, would it be?  Mr. Bartlett is a part of that conspiracy, or at least he was, some time ago.”

Sam slowly turned around and looked the blind man in the eyes.  He was smiling like a school child about to win a game of wits against a rival.  He knew Sam’s attention was caught now.  She was a fish on a hook.

“What do you know of Mr. Bartlett?”  Sam let her duffle bag slide down to her elbow.  She tensed up a bit.  What were these two doing here?  They knew more about her than they put up, that was for sure.

The Ginger shook his head and took another sip of tea.

“I had the opportunity to work with him in the past.  Please take a seat, and I will tell you more.”  Lord Blud felt his way down desk until his hand touched his cup.  He grabbed the tea and sipped it delicately.  He looked towards the fire and let out a relaxed sigh.  “Please, relax a little.  Your heart is pounding ever so loudly.”

Sam was confused.  She never had met a stranger couple of men.  This whole situation was awry.  Sam grabbed her coffee from the stack of papers and took a seat near the fireplace.  She looked out the window above Lord Blud’s bed.  Night was overtaking the day.  Sam wanted to get back to her hotel by now, but it was obvious that was no longer the case.

Lord Blud leaned back, cradling his tea cup in his hands, “The year was 1944.  The war in Europe was coming to an end.  Hitler was desperate to make any attempt to turn the tide of his ever losing regime, but the Allied forces were an unstoppable tide of flesh and machine.”

Sam took a large gulp of her coffee and set it down.  She pulled her duffle bag over her lap, “And what does any of this have to do with Mr. Bartlett?”

Lord Blud held up his hands, “These events are all related.  Just let me finish.”  Lord Blud took another sip of tea, “From the description the Ginger has given me, I believe the man in black, the one with the metal soldiers, is one of Hitler’s elite, one who has multiple accounts of death, but none ever confirmed.”

Lord Blud’s head suddenly turned towards the Ginger.  He tapped his desk a few times and pointed to the window above the Ginger’s bed.  The Ginger stood instantly and moved to the window.  He gazed out across the front yard of the manor like a hawk scoping out its kill.

The blind royal turned his attention back to Sam, his blank stare and milky eyes resting upon her.  “His name is Hans Kammler, a master of the occult; a man whose job is most similar to yours in the Institute.  He was tasked with finding anything, no matter how bizarre the myth, to help lead the Axis powers to victory.  This man is extremely dangerous, and I believe he is even more so now.”

“Does this story have an ending?”  Sam shifted uncomfortably in her chair.  She was tired of all this waiting, she wanted to act.  It was strange enough to be here in this old manor.  She still didn’t trust these men.

“Ah, yes, during the final years of the war, I too was tasked with finding artifacts of power, no matter how crazed the myth.”  Lord Blud leaned forward, “And found them we did.  Which I can only conclude the Nazis did as well, but I digress.”  Lord Blud leaned back in his chair again, “I was stationed in the Middle East, in the site which the British government was thought to contain an ancient ruin from the old world, B.C. times, if you will.”

Lord Blud set down his tea and crossed his legs, “I was younger then.”

“You were alive during the war?  That would make you at least a hundred years old.”  Sam held her bag closer.  Lord Blud didn’t look a day over sixty.  If he was telling the truth, then he was not human, at least not a normal human.

“Yes, indeed, I was.  There’s a reason for that.”  Lord Blud looked frustrated by Sam’s outburst.  “My dig team had just uncovered the main entrance to the ruins we had been searching for.  I had dispatched a message to my superiors earlier that month, notifying them that we had found the lost tombs.”  The blind man held up a finger, “The message they had returned was in the form of a man.  A man in a white suit and an eyepatch.”

Sam was interested now.  Mr. Bartlett was alive during that time, and it made sense that he would have been involved in World War 2, everybody else was.  She could read slight anger on Lord Blud’s face, maybe it was some sorrow.  All Sam knew was that there was something going on between Lord Blud and Mr. Bartlett.

“We couldn’t figure out how to get the doors to the tomb open, so I was sent some help, courtesy of the American government and their pressure on the UK for more involvement in the war effort.”  Lord Blud swallowed hard, “As Mr. Bartlett was about to open the doors, we were attacked by a German regiment.  First planes flew over our site, spraying bullets all over my camp.  They soon dropped bombs, killing most of my crew and the soldiers who were protecting us.  Soon the Nazi SS stormed through the camp, taking care of what their planes could not.  The carnage was unreal.  It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”  Lord Blud was silent for a moment.

Lord Blud wasn’t always blind, but Sam was more interested in Mr. Bartlett. “And what about Mr. Bartlett?  Obviously, both of you survived the attack.”  Sam leaned forward in interest.  She hadn’t heard of many stories of Mr. Bartlett in the past so any new information was candy to her.

Lord Blud snapped out of his haze, “Ah, yes.”  The blind magnate scratched his chin, “As I recall, Mr. Bartlett opened the doors for me, allowing myself to escape into the ruins without danger.  Mr. Bartlett stayed behind to fight off the Nazi menace.”  Lord Blud took another sip of his tea.

Sam leaned back in her chair, “So, why should I help you? You haven’t given me any useful information, or even told me how Mr. Bartlett was involved with Breaburn and this conspiracy about the Institute.”

“Please.”  Lord Blud sounded sincere, his voice went hoarse for a second, “I have spent almost all I have on an investment in the Institute.  I fired my staff and servants.  I have even sold most of my material possessions just to find you.  You must aid me in stopping this madman.  You killed a vampire lord single handedly.  I believe you are the only one who can stop him.  If you help me complete this task, I will tell you about the conspiracy, everything I know.”

Sam contemplated the man’s words.  If he really did go through so much trouble just to see Sam, maybe she should help him.  If he was stupid enough to blow through all his money without a solid chance of even meeting Sam, then he could be stupid enough to pull something on Sam.  She wasn’t in the helping mood lately, but Lord Blud did have information on Mr. Bartlett, and she craved it.

“Alright.”  Sam stood, “I will help you, but we do things my way.  If you get in the way, I will plow through you without hesitation.”  Sam pulled her duffle bag up on her shoulder, “And at the end of this, I want answers.”

Lord Blud nodded and turned to the Ginger, who was smiling like an overjoyed infant.  “Collect our things, Ginger, we must be taking off soon.”

“And where are we going?”  Sam cocked her head to the side.

“Germany, of course.  That’s where we will find the Nazi fugitive.”  Lord Blud held his head high.  His smile faded and he jerked his head to the left.  The blind man held his hand up and coughed. He pointed to a large armoire, and the Ginger leapt from his perch and swiftly shifted to the armoire.

The hulk of a man pulled the broad wooden doors open.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up out of surprise.  She grabbed her duffle bag and whipped out her axe, twirling it a few times for comfort.  “What’s going on?”  Sam glanced at the window.  The night was now in full swing, and all the ghosts and ghouls were free to prowl about.

The Ginger rifled through a closet of weapons.  He pulled out an old bolt action rifle and tossed it to the blind man’s hand.  Lord Blud caught the gun from the air like a rehearsed acrobat.  He pulled back the bolt and loaded a bullet into place.  The ginger pulled out several sawn-off double-barreled shotguns and stuffed them into the large pockets on his pants.  He then pulled a large wooden mallet from the armoire.  He swung it a few times and nodded to Sam.

“I have…perceived several heartbeats outside for quite a while now.  Eight, maybe nine, but they have kept their distance until nightfall.  I do believe they mean us harm.  Their hearts are beating like wild drums.”  Lord Blud stood and moved to the window above the Ginger’s bed.

The Ginger swung the window open with a kick and stepped back.  Lord Blud raised his antique rifle and pointed randomly in the dark.  He fired the rifle, blasting the metal projectile off into the night with a flash of light to bid it farewell.  The Ginger yanked him back instantly as a mass of wood and plaster exploded where the Brit had just been standing.

Lord Blud smiled, “Eight of them now.”  He pulled back his bolt and crouched by the window, popping off another shot.  He turned to Sam, “Some of them are in the manor.  Would you care to evict these unwanted guests?”

Sam tightened her grip on her axe, her knuckles white as bone, “I’d love to get some exercise.”  Sam turned and jogged to the door.  She poked her head out of the doorway.  The manor was dark and drafty as usual.  She then slid out of the doorway, creeping along the wall while taking quick glances over the balcony.  There was no movement down in the foyer below.

Sam arrived at the first side room upstairs.  She poked her head halfway around the corner.  The room was darker without drab light pouring in from the windows.  Sam flicked the light switch a few times.  Nothing happened.  She stepped inside and began to traverse the labyrinth of junk boxes and papers.  She relaxed her muscles a bit.  They were tense, just like any situation like this, and on the few occasions she was to slow to react, it almost cost her life.

She took one more step inward and a creak beneath her boot rang out.  Sam’s stomach sank with the feeling of dread that makes your chest implode.  She quickly pulled her axe to bear, spinning slowly around, crouching to hide herself better.  Sam looked up to the broken light fixture above her.  A flapping noise caught her attention to her left.  She swung slightly on reflex, but nothing was there.

A window was open on the far side of the room.  The breeze was waving the curtains about.  Sam tensed up even more.  Someone was in here, and judging from the bullet holes in Lord Blud’s window, they had automatic weaponry.  If they got the jump on Sam first, she was done for.

The femme fatal crouched next to some overturned couches draped in sheets.  She looked around the detritus.  There was no reason to its placement, only chaos.  Sam slowly stood up when the sound of boots hitting the hardwood came from behind her.

A man in black garb, with a similarly colored balaclava, pulled a submachine gun up to fire.

Sam jumped onto the couches, but she fell short and pummeled into the side of them.  Bullets ripped through the fabric around her, proceeded by the loud blasts of gunfire, blasting wooden shrapnel into the air.  Sam fell into the other side of the couches into a stack of boxes.  She quickly rolled over onto the ground, sitting up on her knees.  She checked her body for wounds.  A slight trickle of blood was inching its way down her leg, but it was nothing serious.

Sam could hear the sound of the intruder reloading his weapon.  This was her time to act.  She stood and ran, ignoring a small pain in her leg.  She jumped over the stack of papers, swinging her axe at the masked man.

He looked up, fear was in his eyes. He quickly brought his gun up, deflecting the fatal blow to his head.  Sam’s momentum crashed the two warriors onto the ground.  She tried to swing her axe one more time while on the ground.  The masked man kicked her hand hard, flinging the axe into a stack of papers.  The man tossed his gun aside.  The barrel was smashed inward, rendering the gun useless.

Sam pulled herself up and faced the man, who greeted her with her own tactic.  He charged the woman.  She tried to dodge, but there was too much debris in the way.  She braced herself, covering her chest with her arms.  He hit her hard, the two of them flung back into the hallway, crashing against the banister before falling to the floor.

The man pulled a knife from his boot and straddled Sam before she could get away from him.  He pushed the knife down hard, trying to stab her in the neck.  It was best to finish her off in one blow.

Sam struggled hard against the man, but he was using his weight to his advantage.  He was easily bigger than Sam.  The knife was inching closer to her neck now.  Sweat was caked to her body.  Blood vessels started to bulge on her skin.  Her face was red and her arms were starting to give way.  This isn’t the way she was supposed to die.  She still had her mission.  She still needed to find Bartlett and help Eddie and save the Institute from corruption.

Large thumps started to shake the ground around her.  She risked a glance to her side, the masked man doing the same.

The Ginger was sprinting out of his room, mallet in hand.  He swung low, slamming into Sam’s assailant with an uppercut blow to the chest.  Sam thought she heard cracking of bones as the man flew several feet down the balcony just as another intruder rounded up the stairs, his gun ready to fire.

The Ginger, his mallet still in the air from his swing, flung his wooden bludgeon at the masked assailant with incredible speed.  The mallet spun a few times through the air and crashed into the armed man’s hands.  The gun cracked as the man’s arm snapped in half.  He fell to the ground yelling out in pain.

The giant, ginger haired man bent down and grabbed the intruder a few feet away from Sam.  The injured intruder groaned and winced as the Ginger hauled him off the floor.  He hoisted him into the air and turned to the balcony.  He threw the man down hard, smashing his back down on the railing.  The wooden bannister broke under the immense pressure.  Wood splintered and cracked as the man fell down into the foyer.

The Ginger let out a deep breath and bent down to Sam, offering her his hand.  She grabbed it and nodded, “Thanks.”  She looked down at the hulk’s arm.  His dress shirt was rolled up and cuffed, but what caught her attention was beneath the garb.  It was the line of scars that traversed his skin.  Stich marks scared heavily about his body.  Sam thought he must have gone through something incredible to have survived such a trauma.

The Ginger smiled and plucked out the yellow flower from his shirt and handed it to Sam.  He quickly turned and retrieved his mallet from the man with a broken arm, who was still moaning in pain.  One more swing, and the man was done for.

Sam placed the flower behind her ear.  It was the least she could do for the man, he did save her life.  The female warrior retrieved her axe from the dark room and stepped out to the hallway.  A loud gunshot made her flinch instinctively.

A shout came from the red room, “Five left now!”  It was followed by a drawn out laugh.

The Ginger came back to the broken banister and jumped down to the floor below with ease, landing in a loud bang on the wooden floor of the foyer.

Sam was amazed at the Ginger.  She gripped her axe and headed for the stairs.  She met up with the large man, “Where do you think the rest are?”

The Ginger shrugged.  He tipped his bowlers hat forward on his head and looked around.

The manor was quiet and still.  Rain patter was heard from outside.

Sam looked at the ground.  A trail of water led from the front door into the kitchen.  Sam nudged the Ginger, “Look.”  She pointed down at the water trail.  She smiled at him, “They must have got hungry.”

The Ginger smirked at the remark.

Sam and the Ginger crept towards the kitchen.  Sam had no clue who these men were, or who they worked for.  They weren’t vampires, or they would have burst to flames when they died.  They were well armed and well trained, at least for most grunts.  It was just another group of people trying to kill her.

The Ginger pulled out one of his old, sawn-off hunting guns.  He aimed it at the door and kicked the entrance to the kitchen wide open.  He quickly stepped in and waved his gun left to right, scanning the area as he did so.  He flicked the light on and waved Sam inside.

Sam peered around the massive body of the Ginger.  The water led straight into the kitchen, but there was no one here.  She raised her axe, the talisman dangled carelessly from its hilt.  The weapon wasn’t doing her much good here.  Her mind was busy on all the new information she was given, on how much kept building up in her way to find Mr. Bartlett.  He was alive and somewhere on this planet.  She was going to find him.  Her thoughts shifted to the revolver that was in her duffle bag upstairs, Bartlett’s old gun.  She cursed herself for leaving it behind.

A hushed click followed by the smack of something against the wall next to Sam made her snap out of her haze.  She needed to keep her head cleared.  She quickly looked down to see a black object the size of a fist.

The Ginger grabbed her and jumped back out of the kitchen.  They were followed by a loud blast and debris exploding all around them.  Sam dropped her axe and rubbed her ears.  They rang out like a thousand church bells.  She looked over at the Ginger.  He stood and pulled up his double barreled shotgun.  A man clad in black ran out of the kitchen, hoping to find easy prey, he soon met the smoking barrels of the Ginger’s gun.

The Ginger dropped his emptied weapon and went to pull his other when another masked man emerged from the stairwell.  The intruder raised his gun and fired upon Sam and the Ginger.  The Ginger lunged to cover Sam with his body.  Bullets pummeled his back relentlessly.  Empty cartridges bounced off the floor with miniscule clicks as their contents were unleashed upon the manor’s gallant heroes.

When the gunshots ended, the Ginger lay still over Sam.  She tried to push him up, “Get up!”  The Ginger failed to make a single movement.  She then turned her attention to the man closing in on her.  She was stuck under the massive, mutton chopped man, with no escape.  The intruder was sweeping in for his coupe de grace.

The Ginger took immense damage to his back.  He was dead now, and Sam knew it.  She cursed out loud.  If she wasn’t out of her mind, she could have saved him.  It was too late now and Sam needed to find a way out of the situation.  She looked around for her axe, but it was nowhere to be found.  It blasted away in the grenades explosion.

The intruder stood over her now.  She could tell he was smiling under his mask, the smug coward.  He raised his machinegun at Sam, “Breaburn sends his regards.”  The masked man went to pull his trigger.

The Ginger then shot up from the ground, grabbing the man’s gun and pushing it upwards.  Bullets sprayed from the barrel, peppering the ceiling in bullet holes.  The Ginger grabbed his last double barrel and brought it up under the assailants chin.  With a quick bull of the trigger, the ceiling was joined by a splatter of viscera.

Sam stood and looked at the Ginger’s back as he picked up his dropped weaponry.  The bullet wounds slowly closed up and sealed off.  No blood was seen on the man’s back.  Sam was astonished at this gift.  He must have some sort of regeneration.

She bent down and grabbed her axe from some rubble nearby.  A thought soon hit her.  If the last assailant came from the stairs, then the last of the intruders could have killed Lord Blud.  She couldn’t hear anymore gunshots from his rifle.  “Hey.”

The Ginger looked at her.

“He came from upstairs.”  Sam pointed with her axe, “They could…”  Before she could finish her sentence, the Ginger was hauling his massive body up the stairs with ease.  Sam twirled her axe and followed the man who had saved her life twice.

 

The remaining four men had surrounded Lord Blud.  He had run out of ammo, or at least dropped what he had left and was unable to stop them from approaching.  He could easily tell where they were before they entered the mansion.  Their hearts beat with intensity, adrenaline pumping through their veins.

“Drop the weapon!”  One of the men shouted to him.  His voice was deep and hoarse.

Lord Blud dropped his old rifle and raised his hands in the air.  These men were little kippers to him.  Nothing they could do now would save their lives, but as long as Sam was in the manor, Lord Blud wanted to keep as much of them here.  He could not risk her life, she was important.

An explosion came from the downstairs.  Lord Blud gulped with fear, but he could still feel Sam’s heart.  It was beating out of control.

“Ringo.”  The same man called out to one of his comrades.  Lord Blud felt the heart of one of the four men flutter slightly.  “Go check downstairs.  Make sure the other two are dead.”

“Right.”  One of the men ran off, his boots smacking the hardwood with each step.

Three was easier to take care of than four.  Lord Blud smiled.

“Let’s end him and get going.”  One of the men said aloud.

“No, we need him alive.  Breaburn wants some tests done.”  The men moved closer to Lord Blud.

Now was the time to take care of the men.  Lord Blud focused on the red liquid moving throughout their bodies.  He could see their figures mapped out in veins and capillaries.  The arteries providing the main figure on which they were planted.  The three men were inching closer.  One reached into his bag.  A metal jingle could be heard as he stepped forward.

Handcuffs.  Lord Blud thought to himself.

The sound of electricity buzzing was heard soon afterward.

Taser.  Amuetures.  Lord Blud smirked.  They were too easy, too predictable.

His attention was pulled towards the largest of the signatures in the manor.  It was the Ginger, he was in trouble.  Judging from the gunshots, he just took a full magazine to his back.  This would take some effort.

Lord Blud pushed aside the men closing in on him and focused on the Ginger.  He wrapped his mind around his heart and started to squeeze it repeatedly.  Soon, it started up again with such intensity.  Lord Blud then shifted his mind to the wounds.  He moved all of the Ginger’s available blood to the wounds and worked it overtime, closing up the wounds within seconds.

Lord Blud then turned back to the men in front of him.

“Why are you stopping?  Tase him.”  The lead man spoke out again.

“I can’t move.  I’m stuck, Paul.”  The Taser dropped to the ground.

“Me too.”  The man with the handcuffs spoke out.

“What the hell is going on here?”  The lead man tried to thrash about, his heart beating harder than all the rest.

“I have control over the blood that courses through your bodies.  I have constricted it around your muscles, holding you in place.”  Lord Blud stepped forward, “And now you will feel agony so immense, you will wish your death was quick.”  Lord Blud then forced the blood in the intruder’s bodies to escape in any way possible.

The men screamed out in pain as blood forced its way through the pores in their skin.  They started to cough up blood as the red liquid of life poured from their tear ducts.  Their noses gushed out crimson waterfalls, and soon, the three men lay puddled in their own blood.

Lord Blud turned to the sound of the Ginger barging into the room like a gorilla.  Sam soon joined him and gazed down on the men covered in blood from head to toe.

She looked up at Lord Blud while brandishing her axe, “What are you two?”  She took a step back.  The talisman would protect her from any powers that would be used on her.

“When Mr. Bartlett let me into the ruins I found an ancient artifact, one ancient artifact.”  Lord Blud took a seat at his desk.  Blood started to spread out in a massive puddle on the floor, drenching anything it touched.  “I thought there was no escape.  I couldn’t let the Nazis have such an artifact, so I destroyed it.  There was a massive explosion when I smashed the urn on the ground.”  Lord Blud lightly grabbed his tea cup and sipped the cold liquid, “When I came to, I was in a hospital.  I shared a room with one of the soldiers that I was stationed with.  He took several shots from one of the Nazi planes, almost eviscerating his body.  When our backup arrived, the man was still alive, and they rushed him to the hospital, along with my limp body.”

Lord Blud picked his feet up off the floor and set them on a stack of papers nearby as blood started to pool beneath him.  “They patched the Ginger together with any body parts they could find; the work of one of their surgeons, a madman if you ask me, but miraculously, he survived.  He should have died from his injuries, the surgery, or even the blood abnormalities from all the different body parts.  There was no plausible reason for him to be alive.  Me on the other hand, I was stricken blind, but gifted with a power.”  The wood in the large fireplace was burned down and crackling apart.  It cast deep shadows across Lord Blud’s face, “I could see all the blood coursing through the doctors and nurses around us, I could hear their hearts beat, I could feel it like it was part of me.  When I was discharged soon after, I left our room, taking one last look at the man covered in bandages.  When I made my way to the end of our hallway, the nurses and doctors started shouting and rushing into the room.  I ran back to see what had happened to the impossible man, but when I got closer, he stabilized.  That’s when I realized he needed me to live.  Without me, he would die.  His body would shut down.  So here we are.”  Lord Blud raised his hands, “Just two men destined for death, but rejected when we reached his doors.”

Sam nodded.  It wasn’t as far-fetched as most stories she heard, or even experienced herself.  They must have been through some serious trauma, but they had come out on top.  She lowered her guard, “So what’s next?”  Sam leaned against the doorframe, “These guys were sent by Breaburn.  So do we take the fight to him?”

Lord Blud shook his head, “We stay the course.”

Sam was about to object, but she nodded and sighed, “He is surrounded by his Agents anyway.  If we try and take the fight to him, we’d be gunned down mercilessly.”

“That is why we act like we knew nothing of these men’s attentions.  We play our cards close to our chests and keep this a secret.”  Lord Blud waved the Ginger over to him, “Give Sam the address to our hotel in Germany.”

The Ginger trudged through the bloody mess and wrote down the address.  He trudged back to Sam and handed it to her.

“Meet us there in two days.  I have some business to conduct first, and then we shall find the Nazi perpetrator and end him.”

“How do I get back to town?”  Sam tucked the paper into her pocket.

“Find your way to my garage.  There aren’t many left, but take any car you’d like.”  He smiled devilishly.

Sam smiled back.  She was going to like working with Lord Blud.

 

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