It seemed as if though the painting came to life then. The man’s dark eyes moved, darting back and forth, and the arms stirred ever so slightly.
Moira quickly darted forward and grabbed the book from his arms, then sprang back with the cry “Vlkeow!” and watched in satisfaction as the eyes slowly closed and then opened again, becoming the inanimate painting again.
Her smile was cruel. From behind her, she heard their voices:
“Aw, c’mon T-Bone, don’t be such a big baby. I can’t believe you’re chickening out after all this time! Get a grip!”
“But Razor, haven’t you been listening at *all*?”
“Yes.” Razor’s voice sounded tired, as if he wanted to tell T-Bone to shut up and stop whining. “Yes, I have, but I’ve heard it so many times before I could recite it in my sleep. Now move!”
There was the sound of a body being shoved. A muffled curse.
Moira quickly hid. But she had forgotten something: the book lay unnoticed on the table nearby where Callie lay.
Razor looked at his partner with disgust. The burly blond kat was staring at the door with a wide-eyed terror that he had never seen and never thought he would see on his face. This business about the priest had really upset him.
“C’*mon*,” he snapped, suddenly loosing patience. It wasn’t like him, to snap at his friend like this, but he was getting tired of it. “Move.”
They entered the room and saw the bound and gagged Callie. Her eyes were wider than T-Bone’s had been, and she struggled to tell them something through the gag.
“Mmmphmm! Mmpghff!” she squeaked.
Razor hurriedly untied her bindings and gag.
“Behind you!” she gasped the minute it was off.
The door swung slowly, ominously shut. Moira leaned against the door,back resting lightly against it, arms crossed over her chest in an oddly mortal and modern stance. There was a slightly triumphant smile on her face.
“Welcome, my two friends,” she purred softly, watching them with fierce golden eyes. “Welcome to my little play–”
A loud *boom* interrupted her. Annoyed, she turned, but the door blocked her view of whoever was on the other side. A deep male’s voice called to her.
“Ahhhh, Moira, s’lor m’sairon. Touir, mas pierwl?”
She stiffened, her hands clenching and grasping spasmodically. Extreme hate transfigured her face. Her lips drew back to show abnormally long and sharp fang teeth, and the SWAT Kats both recoiled. Razor’s mind flew back to the horror movies he so loved to come up with the only word necessary: Vampire!
She didn’t seem to notice or remember that they were there anymore as she yanked the door open hard enough to pull it halfway off its hinges.
Valtoru stood there, eyes blazing. Once more he spoke in the language of the Old Ones: “Moira! Solfe mewlstr! N’slie olpefsn! Kejadflur nosdreosoweirls! Ty aosd!”
Moira laughed. “How wrong you are, brother,” she purred again, for some reason opting to speak so that her prisoners could understand her words. She seemed to grow taller, eyes flashing gold fire. “I WILL triumph. And now you are helpless to stop me!” She whirled away and pointed at him, once more crying in that strange language another chant:
Valtoru, leld torko
A strange look passed over Valtoru’s face as she said these words. He straightened and looked Moira straight in the eye.
“You will not win, sister,” he said softly, choosing as she had to make his words understandable to the SWAT Kats and Callie. “I will see to that.”
With that, his entire form vanished. Just a slow fading of color, and then he was gone.
Moira laughed again, then turned to them. “Ah, my pretty ones,” she hissed, advancing, “I hunger . . .”
“Hey, waitaminute, lady!” Razor cried, holding up the book. “Forgetting something?”
Moira’s eyes widened. “Give me that book!” she hissed, reminding him of the time the Pastmaster had searched desperately for his Tome of Time. She dropped to a feral crouching position, dangerous teeth bared and claws extended. “GIVE ME THAT BOOK!!” she shrieked again, coming closer.
T-Bone automatically tried to help his partner when Moira lunged. He met her in mid-air, but the female vampire’s strength, was, of course, too much for him. She hurtled him into a wall, breaking through it and shattering one of the wooden supports for the roof of the building.
Moira lunged for Razor again, and he only barely dodged the enraged vampiress. Moira crashed into the wall, leaving a sizable hole, another supporting beam shattered. The roof began to tremble; one more hit like that and it would come crashing down.
Once more she lunged, and once more he dodged. One more beam was destroyed. The roof began to moan and a loud, unpleasant *crack* sound, and the next thing Razor knew, there was something large and indescribably heavy on his back and the book was gone from his grasp.
::My back,:: he realized suddenly. ::I’ve got a ten ton or more pound slab of rock and plaster on my back. My spine . . . broken . . . can’t feel anything . . .:: he clawed feebly at the floor just ahead of him, as if though he expected to be able to pull himself out.
He could dimly hear Callie’s voice screaming.
Callie had watched in mute horror as Razor had been suddenly buried under the piece of roof. She screamed, suddenly finding her voice, and backed up, eyes wide and shaking her head and denial . . . and fell directly out of the window.
The building continued falling apart for a few minutes, then went suddenly, terribly still.
Moira staggered forward, eyes glazed and unfocussed. “Ah. Damn the one who built these walls.”
She stumbled forward, and then stopped when she saw T-Bone.
He was almost totally buried in plaster and wood and rock, only his head, upper shoulders, and left arm was visible. Blood stained his cracked helmet and a small dark red pool of it surrounded him. She was unfazed, but only because she had seen blood before, seen this horrible type of mutilation before. She shook her head. So he was dead. She started to move again when her foot touched something soft and sticky.
She looked down and this time she recoiled. Razor lay half buried under part of the roof that had fallen in, one hand reaching before the other as if though, in the last moments, he had tried to claw his way out in a desperate attempt to survive. The torn floor before him and the splinters and blood on his claws proved mute testimony to that. His helmet had come off, and now the bandanna was slightly askew on his face. She knelt beside him and easily shoved the slab off him, eyes widening as she stared at the damage the roof had done to his body.
The entire length of his body was mashed into the floor like an insect after it has been swatted by a flyswatter. She shuddered. A sudden, mad impulse suddenly filled her. She pulled the crushed and dead body up onto her lap and tore her wrist. She then laid it next to his half-open mouth and held her breath.
It was risky, she knew. If he was totally gone, she was wasting precious blood. She might not have enough, or maybe he hadn’t lost enough, and would become a renevant, maybe . . .
His mouth suddenly closed with a primal instinct and she jumped. He was drinking, yes he was, he was still alive! Moira felt inexplicably happy suddenly. He was alive, and he would soon be an immortal like herself! Yes!
His blinded eyes snapped open, and suddenly, it was like seeing for the first time. Colors and the pale light of the moon swirled and danced eerily before his eyes, dazzling and delighting him. What had happened?
He looked up to see Moira watching him with infinite tenderness in her gold eyes. “Welcome to the world of darkness, little one. You are mine now.”
“Huh? What? ‘Scuse me, lady, but I don’t what you’re–” he stopped, a sudden sharp pain that started in his stomach ripping through him. He began coughing, retching, and the stuff that came up was blood. “Hey, what’s happened to me . . .?”
Moira pulled away and began to wipe the blood from the corners of his mouth, clucking like a mother hen. “You’re dying, that’s all.”
“DYING?!?” he cried, yanking himself away from her. He stared at her in horror as another wave of dizziness overcame him. He looked up and saw the body not two feet away from him. The blood drained from his face as he tried to say something. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He remembered the smash of the slab on his back; nothing could have survived that. What had happened? He felt dizzy again.
::I was dead, I know I was. I felt that slab crush me. But here I am, alive. What happened to me? And T-Bone . . . oh God, what happened?::
Moira smiled, beaming at him like a happy child. “You’re mine now. You died, you know. But you’re mine now. No one can ever change that.”
Razor stared at her in confusion. Just twenty minutes ago she had been cold hard, cruel and calculating. Now she seemed almost like a child, simple and sweet. He started to speak again before Moira cut him off.
“Come. I have to get you away from here. There will be men coming soon, and there is much I have to teach you. Come.” She took his hand and bodily pulled him with her.
He struggled, but his fledgling strength was still too weak to contend with Moira’s. He turned his head so that he could see that little room. T-Bone . . . he felt a lump in his throat as Moira pulled him out and down the street to somewhere safe. But he didn’t cry. T-Bone wouldn’t have liked that. So he kept inside, staring blankly at the crumbling walls of the church. He looked up at the sky. The moon was up, and at full cycle. As he stared, he thought he could see a faint, reddish tinge to the usually pale silver light. He felt faint, like he was about to loose consciousness. He closed his eyes and allowed his dreams to envelop him.
A bloody moon, a dark blue sky, the howling of wolves . . .
And that’s the end of the first part in the Blood Moon Rising sequence. Whadaya think of it? ****PLEASE***** give me your advice and what-not for it. This is a very long story, and I need inspiration!! And don’t worry, T-Bone’s condition is *not* permanent, but *no*, he will not become a vampire like Jake. PLEASE give me your feedback!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, and important note: Many of the vampiric things in this (and any other vamp story I try) will be greatly influenced by the Queen of Gothic Horror, Anne Rice! Bloodtears/sweat, the making of a vampire, all that came from her books. Just so you know! Terra Chang
“I’ve got PLENTY of common sense . . . I just choose to ignore it.”
–Calvin & Hobbes
Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional.
“Childhood is short and maturity is forever.”
Calvin & Hobbes–
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Disclaimer: SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron is copyright to Hanna-Barbera Cartoons Inc. All Rights Reserved. © 1995. All other characters and material within this page are the property of their respective creators.