Paris, 1203

"I always did hate the French," noted the vampire, slowly twisting the blade of his sword in the man's gut.

Pulling back, he ripped the blade out of the wound and let the blade drift over the body, choosing his next point of entry. He had taken a taste for torture around the year 1150, and having had just over fifty years practice, was getting relativley good at it.

"I don't like Germans, or Austrians much either, but you French bastards always have a tendency to piss me off,"

"Ainsi piss de de nouveau à l'Angleterre, bâtard," replied the Frenchman weakly, only to have a boot kicked firmly into his jaw, slamming his head back into the wall with a crack. His head slumped.

"Jesus and his whore, i killed him! Damn these weak Frenchmen,"

***

Tyler tightened his grip on his victims throat, making him gasp for air.

793 years later and once again he was taking the life of a Frenchman. But before he took this life, he needed information. The man, short, obese, smelly and generally disgusting, was the owner of a bar in downtown L.A. that Demons frequented.

Tyler, stood over the man, looked almost the opposite of him. Tall, lean and muscular, his features were strong but attractive. His pitch black hair hung down to his shoulders and a goatee covered his chin and upper lip. His skin was pale, so, combined with his dark hair and the black clothes he wore, he was more intimidating than most vampires could hope to be. His katana was stored in a scabbard attatched to his back, a small hole in his leather trenchcoat allowed him to remove it quickly, only the blade showing behind his head.

"Okay Pierre, if you won't tell me then i'll just have to convince you," said Tyler, standing up straight and scanning the room with his eyes.

"You!" he shouted, facing a tall demon who had quite clearly just been fighting. It was covered in blood, and the blood wasn't it's own.

"That's right, i'm talking to you,"

"Come over here and let me show you how your mother took it like a whore, before i took off her head with my blade," he shouted, provoking the demon to attack.

Falling for it in an instant the demon leaped across the room at Tyler, missing when Tyler dived and rolled. By the time Tyler stood up he had his katana drawn and his game face on.

Blocking punches with one hand, Tyler somersaulted over the demon and let out a laugh.

"Is that all you've got? Your mother could fight better than you!"

The demon roared, lifting up a table and throwing it at Tyler. Spinning to one side, Tyler let his sword do some of the talking and sliced through the table. When it his the floor, it hit the floor in two parts. Taking the initiative and finishing what he had started, Tyler moved forward, leaping into the air, spinning and landing a kick to the demon's forehead. Then, as he landed, he took a swing with the katana, taking off one of the demon's three legs at the knee. Two more swings took off another leg and the head. Putting the katana back in it's place, Tyler smiled as the patrons of the bar hurried out, shocked at the display.

"Now you're going to tell me everything, or i'll show you why i prefer to kill slowly," said Tyler as his demonic visage vanished and a sadistic smile crossed his regular face.

© Matthew Smith, 2003