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Summary: The Daywalker battles the Japanese vampire Mafia with help from the Web-slinger, a Man Without Fear, and a group of heroes with the X-factor. High octane action all the way! BLADE meets SPIDER-MAN, DAREDEVIL & X-MEN. Featuring KINGPIN.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Non-BtVS Crossovers
Marvel Universe > Blade
Marvel Universe > Daredevil
Marvel Universe > Spider-Man
Marvel Universe > X-Men
JohnnySnowballFR181530,336031,5609 Aug 129 Aug 12Yes

Prologue

{This story is based on the movies and takes place summer 2002 – After X-Men 1, just before Daredevil movie (I cheated here and had the events of DD happen before my story), just after Spider-Man 1 and just after Blade 2.}

*Originally written as a Fanfilm script*

*This story picks up where my Secret Agent Slayer 1st episode ‘OTCSS: On The Council’s Secret Service’ left off (But you don’t need to read that to read this)*

*All the following Heroes are owned by Marvel*


Enjoy



The Sumida River crept up from Tokyo bay like a thick oil slick in the dark of night. Only the vibrant City neons disturbed the black of her waters and lantern-lit evening cruises that floated gracefully on her surface. Somewhere on the mainland, beneath the concrete and steel, subway cars were completing their final run of the day. It was almost midnight in Japan’s Capital City.

From the high vantage-point atop the curve of the Eitaibashi Bridge, a dark figure looked out over the cityscape. A gentle summer breeze played with the tails of the figure’s long black coat, the inside of which was lined blood red. From the back of the trenchcoat stood the hilt of a unique sword etched with symbols. The figure’s head moved and the dark tribal tattoo on the brown flesh of his neck creased. He turned, searching for a sound, a sense, something. Expression cold and intense. Eyes unreadable behind dark shades. Beneath him a slick Toyota Urvan crossed over the bridge in a hurry. The figure stiffened and flashed a set of white fangs.

The hilt belonged to the sword of the Daywalker. The figure was Blade.

He spun, whipping up his coat tails, and dropped from the rail. His black Ducati Sport Tourismo waited for him in the shoulder under the hump of the bridge and, with a hard kick that fired the motorcycle up, he screeched away.





* * *





Just off the main street of Chuo-dori in central Tokyo, an alleyway led behind an old warehouse building. There it led to a small courtyard where the sound of laughter and excited Japanese conversation echoed around the abandoned site. Six members of Shinkudō joked and fooled around. Shinkudō came from ‘Shinso no gokudō’ meaning ‘Pureblood Vampire Yakuza’ – the elite Japanese Vampire Mafia. This was their safe house. A meeting place for any odd-numbered night of the month. The warehouse that surrounded the yard on three sides was abandoned and served the Shinkudō in many ways. Meetings, hide-out, torture, hostage confinement, goods storage and, of course, the occasional low-key rave. On the fourth side, behind the courtyard, half a high rise apartment block was partially constructed. The steel frame stood at seven storeys but only five were concreted with visible openings where, if building ever continued on the forgotten project, windows and patio doors would be fitted.

The courtyard itself was plain. Its only feature was the overturned dumpster against the wall of the building. This was sometimes used as a drop-off point for illicit items too large to post. It wasn’t usual for the Tōkyō Shinkudō to hang around in the yard. But on this night they weren’t staying long.

The only vehicle parked in the yard was a deep blue and black Kawasaki Vulcan 1500 Mean Streak. A cruiser motorcycle with attitude. She looked classic with the stylish drag bars that place your hands in just the right position and the machinery free from all that bulky body kit of sports bikes. She belonged to Kinji – the highest-ranking of the six clan members present. He was lean and short at 165cm and his scalp was shaved smooth. He did this to stand out from the others. To show his higher status and unique position. His clothing too was simple, unlike his younger subordinates who wore increasingly complex and pointless attire. Kinji always presented himself as the functional strong arm of the local clan wing. He wore black pants made of cotton and a blue hemp jinbei top. The jinbei top was a loose short-sleeved wraparound summer jacket that tied once on the inner left side and again on the outer right. It was cool, well aired, and functional. Just like his head. With him he had the newest member of the group. It was his first time meeting anyone as high ranking as Kinji and the first impression the young vampire gave was not good. He wasn’t Shinso – pureblood – but he was an excellent hacker and programmer. But a geek by a mile. He looked like any Japanese salary-man with his brown tailored suit and factory-fitted parted hairstyle. Kinji hoped he wouldn’t send Takeshi into a fit.

Kinji let the new boy’s rambling conversation wash over his ears as he looked around the courtyard.

Koi – not the fish but a shortening of Kakkoi-Aoi meaning ‘Cool-Blue’ – was the longest-running clan member there. He was fairly young. But he, like many of the others, was into Goth. Japanese style. His hair gave him his name – neon blue in colour and cut similar, as Kinji recalled, to an old dodgy American rapper named Vanilla-Ice. He wore lots of black from materials Kinji couldn’t name and with pointless bands and straps that made him look more like he was in a kinky straight jacket. Koi was sat in the saddle of Kinji’s Kawasaki Vulcan talking animatedly with Jūnan. His name meant ‘Flexible’ though he preferred the American ‘Flex’. He too wore mostly black with medium length hair styled in the ‘dragged through a rice field by a cow’ fashion. His hair was streaked black and green and somehow managed to stay in its dishevelled position every day.

In the corner of the yard were the other two. They, Kinji thought, were slightly more normal.

Gin was Kinji’s favourite. His name meant ‘Silver’. It was easy to see how he came by that name. His hair was long and feathered in a feminine style and coloured pure white. His shirt also was white and the fashionable slightly loose suit he wore was a remarkable silver colour. All his clothes where white or silver. Kinji liked Gin regardless of his femininity because he was a thoughtful, intelligent and resourceful young Shinkudō. Unlike his odd-couple friend Baka who was also in the corner with him. Baka was a clumsy fool – as his name suggested – but rumours that he was Gin’s lover explained why he was never far from his side. Those two were having the most fun it seemed. They were playing. Toying. Putting the fear of Hell into their captive.

In the corner, a young white girl – a westerner – was bound in barbs; her clothes ripped; her skin dirty and cut in many places.

Gin and Baka were taking turns lightly slicing her skin with shallow slashes of a razor, licking her blood, and whispering sweet horrors in her ears.

The girl was a shivering wreck of dread incarnate and managed only to make spluttering weeping sounds. Distraught didn’t begin to describe her condition. In a parallel reality in which she would live to see tomorrow, Kinji pictured her in therapy for the rest of her life. He suddenly wondered if it had been wise to allow them their games tonight.

It wouldn’t matter anyway. Takeshi had arrived.

A Toyota minivan, sleek with custom bodywork and blacked out with a polished jet finish, rolled into the yard and almost blocked the alley to the street. Her thin angled headlights were tinted rouge and strip-lights fitted beneath the chassis wrapped the base of the machine in an ultraviolet skirt. Her hood was steep-angled and swept back to the roof like the beak of a giant black puffin. The engine growled and died.

Silence fell among the vampires and those playing stopped their games, transfixed by the arrival of their leader.

A pony-tailed human Familiar with a clear glyph tattoo covering the back of his hand stepped out the driver’s door on the right and moved back to open the rear door. Cold air released from the air-conditioned van. Inside was a small table with a compact leather couch at either side. Lighting came only from concealed neons.

Takeshi Shibasaki stepped out into the courtyard. He held himself in a way that screamed cocky and arrogant. Kinji knew he thought himself a vampire Castor Troy as he watched the young clan chief stride from his car and fix his jacket. He wore a sharp, tailored three-button grey sharkskin suit around a crimson shirt and tie. His hair was flashed with auburn and caramel in the unkempt style popular with Japanese youth. He bore many pewter rings. One, on his thumb, was a large Dragon’s head. Takeshi lit a small cigar with a match and meandered over to his crew. Yes, Kinji thought, he was a brash hotshot. But he always got them the sweet jobs that brought the cash and the blood. And this next job would reap awe-inspiring rewards.

The vampires looked on him as a God among them.

The newbie – Yutaka – welcomed him; “Shibasaki-sama, hajimemashite, watakushi wa eiyo desu, yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” he said, ingratiating himself feverishly with a bow to honour his boss. Takeshi didn’t register his blatant bootlicking.

Cool-Blue stepped over to the geek. “We’re going to America, Dick-head, better learn the lingo!”

Takeshi went straight to his number two.

“Everything’s set,” Kinji confirmed. “The jet’s fuelled at the airport and ready to go tonight. Hitomi and the others are there now.”

Takeshi nodded and threw down the cigar. “Good. You, Hitomi and I are taking the job over there...” Takeshi spotted the captive girl and he put out a disapproving finger. “What the f--k is this?”

Kinji cringed. Damn it he should have known. “Just some fun, Chief–” He was cut off as the Familiar approached Takeshi with a cellphone at his ear.

“Shibasaki-san, It’s Karlos - he just heard Blade’s in town.”

The atmosphere in the yard changed suddenly and the circle of vampires glared at their leader with wide eyes begging his response.

Takeshi pointed to the girl; “Fun’s over. It’s time to move.”

Before they could take a step, a single resonating gunshot rang out.

Eyes were darting around the group – did someone get shot?

A hissing drew their searching orbs to Koi – Cool-Blue – something was wrong. He reached a shaking hand to his chest and realised it was heating up. Ahead of him a fresh bullet had dug into the wall of the safe house. Was it silver? Was it Blade? Koi screamed. Pain struck him as he began to burn. The others jumped back.

Koi’s arms went up as he was consumed in flame. The fire licked and he was gone. His molten ashes hit the floor.

The remaining Shinkudō desperately scanned their surroundings for Blade, but they saw no sign. Above them in the abandoned building site, in what would have been a patio doorway, the dark figure of Blade holstered his custom mach gun and drew out a small metallic sphere. The sound of Blade activating the spherical device drew the gang’s attention.

Takeshi saw Blade for the first time with his own eyes and could not contain his surprise; “You found me…” His voice held more awe than fear.

Blade simply shot a sinister grin of triumph at Takeshi… and hurled the sphere into the air.

The device landed with a thump and rolled to a stop in the centre of the yard. The attention of the entire gang was focused on it.

Blade slid away from the opening with a flap of his coat.

No one moved in the courtyard and all eyes were on the quiet little sphere. A sense of shock had stunned the vampires. Blade was the last thing they’d expected on this night. His timing was ironic.

The inside of the sphere suddenly lit up with an ultra-violet glow.

Gin cried out; “UV GRENADE!”

Panic erupted.

Takeshi and Kinji hurried to the back of the blackened minivan and the Familiar bundled them inside and closed the door.

Flex ran to the far side of the minivan and ducked behind.

Gin, a closet coward, darted around the big dumpster and hid inside.

The geek didn’t move. He spoke no English and had no idea what was going on.

Baka moved to the motorcycle and used it for cover.

In the corner, the girl was lost in another world.

The Familiar stood guard.

The grenade gave a short beep and a blinding white-blue flash went off like a blast from the sun.



Moments later, the Familiar slid open the van door and let Takeshi and Kinji out. They waited for the remaining vampires to come out of hiding but only Flex emerged. They looked about. Beside the bike and in the clearing were two burning dust remnants. The new geek and Baka were gone. And there was no sign of Gin.

Takeshi clicked his fingers and sent the Familiar and Flex to check around for signs of Blade.

The Familiar went to the burned-out grenade and kicked it away, searching the apartments above for the Daywalker. Just when things seemed to have gone quiet and their guard began to drop, Blade descended into the courtyard in the midst of them.

Blade stood; his face meant business. He shot out a hand holding his folded glaive. The blade snapped open and the Daywalker spun, dropped, and hurled it across the yard taking out the Familiar’s right foot. The man hit the dirt face-first and the glaive span up into the air. Blade arose to face Flex, pulling out two silver stakes with his trademark flair. The green and black-haired vampire growled and extracted a short skewer from his gothic belt. The human began to peel himself from the floor on his good leg. Blade advanced on Flex, whirled to avoid the skewer, came around on his rear and reached an arm over his shoulder digging the silver point into his heart. Flex dissolved. Blade’s glaive tore through the sky towards him. Without looking, he threw back a hand and caught the weapon effortlessly.

Takeshi put a desperate hand on Kinji’s shoulder; “Kill Blade!”

The smooth-headed strong arm of the Shinkudō felt a flush of the impending when he obediently stepped out to face the unstoppable Daywalker.

Takeshi scuttled back beside the dumpster like a cowardly rodent. So much for Castor Troy.

Unknown to Takeshi, the silver Gin still hid out of sight inside the waste skip.

Blade holstered his glaive and relaxed for the next fight. He cracked his neck - a silver stake still in hand. Before him he saw a wounded Familiar, and farther away – Kinji.

Blade moved in on the human as he struggled to draw a gun from the waist of his pants. He managed to raise it – was about to get off a shot–

Blade reached in and snapped his wrist, knelt and pounded the guy in his nuts. He doubled over in pain onto Blade’s back. Blade wrestle-lifted him and slung him down on his back, stomping a foot into his face. This all happened in a split second.

Blade turned to Kinji, playfully exhibiting the stake. From his body language, Blade could see Kinji was a confident martial artist.

The two men tussled – Blade blocked all Kinji’s attacks and Kinji managed to avoid the stake until he gave the Daywalker a slamming palm-punch to the sternum. Blade slid back on his toes. He stopped, shook it off, and moved in. They tussled again. A flurry of dazzling arm movements. Blocks, attacks and counter attacks. Until Blade thrashed his fist into Kinji’s chest and sent him skidding back to a distant stop. He recovered his feet, somewhat disappointed.

“I always imagined you to have more bite, Blade-san.”

The bald vampire attacked – Blade ducked and whipped a boot up into his face. They tussled again and Kinji stopped the stake short of his chest. Blade let off a flurry of hits and buried the stake in – only to find Kinji had taken it in the arm. Kinji was momentarily stunned. But he moved in. Blade whipped out his mach and gave Kinji a hollow-point in the chest.

Takeshi, realising his fate, looked to his car. It would take too long to open the door, get in, start her up and manoeuvre out of the tight alley onto the road. He looked back to Blade, then locked his eyes on Kinji’s motorcycle. The key was in the ignition. He didn’t pause. Takeshi made a dash. Gin poked his head from the dumpster and saw Takeshi’s escape flight.

Blade saw it too and turned to get his true target as flames signalled Kinji’s end.

Takeshi started the bike and rolled away, passing Blade. Blade aimed his gun. If he had to he’d kill Takeshi before he let him go.

Gin appeared from the trash box and made a last-minute run to join Takeshi on the bike – but was too late by an inch. Takeshi rode across the yard. Blade fired a burst that Takeshi ducked.

The silver-suited Gin got up beside the Daywalker. Blade tried to stay with Takeshi, adjusting his aim. With the minivan mostly blocking the exit to the alley he could catch him still. But Gin hissed and pounced at him. Blade had no choice but to kick this suck-head’s ass quick. As the vampire attacked, Blade was side-on. He simply darted his left arm out and sliced his hand against Gin’s throat. The white-topped vamp stopped dead and gripped his neck. Blade twisted about to blast him in the skull with a garlic-filled bullet.

Takeshi manoeuvred awkwardly through the slight gap between the alley wall and car. The bike scraped and bumped past the car and tore away.

Blade, late, gave chase – running up the hood of the minivan, over the roof and out onto the sidewalk.

Takeshi was gone.

The dark vampire hunter snarled his displeasure and twirled his gun into its holster. He turned back to the yard.





* * *





Blade tore into the streets of central Tokyo on his black crotch-rocket and burned up the road. He slipped between two sluggish compacts and felt the smooth delivery of his big-bore 900 engine as a swift motion of his wrist sent a shock wave through the machine and her thundering twin power plants kicked out a thrust of power. He knifed through Niponbashi District and into Akihabara. Takeshi’s Vulcan could give the Ducati a run for its money and he had a good lead on Blade. But Blade had a good idea he would be heading for Narita or Haneda airport where a private jet would be waiting to take him to the States. He’d make for Expressway-1 and see if he could spot Takeshi from there.

It was half-past midnight and the expressway was busy enough. Tokyo slept about as well as New York. Blade raced for a kilometre between the centre and slow lanes checking the streets below for any sign of the distinct profile of the Vulcan Mean Streak before he clocked it a hundred metres ahead in the fast lane. The vehicles around Blade made known their feelings for his swerving and undertaking with a chorus of horn blasts as he pushed across to the fast lane and into the narrow service lane.

Takeshi must have noticed Blade’s approach because the blue Kawasaki cruiser took off into the service lane and shot up to 160kph. Blade’s Ducati roared when he let her rip with everything she had.

Takeshi had the Vulcan maxed-out but he knew he couldn’t keep ahead of the sports bike for long. Blade. The son of a bitch. He doubted the Daywalker could be stopped but he could slow the freak down enough to get his ass out of Japan. He reached for the cellphone in his jacket pocket, made a quick call, cut through the traffic violently and took the next exit.

Blade followed his heels down the ramp of the expressway and soared down Yasukuni-dori. Takeshi was heading for the Number-5 and probably Narita airport. Or he was smart enough to try and lose him on the wrong trail before doubling back to Haneda. But Blade had no intention of letting Shibasaki slip away. He was responsible for too much bad s––t and was the only key to whichever Overlord was running the Shinkudō.

Two sharp turns came – a right and a left – then onto a four-lane carriageway that ran for two kilometres behind the Imperial Palace. He was close now. Close enough to see Takeshi reach to answer his phone. The Vampire looked back at him. He waved goodbye with a smirk.

What the…?

From the other side of the road two vehicles sped and swerved into the oncoming traffic between Takeshi and Blade. A huge silver-purple Toyota 4Runner SUV and a sharp glowing red Honda Interceptor motorcycle.

The rider of the bike – too swift to be a human – pulled a gun as he rocketed toward Blade.

Blade hit the stopper and rolled the Ducati onto its front wheel, spinning the ass of the bike up and around. The rider skidded and just ducked under Blade’s rear wheel as he passed.

The Ducati slammed down and Blade, seeing the oncoming 4Runner, hammered the gas and narrowly missed being swiped by the SUV. He gave a low growl and powered away after Takeshi.

The 4Runner made a grating handbrake turn and joined the Interceptor in pursuit of the Daywalker. Blade saw the guns drawn behind him before the bullets whistled through the night and ricocheted along the road. He swerved evasively and fired back with his mach. Blade hit the SUV but barely scratched her window and the Honda rider didn’t even flinch when he took the remaining ammo in the helmet and chest. Nothing. Clearly they were well protected.

Blade knew these guys were pro’s. They were armed. Bullet-proof. Combat trained.

He weaved through the Tokyo traffic and pumped the gas to gain some clearance. There was nothing for it. His pursuit had gone to sh––. He gave up on Takeshi and decided to deal with the suck-heads on his ass. He’d get his info from them.

Blade wheeled into the next turning revving the bike up and down in high gear as he took the corner and was glad for the great torque of the Ducati engine. His pursuers weren’t far behind and he led then along Hakusan-dori and into the old part of town where the streets became tighter and the roads more rugged. He took them through side streets and gradually up toward the park and Palace.

He wasn’t happy with how well they were keeping up with him and their gunfire bothered him more. Most of all, he didn’t like being the one doing the running. He wanted to get them over to the crest of the hill beyond the Nijubashi Bridge. That would be a good quiet place to do his work. Lots of closed stores and few people. But circling around the Palace with bullets on his back tested Blade’s skill a little too early in the game for him. A shortcut was needed.

He crossed Uchibori, turned the bike hard into Kitanomaru Park and ripped the dirt.

They chased across an open lawn – bullets zipping – and between a group of large ponds always swerving and weaving artfully in a pursuit more like an automotive ballet.

Blade found a thin body of water with angled banks and crimson acer trees clustered around. He tried to slow the 4Runner by riding up through the rocky stream but the SUV was an excellent off-road all-wheel-drive and didn’t stop. The Interceptor went through the trees to cut him off and Blade took a difficult turn onto a small humped bridge. His bike took flight at the crest of the hump and his suspension gave a heavy moan when he came down. He gave her full throttle and made for the Palace grounds.

He kept his right hand on the bars as he slipped a fresh mag into it with his left. He rode across the grass surrounding the Palace walls until he saw a small iron gate beside a massive wooden one. He drew his mach, released the empty mag, slapped in the fresh one, and shot the metal gate off its hinges. He motored through the arch and into the Palace grounds. The Honda followed him through and moments later, with a sheering crunch, the 4Runner crashed through the larger gate.

Blade took them through the cherry blossoms of the Japanese garden and onto the front lawn. A forest of black pine trees dressed the lawn and Blade weaved among them. Lanterns among the trees gave some light to the chase. He circled around, kicking up moss with his tyres, until he ran parallel with his pursuers and shed a spurt of ammo into the tyres of the Interceptor. Again, astonishingly, there was no effect. It was the same with the SUV. They didn’t have pneumatic tyres at all but some kind of elastomer. The f --kers had rubber tyres!

Blade replaced his empty mach and caught sight of the front face of the Imperial castle as he rode by. Only a few windows were lit. The Imperial family were inside no longer tucked up in bed. Not with sports cycles and an SUV tearing through their garden firing automatic weapons. This was gonna cause some trouble for the authorities when the Emperor made his hysterical phone call. If he hadn’t already. The Palace guards wouldn’t be long.

He spun the Ducati and headed along the wall to the front gate. Another huge heavy wooden barricade. Blade weaved to avoid bullets and slid his sword from its sheath. He shot past the gate, slicing through the trunk of a young ginkgo tree, and circled back around. The Honda was almost on top of him coming fast and he cut the air with his sword. The rider fell back against the stern of his cycle. The sword missed and Blade headed straight for the fallen tree. It lay on a steep angle from the lawn to the top of the high wall next to the giant gate. He put his weight forward with the sword ahead of his front wheel to sever the branches in his path and ramped the bike up the tree trunk and over the wall.

With a crunch that ruined his suspension, he landed on the Nijubashi Bridge and took her across a plaza and right into a wide festival street. At one end he brought the Ducati to a standstill and let the motor idle. He watched the other end of the road and waited. He could barely wait to get to work on these time-wasting leeches. He could imagine Takeshi getting on his jet laughing at how easily he’d slipped out of the grasp of the big bad Daywalker.

Sure enough, the painful crunch came. The SUV had rammed the great wooden Palace gate and now paused at the intersection. They came for him.

He spun the back wheel into line and powered the bike and burned a quarter inch of rubber tearing away. He took them into the quiet narrow road that led down from the Palace area at a steep gradient. The Interceptor tailed the 4Runner as it thundered after him like a tank. Blade didn’t need the gas and he didn’t bother to apply any brake either as he rolled at high speed down the rough hill. Suddenly, with the speed and agility only he could display, he took the Ducati almost 90 degrees into an alley no wider than a doorway without loosing speed.

Blade came out in an identical steep street and shot a few metres beyond the next intersection.

He stopped quickly but quietly. Blade cut the engine and walked the bike backward into another doorway alley and doused the lights.

He could picture the scene further up the road. When Blade vanished between the buildings the SUV stopped. He’d heard the brakes. The Interceptor would have followed him awkwardly between the buildings and the 4Runner would be joining it on this road at the wider intersection. Any second–

He heard them coming. Tearing after him down the hill. He grinned at the plan. The hard fists of the Shinkudō shot past him and Blade fired his bike up and went after them. He drew up behind them, the sound of his engine masked by their own.

Blade drew his glaive and slung it at the rider ahead. The Interceptor was weaving either side of the Toyota to look ahead and the spinning weapon only cut across the rider’s shoulder as it flew. The rider, in red and black leathers, rolled his helmet around and spotted Blade in pursuit.

Blade dropped the gears and heard the low-end grunt as he whipped the Ducati forward. He closed the gap without minding when the rider of the Honda Interceptor aligned the barrel of a heavy duty handgun with Blade’s face because, as he did, the glaive swung back into Blade’s waiting hand. The rider’s helmet, like a discarded object, fell away in a spurt of embers.

Blade swerved the black smog and fire-crackle and avoided the toppled cycle. He slammed the brakes too late. The 4Runner was stopped. If he continued on his skid he’d finish up in the front seat of the SUV. Blade jumped, letting the bike skid off on a tangent. As the front doors of the Toyota opened, Blade swept gracefully over the vehicle, drawing his twin black and silver Heckler & Kocks’ and unloaded a few slugs into the car’s toughened windscreen.

He landed in front of the truck. He gave them no chance to come out with their guns and emptied his HKs into the front doors. Discarding the guns, he went for the driver – kicked the door. A submachine gun fell to the street and the door flew back at him. Blade dodged and whipped his coat. The passenger was now aiming over the car with his micro-Uzi.

Blade went low and thumped the side of the driver’s kneecap. The Vampire screamed and buckled. He was Japanese with girlish hair and Blade took a handful of it, dragging him down to take him in a kneeling headlock. He couldn’t take them both alive and the passenger was coming around the hood with his submachine gun. With the hand wrapped around the driver’s head, Blade slipped a finger into the hook of his vest’s garrotte wire. In a fluid motion he removed the head, recovered the vamp’s weapon from the ground, rose from behind the armoured door, and drained the magazine into the passenger’s bodysuit. The bleached-haired vamp shielded his head with both arms. Nice. The Daywalker used the fender of the SUV as a platform to launch a spinning kick that disarmed and stunned him.

He tried to block the next attack from Blade but the Daywalker had a speed and method unmatched. His arm snapped in a rush of moves from Blade. Then he found himself on the ground with the Daywalker’s mach aimed at his face.

Blade hissed. The vampire didn’t know his mach was empty.

“You better start talkin’, motherf--ker.”





* * *





The vampire, his legs sliced off at the knees and one arm broken, lay immobile before the front wheel of the SUV.

Blade stood at the driver’s door and released the parking brake slightly.

The wheel rolled slowly and the heavy elastomer tyre began to crush the vampire’s chest.

He groaned. But he still didn’t talk.

Blade applied the brake. “Where’s Takeshi going?” he hissed. They’d wasted his time and now they weren’t giving him anything. He roared; “Takeshi doko iku!?”

Not a peep. Blade let the whole front wheel roll over him and put the brake on.

A sharp dagger suddenly found its way into his shoulder. A female had appeared from the back seat and buried a tactical knife into his flesh.

Blade dragged her from the car.

She crouched in the street like a cat in the same body armour. She was beautiful.

He ripped the knife from his shoulder and threw it down. She moved like a hurricane. The girl cartwheeled into him with a spinning kick and recovered the knife as she went. She came up and thrust its point at his face. He shirked his head to the side, nipped her attacking arm between his and made to wrap his garrotte wire around her throat. Her arm was damaged but she still brought the edge of the knife up and snapped the wire in half. It was a first for Blade. She was a firecracker.

The crushed vampire crawled out from under the SUV dragging his mangled body on one arm. He was heading for his fallen gun.

Blade wrestled with the girl and tried to pound his boot into her. She feinted and fell away from it, spun, and swiped a heel across his head. Blade revolved with the impact and almost fell onto his Ducati. The bike with his shotgun holstered behind the seat. He grabbed the handlebars and swung the heavy machine, smashing the girl into a store window.

The crushed vamp reached his gun and turned it on the Daywalker.

Blade snatched the shotgun up out of its cycle holster. He pumped it and exploded the goon’s head. With a brief glow he melted into the night.

He kicked his leg back and sent the sneaking girl onto her ass. He turned the shotgun on her and showed her his pearly whites. “You wanna talk?”

She looked around for a weapon or a break.

“Didn’t think so.” He blew her apart.

The Daywalker stood silently and reflected. So far the whole night had amounted to nothing but a bad headache.

In the distance sirens began to sound their approach to the Palace. Blade’s bike was wrecked. He climbed into the SUV. It would serve for now. A little conspicuous having just ram-raided the Emperor of Japan’s Imperial Palace but he knew where he could exchange it for a nice custom-kitted minivan.





* * *



The Familiar with the ponytail took a hard slap across the face.

Blade had found him where he left him – in the courtyard cradling himself on the ground trying to reach someone on his cell. Blade held him by the collar and smacked him again up the side of his head.

The man yelped. “No way! …I no tell you jack!”

Blade kicked the guy’s bad leg, dropping him to his knees, and twisted his bad wrist.

He cried out. “Okay, man! Yamete! I tell you! New York! …He go to New York. …ah, sh-t.”

Blade eyed him impassively and began to walk away.

The Familiar struggled to his feet. “But you ain gonna catch him, yada!”

Blade stopped. Turned back.

“Cos I gonna smash you up, kakujitsu!”

Blade returned and faced him, standing tall. The human couldn’t even stand straight let alone fight. He looked like he was being held up by strings and held together by spit.

Blade removed his shades casually and slipped them into his coat. “Oh, really?” He took hold of the guy gently by the collar and drew back a fist. He paused. Lowered the arm. “Nah.”

He released the man and walked away. The Familiar collapsed like a doped bull.

Blade registered the captive, shaken white girl in the corner. He scooped up the open cell phone.

The quivering girl noticed the shadow over her and reluctantly lifted her vacant eyes to see the terrible figure of Blade standing over her – phone outstretched in his gloved hand.

“You might wanna make a call,” he said as softly as his sandpaper larynx would allow.

The girl took the cellular in a dithering hand and wheezed; “…thank you.”

Blade withdrew with one last word to himself…

“Tourists.”
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