In a movement born from decades of practice, Isran ripped the tiny hand crossbow from its leather holster at his hip and loosed a bolt, directly into Kaius's chest. The silver tipped bolt, dipped in an intense paralytic mixture of fungal pods from Morthal's swamps, and canis root, crossed the three metre gap between them in an eye blink. It should have been impossible to dodge, impossible for it to have missed, and yet any doubt that Isran may have had, vanished as Kaius twisted out of the bolt's path.
One of the few gifts he had from Sorine Jurard before they had gone their separate ways was a marvel of technological engineering. Somehow she had merged an Akaviri repeating crossbow from the 2nd Era with a Dwemer arbalest while also shrinking the design for portability and ease of use. The result was one of Isran’s prized possessions; a tiny, single handed crossbow the length of a dagger capable of launching four custom made bolts in quick succession. Its range was terrible, its bolts lacked the power and impact of a larger design, but in close range situations such as these it was invaluable.
The first bolts missed, one shattering on the stonework of the wall behind, and the second skittering off into the corner of the room with a wooden clatter as Kaius weaved away. He was supernaturally fast, dodging out of the way with the speed of the damned, but Isran had technique on his side. Almost instinctively his arm twisted, finger twitching and pulling on the crossbow’s release in quick succession, and technically not even aiming at Kaius when he released the fourth, and final bolt.
Many who hunted the things that lurked in the darkness made the mistake of trying to aim and hit the creatures as they moved. No mortal, no living being in existence was capable of meeting or catching them in such a way. The first three bolts were merely distractions, the means to force the creature to move where and how Isran wanted it to, and through instinct and experience the fourth slapped through the air between them. It flew true, the aim was perfect, loosing the bolt at just the right time to meet the creature’s dodging movement to the side, but despite all the times he had successfully fought and killed the bloodsuckers, Isran had never encountered one fast enough to snatch a crossbow bolt out of the air.
"Seriously…” The bolt snapped with the sound of a breaking femur between Kaius's fingers, as he stopped and glared at the vampire hunter, dropping the pieces to the floor at the same time Isran dropped the empty crossbow. “I didn't come here to fight you."
"Then you came here to die."
A bolt of pure, silvery light struck Kaius in the face, forcing him to stagger backwards, eyes running with tears and waving his hands as Isran called upon his magical reserves. Spells that had never seen the inside of the College of Winterhold, or any Mages Guildhalls streaked through the air, overpowering the feeble light of the room’s pair of lanterns. Each blast of light drove Kaius back as Isran conjured them into existence with flicks of his wrist, relentlessly slamming one after the other into the vampire’s face.
Engaging creatures such as vampires in open battle was one of the quickest and most painful ways to die. They had the strength of ten men, could be as fast as a bolt of lightning, and were equally deadly whether they retained their humanity or had fallen to darkness. Against such creatures the only hope when faced with one was to go on the offensive, and remain on the offensive. They had to outwit and outthink the vampire, keep two or three steps ahead and plan for every contingency because as soon as the beasts gained the slightest advantage it would be all over.
It was this forethought and planning that allowed Isran to be ready when Kaius summoned a hazy, flickering ward between them that burst the burning balls of light like rotten fruits in mid-air. Normally, Kaius’s control and ability with magicka would have been surprising, but not to Isran. Even though his vampiric opponent was clad in fur-lined steel plate armour, which was naturally hindering for most kinds of magicka, the spawn of Molag Bal were ever crafty, but he was ready.
Within a second of the ward being summoned into existence, a tiny clay pot was snatched from his belt and shattered against the ceiling between them. Little more than a small, palm sized clay pot for storing alchemical ingredients, it was filled to bursting with carefully, and finely carved slivers of silver coins that were little more than powder. The brittle container exploded and filled the air with dancing specks of light, almost too small to be seen with the naked eye.
As expected, Kaius's ward failed almost the instant the tiny flakes reached him, and despite his best efforts, the coughing fit that claimed him made it difficult to do much else. The bursts of light in his face had been enough to feel like slaps; a sure sign to Isran that he was not some freshly turned vampire, but the silver powder was a different matter. Isran had first gained the idea from reading stories of how the Legion used quicklime in sieges, using the whitish powders to blind and burn the defenders no matter where they tried to hide, and silver was the bane to the undead and unholy alike. The fact that breathing in silver dust wasn’t entirely healthy for mortals like himself didn’t matter to Isran. He was expecting his eyes and throat to become scratchy and raw, whereas his foe wasn’t expecting how the air comparatively turned into fire.
Like it had against other vampires, the silver jar worked its deadly effects on Kaius, causing him to flail about against the onslaught, burning his skin and scouring throat, lungs, and eyes. Against a lesser creature it would have left it whimpering and completely unable to defend itself, but Kaius was stronger, far stronger than most vampires. He shrugged off the pain as though it was an old friend, returning Isran's scowl with one that was less human than the one before.
"That tickles." The growl rose from his throat and Isran somehow felt satisfaction as fangs split Kaius's lips. He was losing control, and while the more animalistic that vampires became the more dangerous they were, they were also easier to goad, trick and outmanoeuvre.
"Come on monster. Show me what you truly are."
With a click, the leather straps holding his Warhammer to his spine fell away and the weapon fell neatly into his hands. It was ten kilograms of steel with a heavy lead core, plated in silver and covered in runes of purity and banishment. Strong enough to batter its way through orichalcum plate armour and pulp its wearer’s bones, it was also a relic of a long dead knightly order from the Third Era. Through several centuries, the hammer had slain daedra and monsters alike, and since finding itself in Isran's hands, it had added an impressive tally of undead to its illustrious history.
Further showing his unnatural skill and abilities, Kaius twisted and writhed away from Isran as the hammer slammed into the floor with titanic force. The jar of silver dust was only meant to disorient, and allow him to keep the initiative in the fight and wouldn’t last long. Maybe fifteen seconds at the most and Isran was determined to make every single one of them count. Younger, more recently turned vampires had been put out of their misery in such a short space of time, but against an older, more powerful one like what Kaius was appearing to be, it was little more than a hindrance.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Keeping the weapon close, using the silver plated haft just as much as the enormous lead cored head, he twirled and twisted it about, using its momentum and weight to keep Kaius unbalanced. The hammer ripped through the air with a deep noted vrruumm with every movement and Isran was grunting and snarling just as much as Kaius was.
Unease threatened to dig its claws into his mind as he fought, but Isran forced it aside as even a moment of doubt could be enough to lose. Kaius was no ordinary vampire and had the resistances and abilities that matched any of the master vampires Isran had ever fought. Even hindered by the powder, he was still faster than ordinary mortals and the first blows struck nothing but air, but with a little technique and skill, Isran soon gained the advantage that he needed.
Hooking the bottom of the warhammer's grip behind an armoured knee, he swept one of Kaius's legs out from under him, forcing the vampire to drop even as he used the momentum to throw a vicious left hook. With Isran's full bodyweight behind the blow, it smashed Kaius to his knees, flesh and face burning and smoking from the silver banded knuckle guards wrapped around Isran’s fingers. Lips split apart, teeth were loosened, and a mouthful of blood and a fang splattered across the stone floor as Isran swung the hammer around and slammed it down as though he was chopping wood with an axe.
From the impact that ran up through his arms, Isran would have sworn that he had stuck the floor again or tried to batter his way through a block of solid ebony, and despite all the practice his hands still went numb and tingling. Somehow, in the time between being punched in the mouth and the downwards hammer strike, Kaius once again showed his true speed, catching the descending warhammer with a loud slap that ripped through the air. In thirty years of hunting vampires Isran had never encountered one that had attempted something as ridiculous as catching a weapon in mid strike, let alone a full strength blow from a silver, blessed warhammer. Such a surprise was costly, as even the tiniest fraction of hesitation was more than enough for Kaius to react. Surging to his feet, talons like polished ebony erupted from the tips of his fingers and sunk to the knuckles in Isran’s armour as easily as it was cloth instead of steel brigandine.
"I did not come all this way to pick a fight with you. If I wanted you and the rest of your hunters dead, then you would already be cooling and rotting on the floor.”
Isran had slain numerous vampires throughout his life, but even he was stopped for a moment as he saw the way how Kaius's face and flesh changed. Darkness, all encompassing and soulless filled Kaius's eyes, his brow, cheekbones and jaw cracking and pushing forward against the skin that kept them trapped. It was almost as though Kaius was becoming more daedra than vampire as every tooth in his skull grew several centimetres in length and into pointed fangs in a jaw that had unhinged like that of a snake or great reptile. He could do nothing, but watch with a sick kind of fascination, as Kaius held him up off the floor with a single arm, seeing the way that the vampire crushed his monstrous nature into the depths of his soul where it had been lurking. Only the talons jutting from the bones of his fingers remained, still gripping and holding him aloft with a fistful of his ruined bridandine armour.
For the moment, as he watched Kaius return to his more human appearance, Isran was uninjured. Somehow, and for some reason that he could not fathom, Kaius hadn’t hurt him even as he ruined the front of his armour with his claws. He should have been dead, and yet Kaius hadn’t bothered to strike a killing blow by tearing out Isran’s heart or throat. Isran, however, was not one to pull punches.
Without conscious thought, a vial of holy water was smashed directly across Kaius's face, further injuring the flesh and skin that had been torn by Isran’s silver knuckle guards in a spray of water, blood and glass. Tiny, crystalline shards bit deep into Kaius's jaw and cheek, splattering further blood across the two of them, even as it mixed with the holy water.
As Isran expected, Kaius reacted immediately, the talons retracting from metal and leather, and letting Isran drop to the floor. Landing as lightly as a khajiit, even in fifteen kilograms of armour, he practically danced away from the vampire, watching with some satisfaction as Kaius was left clutching his face with blood streaming between his fingers.
It was not entirely the reaction he was expecting though. The tiny vials were truly priceless, almost irreplaceable and had taken over a year to acquire a mere half dozen of them. Personally retrieving snow from the monastery of High Hrothgar on the Throat of the World’s peak, he had distilled it, and had the water thrice-blessed by priests of Arkay and Stendarr, and even an acolyte of the Daedric Prince, Meridia. There was nothing else like them within the bounds of Tamriel and the last time he resorted to using one, it had left a vampire screaming in agony as the flesh sloughed off its bones.
Kaius, though, seemed annoyed more than anything else. Spitting blood and water, wiping away the watery streaks of crimson leaking from the cuts and gashes, the only signs of distress was the frown and the way he pinched a shard of glass out of his cheek.
"Really? Holy water?" Bitter sarcasm slurred around another mouthful of blood, as Kaius spat it over the floor. "What's next? Psalms and holy artefacts?"
The same instincts that had alerted him to Kaius's true nature were pleading with him, but Isran bid them no heed. Despite the creature's resistance to the holiest of waters he was not going to back down, especially as he still had several more tricks up his sleeve.
Unfortunately proving Kaius's prediction to be correct, Isran tore an amulet of Stendarr from under his armour and held out in front of him as his god's blessings filled him with righteous might. Strength coursed its way through his veins and he knew that his faith was leaving his eyes glowing with holy power. With the purity of both purpose and soul, he could face down the very worst the darkness could offer him and throw it back into the abyss.
"I am the servant of Stendarr, and messenger of his justice." Intonating a battle-hymn from his days serving as a Vigilant, Isran could feel the strength, power and purity of Stendarr’s essence flowing into him, as he channeled the God of Justice’s might into his flesh. "I am the instrument of his divine wrath on Nirn."
Kaius looked less than impressed even as the billowing light growing from within Isran's soul burst free of his flesh and began radiating the room in pure light. The aura was enough to crisp the flesh of the damned, and repel the mindless husks of the undead, but Kaius simply stood there and rolled his eyes.
"I am called upon to cleanse his kingdom..." Forcing the words from his throat, Isran took a step forward, feeling the might and power of Stendarr's blessing upon him as it burned his flesh from within.
"Bringing ash from the flesh of thine enemies..." Kaius continued, finishing the hymn for the vampire hunter. "Are you done yet?"
"I am.” The smile that creased Isran's face was terrible to behold as Stendarr's Aura faded away. It might not have had the effect that he wanted but it had served its purpose. “But so are you."
Hanging from the ceiling, the chain was just one of several suspended from the stones. Some were where he hung a bag filled with sand for unarmed practice, others were where he hung his lanterns. This one in particular served a specific purpose and he wrenched down hard on its length.
