So I guess King kind of grew on me, cos he got a much bigger role in this chapter than I had originally planned.

...

The group is separated into three vehicles- two giant black SUVs, which King refers to as 'the tankmobiles' and Blade's precious Charger, which he refused to part with and insists on driving alone. Nomak slides into one of the Nightstalkers' cars alongside King, Abby sitting in the back as she sorts through her Mp3.

"Look, uh..." Hannibal starts the engine, shifts in his seat, and glances at the Reaper. "The other day, with the whole... 'shooting you' thing..." He coughs. "I mean, I have my reasons for hating vampires. I always figured that the stuff that happened to me was- was pretty much the worst that could happen." Another pause. "But- jesus, man, the stuff on those tapes-"

"Tapes?" Nomak looks up, feeling apprehension clench in his gut.

King looks at him again. "The tapes from the lab, man," he says quietly.

Panic freezes the pale being, his eyes going wide. "You saw them? Did Blade see-?"

The Nightstalker nods once. "Yeah. Whistler and Abby, too. Sorry, we just... found them in the lab, when we... Yeah. So, just- sorry, man."

Nomak is silent, his mind churning, pieces falling into place- was that why Blade returned early yesterday? Or had he somehow known that Drake would come after the Reaper once the Nightstalkers were gone? If Blade had seen what Drake had done, how he'd sullied Nomak, then why... why would he want to touch Nomak? Each question gives way to another ten, until his head hurts, cradling his forehead in his palm, elbow resting against the window.

Abby leans forward, Skunk Anansie blasting from her earphones, and taps at the vampire's shoulder. "You okay?" She asks, a little loudly over the music.

He nods, not trusting himself to talk just yet.

She withdraws her hand, checks the alignment of her arrows, paying particular attention to the single virus-tipped one.

The building is big, like the last one, with glass windows and an arched roof dozens of stories up that looks like the flared hood of a cobra. The SUVs pull to a halt across the street, every occupant staring at the vampiric headquarters as they lock and load, preparing for their grand entrance.

"Okay," Whistler says over the comms, "Abby, King and Nomak, you're leadin' the charge- you hit 'em fast and hard, and we come in right behind ya with-"

Before he can finish, the Charger comes roaring past the other cars and goes smashing through the front doors of the building. Half a second later, the sound of gunfire and screaming can be heard.

"Goddammit, Blade!" Whistler snaps into his radio, knowing full well that it's no good. "Alright, boys and girls, I guess we're playin' Follow the Leader. Let's go!"

They all pile out of the vehicles at once and go storming toward the gaping hole made by Blade's forward charge. Nomak breaks out ahead of the group of humans, hurls himself through the shattered glass and rubble and immediately has to duck to avoid the howling vamp that launches herself at him. He catches her throat in his jaws, rips it open with a spray, and lets her fall, her head torn clean off by the bite.

Blade has worked his way through the gathering vampiric forces to the top of a winding, jagged staircase, his sword gleaming in a silver arc as he hacks and slashes. The Reaper snarls at the crowd of monsters surrounding him, sees a few of them- higher-ups most likely- flinch away, recognizing him. Grinning ferally, he lunges for the nearest vampire.

Abby and King enter (leaping over the crumbling wall in Abby's case, stumbling on a piece of debris in Hannibal's case), guns raised, the other Nightstalkers close on their heels. King nods toward the Reaper and the already-growing path of scattered corpses around him.

"Sure knows how to clear a room, huh?"

She ignores him, either not hearing him over her music or too focused on shooting things to slug him in the arm for his terrible pun. She pauses for the briefest instant, intense inspiration in her eyes, then spins, calling out to the Reaper.

Nomak's head turns sharply toward her, mad fury and primal hunger freezing his face into a terrifying display. She catches his eye, throws something thin and shiny toward him. He snatches it from the air, dodging a blow from another vampire, and swiftly rips out the creature's heart before examining the object.

It's an arrow, cold steel, with a green-and-silver-tipped head.

The virus.

He meets her gaze again, just long enough to see her nod in affirmation and mouth the word Go.

He turns away and continues carving a bloody path through the quickly-disbanding blockade, his scimitar jaws slicing through flesh like butter. By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, the vampires are trying to scramble around him, hoping to avoid the destructive whirlwind of his presence in favor of the humans. Ashes whirl about him like ghosts, his feet scuffing embers across the floor. Blade is already gone- working his way deeper into the building. From the floor above, Nomak hears the ringing clash of swords.

He hones in on the sounds of the duel, follows them to a marble-floored room overlooking the doors to a terrace. In the center is a massive steel table, cleaved in two by the fight, chunks of stone lying about and slashes in the walls and pillars.

Blade and Drake whirl around each other in a frenzied dance, sparks flying with every blow of their weapons. Crimson droplets scatter the air, running from half a dozen wounds that decorate the hybrid's arms, chest and face. Drake's shirt has been reduced to shreds, but no injuries mark his skin; testament to his healing abilities.

Before Nomak can make a move, Dracula drops to a crouch and swipes the Daywalker's feet aside. Blade falls, twisting to catch himself, but the elder vampire knocks him off-balance with a sharp kick, swipes his sword across his opponent's, knocking it away. Blade lands badly, his arm broken by the kick, and as he starts to leap back to his feet, Dagon impales his chest with the bone-handled sabre. The tip of the blade juts from his back, red running down to pool on the floor, Blade's face contorting in agony.

There is a flurry of movement, a wild force tearing across the room, and Drake roars as he is sent flying sideways by the Reaper. Blade cries out once as the sword pulls free, letting him collapse onto the stone. Nomak's hand whips with inhuman speed and strength, bringing the sharp gleam of the arrow toward Dracula's throat-

Drake's hand blocks him less than an inch away, snaps his arm and twists it until the arrow falls from his grip, clattering across the marble. The Reaper bellows in frustration and pain, wrenches away and snaps the bones back into alignment. His eyes dart to the wounded hunter, still bleeding on the ground.

He only needs a moment, Nomak thinks hastily, He can heal himself if I give him enough time. He darts away from Drake, drawing him out to the terrace.

Nomak has tried countless times before to fight Drake, and the ancient vampire's confident flash of a smile tells that he has already predicted the outcome of this battle. His eyes say I have defeated your precious Daywalker; how exactly do you plan to succeed where he failed? He spins his sword in an easy arc, inscribing a figure eight through the air as he takes a step forward. But the Reaper has two unexpected assets in this duel: for the first time, he is at his full strength, fed and rested and unchained; and for all Drake's millennia of swordplay and practice, he's not used to facing an untrained opponent. Nomak's street-taught fighting style is swift, sudden, unpredictable, his hands a blur as he makes sharp lunges and jabs and dances away, keeping out of range of the blade. Dagon swipes and slashes, and in a split second when his arm is outstretched, the Reaper darts in and catches his wrist, twists with the force of a steel vice, imitating what was done to him moments ago and suddenly the sword is clanging onto the tiles. For the briefest moment they both stare at the weapon in disbelief. Nomak snaps into action first, kicking the katana away so hard that it goes spinning off the edge of the building and toward the ground hundreds of feet below.

Drake watches his sword fall, then whips around to face the smaller creature, draws himself up to his full height, letting his human skin erupt into his Devonian exoskeleton. His amber eyes swivel as he takes a step forward, unhinges his mandible, and roars his primeval fury at his opponent.

Nomak plants his feet, leans toward the monster, answers his cry with one of his own, an unnatural reverberating howl that builds and echoes, his jaw cracking like a bear trap, tongue snapping snakelike at Drake's hypnotic eyes. Inches apart, the two scream defiance at one another, pure animal rage reverberating off the walls. Dracula whips an arm forward, wicked claws aiming for his opponent's gut. Rather than sidestepping the blow, the Reaper catches his hand and yanks it forward. They tumble together, off-balance once more, Nomak's back hitting the wall, dragging Drake along with him by the talons buried in the smaller man's stomach. There's a frozen moment, their expressions a mixed mirror of shock and pain.

Keeping his deathlike grip on the limb embedded in his belly, Nomak snarls through gritted teeth, "Do it!"

Dagon meets his gaze for an instant, confused, not realizing that the command is aimed past him, toward the hunched figure on the floor behind them.

"Now! Do it now!"

Blade rises up from the floor in slow motion, blood shining down half his face like war paint. He brings up an arm, hand curled in a fist, swings it in an arc.

The barbed tip of the arrow punches through a crevice between two plates in Dracula's armor, the ampule shattering, driving its poison into his bloodstream. His eyes go wide, surprised, for a moment. The Daywalker takes a step back, prepared to continue, but the fight is already over.

The first vampire ever to walk the earth pulls slowly away, his hand tearing free of Nomak's stomach with a sick squelch. He staggers, turns halfway, his gaze slowly passing from one face to the other. He raises a hand to his throat, like he's choking, a tremor wracking his body.

"Well done," he says at length. "You fought bravely. Honorably. Both of you." He coughs. "Allow me at least... a parting gift. Hear my words." He collapses to his knees like a felled tree, bony plates rippling like snakeskin, giving way to tanned skin, going grey. "I was... not wrong about you, Daywalker. You and I... are not so different. With my death, you will... lose your purpose, and when you... have an eternity... with no purpose..." Another cough, bringing up a spray of blood and ash. He locks his eyes onto Blade's. "With no one to hunt, you will... turn on those around you. You will... cut down your allies... one by one..." He turns his heavy stare toward the Reaper, slumped against the wall and clutching his eviscerated gut. "In time, Daywalker, you will treat him... as I have. You will understand." His golden-brown eyes catch Nomak's, a strange conflict of nostalgia, anger, envy, longing and understanding in them as he addresses the pale being. "Draga Nomak... I will wait for you in whatever world we are destined for. If there... is a Hell, it was made... for creatures like us. If there is a... next life, I will use it... to find you again. You can be sure... of that." His chest spasms, his jaw working painfully, and with a grimace he adds, "I leave this world... to you both. And I wish... you luck in it. But know... know that no matter what you do... in the end... the thirst always wins."

He smiles slowly, fluid trickling from his gums, and with a final cough expels a cloud of thick grey plague, chasing into the air, twisting like campfire smoke. Ancient, reptilian eyes glow with a last spark, then fade.

Blade stands a moment, watching as the body of his enemy crumples. He glances up at Nomak, and for a tense few seconds they wait. A beat passes, then another, and the hunters both release a breath. The half-blood's lips curl in a victorious, uneasy grin, and the Reaper returns it, shoulders lowering.

From the inside of the building comes the sound of screaming, shrieking, as the vampires gag and writhe in their dying agonies.

"It worked," Nomak says quietly.

The Daywalker nods, still grinning. Suddenly the smile falters, his brows furrowing.

He coughs.

"Blade?" Nomak steps forward, over Drake's corpse, and abruptly has to catch the half-breed as he falls, spitting up blood. "No! Blade, no-" Carefully, he lowers the hunter to the floor, supporting his head with one hand, feeling his erratic pulse with the other.

"Fuck-" Blade hacks, flecks of red scattering like freckles across Nomak's cheek.

"No, no, no!" Panic seizes the Reaper's mind, desperation clawing at him. There has to be something, some way, something he can do before it's too late, before the virus sweeps through them both-

-and he realizes that the virus isn't sweeping through them both.

And he remembers the doctors talking, back in the lab, about immune system and about unsusceptibility and about blood-borne resistance-

-and he tugs his sleeve down, hurried but strangely coolheaded as he takes one of Blade's knives and slits his wrist, blue-green spray like an ocean wave escaping. Before the wound can close he turns his arm, presses the open gash to the half-blood's mouth.

Blade tries to pull away, eyes rolling wildly, but Nomak keeps his grip firm. "Take it," he insists. "Drink, Blade."

He feels the hesitant scrape of fangs against his skin, and a second later the Daywalker latches on and sucks with all the frenzied, violent power of the dying. Nomak tries to will his blood to flow faster, to pump everything into the hunter. Blade's mouth is like a bottomless vacuum, like the hungry pressure of space, and soon the Reaper feels lightheaded, feels his heart shudder spasmodically at the loss. He closes his eyes for a moment, fighting a wave of euphoric nausea, and mumbles encouragement at the man in his arms.

His lungs contract- no air. Every motion is sluggish, like moving underwater.

Eyes lidded, heavy with exhaustion, he leans down and kisses the Daywalker's forehead, lips still moving, no longer making any sound.

His heart pulses once.

Slow, his vision going dark.

Twice.

His head rests against the crook of Blade's neck, a soft exhalation slipping from him, almost a contented sigh.

Full stop.

...

DAMN this took a while! Remember to review!