Astoroth64

February 23, 2009 Jonas readjusted the scope of his Barret M82, and looked down the sights. Perfect. He thought as he watched the window William Davis had been sitting near for a hour now. He was talking to a woman, a vampire by the looks of it. William had been seeing her for the nights he had been watching, and Jonas could assume that she was a lover or a close friend from they way they spend their time together. Jonas shifted ever-so-slightly so the crosshairs were resting between William's eyes. This was such an impersonal way to go about this, but from what Alex told him, killing William would send Locke a message. And doing it without

February 2nd, 2009 In a way, Benjamin Cross could be said to have had a bloodline of his own. His ancestor, nine hundred years old now, found only a minor appeal in bringing in blood new Hunters. Cross himself, though, found great pleasure in this habit and liked to indulge in it from time to time. Most of the city's vampires could more easily trace their heritage back to him than to Locke. The Londonians of the Londonian. In fact, he could hardly recall the last time Locke had turned someone, other than the daughter of that pest Jean-Pierre. Cross himself was not a direct offspring of his ancestor, as the common misconception went. In fact

February 19th, 2009 Alex - or Alexa, as the other dancers of the Mariinsky Ballet preferred to call her - could only assume that the hunter did not her as she stalked him this past week. The Mariinsky was to be performing in London for a full month and Alex had a busy schedule to follow. On her first night off she parted from the rest of the company to take a stroll through a district of many pubs and nightclubs, that many of London's lower-ranked vampires used to catch their prey. It's been a while since she's been to her hometown, but the details came back to her quickly and clearly. She used the opportunity to meet up with an old friend

January 23, 2009 It was a difficult task, but Jonas was about to leave Italy without tipping off his superiors. His recently-retired colleague and best friend, Malcolm Pierce, still owed him a few favors. Within a week, he had arrived in London for the first time in 28 years. The first thing he needed to do was get home and put together a plan. Like St. Petersburg, London's vampires would be far more organized than in the Americas. The last thing he wanted was to fight for another six years before getting to Locke. This needed precision and swiftness. He needed to strike quick and disappear into the shadows before they knew what hit him. Ins

July 24, 1981 Jonas opened the front gate to their property, hiking his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder as he walked toward the house. After discussing his retirement with Girard, he couldn't help but have a little spring in his step. He was so happy, in fact, that he hadn't noticed that the lock had been forced. "Elizabeth!" He called cheerfully as he opened the door. "Abby! Daddy's home!" Dead silence. "Girls?" He asked cautiously, worst-case scenarios flashing through his head. He dropped his duffel bag down on the ground and unzipped it. He began to tear his clothes out, trying to get to his revolver. "Jonas!" A pained voice cried o

January 12th, 2009 It's been six long years for Jonas Jean-Pierre. Six years that he sometimes doubted were even real - they seemed more like a terrible, unending nightmare. And now he has returned to his organisation's embrace in the Vatican, drained and exhausted, mentally more than physically, although the pain had taken its toll on his body as well. He was getting old, there was no doubting it now. His mind was as sharp as ever, but his body could no longer catch up. And yet the only thing that bothered him about it was the doubt it invited into his soul, doubt that he will someday be able to fight and destroy the man who had killed and

March 19, 2003 11:56 P.M. Jonas made his way into the Sistine Chapel, closing and locking the large doors behind him. After taking a moment to look at the frescoes adorning the walls and ceiling, he strode across the room to a pew just off the main aisle and sat down. Solemnly, he retrieved the necklace around his neck depicting the Crucifixion of Christ. He looked into the eyes of the golden Jesus and began muttering to himself. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Haiti; March 7, 2003 - - - - - - - - - - - - - Jonas had been following this dirt path for hours. It was around midnight, and the moon was the only source of light in the dense jungle. By now, his eyesight had adjusted to the point that he could see well enough to navigate. For the past week, he had been scouring the island for clues of this elusive monster. Locals called him 'The Shaman', and see him as a loa. A god. They said that he could command a legion of zombies to crush those who oppose him. Accounts of him go back as far as the Haitian Revolution in the 19th Century. A vampire who originated from the Congo, so it was impossible to