The Massacre

The Massacre

"Nosferatu," whispered the woman. A bolt was drawn and a face in the door slit nodded. The steel slit slammed shut and the door opened. A wooden cross bow bolt zipped through the air and thudded into the doorman’s chest. His eyes bulged and he fought for breath. Before he hit the ground, the assault team where already moving inside the club. Panic ensued. In the semi-dark nightclub, the crack of gunfire, and the swish of cross bow bolts sent vampyres running hopelessly in all directions looking to escape. Within minutes, fifty corpses littered the floor; after ten, a hundred. Flint waded into the hysterical mass with two axes, smashing sculls and decapitating anything standing in his path. He cut a swathe through the crowd aiming for the rest rooms at the back of the club. He went straight into the female room and smiled. Cowering against the far wall were a large group of female vampyres, hissing and bearing their fangs at him. He laughed; this was going to be fun. Joining him in the room were his brothers, and three other knights. Outside the music had stopped, replaced by the screams and moans of the dying. It was a bloody massacre. Only the female vampyres in the rest room remained. Flint locked the door. None would come out alive. He scanned them, nonchalantly firing bolts into the ones he didn’t like the appearance of. Hit with bolts the female vampyres were quickly decapitated by his brothers. Flint’s grotesque plan was simple; eliminate the ugly ones, sodomize the good looking one’s, then kill them all, all but one was to be left to tell the tale. 

The remaining eight terrified female vampyres cowered in a corner, helpless, no match for the knights, with their crossbows and axes. From large hold alls, carried by the knights, came ball gags, chains, neck collars and handcuffs. The vampyres were soon sitting gagged and chained. Flint stood back admiring their handy work. His selection process was simple. Those left alive were attractive, and dressed provocatively. He was not disappointed with his selection. He sniffed the air. He could smell his favourite perfume. And tracked it to a petite redhead wearing a red leather corset and thigh boots sitting at the back of the group. It was insulting that a vampyre should wear such a perfume. She would be his first. He grabbed her Lara Croft ponytail and dragged her to the washbasins, chaining her to the taps by her neck collar. Bent double with her hands cuffed behind her back, it was clear what he intended. With the position she was in, her tight ass was high in the air. The short leather skirt hid nothing, and her red thong barely covered her sex. He ripped the flimsy material away and was delighted to find her smooth and shaven. The female vampyre twisted and turned, but to no avail. She tried kicking him with a spiked heel, but missed. He laughed, crashing her head against the porcelain, splintering her nose, and sending a river of blood into the bowl. She whined with pain, spitting blood and teeth. Like a junkyard dog on a leash, she was held tight. His two half brothers liked his idea, and quickly copied it. Now there were four female vampyres cuffed and chained by their necks to the washbasins, with their pert buttocks raised invitingly towards them. Wide-eyed and fearful the others huddled together in the corner of the room. Each man took out surgical gloves from their overalls and put them on. Next came a tube of KY jelly and a condom. In unison, the zips on their overalls descended and they took out their semi hard cocks and masturbated, watching the luscious flesh squirming in front of them. Rolling on the condoms, they were ready. The female vampyres panicked and tried pulling away, but the chains held them firm. 

“There is no escaping God’s will,” Flint growled. 

"Please no, not this,” screamed a vampyre.

"I care little for you, whore!”

It wasn’t long before the female vampyres were screaming, whining, and pleading for mercy from the bedevilling. Finally, Flint pulled out a handgun and put the muzzle to the back of his vampire’s head. 

"Look up bitch." She looked up, straight into his eyes looking back at her in the mirror. He smiled, and blew her brains across the basin and mirror. She slumped into the basin, a neat smoking black hole visible in the back of her skull. The basin filled quickly, until she floated face down in her own blood. His half brothers repeated the scene.

"Whose next then?" He spotted a long legged beauty in fishnets and a leather dress and dragged her over to the basin. He took a good look before ripping her dress from her shoulders.  Her ample breasts swung free and he squeezed them roughly before pushing her head into the bloody bowl and chaining her down. 

"I love my job!" He trumpeted after several minutes, and blew the female vampyre’s brains the way of the first before throwing his soiled condom on the floor. Eventually, after his half brothers had followed suit, One female vampyre remained.

"You are all that is left of this sordid night club for bloodsuckers. I am sparing your life,” said Flint, grabbing her hair and looking into her blood shot eyes. “I want you to re-tell this horror story to all your vampyre friends. You are not safe while I am still breathing; I am hunting you all down. Next time we catch you, you will go the same was as your friends." She looked at the corpses, heads chained and floating in their own blood, the mirrors and walls dripping gore, and the bodies lying grotesquely on the floor with their faces blown off—a macabre Jackson Pollock canvas formed from vampyre remains. 

The vampyre killers laid explosive charges and left, taking the last remaining vampyre with them. Outside the club, they took off the girls cuffs and left her sobbing by the road,  just before the club exploded in a fireball.