In this world, vampires were aplenty. Hordes of them ran across the globe, like a great swathe of darkness, creatures of the night, united only by their bloodthirsty nature. Some attempted to integrate themselves into human society, subduing the curse that could not be subdued, attempting to live a life more befitting of a human. Others gave in to their animalistic urges, hunting across the land and slaughtering all who came before them. Either way, they were nothing more than a pest, a plague of demons that had spread under the neglectful watch of man, who had forgotten the Glory of God. For every strength they wielded, a new weakness grew, a reflection of their descent into sin, their failure to live up to their heritage. Whilst certainly dangerous, these were not, truly, a threat.

Far more dangerous were the Oldbloods. A title attributed to many vampires, those that had survived for ostensibly long periods of time, and gained powers beyond those of the common breed. Ancient creatures of great power, with the cunning of the devil himself. These older vampires lead the lesser hordes, or dwelt alone in nature. They were the Vampire Lords, the Ancient Ones, the Elder Nosferatu. Many names had been granted to those who had fully embraced the darkness of their soul.

And yet, there were creatures even older, revered even among the Oldbloods. The Pale Lady, an icon of death found in cultures thousands of years old, a creature so ancient, her origins are impossible to trace, and said to be synonymous with the Lady of the Lake in Arthurian legends. Cain, rumoured to be the first vampire to ever walk the Earth, the father of murder, who was the first to be abandoned by God, and set to wander the world until the end of time itself. Gabriel, shrouded in mystery, a being with many names, each as heretical as the first, attributed with powers unknown. Dracula, the father of all modern vampirism, the foul fallen Count who is responsible for the great spread of vampires in this modern day.

These creatures, those that others would revere as minor Gods, those who would cloak themselves in the purest of darkness, were the prey of those that would carry the banner of the Light. The Shadow of God, Kami no Kage, who moved from roof to roof in the silence of the night, soundless and scentless, scanning the ground with every glance. Shrouded in fear, as well as his own prowess, wielding his fearsom reputation to show the Light to those that had blinded themselves. He would annihilate not just the symptoms, those hordes of undead that swept over the lands, but the Lords that ruled from their thrones of darkness. He would find the source of the darkness that flowed across the land, and he would bring them the justice he had been charged with.

A servant of the Pale Lady had entered this land, a knight said to be the only relic of Arthurian legend. A traitor not only to his name, and legend, but to the Lord he had once served. This heretic would be made to taste Judgement, and in death, would form a stepping stone to lead Kami no Kage to the Pale Lady. Like the shadow his name would suggest, Kami no Kage dropped down from the ceiling, his infrared flipping on and off, revealing those in the crowd that had already been turned. Already, they turned to him, realizing that something was not as it ought to be. And those that would turn to the exits, would find themselves facing a wall of Holy Vapour, pouring in through every entrance, filling the airport.

With a light click, Muramasa found itself in Onikage's hand. All here were guilty. Those who had not aided the vampire, had turned their head to the side, allowing for his passage through this place. This place was drenched in sin, and all that could be done was to speed the fools to their Judgement.




Ten minutes later, Kami no Kage sat in front of the Fallen. A man, who had once been handsome, his face burnign as he screamed. Kami no Kage held him up with one arm, and as the vampire clawed at the black scaled gauntlet, his fingers had already begun to fall off. Mechanical, and clearly altered, a voice spoke from the featureless helmet. 'Tell me what you know of Bedivere, and you shall receive swift death.' The vampire still screaming, vainly attempted to speak, but it's tongue had already been burned. It would be irrelevant, already the Purge had started a witch hunt for the Vampire Lord. Dropping the pathetic creature, the Shadow turned, walking away, it's figure obscured by fog. Behind it, the vampire struggled, burning to a crips.

Beneath his feet, the bodies of human and vampire alike were sprawled, sliced and burned. The walls had been painted red in the blood of sinners, but even surrounded by such sin, the Shadow was clean. For he was the purity of fire, who would burn the corruption from this land, no matter how many innocents had to die on the way.