Zodd "The Immortal" Nosferatu's Story

"Please don't kill me," whimpered the man.
Zodd stared down at the supposed "constable" in loathing. This man was supposed to be a warrior. He was supposed to protect the citizens.
When the man first saw Zodd, he shot him. Shot him, with a pistol, just because he looked frightening. Granted, it hadn't actually harmed Zodd, but Zodd still felt hatred at this man. He could have been just a passerby, a person seeking help from the police. And this man, this bastard, had shot him for what he apparently thought was threatening.
To be fair, Zodd had been intending to be a bit threatening. He'd wanted to challenge the man to a fair duel - not necessarily to the death, as Zodd had not felt like bloodshed. But then he was shot. Zodd had roared, and the man had fled down this alleyway, where Zodd eventually pinned him down.
He wanted to kill this man. So badly. His kind should be wiped off the Earth.
"I-if you don't kill me, I will leave you alone," stammered the constable. "I'll not report you. Please."
Zodd stared at the man. He then grunted, getting off, walking away.
He still didn't feel like bloodshed. Even though this man was cowardly, Zodd ought to give him a second cha-
Click.
It was the faint sound of a gun loading. Zodd spun around, finding the constable standing up, pistol raised at Zodd's head, ready to fire. No doubt visions of glory had been swimming in his head, but now they fled as fear took it's place.
With one fell swing of his arm, Zodd sent his giant cleaver soaring, cutting through the man's torso before burying itself in a crate. The man fell in two pieces.
No. No more life for those who did not deserve it.
"I kill, therefore I am," he reminded himself. He must always remember that.
He walked away, the corpse left to rot.

It had been ten days since Clay Montgomery had gone missing.
According to some of the other police officers, Clay had not been a very good cop. He had been whiny, cowardly and biased. But he had sworn to do his service. He'd had parents; he'd had a life.
The first three or four days, people had been starting wondering why Clay hadn't shown up at the police station. On the fourth day, some of the cops had decided to go investigate his house. He wasn't there.
After that, there was a manhunt. They'd questioned the people in the street.
Then, 10 days after Clay had gone missing, they found his body sliced up in two pieces, cut with some giant weapon. The side alley was cordoned off with police tape. There had been nobody nearby to see what had happened, but a few had seen Clay shoot at a large, intimidating demon man with a large cleaver, and then duck into the alleyway.
The demon had come out. Clay hadn't.
Walter Joseph Kovacs - alias Rorschach - stood leaning on the brick wall, watching as the police scurried around. A few went inside the nearby Gambit's Bar to question if anyone knew.
There's something fishy about this crime here, Walter thought, blowing thoughtfully on a cigar. And I'm going to find out what it is.

The Lieutenant frowned, but nodded. "Very well, I shall ask them. I'm surprised I haven't heard of this 'Sabbat' as you call it-"
A female police officer rushed into the room. "Lieutenant Richardson," she said quickly. "There's been another murder on the Main Street. Same cause of death, some sort of giant blade or cleaver."
"Damn!" Christopher swore, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I completely forgot about the murderer on the loose in this place. We'll have to track him down, soon after I-"
"Uhm, actually sir, someone's already done that," the woman said. "He's-"
"Nah, nah, dame, I can introduce myself. Save your breath," came a raspy voice from the front door. Christopher turned to see a man wearing some sort of strange mask that shifted it's facial patterns, a trenchcoat and a bowler hat. He approached the police officer. "My name is Rorschach. Freelance detective and private eye. I've got all sorts of dirt on this guy. I can tell you on the way out."
Christopher nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yes, that will help plenty, Mr. Rorschach. Very well." He turned to Gabrielle and the others. "If I need any more evidence after the briefing on the Sabbat, I'd like to be able to contact you, Miss... Akshasha, was it? You seem to be very knowledgeable in the area. Farewell." And with that, he, the police officers and the private eye all departed the bar.
All was still in Gambit's Bar for one long minute. Then John shifted around in his seat. "Well, what do we do now? Are we gonna try to hunt down the rest of those vampires out there?"

When she told Christopher to ask his questions, she didn’t realize that he would be asking her things that she had no idea about. Staring blankly towards him at his questions, she slowly rubbed her nose, her head still resting against the cool surface of the table. While the bartender was getting Becca some water, he brought a glass over to Gabrielle before moving back to his position behind the bar. She simply poked at it, scooting it towards the edge like cat. He cleared his throat and sort of grunted just as she shoved it over the edge and watched it crash to the ground. Her attention returned towards the cop as the ‘tender came to clean up the mess and she blinked, having absolutely no idea what the question was that he had asked moments before.

“Umm…” Gabby just shrugged a bit and grabbed the trashcan, throwing up yet again. Thankfully or perhaps not thankfully, Akshasha piped up and after whispering something directly to the mutant about fancy dances or something like that, the Drow went back to berating the officer about the Sabbat. Nothing made sense to the teenager and words were making her head hurt worse than it had been previously.

“Hurg… so much noise.” Grumbling, Gabrielle closed her eyes as another officer rushed in concerning another murder. Yeah… this place was just so great. Snorting, she upchucked again, her flesh growing pale in the process. While her injuries were being healed by Akshasha, she had lost a lot of blood and had also utilized a plethora of energy that had never been used by her before, at least not for a very long time. She was exhausted and didn’t even want to think about moving, but did want to find her stupid sister. Life was dumb sometimes.

“Bai.” Gabby waved when the police all left, leaving them alone at last. Her eyes slid open just a little at John’s question and she snorted with a slight eye roll. “Dumb Sabbat said… something like even if they all fall, the Sabbat will keep coming for me… and called me a Camarilla sympathizer. He droned on a lot… barely paid attention, but I think he also said that my business is as good as ruined, as if someone hadn’t tried that shit already. Something about the Sabbat and Camarilla will bother me and that a declaration of war has been … declared. Something like that…” Gabby groaned, struggling to sit up as the bartender brought over another glass of water, which she took and started to drink slowly.

Becca turned to Gabby though still breathing fairly hard herself, "We're in pretty bad shape. You gonna be okay?"

The yellow eyes had moved to the top of her hair as Ductu looked at Gabrielle from over Becca's head. While not unfeeling the eyes seemed partly unmoved at wasn't Becca. Concerned for Gabrielle only as Becca was in better shape now. Becca reached out gingerly to Gabby's forearm to comfort though Myrkul's open wellspring pulsed just behind her pale skin.

The police began to leave, investigating a murderer and the vigilante who had apprehended him. Faithy and Akshasha seemed happy to see them go. Akshasha did NOT, however seem happy to see the figure in a three piece suit who walked in as they left. "Ah, I see the our source is as reliable as ever." The figure said as he walked in, a man with sharp features and eyes that seemed to bore into you.

Akshasha's hackles began to raise, a visit from the Prince was never good news. Especially considering there had just been a massive Sabbat raid. The man made his way over to Akshasha, ignoring most of the people in the room entirely. "Ah, Akshasha my dear, word of your deeds travels fast. Remind me to give you a pay-raise in the near future. Glad to see you dealt with the situation accordingly." The man gestured slightly to the still-impaled three Sabbat thrown in a heap in the corner.

"Sure... What brings you out here Lacroix?" The Drow eyed her Prince warily, looking for any tell that might hint at what he was thinking. The man's face was as passive as if carved out of stone, betraying nothing. Lacroix glanced to Gabrielle.

"Ah, Ms. LeBeau, I've been meaning to come pay my respects to you and your family. My condolences for what happened to your sister. It's so hard to see bad things happen to good people. Tis why we should take cares with whom we associate." The Prince inclined his head slightly towards Akshasha, implying something dark. "However I did not take a step away from my busy schedule for pleasantries. Akshasha, dear, there is a pressing matter that requires your attention." Without waiting for an answer or addressing questions, he turned to leave.

"Tch..." Akshasha grit her teeth, annoyed, but unwilling to draw the ire of the entire Camarilla. "I'll be back tomorrow night Gabby." Retrieving her Rebar Kebob of Vampires, the Drow quickly hurried after the enigmatic 'Prince,' leaving the bar, and soon after the building.

As soon as John heard this guy (Akshasha called him "Lacroix") say "condolences for what happened to your sister", he grew cold. Renee. She was the nice woman who'd hired him. The sister of Gabby.
"Renee? What happened to her?!" John cried, but the man ignored him. Then, Akshasha got up and left with Lacroix. "Wait, where are you going?!" But she was already gone.
John just sat there, confused and worried.

On the corner, a man in a black trench coat melted out of the shadows. Moments later, a blacked out Porsche Panamera screeched to a halt in front of him. “Where the HELL have you been?!!!” he snarled as he yanked open the door and got in. “Because of YOU, the fleabag and its friend got away! And now the Boss is going to KILL me. And THEN I'm going to KILL all of you pathetic, useless knuckleheads…!"
He carried on raging, even as the car sped away with yet another screech of burning tyres, leaving behind a cloud of exhaust fumes…!

Christopher J. Richardson stared down with barely veiled disgust at the corpse lying at his feet. She'd been a young prostitute, a poor soul with no way to protect herself other than the dirty route.
She had been the third person killed by "The Immortal" Zodd Nosferatu.
Besides him, the detective known as Rorschach inhaled, smoking a cigarette. It was strange that the man didn't roll his mask up to smoke. But what was stranger was the composition of the mask itself; it was white with black spots that moved and roiled around on it like clouds.
Rorschach exhaled, breathing out a plume of smoke that rose into the air. Then he turned to Christopher. "So what do you think?"
The police officer raised an eyebrow. "Think about what?"
"Well, the murder of course. What do you notice?"
Another odd trait about Rorschach - for some reason he let Christopher figure something out, but then explain it better. In any case, Christopher bent down and looked at the corpse. It was the same as all the others - a person seemingly in the wrong place at the wrong time, always centered around Main Street. This was the second one in the Side Alley.
He peered closer at the wound. As all the others, it had been done with some sort of giant cleaver. The forensic scientists had discovered traces of iron dust on the wounds. And the wounds were, strangely, always centered around dismemberment.
As he looked over the young woman's body, he noticed something. It wasn't something very unusual, but as he saw it, the light bulb came on in his head.
"She's very strong-looking," he said. "Muscular. Built for fighting."
Rorschach chuckled. "She would've had to have been, considering her profession. But what about it?"
Christopher slowly stood up, the puzzle pieces finally fitting together. This case was starting to make sense at last. "The last case had been a construction worker going to work. He'd been very strong too. And Clay had had a past-time of boxing, so he was well-muscled as well."
"So?"
"This demon, this... this Nosferatu... he must be seeking strong people for a fight! He must be some sort of vengeance demon."
Christopher couldn't see Rorschach's face, but he could sort of feel that the detective was smiling. "Now you're catching on. But if he were a vengeance demon, why would he kill them if they hadn't done anything?"
Christopher's face fell. "Um... I... I don't-"
"Think, man," Rorschach interrupted, grasping the police officer's shoulder. "You said that the people who died were built for fighting. If Zodd is a vengeance demon looking for a fight, then what do you think they must have done?"
Realization crashed upon the constable like strong waves upon a beach. "They tried to fight back."
Rorschach smiled. "Bingo."
Christopher began to pace. "They tried to fight him. Foolishness of course, as he was a demon, but they had to defend themselves. The construction worker with his hammer, the young woman with a knife she had hidden in her boot. By trying to fight him, they'd only invoked his rage."
"Thus, he'll be searching around for more strong folks to massacre. Which could be bad, considering what's coming up soon."
"What do you mean?"
Rorschach turned aside to exhale, and then tossed his cigarette in a nearby dumpster. He then started walking out of the alleyway. Confused, Christopher followed along. Finally, Rorschach stopped at the front of Gambit's Bar, and pointed to a poster taped to the front window that read "Upcoming Wrestling Event This Week!!! Pro Wrestlers From All Over The Multiverse To The Terran Wrestling Arena This Weekend!!! One Night Only!!! BE THERE OR BE SQUARE!!!!!"
Christopher gasped softly. "Oh no. This is not good."
"Yup," Rorschach said, pulling out a bottle of brandy and swigging it through his mask. How does he even do that? Christopher wondered. "Our happy little demon friend will be drawn there like moths to a lamp. Worse still, we don't have enough time to cancel it. It begins in two hours."
"Two hours?! We have to get there and stop him!"
"I agree, friend, so we better hurry up and get there." With that, the two started to run across the crosswalk. Out of nowhere, a dark and sleek car with blacked out windows sped by, running the green light. It would have flattened Christopher if Rorschach hadn't held him back in time.
"Hey! Asshole! You just ran a green light!" the detective shouted at the car, shaking the bottle at it. The driver continued on speeding away.
As they reached the other side without any other mishaps, Christopher pulled out his walkie-talkie. "This is Christopher J. Richardson. A blacked-out Porsche - license plate 89E 7O1 - speeding, running green lights, and nearly harming pedestrians on Main Street. Send out a unit or two to pull him over. Over."
The officer on the other end responded, "We copy, sending two units to track and subdue Porsche 89E 7O1. Over and out."
As Christopher put his walkie-talkie away, Rorschach grabbed his hand. "Stop socializing and hurry! We have a mass murderer to stop!" And thus, the two ran along towards the Arena, the area where the event was to be held.