As the new GFD Blood Bank neared its unveiling, Comicality scampered about to make everything as perfect as possible, adding final touches here and there and a splash of cobwebs in all the darkest corners. However, unknown to our Ruler of the Night, an anti-darkness scheme was on the rise.
High above, on the rooftop of the Blood Bank, crouched behind a hand-chiselled gargoyle, was none other than Orvus, the Bringer of Light and Justice and All Things Good—or at least that was his title for today. With a gas canister in one hand and a custom Light Supremacy Zippo in the next, Orvus was about to commit the most heinous of crimes against the vampire world: the GFD Blood Bank would burn!
Down below, immerging from behind the large wooden doors of the Blood Bank, Comicality exited the building, carrying a single, tiny box that housed the leftovers of our old Blood Bank home. If it weren’t for the faint sounds of trickling fluids, and Comicality’s ever-hopeful thoughts of catching a boy tiddling in plain sight, the dousing may have gone unnoticed.
As Comicality’s excitement came to a boil, he dropped the box of Old Blood Bank to the ground and skipped toward the noise like a child to an ice cream truck. His cape flew and twisted from behind, as if carried by its own personal tornado, and he fluttered up, up and away, until he landed gracefully upon the head of another stone gargoyle. To his surprise and dismay, when the tiddling was discovered to be none other than Orvus, Bringer of Light and Justice, bathing the rooftop with gasoline, Comicality’s disappointment mutated instantly into anger and frustration.
“Stop right there, you fiend!” Comicality warned as he pointed his long, pointed index finger at his opposite.
At the mere sound of Comicality’s voice, Orvus screamed and jumped back toward the ledge, dropping the near-empty canister atop a generous puddle of gas. “You’re too late, Oh Dark One! The Light has won—the Blood Bank will burn to ash!”
Comicality merely shook his head, as if feeling sorry for the man, and gently dropped from the gargoyle to the rooftop. “Oh foolish mortal,” he said and took one step toward the man, “one cannot begin to fathom the power within these walls.”
“Your words fall on deaf ears, Lord of Darkness,” Orvus cooed in pride. “With one flick of my Bic, this so-called ‘power’ will become nothing more than the very ash that holds your frail body together.”
Comicality’s head twisted toward the mortal as if his spine were made of rubber. “Frail?!” he bellowed in amusement. “If you were looking for frailty, you’ve come to the wrong place, dear Orvus.”
A howling gust of wind seemed to have escaped from Comicality’s cape, and before Orvus knew what had hit him, his nostrils were scorched with the foul stench of death and decay. In revolt, the man fell back and landed on his behind as he attempted to shield his lungs from the burn of odour.
“My word!” Orvus cried through red and watery eyes. “What dastardly evil is this?!”
Comicality’s face became flush and he quietly cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I had an Indian for lunch. They always make my insides irritable.”
“You sick freak!” Orvus reached for his Zippo. “One more step and I’ll drop it!” he warned as he thumbed at the lighter to summon a flame.
Comicality snickered and casually stepped forward. “Before you light up, take a look at yourself. You have drenched yourself in the same filth you threaten me with. Now, if I were you, I’d be reconsidering your options.” Comicality leaned toward Orvus and crouched down to look him straight in the eye. “Either you leave now, and I let you live, or you try to light that flame before I tear your throat from your body.”
Just then a garbled but familiar voice came from a small radio on Orvus’s hip. “Take the deal, Orvus! Take the deal!”
It was then that Comicality’s jaw hit the floor. “Bort?!” he said in horror, “Is that you?!”
To be continued…