Cavalry Arrives

A short scene.

Past the barricade and outside in the hall, you hear the stamping of feet against the stairs. There's a muffled, hard breathing, before the sound of steel against metal can be heard. In a very Irish accent, the words manage to come across as, "Aya! Fook me! Wotcha be thinkin' there, laddo?". There's a resounding growl, hard and vicious, before a bestial roar is heard.

The anarchist stands to his feet from the position on the couch, where he had recently been leafing through his battered copy of the anarchist cookbook, marking pages with a pen, over his shoulder he throws his shotgun, grabbing the fireaxe from the hatstand and rushing towards the door, past it and out into the hall, cursing the man rushes towards the barricade, the lit fag-end dropping from the corner of his mouth to the ground, singing his lip just a mite on it's path to the floor

"Aya, sire! Wotcha doin' wit' dem' teeth there? Ye'll be putting 'em back in yer mouth 'afore I'm doin' it fer ya!", comes the shout again, followed with another roar of inhumane defiance. The ring of steel against wood can be heard again, this time louder and /right/ outside of Samuel's door, "Ye get on back down 'dem stairs, beastie". The sickening thud of an impact of flesh and bone is next heard.

Samuel burst through the door, shotgun raised, "Motherfucking supersoldiers, I will fucking end you bitches!" Is the awkwardly balding mans warcry of choice this day, surveying the scene, sweat gathering on the mans brow, mixing with the grime and dirt on the mans face, the shotgun shaking slightly in the mans grip, fear obvious in his eyes, fear aswell as bitter determination, a steely composure

Oison Mac Gaelach is standing just outside of Samuel's door, with a glimmering silver sword buried into the chest of a stuggling 'supersoldier', who's been pinned to the wooden wall beneath him. He jumps though, when Samuel comes out with the shotgun raised, chewing him out, "Ara there laddo! Ye be pointin' dat' 'ting at me! I ain't here ta be doin' ye no harm! Ye lower it!". He doesn't get too much of a chance to speak though, as it would seem that a few more of the soldier's companions are racing up the stairs, but still at the bottom of them for now.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Cries the anarchist, moving the shotgun from pointing to the Irishman with the sword to the super soldiers, "Who the fuck are you man, except some fucking european with…a fuckig sword? These fucks chasing you? That it?" He loads the shotgun and begins aiming, obviously getting ready to fire when the creatures comes closer "Who'd these cunts get passed our barricade?!"

"Yer talkin' too much and not shootin' enough, lad!", comes the thick Irish accent of the man who jerks his sword from the wriggling frame of the supersoldier. He stabs him again, this time through the face, and the victim seems to just dissipate into semi-glowing embers and ash. If Samuel is surprised, Oison is no less so, "Fook me running! He just raight disappeared an me!". With nothing left to hold his sword from being swung, he directs Samuel to the railing, "Ye'll need ta be gettin' over thar and shootin'!". The others continues to trample up the stairs, moving pretty fast.

" What the fuck, that some kind of firesword you got there man? The fuck, you could've killed him, but you didnt need to burn his ass, the fucks wrong with you man?!" Obviously, the anarchist is panicking slightly, and as always finds it relaxing to talk pure nonsense, after a moment he regains his composure and gets over to the railing and takes aim before firing off a shot, "Incomming motherfuckers, get that lightsabre of yours working man!"

"Arawha? Ain't no fookin' firesword. Ye read too many a 'dem novels. Rot yer brain, lad!", Oison exclaims, before charging down the stairs in order to meet the upcoming opponents head on.

Oison clashes with the four men coming up the stairs, throwing his shoulder into the first and using his momentum to push the rest of them down a notch or two. Just about that time, the fire from Sam's gun catches the first opponent in the shoulder, chewing into the flesh and taking his attention off of the melee-man for long enough that soon, he finds a sword sticking out of his chest. While this doesn't kill him, it does give him a good leverage to keep them from getting past.

" Line of fire man, LINE OF FIRE" Screams the Anarchist, the shotgun swaying wildly in his grip, the man obviously neither used to shooting nor used to being in fights, a large bruise already appearing on the mans cheek where parts of the recoil of the shotgun has hit him, he moves the shotgun and fires at the men on the back of the charge, not wanting to hit his new friend, " Fuck off before we'll kill the lot of you fucks, you hear me?!"

"Aya! Fook off 'afore we're killin' ye all!", Oison repeats, using the same words as Samuel but with a whole different tone and meaning. He pulls the sword out of the chest of the thing, but just a bit, before pushing it back in and harder.

Samuel's squeeze of the trigger blows the backside from the head of the second attacker in the line, literally removing the flesh and the skull and showing his brain, which is dark enough to almost be black. It doesn't seem to slow him though, and he presses against the blockade of man and sword. Oison's sawing technique slips his blade up almost two inches through the chest of the nearest assailant, now putting it more into his throat. He twitches, shuddering and spewing up thick, black blood into the face of the curly-headed Irishman, who blanches and gags.

"Fuckers wont go down, Oh my god, I just fucking shot him in the head, His head is all over your shit man" Again, panic seems to grip the man, but non the less the man manages to squeeze the trigger, the last round in the shotgun moving to action, "Fucking supersoldiers, how do you kill these fucks?"

"Aye, well, keep fookin' shootin' 'em, Rambo!", come the words of the Irishman as his braces his foot against the stair behind him and shoves his sword as hard as he can against the onslaught of out-of-control maniacs.

Oison's shoves does a lot of good, it would seem, his foot and his leverage making up for the strength of all four of them pushing, combined with the fact that he's got the higher ground out of the opposing forces. He shoves them down another few steps, stretching himself out in order to do so. The first one however, shrieks in a fabulous manner and bursts into golden-red glowing cinders and ashes, the sword losing it's holding and causing the Irishman to tumble into all of them. Samuel, despite this, hits the face of the /same/ 'soldier', and rips the nose, mouth, and part of the cheekbone right out of the asshole, splattering it against the wall. his head turns, hissing at the gunslinger in a feral manner, with no consideration given to the fact that he's missing most of the front and back of his head now.

Right behind Samuel, coming from inside of his apartment, a warm glow begins to become noticeable. Along with a crackling sound that can barely be heard over the war that's happening below. Perhaps..he should have stepped on that fag-end before hustling out to be a hero?

"Im out of bullets man, things about to turn nasty- Shit you just turned another one into ashes, Shit my shits burning in there!" Screams Samuel, " Fuck this shit man, My entire shit's gonna burn down" He hesitates, looking behind him for a moment, " I'll be back in a moment man, there's a girl sleeping in there" He turns and rushes towards his room

"Fook ye barnin' shite down far?", comes the plaintive cry of the Irish as he finds himself beneath the feet of the assailants, attempting to stab up at them with the business end of his longsword, which still glimmers with something that is not quite natural.

Samuel quickly pours the half bucket of water he's used to clean himself with the last three days over the fire and turns on his heel, dropping the shotgun to the ground and grabbing the axe, raising it over his head and charging out into the hall, not looking back to see if the water did any good

The fire, having not been at it's full potential, is put out easily enough by the bucket of dirtied water, though Samuel can do nothing more than assume as he charges back into the hall with the fireaxe in hand. On the stairs of the floor below, Oison is underfoot of the attackers, stabbing up at them. His sword bites hard into the crotch of one, pushing right up and into the thing, which again gives out a bestial scream that is nothing short of blood-curdling.

Oison, still caught beneath the trampling feet of the things, continues to stab upwards while doing his best to keep them from getting past him. He's panting hard, running out of breath, but still keeping it.

Samuel cries, desperation and fear, clearly soaring to new heights of braveness on wings of terrified bravado, the man leaps from the side of the railing, flailing with his axe wildly, crying, "Avanti!" He tumbles from the side, screaming, "Get up man, GET THE FUCK UP!"

Samuel, carried on the wings of some unseen angel, flies over the railing and piles into the three vampires, but also into Oison as well. That same angel must be the one that causes him to narrowly miss the upturned, sharpened end of the Irishman's sword that is stabbing at the loins of the group. The last in the line tumbles back, rolling down a whole flight of stairs, so hard does the insane kamikaze bomb hit him. The first, between the blow and the stabbing, corrodes also into the ash and dust of ages. This leaves the almost faceless looking one, with his brain exposed, the sole standing opponent. Odds against him, he repeats Samuel's move, but pops down to the next floor and begins to bolt.

"Fooken' yer crazier'n 'dey are, lad!", comes the retort from the Irishman as he scrambles to his feet, "Let's be gettin' out 'o here. Not lookin' ta be fightin' much longer!". He tries to help Samuel up as well, and get him nudged toward his apartment.

"Did you see that, that motherfucker turned into damn ashes too, shit, shit!" grumbles the anarchist, groaning when he gets up from his place on the floor where he landed, "Damn good show I say" He says and scrambles up the stairs towards his door, " cant believe the motherfuckers got past my damn barricades…Anyways, Im Samuel Dockery man, It's good to meet you man…"

"Ara ya Oison. Nice ta be meetin' ye, Dockery. Less chittin' n' chattin' though, and mar gettin' our asses ta safety!", the Irishman states, scrambling behind Samuel with sword in hand, and following him in.

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