Chapter Ten - Immorts Information

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Immorts Information

DEREK couldn’t believe what was happening—his team, and friends… hung. But that they were dead wasn’t the worst part. The worst part were the two red holes in each of their necks. They’d been bitten and hung so they’d turn sooner.

            There was a cluster of people around the sticks. Some of them were wearing weird green robe-type things that spilled on to the ground, blending in with the grass.

            The vampires still alive all seemed sketchy about the characters too, until their brethren stepped out from the shadows of the trees. Gathering around the robed-people, the vampires seemed somehow weak… not in control. These people were obviously not ordinary humans, considering they seemed at ease around vampires and had hung teenagers.

            “Who are you?” Derek asked firmly, his voice unbetraying. It was something he’d come to master.

            A man turned to him. Nothing was visible beneath his green hood except his shining emerald eyes.

            “Who am I?” His voice was dark and eerily happy. “How does my identity concern you, child?”

            “I’m not a child,” Derek said, drawing his gun. “Do you want me to prove it?” Meg drew up beside him, followed by Chrissy on his other side. They, along with Garry, were the only Hunters left.

            “You believe that juvenile toy would even lay a dent on me?” The man pulled down his hood, revealing a pale face framed by slick blonde hair and a sharp, pointed nose that hung over thing red lips. “It would not.”

            “Answer my question,” Derek ordered. “Who are you?”

            “Silence!” The man’s face contorted into something of pure fury for a second before it melted back into its calm posture it seemed to love. “Be quiet, boy.”           

            Derek had had enough. He was going to crumble to pieces with the loss of his friends soon, so he knew he had to act fast. He couldn’t be seen as weak. Not when he was in command of the last remaining Hunters.

            Taking a step forward, he grabbed the man’s robe, right in front of his neck, and looked him dead in the eye. “Answer my question.”

            “Oh, fine. We are the Immorts. Now, I would advise you take your germ-catering fingers from my robe.”

            “And what if I don’t?” Derek’s voice was nearly inaudible, but it was enough to cause slight terror it the man’s eyes, even though it was instantly gone.

            “This.” The man’s hands rapidly flashed and Derek was suddenly hurtling backwards. The only reason he stayed upright was Garry, who held his shoulders with a firm grip.

            In front of them, the man’s hands were like mallets of skin. They were huge, probably with the power of a rocket.


Waking up with Quinn beside him was the best feeling Gepard thought he would ever feel. He couldn’t believe he’d waited so long to take that one step further.

            Quinn turned over, smiling, her blonde hair a bit frizzy on the side she’d slept on.

            “You know, you talk in your sleep,” she said.

            “Do I? What about?” Gepard asked. He’d never known this trait about himself.