"The enemy flies by night," he snarled, "It flies by mist, by bat and wolf. It feeds on blood and has control over those it feeds upon. The more it feeds, the stronger that control is."
"But, what can we do, then," Greg stammered. His face had gone white with fear.
Something slammed against the door just then. We were lucky that it didn't kick it open. No fear or panic lit upon the pale green face of the officer. Instead, he looked for a moment, then ran off into the darkness. A second later he came back from the wall, dragging a large, thick pipe then braced it against the door. "We have little time. Follow me," he growled then ran off into the darkness again.
Greg and I didn't run. We walked in the direction of the Ogre, finding him very quickly, looking very annoyed at both of us. "You must move quickly!"
"We can't in full dark. We don't have the night vision you do," I snapped.
"That's why I chose a flat path that avoided obstacles. Quick, get in." He held up a large grate of some kind that seemed to lead down into an underground tunnel that seemed to be part of a storm drain system. Greg handed me the ankle biter, temporarily. I grimaced at holding the thing. I wanted to just slam that beast into the side of the drain and be done with it. But we were paid to bring it back alive, more or less. Important for all humanity and all that crap.
The grate slammed down above us. "Make no sound, no matter what," he said, then looked at me, "You of all humans know what to do should I not live."
"I cannot promise vengeance," I said in reply, "but we will fulfill this mission or die trying." The ogre gave me a solemn nod before closing the grate. There were two loud bangs. The nothing. An ear-piercing snarl, then a wail. Finally, silence. We waited a moment. Then two. Crouched in that tiny pipe, listening for a sound, anything.
Finally, the grate was lifted back slowly. The sound of metal scraping against stone echoed through the tunnel. Greg held up a shaky pistol while I backed away slowly. A green hand appeared. Followed by a pale green head. "You must hurry," he replied, while reaching down to grab help us out of the pipe. A pungent order struck us as soon as we climbed out of the pipe.
"What is that," Greg asked, while trying to hold back a gag.
"Rotten blood. Vampire blood. Plus ogre blood." I said without looking down. We walked slowly back towards the light. The ogre cop staggered behind us, swaying just a bit on his feet. His entire right arm shined in the thin moonlight, as if it was coated in oil. He carried a head in one massive hand: the head of the vampire that was attacking us.
"More will come," he huffed. He paused a moment, taking a breath. "They will come here after me. You must go. You must make the rendezvous. Go to the police station in cotton village. There is a house across the street who will give you aid."
"Why are you helping us," Greg asked. His voice held a note of incredulity. Again, I wanted to smack him.
The cop looked to me the back at him. "You never heard the story of the last Ogre king?"
I nodded. Greg shook his head. "Son," the ogre said looking at Greg, "you've lived quite a sheltered life." He looked back at me. "Explain it to him on the way. Do not forget these directions."
He opened a steel door revealing a set of steps that rose up behind the apartment building to meet the street and the night sky. The back of the apartment complex was no better than the front. Most windows were boarded up. One near the top had been smashed through, fresh splinters littered the steps and street below it. We made no noise as we walked down that street towards the Cotton Village district.
Every step we made out of that apartment building felt wrong. Every step felt as if we were both condemning a man to death for the simple crime of helping us. The still night did nothing to hide the distant war cry of the Ogre or the fading scream that followed. A scream that chilled the blood to hear.
"What's the legend of the last Ogre King," he asked.
I sighed deeply. "Keep your head on a swivel," I said. "And, I'll explain it on the way."
A long time ago, perhaps over a thousand years now, the Earth was in great turmoil. Humans had risen up as the supreme power on the planet. Vampires weren't around yet, if they were, they weren't that big of a deal. Werewolves were around, but they mostly kept to themselves. They were more feral than tame at that point, attacking human villages not for food, but to keep them out of werewolf territory.
The Ogres, though, they were a warring species. They fought the orcs and had won, wiping them out. Fought with the humans, and despite all of their strength, speed and stamina, had lost. That war lasted a short three years, but they had five different kings within that time."
"Why so many," Greg asked. He appeared to be scanning the rooflines as he spoke, a pistol in his hand. At least he was learning.
"Don't forget to scan the street," I said, then continued my story.
"Well, they had so many kings because they were always fighting. Fighting amongst each other for rank and prowess. Fighting for power. Fighting for pride. It's something in their DNA. How their brains are wired. Two ogre's can work together. But three or more, and sooner or later, they will be fighting."
I glanced up the street as I talked. The buildings were improving some. Not nearly as much graffiti was around, and there seemed to be more buildings with more modern metal roll down shutters than the old wooden ones or abandoned buildings. Still no vehicle in sight, but we were now looking for a specific landmark, as so directed to us by our green benefactor.
"Vurok was the last Ogre king," I said, scanning the roof lines myself. "He ruled out of fear and violence. And he hated it."
"I thought you said Ogre's like to fight," Greg peered down an alleyway as he spoke, pistol held downward in front of him ready for any target to appear.
"No, I said if you get more than two ogres in a group, and they're gonna fight," I corrected. "Vurok hated being violent. He hated making examples of other ogres to keep his throne. Each example had to get more and more extreme."
Greg turned to me and stopped me. "What do you mean? How extreme?"
I gave him a heavy sigh. "He had to have one drawn and quartered in front of the court. Now don't interrupt."
Greg glared at me, but nodded. "Like I was saying," I began again, "He kept having to fight to keep his throne. Vurok knew he would lose it soon. He didn't want to die, but he also saw what happened to the orcs. The ogre's worked temporarily with the humans to defeat them. It would only be a matter of time before the humans wiped them out too."
"So, what did he do," Greg asked.
"Well," I said as I scanned my side of the street. Strangely absent of any blood suckers. Weren't they always more active this time of night? "He first met with a human king to negotiate a peace treaty. While he was in the kingdom, he heard very little arguing or fighting. Most of the humans appeared to be almost jovial with each other compared to his own royal court."
We stopped beneath a streetlamp on the corner of Elm and main. The police station sat before us. "Okay," Greg said taking a deep breath. "Now, we cross the street."
I nodded.
"Well, what happened," Greg asked as we began to cross the street.
"He went back to his royal court and began making deals with the humans. He sent out each member of his court in pairs as special envoys to try and 'broker a peace treaty'. Like he had hoped, most of his envoys just never returned. Now, they didn't die, or anything like that, but found they preferred to stay with the humans."
"What happened after that," Greg asked.
"Well, the king was busy writing letters," I pointed at the police station as I spoke, "he began setting up in each small village and town that he could find a special envoy from his own kingdom of guardian ogres. Most naturally stayed, preferring the relative peace they got with humans compared to being around other ogres. The former kingdom collapsed on its own. People moved in and blended. And the ogre's were never noticed."
"Oh," Greg said. "So, they stay with us, and what...."
"They watch." I replied, looking up at the shuttered business. "They protect. They defend our gates against the approaching storm. They fight with us, so they don't fight each other. Honor and bravery became their entire culture."
The building in front of us was pretty non-descript. Your average square box, flat top, brick design with the standard rolled down shutters. But I smelled something unique as I approached. Greg appeared to smell it to as we came near the front door. Garlic. We both looked at each other, curious.
"I thought the blood suckers killed most of those plants off," Greg said in confusion.
"Obviously not all," I replied. "Come on, lets to knock and see if someone's home."