Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

on steel as they hefted swords and machetes. A length of steel chain made soft clinking sounds as it was wrapped around a fist. The gang leader nodded to the two toughs holding Georgios, and they pushed him to his knees. The shop's proprietor was a small, round little man with a shaven head.
    He looked like a child among boogeymen. The gang leader drew a long slender knife and stood beside Georgios.
    "Hold him still. I don't think our little aristo here is taking us seriously.
    Maybe this will change his mind."
    He cut Georgios' throat with a single economic sweep of his knife. Blood spurted out across the spotlessly clean floor. Georgios bucked and heaved in his captors' hands, but couldn't break free. He couldn't even get his hands to the gaping second mouth in his throat. The strength went quickly out of him along with his blood, and he slumped forward. His captors let him go, and he fell forward onto the floor to lie still in his own blood. He died so suddenly it was hard to tell the exact moment when the life went out of him. Only Valentine was watching. The Demons were watching him. Valentine slowly raised his dark eyes and looked at the Demons, and suddenly there was something new in the air. His crimson slash of a smile had no humor in it, and his mascaraed eyes were very cold. He looked different, and it took the Demons a moment to realize how. He didn't look helpless anymore.

    "Now that was a pity," Valentine said softly. "Nobody made a pastry like dear Georgios. I'm going to have to punish you for that. Georgios wasn't much, but he was mine. No one takes anything from me and lives to boast of it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you all. I'll try not to enjoy it too much."
    For a long moment, no one said anything. The Demons stood very still, and tension crackled on the air. And then the gang leader laughed softly, and everyone's attention switched to him.
    "Nice try, aristo. You nearly brought it off. But you can't intimidate us anymore. There are twelve of us and only the one of you, and odds like that don't care how important you are. Take him, boys. We're going to have some fun."
    The gang members moved forward as one, spreading out in a circle around Valentine, who made no move either to attack or escape. He kept his dark eyes fixed on the gang leader, while his hyped-up senses kept track of the others. He could hear every step, every rustle of clothing, and their scents came thickly to him on the close air. He didn't need to see them to know where they were. His smile never wavered. From the orchestrated nature of their movements, it was obvious to Valentine that the Demons' enhancements included some kind of cheap sympatico drug. They moved in a synchronized, coordinated way, as though each member knew exactly where every other member was, and they all lifted their weapons at the same time, in the same way. Follow the leader. Of course, if you took out the leader…
    Valentine stepped forward impossibly quickly, his movements driven by the battle drugs raging within him, and pivoted sharply on one foot so that the other shot up and slammed into the side of the gang leader's head. The force of the blow whipped the Demon's head around, breaking his neck, and he crumpled to the floor, his eyes rolling up in their sockets. By the time he hit the floor,
    Valentine had already turned on the next Demon.
    The various battle drugs were howling in him now, filling his mind and his body with possibilities. The Demons were thrown by the sudden loss of their leader, but it wouldn't take mem long to find a new focus. The Demon before him was a young thing, slender beyond the point of gender, with skin stretched parchment tight over its skull. Valentine hit it in the throat and it sank choking to its knees. Valentine swung on his next victim with dazzling speed, but a new light had entered the Demons' eyes. The gang had found a new focus, and their gang mind was fixed on Valentine again. Only this time they wouldn't stop at a beating. Demon blood had been spilled. Only a death would satisfy them now. In his own way, Valentine approved. It showed the gang understood something of honor.
    A knife flashed through the air toward Valentine, thrown with more than usual strength. Valentine snatched it out of midair, reversed it and threw it back at its thrower with a single smooth motion. It sank hilt-deep into the Demon's eye, and blood washed down his face as he fell backward. Another tough lashed out with her