“Drink deeply of your torment. Let it temper you, priest. Let it shed you of your humanity. Let it guide you into the pit of despair where my master awaits.”



Those were the words the hateful thing had spoken to him. And so the priest had a new path to follow, the path to his daughter. At the time, he knew very little of vampires, and that which he did know came mostly from his reading of Bram Stoker, and from mainstream television. He had presumed that the vampire that had taken her, had surely turned her. Or if not it, surely this “master” had done the deed. Therefore, it was his fatherly duty to hunt her down and free her of her curse before she could pass the curse on to others.



His searching was for naught. Every possible lead ended in disappointment, and a bloody trail of corpses left in his wake. His reputation as a vampire slayer began to spread through the underground circuit, and he soon found himself to be constantly under attack as soon as darkness fell upon the the city. He turned to smoking to calm his fleeting nerves, and when a pack of Marlboros was no longer enough, he turned to strong drink to force himself to sleep. It wasn’t long after this that his reputation as a dangerous hunter of the damned, was replaced with that of a booze sodden drunk. The attacks became fewer, and soon the priest was spending more nights in the county jail’s drunk tank, than he was out on the hunt.

