Note: The characters in this story are based on preliminary ideas and have changed through development. The most noticeable is Psythe, who is now a Psi-Stalker instead of a Mind Melter.

The young soldier Emory Reins awakened to face the bright, but setting sun in the hot, arid staleness of the Arzno desert. He figured they were pretty close to the badlands by now, but they had little to worry about from marauders or bandits. Everyone knew they were coming and nobody was going to interfere with their extermination duty. That village was going to burn.

For almost a month now rumors had been floating in of a vampire infestation in the small independent village known as Gallup, just outside Arzno territorial claims. After a recon mission by Psythe and his squad, it was no longer just a rumor. Estimates were 100 vampires, mostly wild, controlled the town.

The young recruit got up and looked around the camp. Men were sitting around fires finishing chow and chatting, trying to forget that they had a job to do; not that it was possible to forget. Psythe was busy inspecting armor and weapons in nervous anticipation. The co-commander was already prettied up in his power armor and had his favorite rail-gun in hand. A talented leader and warrior, his adept psychic powers never failed to shift the odds in battle. Some screaming from just outside the camp startled Emory, but only for a moment. Brandon Marshall, or Bam as he was commonly known, was off on his own somewhere, raising cane and getting himself pumped up. Despite his questionable mental state, he was a great fighter. Common theory was that they were related, but you couldn't tell which caused the other. His gaze shifted to Samantha, the resident werebeast. In her human form, she was beautiful, but the thought of her true jaguar form made Emory shiver. All his life he had been taught that these "demons" were evil. He used to hate all dee-bees. Old habits die hard. Then again, everyone that ever taught him that was dead-- killed or turned by those infernal vampires.

He shook off the thought of his parents as members of that awful race and continued his gaze around the camp as he was suiting up. All of the typical stuff was happening. The experienced Cyber Knight, Sir Tyrone was pleasantly sparring the young Undead Slayer, Patria. She was the newest member of the team, only recently able to break free of her father's protective wing. Her father, Lanis, had founded the Weapons Company that funded this little band, but was not exactly pleased with her choosing this dangerous lifestyle. Everything was carrying on as if it was any day, but the way you knew it was serious was Onra. He was sitting on a large rock with a whetstone in one hand and his sword in another, sharpening away. Emory was never sure why he did it; he was no wizard but he knew enough to realize that his commander's magic blade never dulled. He sharpened it anyway, at least until the stone he was using was shaved to dust. That was the sign it was time to leave. As if on cue, Onra stood up and wiped the dust from his hands. He didn't say a word, but everyone knew. It was time.

Emory finished putting on his Exterminator armor and walked to his station on the transport. He looked at the horizon and saw that they had about twenty minutes before the sun was set. That would be just enough time to get ready.

He once heard someone ask Onra why the corps didn't attack during the day when the vamps were sleeping. "That would be easy," they had said. "Just slice 'em and torch 'em while they're snoozing!"

Onra answered, "How are you going to find all of them? Do you know where they all sleep? What happens if they wake up? If they're not in the sun, they're still more than a match for us as long as we're on their terms." He then raised himself to his full six foot three and stared down his lieutenant. "Besides, I'm a warrior… not a butcher."

Emory never understood his commander's apparent compassion, but knew enough not to question.

As they arrived it the town, they parked the Annihilator in the Town Square, powered up the water batteries and rail guns, and armed the flares. The foot soldiers took their spots around the vehicle and switched on their force fields and globes of daylight. Emory was among them. He checked one last time to make sure he had his lucky knife and that his water rifle worked. The sun set. Half a dozen brave souls led by that lunatic Bam, advanced with steam grenades in hand, found the entrance to the vamps' sleeping sanctum, and dropped them in. It was all a matter of time.

Emory knew what would happen next. The steam would hurt the vampires enough to make them run outside. As soon as they exited their cave, they would be met with the first wave, consisting of ground troops led by Onra and Psythe themselves. They would fall back into the street and let the water cannons do the rest. Then the ground troops would do clean-up work. They would be back at camp in time for an extra serving of dinner.

The sound of screams and then rail guns broke the silence. "Here they come!" yelled an anxious Patria from the other side of the street. Emory cocked his weapon and held his breath as he waited. Suddenly, from all around in every building came a solid wall of pale bodies. Masses of vampires, each carrying weapons and most wearing armor flooded toward the troops. Hundreds of vampires were on them before they could think of what to do and still more mist was rolling in. Only the daylight radiated from their armor kept them alive for that split second. A hushed, "God have mercy!" escaped Emory's lips before he started firing.

Laser and Ion blast struck Emory's force field one after another so quickly that the sudden flashed staggered him backwards. The beasts were so thick he that it was impossible to only hit one at a time. Still, his one rifle wasn't doing enough. Whenever one went down, two more were there in its place. To make matters worse, his force field was getting lower by the second. A beep in his helmet sounded faster and faster as the Armor of Ithan was quickly depleted. The whole corps was up to their waists in bodies, trying to shake them off before they regenerated. Still they came in swarms. Emory watched as his opponents were blasted by the Annihilator's cannons and disintegrated when they touched the water. Still they came. Patria ordered the troops around the Annihilator to fall back as far as they could to for a tighter defense. "A trap!" she screamed. "How the hell did they know?" Emory watched as a fellow soldier fell beside him. He saw the skull and crossbones insignia on the helmet and recognized it as Basham, his headquarters roommate.

Emory re-doubled his efforts, but the vampires in front of him fell back and re-engaged somewhere else, looking back toward a building behind them. Confused, Emory followed their gaze and caught sight of a man in elaborate clothes standing on a roof watching the battle. Even from the distance, Emory could feel the evil he exhumed. His eyes seemed to flash red as they met Emory's stare. A voice in his head echoed darkly, "Fools." Emory's mind was a fire. Thoughts of his parents raced at him, breaking through his mental blocks. Pictures of their crushed bodies being ripped apart by these evil creatures brought him to his knees, sobbing. He knew that somehow this vampire was attacking him, but there was nothing he could do. He dropped his weapon and lay on the ground, unable to keep from crying hysterically. He reached to his side, found his lucky silver knife. He grasped it dearly as he heard the warning signal in his helmet sound that his force field had been depleted. He raised the knife with both hands, ready to run it through his throat and join his parents when all the images suddenly and abruptly stopped.

His eyes came up to see Psythe's deep black armor confronting the Master vampire. In Psythe's left hand was his psi-sword, held ready to strike and in the other his rail-gun. The master floated in the air and sneered at Psythe's attempt to quell someone so powerful. Silver shards spewed forth from the gun, but were carelessly sidestepped. As Psythe moved forward, he occasionally twitched violently, as if being attacked from the inside. He charged, the Master ever moving backwards and constantly assaulting him. At last, Psythe fell, covering his eyes and groping blindly. The Master landed, walked toward him, and unbuckled the helmet protecting the smooth neck. He opened his mouth, bared his fangs, paused, and then leaned down for the killing bite. Only then was it that he lurched and blood poured from the wound in his chest. As the vampire fell, Emory could see Tyrone behind, twisting the large stake in his heart.

With that, the remaining vampires became disorganized, disoriented. A flare went up from the truck and clouds started forming above them. The battle had been quickly reversed. Onra's flaming sword could be seen slicing one demon after another, knocking the bodies out of the way as he trudged through them, leading the charge. Across the street, Bam's maniacal charges left dozens of vampires dead or incapacitated in their wake, covered by splinters and silver shrapnel. By the time the thunder started, Onra had cleared one building and Bam another. Foot soldiers were raging through street after street like fire and brimstone, smiting any whom would attempt escape. Emory, still dazed from the Master's manipulations, was caught unarmored and unawares as a wild vampire leapt on top of him, baring his long fangs as he yelled from the pain of the silver spikes that covered Emory's armor. Still, the demon fought and trying to wrestle off his victim's silver-spiked helmet. Emory was being overwhelmed when he heard the scream of a wildcat. The jaguar-humanoid creature pounced on the vampire, slashing at his neck and then burning it with a plasma pistol. Her dark, cat-like eyes met his and no words were necessary. Any suspicions or distrust had just been swept away and replaced with the deepest of all gratitude. Emory and Samantha fought back to back, desperately holding off the few remaining vampires as they impatiently watched the ever-forming clouds in the sky.

Then the storm flare kicked in. Right in the middle of the Arzno desert, the monsoon rolled over the village. Water came down in sheets as the helpless vampires melted away, leaving no trace of their evil except the lives they had ruined. In five more minutes, it was over.

The estimate after viewing the video footage was that over 600 vampires had been in that town, all killed by roughly 50 men. After the memorial services of the four lost comrades, Emory sat and thought about it for a time. He remembered little of the battle, but it didn't matter. The town was liberated and its citizens released. Good had won again. How many times would the battle have to be won before the war was over? Only time will tell.