Hunters

Next to a mountain, I stand.

The curved scabbard that clung to the back of George's jumpsuit was struck by his sword. The C-130 was filled with the sound of the music. Feeling his enthusiasm building, he performed a last weapons check after checking the gray jumpsuit's seals. George bought his sister a new boat because he liked what he did.

And use the edge of my hand to cut it down.

"That package is nice and tight up there, Rodriguez." George spoke into his helmet.

"Package secured, New Guy," Rodriguez said, turning to grip his crotch. Capullo, you just maintain that blade sharp.

George shakes his head and chuckles. A new man? There are certain nicknames that never go away. How long had he been a hunter? Fifteen years? It felt like he had returned to Fallujah only yesterday. When he stormed Sword Beach with just bagpipes, his great-grandfather became a legend. When the ammunition for the rest of his SAS group ran out, George became a legend by using his signature longsword to kill four Taliban fighters. He was at least as much of a legend as one can be given, given that he and his soldiers were never actually deployed or engaged in war. Where were those envelopes sealed, he wondered?

The Hunters knocked on his London apartment two days after he shipped back.

I am a voodoo child, for heaven's sake!

He inserted the silver bullet into the little breast flap of his jumpsuit. Although it wouldn't be necessary today, he had come to the conclusion that it's best to be safe than sorry. Back when there were more of them, he had personally witnessed what transpired when the choice was removed. Were.

With his no-nonsense tone, Lucian responded, "Cut that shit, Geddy."

With a tone that showed no remorse, Geddy the pilot responded, "Sorry boss, how about something more appropriate?"

Shortly after, Hendrix was replaced by the thunderous chorus from Wagner's The Ride of the Valkyries. With a swift flick of his middle finger back toward the cockpit, Lucian answered. George choked back a laugh.

Even though there were about eight billion individuals on the planet, only a small number of them were eligible for this position; therefore, some decorum was lost in the cargo hold.

"Two minutes."

The hunters would, incidentally, soon adopt their adage "decency." George gave the final team member a curious thumbs up, but the sound of the ramp's descent was muffled by the unexpected surge of air. A thumbs up was given to him by Ifunanya. She seemed more serious than Lucian, but George couldn't blame her based on what her file stated. Fallujah appeared to be a Sunday walk in comparison to the nightmare they dragged her from.

"Ay dios mío."

Half of Los Angeles was on fire as they pulled behind the cloud cover, or what George thought was more accurately a smokescreen.

George said, more as a diversion than anything else, "How you still believe in God working this job, I'll never understand Rodriguez." Reading a dossier is one thing, but seeing the blazing country spread out as far as he could see is quite another. Devastation gave way to the ocean as the C-130 banked northward.

"A friend, some things stay with you."

"Just one minu-shit! Bogey is on the way!

As the C-130 rolled to avoid something, George felt his heart fall into his throat.

As the heat from the explosion baked the cargo bay, something became instantly clear.

"Bail! Bail!" Coolly, Lucian gave the order. "If that box doesn't come ashore, Rodriguez..."

George was suddenly falling, falling, falling, and falling.

He struggled to hold the ripcord in his trembling fingertips. Even though the C-130 was getting smaller and smaller, the open cargo door was still there.

Then it was only flames.

Getty

George stared as another flame tore through the wing while Lucian whispered, "Oh no." A few seconds later, the remainder of the plane disintegrated. There was no chance for him.

"Next up is us. Take off.

When George eventually located the rope, he pulled. In a matter of seconds, he was skimming in the direction of the island once the gliders deployed. Somewhere close to its center, fireballs burst forth.

There, she will be nestled. Lucian responded, "Stay on schedule, team," well aware that they were the ones who were now behind schedule.

"Inbound smoke," Rodriguez stated. George could see Ifunanya gliding half a league ahead of him after they had all exited the plane. They were in line, and the Coast Guard cutter that was following them shot thick smoke all over the island.

"LZ clear."

George unlimbered his M4 and struck the sand at a roll. They couldn't figure out laser weapons, but they had specially made glider suits that would make a comic book writer jealous. One of the numerous frustrations of the job.

"Hello, delivery of the package," Rodriguez added.

A pin flicked on George's HUD as Lucian commanded, "Rally." Considering everything, this was going really well.

They more than made up for their lack of laser rifles with powerful machine guns, automatic shotguns, anti-material weapons, and several grenade launchers.

"Greetings from Bodega Rodriguez!" With an MGL racked over his shoulder and one foot resting on the box, Rodriguez spoke. The Barrett M82 was seized by George. If there was one thing that Americans excelled at, it was producing high-quality weapons. There was a lot to explore there, but George let poets and filmmakers handle such things. He also reached for an evacuation flare almost instinctively.

"All right, we must relocate. A barrage that ends in "ten, nine,..."

The offshore shots stopped, seemingly at Lucian's signal, and they began sprinting for the remaining little vegetation on the windswept island. The active camo on their suits blended in with the sandy, rocky landscape of Santa Rosa Island.

They struck the deck along a deep sand dune after Lucian stated, "Movement ahead." George believed that they must be close. George sincerely hoped his target could not hear his thoughts as a roar echoed throughout the island.

"George, Ifu, 100-meter spread, fire support." Take the right, Rodriguez. Everyone knows what to do.

After giving each other a nod, they crept over to their places. There was still a lot of smoke in the air, which made it harder to see but also helped with hiding.

"Make a sound."

"All set, boss," Rodriguez declared.

"All set," Ifu murmured, her voice quivering just a little. She wasn't blamed by George.

"All set," George declared. He inhaled deeply, then let his lungs fill with air. His surroundings slowed.

"Go."

Compared to dragons, vampires, werewolves, chimeras, and demons are all childish.

Furthermore, George had never seen a larger one than the one that filled his scope. This jumble of forest green scales in front of him was comparable to a small airplane in size, while most were the size of a Blackhawk helicopter.

Luckily, there were no changes to the strategies for defeating a dragon with a four-person Hunter team.

Rodriguez's MGL blasted grenades of Geneva Convention-violating mixtures of heavier than air flammable vapors into the dragon's nest from his position on the right. Since of the combination, the dragon was unable to use its fire since they were not ignorant brutes.

The dragon would then either take to the air or produce a draft to remove the fumes in a logical animalistic reaction. Easily two hundred feet of transparent membrane from taloned tip to taloned tip, George saw the huge wings stretch out. The enormous beast remained beached as Lucian emptied his autoshotgun, the flechettes tearing the membranes.

George would have been grieved by the beast's suffering. Would have, if he hadn't witnessed the devastation it caused.

He got his gun ready.

Even the toughest tungsten shots couldn't penetrate the tight lattice formed by dragon scales. Even a direct strike from a Hellfire wouldn't harm the dragon since it would curl into a tight ball at the slightest hint of danger, such as a bombardment. Three choices remained.

The dragon, armed only with its fangs and talons, attacked Lucian's position. Ifu aimed the LMG at the underbelly's softer scales, firing focused rounds into them. George kept scanning, waiting for a moment to present itself so that his Barrett might take advantage of it. He could aim for the eyeballs if none did, but it would be a one in a million chance.

Suicide was the third option.

None of the softer scales broke off in spite of Ifu's steady and skillful shooting.

With its taloned wings scaling the sand, the dragon pounded Lucian. In an unsuccessful attempt to divert the beast's attention, George shot at its head. Rodriguez dropped his MGL and positioned himself kneeling on the edge of the dune, opening his M4 loaded with explosive shells.

George also recognized that the dragon's size was an issue.

Rodriguez was caught by the dragon's taloned wing as if in slow motion, and the resulting scream caused George's helmet's sound dampener to trip.

Although it shouldn't have made a difference, Ifu and Lucian temporarily ceased firing.

The dragon then attacked once more at that same time. It raised its horribly lovely head toward Lucian over the dune's edge.

"Fuck me."

Their stoic leader's final remarks were appropriate.

"Now what the devil do we do?" If George was telling the truth, Ifu spoke with remarkable composure.

"Do you think I'm trustworthy?"

"Not at all."

Then you might just make it out alive. Get down.

George ignited the extraction flare, and she followed his instructions. The earth burst into a blaze that they could see from the space station with a single flick of the wrist.

"Why in the world did you do that?" Crawling back toward his position, Ifu muttered.

"Do you truly trust me now?"

"Like hell."

"Well, you're going too far." Ifu's gaze seemed to pierce George's soul. He hurriedly added, "I have a plan," as if that would make the command any more bearable. As the dragon got closer to the dune's edge, the sand began to tremble.

"I am not a damsel."

"If it makes you feel better, think of yourself as bait."

A third method of killing a dragon existed. A third route, but a suicidal one.

His weapon was useless anymore, so he threw it to the beach. Ifu believed that George was more sane than Lucian, if he had any such beliefs.

"All set?"

The third method's flaw was that it relied on the dragon's barbecue-like attitude.

Ifu tossed herself over the dune after nodding.

Just one breath...

Two inhalations...

In order to establish the greatest footing for his impending action, George pulled out his longsword and stood atop the dune.

Fortunately, the dragon was exactly underneath them. Smoke rose from the enormous beast's nostrils as it expanded its chest as Ifu slid down the sand.

Just where the Dragon's Palate stopped was a tiny point that, if you could manage to puncture it, would draw a direct line into the dragon's hindbrain. It was too small for a bullet of a big caliber.

The only time a dragon revealed this location was when it was getting ready to swallow Ifu with its flames.

The dragon raised its head from Ifu toward the small piece of flesh that was leaping through the air in the direction of its horned head, as though it were filled with reasonable disbelief.

In the last twist of amazing luck, this particular great dragon did not atomize George in a jet of fire that made napalm look like a pleasant Christmas dessert jelly because it decided it preferred its meat rare. Its mouth expanded, exposing a long line of very sharp fangs.

When George's longsword sank into the dragon's sinewy flesh, it slumped silently.

The autonomic nervous system was amazing.

Then George was falling for the second time in less than an hour. He smashed onto the sand, grateful for the little cushion it offered, and rolled as quickly as he could before being crushed by the enormous descending corpse. That would be his luck after all of this.

A constant thumping on his helmet was the next sensation he experienced.

Ifu was the one.

At one point, George would have mocked death. He just closed his eyes today.

***

Two days later, George woke up to a completely unwanted buzzing in his little London apartment. His initial thoughts were, "Who the bloody hell buzzes the doorbell?" and "Who the bloody hell buzzes the doorbell at three in the morning?" His third thought was, "Yeah, I should get my gun since I kill monsters for a living."

He looked out onto the deserted street. There was nobody on George's stoop. He gently shut the door out of frustration, but stopped as it came into contact with an unmarked cardboard box on his welcome mat.

He let out a sigh.

George secured his door with a deadbolt since he was aware that he may actually be carrying Pandora's Box.

He hoped it was Pandora's Box after giving it a brief inspection since he had a neutron stabilizing field lying around someplace that would counteract the worst consequences. The tiny box was ornamented with a brief message: DVH is open.

George shut his eyes. Nothing told him he had to open it right away, and he was exhausted. His contract really had no clause requiring him to open it up at all. He didn't even realize that he could throw this box and whatever was inside into the Thames. Nowadays, he thought he could earn a nice income from his carefully edited and disguised recollections, since every coffee shop was crowded with adolescent females reading Romantasy.

It wouldn't be back into the flames, no matter what route he took. The excitement had vanished.

Nevertheless, DVH was entitled to hear it. The slim iPad knockoff instantly sprang to life, even though it was undoubtedly DVH-exclusive technology that was decades ahead of any real iPad.

"Doctor, I assume you know what time zones are?"

"Do you believe vampires are concerned?" The shabby man spoke. George realized that he had never seen Dr. Van Helsing in person before and hoped he had never done so since the man was a living, breathing corpse.

"Lucian typically texted."

Lucian has also passed away. George, congrats! You are now the top hunter.

"I decline the promotion."

As he said it, he became aware of how foolish it sounded.

And even though I've made an effort to reject life, here I am. Our curses are like that; mine is a real one, at least. I can't even recall if the gift of immortality came from Odin or Aurora.

Anita, John, Kai, Mo, Jessica, and now Getty and Lucian were all visible to George.

"I'm worn out. I'm sick of seeing my pals.

And you believe I like it? But that's the work. The monsters will prevail if you leave now because you "feel bad." George, the monsters prevail. Okay, that's what you want. When you're watching hydras destroy the Underground on the BBC, I'll remind you of it. Ifu looks to have larger balls than you, so I'll give it to her then.

Knowing the Dr. had the right of it, George let out a sigh. The weaker men gave up. Not George. Not when you had dragons to kill.

"Where are we going?"

He hoped It was a really unsettling sight to see Dr. Van Helsing without a grin. "I anticipated your change. The American state of Florida appears to be experiencing a surge in activity once more. At least you will benefit from some sun.

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A/N:

WC: 2500. With several unrelated inspirations, including but not limited to Predator, Reign of Fire, and Mission Impossible, this story was influenced by the Legend of St. George and the Dragon.