Hear ye, hear ye! King Tristan III himself has sent a call for adventurers! A mighty crusader has fallen to the path of darkness and must be exterminated! Reward of one hundred million Zeny is offered!

Great, thought Necrontyr as he flitted from shadow to shadow in the great city of Prontera, the whole kingdom is against me now. Mjolnir strapped to his back, a hood and robes covering his unearthly white skin, a random pedestrian would never think this strange man was a vampire. It was night, but he still did not want to be seen, as a “random pedestrian” could be a paladin or a priest in disguise. He did not wish to meet either.

Stealthily, Necrontyr made a beeline through the city to his goal : the Prontera Chivalry. The knights there were also enemies of the undead, but they, unlike the church, possessed common sense and could accept that an undead might retain his mind.

For several hours, he glided along the cobblestones in the immense city. Soon, the utter blackness of night began to fade, and golden light crept along the sky.

Sensing the imminent danger, Necrontyr ran to a warehouse, pushed open the door and hid inside. He drank from a flask of red-colored potion he had purchased from a shopkeeper earlier, and slept.

When he awoke, he was in a dark room, strapped to a chair. In front of him was his mortal enemy, Baeltimafas.

His powerful arms easily snapped the flimsy leather straps as he roared in rage. Running to his hammer, which lay propped against a wall, he grabbed for it and instead slammed face-first against the wall.

“Oh Necrontyr, there is no need to be like that. I merely came here to talk.”

Necrontyr scooped up his hammer, and charged at the other vampire anyway. Channeling his sheer force of will into the mithril head, he invoked Holy Cross and smashed the vampire in the chest twice with lightning speed. The vampire was blasted away to the other wall, where it began chanting in a strange language. A globe of pure shadow surrounded Baeltimafas, somehow rendering him immune to Necrontyr’s attacks.

Shouting “Aspersio!” as he swung again, this time the darkness completely dissipated, its evil magic countered by Necrontyr’s now-holy weapon. The other vampire whispered “Mortalis.” and vanished.

Necrontyr fled the building, smashing a hole in the wall as the ceiling caved in, covered with black flames. Jumping through the hole just in time, the entire structure imploded in a flash of black light.

Panting with exhaustion, Necrontyr knelt on the ground, regaining his breath. He sensed the evil aura in time, and spun around, hammer again summoning a Holy Cross as he again, blasted Baeltimafas into another building. They fought and fought, with an occasional Jupitel Thunder or Holy Cross interrupting the battle.

To a random bystander, it would have seemed a blur, Necrontyr’s warhammer whooshing through the air as Baeltimafas dodged, or the occasional hideous chalkboard-like scratching sound when taloned fingers met a mithral warhammer.

Not noticing the crowd gathering, the two vampires battled, as the crowd occasionally gasped in amazement as they observed the deadly dance. Both vampires were smouldering, as it was nearly noon now, but they did not care. Necrontyr had one goal in his mind : to destroy Baeltimafas. The other vampire thought of it as a game, albeit a lethal one. Still, they continued to fight.

Suddenly, Baeltimafas exploded in a flash of black light, and in his place was a large red bat, akin to a Drainliar. It flew away, high above the reach of Necrontyr’s warhammer, just as a Magnus Exorcismus erupted around the battlefield.

Necrontyr screamed in agony, waves of holy light scorching and burning him. Then as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

“Checkmate, Necrontyr.” the Pope said with a smile.