"Ha! You can't kill me, you..."

But he had no chance to say any more, for while he wasted precious seconds gloating, the Hunter drew his arm back, and in one fluid motion drove his sword, point first, through the precise center of the leader's throat. The blade went in almost to the hilt, and the point sliced through tissue and bone and nerves, severing the spinal cord as readily as beheading would have.

His body dropped limply to the ground. The Hunter twisted the blade, making certain that the cut was complete, that there could be no healing. He withdrew it and turned to the watching crowd. He took his stance again, his sword, dripping red, held ready.

Once again there was silence.

The watching vampires had not expected their leader's defeat. He had been their tyrant. He had been their king. They had all feared him, and if they thought of themselves as immortal, they thought of him as even more immortal than they. Their egos wouldn't allow them to think anything else. But now the Hunter had killed their king.

They still knew they could take him. There were still forty-one of them, and just one of him. They hated him and wanted to kill the Hunter, the killer of vampires. They knew if they didn't that he would kill many more of them. But they were all hearing again the words, "The first to move, dies." They all wanted him dead, but none of them wanted to be that first, especially not after what they had just seen.

Perhaps they might have nerved themselves up eventually. Perhaps one of them might have moved, and then hung back once they crowd surged forward. Perhaps. But a voice rose from the back of the crowd. "You can all commit suicide if you like. I'm leaving. I don't want to die." And one vampire broke free of the group and ran into the night.

"Hell yes," said a second, and followed.

And suddenly they were all streaming away into the darkness, scattering out into the night, going in every direction except towards where the Hunter still stood on the hilltop. The Hunter stood and watched until the last of them was out of sight.

Then he sank to his knees, exhausted and bleeding, and was David again.

Approaching footsteps made him look up tiredly, to see Alek and Mack, having circled around, come up the hill. He smiled.

"Ha! You did it! I can't believe you did it!" Alek was bright-eyed and wound up.

David chuckled. "Yeah, I can't believe it either. And thanks. I think they might have nerved themselves up to take me if you hadn't spoken up." He leaned on his sword and slowly levered himself to his feet.

"Here, lean on me a bit," said Mack, coming up beside him to support him. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I'll live." He turned and looked behind him, to where the humans must still be walking through the desert... and suddenly he stepped back, raising a hand to shield his eyes as light flooded out. He blinked a few times. The light wasn't really that intense at this distance, but he'd been looking right at it when it had sprung up.

"They did it." He smiled. "We all did it. Come on. I'd better let Megan know that I didn't manage to get myself killed." He started limping forward, but Mack suddenly scooped him up.

"You're in no shape to walk. You've carried me often enough, I can carry you a few miles."

They made their way to the edge of the light, where Megan was waiting. A look of fear crossed her face when she saw that Mack was carrying David, but Mack set him down to walk the last few feet on his own. She ran out to meet him, and hugged him hard, not caring that she was getting blood all over her clothes. There were tears running down her face as she clung to him. "You're alive."

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her. "I always keep my promises."