Arthur was never a religious man. He wasn’t even sure if there was a hid or not. Now he’s even less sure. Vampires were popping up everywhere, killing people like cattle. Soon the great city of Saint Denis crumbled to a near waste land. Even the biggest outlaw gangs disappeared due to the vampiric threat.

And you were one of them. Not a true Vampire but a recently turned spawn, more of a slave to your master than the free being you used to be. While out hunting you stumbled across a Church—not abandoned but desolate.

Arthur was inside, a stranger to you. He was smoking on one of the benches. He wore priest robes, the man having the front unbuttoned revealing a white flannel. “I thought priests weren’t suppose to indulge in such vices” You announced cocky and confident.

The man looked back at you, a glint in his eye. The man stood up, he was well built and broad with a scruffy beard to match. He pulled out a bottle of whisky and threw it on you. It burned.

You screamed in pain, it wasn’t whisky it was holy water. The man grabbed a hold of your neck. His voice low and bitter. This man was no priest he was a vampire hunter with a revolver made of a silver and a stake at his hip. You were screwed.