“I am Flagellum, eater of souls. I have lived for 4000 years. I have seen empires rise and fall. I have seen…”
 “We don’t care… you either order a fucking burger or you go away.”
 “But I am Flagellum, King of the Vampires…”
 “That’s very nice sir… What would you like?”
 “I would like to be human again… I tire of the night… of the danger… of those who seek to strike me down…”
 “A cheeseburger will do that sir… Why don’t you have a cheeseburger?”
 “I may only drink from the living.”
 “So you don’t want a cheeseburger then? How about some chips?”
 Flagellum stared at the youth behind the counter. Why was the child not understanding the grave mission he was imparting?
 “Chips? Everyone likes chips…” the youth said and slammed a small paper bag of chips on the counter. “That’ll be a quid.”
 “I have no money… I spent my earthly coin on The Sword of Athelia” the Vampire Lord replied.
 The youth stared at him. The Vampire Lord watched as the youth slowly lowered his head to the counter and rested it there. Slowly the chips were pushed forward.
 “Why thank you” smiled the Vampire Lord and picked up the chips.
 Flagellum strode towards the door, chips in hand. A little bell rang as the door slammed shut and he began striding down the street. “Wow… what a cock” sighed Neil as he slowly lifted his head. “Wha?” muttered Bernard as he staggered in with a bag of frozen burgers.
 “It was The Lord of the Vampires again.”
 “What he get out of you this time?”
 “Some chips.”
 “If the till’s under again you’re going to get fired” Bernard said as he casually deep-fried a severed head he’d found lying out back. “Damn… that looks cool” he remarked as he examined the crispy head.
 “I know…” sighed Neil and fished around in his pocket for a pound coin.
 “So, ya think the Unholy War’s going to kick off again?” asked Bernard.
 “Looks like it… sounds like ol’ Flagpole’s sunk all his money into some form of magical letter-opener again. He’s probably out there right now hacking up Mr. Patel’s dog.”
 Neil sighed again and took a pickled egg from the jar.
 “Poor dog… You can tell it ain’t a werewolf… It’s tiny an’ got those floppy ears.”
 “It could be a weremidget…” suggested Neil as he took a bite out of the egg.
 “Yeah… it’ll probably turn out for the best… just like when ol’ Flagellum rid the park of were-squirrels” Bernard said cynically.
 Bernard forced the fried head into the pickled egg jar.
 “Nice” remarked Neil.
 Outside there was the clash of swords and the sound of gunfire.
 “Yup, there goes the Unholy War… Every fucking Friday night…” sighed Neil.
 “Yeah, I told you that CCTV system was a waste of council money. Sixty grand just so we can get some out-of-focus shots of a goth decapitating a crustie” Bernard moaned.
 “Don’t forget that footage of your Cheryl behind the bins…” Neil smiled.
 “Yeah… still… at least they both got torn apart by that… that… Did they ever find out what it actually was in the end?”
 “It was another one of those ‘abominations’…” replied Neil, waving his hands in the air dramatically. “It was a cross between a were-badger and a Catpire.”
 Bernard looked pained.
 “I’m sorry mate” said Neil and rested his hand on Bernard’s shoulder.
 “What the fuck do you call something like that?” asked Bernard. “A werebagcatpire?”
 “I’m not sure, I lost track after all that weretortoichogpire nonsense. It’s too much work pronouncing all that for something that’s basically a blood-sucking spiny tortoise that grows a beard” shrugged Neil.
 A flash of lightning illuminated the inside of the shop. Two competing armies were revealed in the street outside. Flagellum was at the forefront, battling some form of pony. Flagellum swung his mighty sword.
 “You think he’ll ever stop ordering from those catalogues?” asked Bernard as he and Neil walked up to the window to get a better view.
 “I don’t think he can afford anywhere else” replied Bernard as they watched the sword crumple upon making contact with a hoof.
 “He probably shoulda picked up a cheap cricket bat or something, he’s right fucked now.”
 Indeed Flagellum had just received a powerful kick to the stomach from the werepony. It seemed like The Lord Of The Vampire’s was doomed.
 “Oh, wait, here comes the coppers” sighed Bernard in disappointment.
 The flashing blue lights bathed the street in eerie strobes.
 “Scarper” yelled the werepony and everyone was fleeing in all directions.
 Soon only Flagellum remained in the street, doubled over and breathing heavily.
 “Should we go give him a hand?” asked Bernard.
 “Fuck him” snapped Neil, “I’ve paid for that bloke’s last four bags of chips. I’m tired of charity work.”
 “Yeah… I guess they all have to leave the nest some time” pondered Bernard.
 They watched as Sergeant O’Reilly slowly crept up behind Flagellum and smashed him on the back of the head with his truncheon.
 “Fancy a drink?” asked Bernard.
 “Yeah, The Sparrow’s got a late-licence now.”

 The two closed up shop and wandered outside. “Evenin’ lads” smiled O’Reilly as he dragged Flagellum across the pavement towards the van.
 “Don’t talk to him” snapped Bernard to Neil as they walked past. “He clamped my fucking car the other day because I parked in a fucking Undead space. I only wanted to drop of a couple of videos.”
 “Bastard” agreed Neil. “What the fuck happened to The Sparrow?” blurted Bernard as they walked into pub.

 “Sorry, lads…” shrugged Norman the barman. “It’s The Crow now.”
 “You turned our pub into a fucking goth bar?” screamed Neil.
 “The brewery decided that was where the money was… what with the Unholy War and all…” mutter Norman as he cleaned a glass.
 “I’m a vampire” said a portly girl with a big smile and too much make-up.
 “Yes… of course you are” sighed Bernard.
 “I’m a weregibbon” smiled a gangly youth with an oscillating voice.
 The youth was drinking something that looked suspiciously like snakebite.
 “No, you’re a troubled retard” groaned Neil and pushed him out of the way. “Two pints and a couple of scotches Norman” Bernard shouted over the godawful industrial metal.
 “Sorry lads, only blood and fruit drinks now” apologised Norman.
 “But that fucker got snakebite” growled Neil, pointing at the weregibbon.
 “Actually I just pissed in his glass and told him it was The Potion of Normania” replied the barman. “Fucker tried to get his round in with a cheque.”
 “Oh fucking hell” sighed Bernard. “They’re students aren’t they?”
 “Sorry lads” cringed Norman, “brewery has my balls in a vice over this one.”
 “Where d’ya get the blood from?” asked Bernard.
 “The Nike factory’s diversified… apparently they drain the kids while they stitch now… increases efficiency or something. We just get it sent round frozen and I pop it in the microwave.”
 “Ew” winced Neil, “the same microwave you do the pies in?”
 “I give it a wipe in between” said Norman defensively, gesturing at his blood and pie-smeared apron. “Anyway, you guys hear that The Bloodening’s happening tonight?”
 “Oh christ, is it some kind of shitty goth rock festival?” asked Neil.
 “I looked it up on the internet” shrugged Norman, “apparently it’s another one of those ‘blood raining from the sky... The Dark Bloodlord marching across the Earth’ deals.”
 “Oh for fuck’s sake…” sighed Bernard, “I got stuck behind one of those driving my mum to the hospital to get her toenail sorted. It better not be the same one…”
 “Why?” asked Neil, casually spinning a beermat.
 “I kinda honked him and called him ‘a dawdling fuck’ at the lights by the station.”
 “Bah, he’s probably above all that… Anyway, don’t worry, most of them speak that Aramaic thing… y’know, like Mel Gibson”
 Bernard looked glum.
 “I then got out the car and hit him with my nine-iron.”
 “Packet of peanuts please Norman” asked Neil.