Hundreds of miles beneath the Vatican on the 30th of September
“Here we go, another year of goddamn speeches and introductions on shit we already know.”
The outburst of the ginger-bearded man in front of her took Larsa aback.
“Aw, c'mon, Lionel, you know it's for the sake of the newbies, most of them have only been doing training in their chosen fighting style since last November, I bet you half of them will be dead or have crapped their pants by day two.”
A relatively thin man with greying hair responded while letting out a light belch.
The way Larsa’s father, the late Archibald “Archie” Masterson, had described the Holy Templar Order, one could assume they were the most virtuous humanity had to offer. The reality was quite a shock to her system.
A considerable number of the rank and file making up the order were ex-soldiers and mercenaries, either looking to up their pay scale or indulge in the thrill of a greater challenge, and what could be a greater challenge than real, honest to god monsters?
Choosing to bite her tongue, Larsa followed along the line into an enormous amphitheatre-like open room. Thousands of Templars were already seated, with more still funnelling inside.
The largest secret military organization in the world, funded by a collective of the most prominent nations and elites, for but one purpose, to hunt and keep the peace during October when inexplicable numbers of supernatural creatures begin to roam the earth. She took a seat in a middle row with a good view of the centre.
“Something isn't it?” a fairly nasally voice pondered.
Larsa turned to see a young man with a bowl cut take a seat next to her; his face, much like his hair, was unflattering, and his clothes were baggy and ill-fitting.
“Milo Vindill, wind mage extraordinare, pleasure to meet you.” he extended a hand to which she reluctantly shaked.
“Larsa Masterson, I'm-”
“Oh, I know you! You're Archie’s 20-year-old daughter! The one everyone says is the most promising rookie in this year's batch!”
Milo tapped his chin in contemplation.
“Strange, I expected you to be enlisted a lot sooner with that pedigree.”
“My dad was a bit-” she started, only to be cut off again.
“Overprotective? Ah, a classic tale for an aspiring monster hunter!”
Larsa was beginning to wonder if she should change seats or excuse herself to whatever restroom the catacombs beneath a holy city might have, the prospect of having to endure Milo’s personality for an extended period unappealing to say the least.
It was a fair question at least, one even she was uncertain of. Despite her father's gushing over the order, he had spent the past two years of her eligibility training her in a sequestered area of the Appalachian Mountains, practicing with the family's signature broadsword techniques.
It had long been a challenging prospect to master such a large weapon; when she was but a wee lass, she couldn't even lift the thing off the ground!
As much as she loathed to admit, growing up with the family weapon of choice had made her a tomboy, her arms and calves more toned than any lady she’d met her age, her bright blonde hair more often than not kept in a tight ponytail to prevent it from obstructing her vision.
Nonetheless, she completed her formal initiation and was now an official part of the Templars, her standard combat dress a signature Masterson blue that flowed into a red skirt and shorts.
“...Won’t be making that mistake again, hooey,” Larsa was snapped from her reminiscence by Milo, who had clearly been going off on something or other while she wasn’t paying attention.
“But that's besides the point, it's just such a tragedy that a common illness would pry Archie from us and not something more grand.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re saying it would have been more fitting had my father died upon the claws of some foul beast?”
Milo recoiled a bit in surprise realizing he’d stuck his foot in his mouth.
“N-no! I mean uh…what I meant to say was-”
Milo looked around frantically, trying to find some way to change the subject. Lucky for him, salvation, if you could call it that, was unexpectedly nearby.
“Well if it isn’t the biggest know-it-all in the holy order!”
They both turned to see a woman with an eyepatch and a toothpick in her mouth taking a seat next to them.
“Oh hi Miranda.” Milo replied meekly.
“Go hi yourself dipshit, you still owe me 100 bucks for that ‘emergency’ you had, that was definitely just to hire a maid for that nasty ass rats den you call a dorm room.”
Miranda’s sole green eye shot daggers Milo’s way.
The wind mage extraordinaire now found himself in an uncharitable position between two women freshly pissed at him, a few beads of sweat forming on his temple.
“I’ll pay you back once we get our paycheques for this year’s hunt, honest!”
“If someone doesn’t push you into a lake with ravenous mermaids first.” Miranda huffed out, her short bob of hair just barely concealing the vein popping from annoyance in her temple.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Anyway who's this? Haven't seen muscles around the training fields before.”
She turned her gaze to Larsa, plucking the toothpick out from her mouth into her palm.
“I’m Larsa Masterson, before you ask, yes that Masterson family.”
“If you’re dragging around the same hunk of steel your old man was, that explains a few things,” she chuckled.
“Your dad was ripped to shreds too, I thought he was pretty hot I can’t lie to you.”
Larsa’s head almost did a double back.
“Great, the first two people I've talked to here are a nuisance and someone who looks for dates in a retirement home, just swimming.” she thought to herself.
Mercifully a new talking point had just arrived to distract from the awkward three way stand off they found themselves in.
“Look, it's the Seven Inquistors!” Milo pointed toward the centre of the area.
On two sides of a podium dividing them down the middle were the legendary leaders of the hunt freshly seating themselves. The most powerful and elite the order had to offer, what many a monster's last sight had and would be. They who the rank and file would call on if a particular creature was too much even for a squad of a dozen-strong hunters.
The only one Larsa herself had met in person prior was Rutger Sanders. He was an aging man pushing 60, yet he carried himself with a healthy stride and vigor that defied it. He was a master of the lance and could duplicate his weapon Mundi as much as he wanted. Dual wielding lances sounds like lunacy, but within his hands it was reality. He had been a good friend and confidant to her dad and a frequent visitor to their home for some croquet and hikes. He was the sole inquisitor that was at Archibald’s funeral, and it was there that he extended to her the invitation to finally enlist.
The other inquisitors were strangers to her, but with reputations grand enough she could still recognize them on sight.
Yoko Uematsu was renowned for both her skilled wielding of the katana and the ethereal beauty which she possessed. It was claimed that no kenjutsu practitioner in Japan for 1000 years past had come close to the blistering speeds she could attain, the nickname “Light Weaver” having long been associated with her. Her catsuit had become infamous year over year for starting as a pristine white on the first night and ending caked in crimson by the last, rarely ever in her own blood, naturally.
Edward Van Helsing came from one of the most renowned families of monster hunters in history, they’d been in the game long before the order had come calling, ever since, without fail, a Helsing had maintained a spot as one of the inquisitors. His Victorian style clothing made him stand out in a crowd (though none dare to point this out to him) and his weapon of choice, a staff with a complex stave top and pointy tip was designed for him to switch back and forth between pure magical offense and physical techniques with startling ease. His black hair and light beard was starting to have some grey streaks, indicative that he was in the twilight of his 30s.
Rebecca Gravely had a reputation as an unkempt yet fierce firecracker. Her scarlet hair had a number of frays, her black tank top was noticeably wrinkled and she kept a grey sweater wrapped around her waist constantly. Criticism of her slovenliness was usually overshadowed by her raw pyrotechnic power, mostly due to the massive conflagrations she caused being one of the larger headaches and expenses the administrative division had to clean up by October end. Like Milo she was a mage, one who forsook any weapons in favour of solely spellcasting, although magnitudes more powerful than he could wish he was at this point. She leaned back casually in her seat, lighting a cigarette she put in her mouth with a flame she produced from her thumb.
Larsa couldn't help but start to wonder if general untidiness was a quirk shared among mages.
Juan Puno often carried the label of a “pretty boy,” his slicked back hair and suave Latin looks making him popular with many members of the order. Indeed, jokes abound even among the most desperate for a girlfriend, that he’d be an objectively better option to take on a date than Rebecca. Mistaking his appearance for weakness, however, was a recipe for a fatal opening in battle. The number of martial arts he had mastered was head spinning, his reliance purely on hand to hand combat he justified as being more refined than the “blunt tools” (or pure negligence in a certain red-heads case) utilized by his compatriots. Rumours abounded that he once wrecked apart a mountain possessed by a poltergeist in a single kick, though, any who asked him if it were true got met with a wry smile and a shrug.
Speaking of mountains, Buster Biggs could best be described as one. He was 7 feet tall and well into 300 pounds of pure muscle, his signature two-hand war hammer dwarfing the average person in size. When he wasn't out in the field he could, like as not, be found in the cafeteria back at base or taking a break at a restaurant scarfing it down, the sheer amount of fuel needed to power his tank of a body was absurd. Whenever the average citizen made an inquiry about why a massive African American man with a hammer was spotted eating at restaurants in six different countries across three different continents over the span of a week, the order was not best pleased having to cover up such silly escapades.
Finally was Claudia, last name unknown, by the far the most enigmatic of the Inquisitors. The two corners of her mouth had rows of stitches in them, purportedly she had caught a particularly strong Dwarf’s axe in her teeth to block the attack, causing the injury. At least since then, she only ever communicated in one-word sentences, giggles and with her facial expressions. Some had raised concerns that maybe she was replaced by a monster doppelganger, but investigations found no evidence to support this. Her eerie black dress, demeanour and unnaturally sharp scythe as a weapon had caused a number of the order to start referring to her as “The Grim Reaper” in recent years.
Whenever a member of the inquisitors was killed or, more rarely, retired, it was common courtesy to ask a strongly supported nominee to take the open slot. Larsa knew that her dad was offered to do so a number of times, but had politely refused each instance, just another feather in the cap of secrecy and intrigue for Archie Masterson.
“So, who you got?” Miranda asked casually.
“What?” Larsa replied in confusion.
“Don’t tell me you haven't bet into the pot muscles! Every year the members of the order have a fun game to gamble on which Inquisitor earns the most kills by the end of the month.”
Miranda rubbed her hands together, the prospect clearly causing her jubilation.
“Yes! It's one of the highlights of the month! Inquisitor Yoko is always a safe bet to take, but if there are a lot of vampires, Inquisitor Helsing will mop up with ease, he always seems way more motivated when those things are out in force. Personally I've put a thousand dollars on Buster, he's the underdog here, needs too many pit stops and all that, but the pay out if he pulls through is crazy! If I could just organize a scenario with a ton of goblins…”
Milo raved, also caught in a gambling craze.
“Wait a second asshole! If you can put a grand on this, then…WHERE THE FUCK IS MY MONEY?!”
Miranda gripped Milo by the shirt now and started to lightly throttle him.
“I’M S-S-SORRY!” he struggled to billow out.
Larsa’s face reddened by the attention they were starting to get from the commotion.
“Quit it you two!”
“Settle down everyone.”
Miranda and Milo halted their borderline comedic routine, a voice echoing out from the podium seizing the attention of everyone in the room. He was a man with grey hair, fitted out in holy robes, regalia and the like, his presence was the very picture of authority.
This was High Priest Marcel Wanz. Effectively, he was the leader of the Holy Templar Order, as well as their liaison to keep the governments of the world posted on any…concessions the order would need within their borders. Everyone in the amphitheatre was now silent, even the bickering duo knew better than to undermine the High Priest with further antics.
“As is tradition the hunt begins tonight, I'm sure everyone here is familiar with the basic rules that we conduct ourselves with, but I would like to quickly review them nonetheless.”
A few light groans could be heard from the audience including some of the Inquisitors in response.
“Simmer down friends, the only reason I do so is because last year we had a record number of violations, including from those who should know better.”
His gaze and a squint fell for a moment upon Rebecca and Buster before locking back onto the crowd.
“First and foremost, any destruction of property or death of civilians is to be avoided where possible, exceptions where the environment or persons in question are directly controlled by a creature are considered fair, but I urge you to exert your better judgment on cases where unnecessary.” he let it sink in for a minute before continuing.
“Second, anytime a civilian witnesses the activities of yourself or a monster, use the basic Oblitus spell which was taught to you on the first day of enlistment, this shall replace the memories of the event with a more mundane explanation. Once upon a time the administrative division could handle such cases on their own, but with the ease upon which information is shared in the digital age on top of the handful of large scale incidents that usually occur, their attention is required there instead.”
He took a brief respite to catch his breath before finishing with one last rule.
“Thirdly, any aiding and abetting of the creatures is strictly prohibited and punishable by death. These beasts will sometimes try to act like they can feel emotions, however, this is not but lies! The abominations will stab you in the back the second it's turned if they so can! Endangering fellow members by letting such cretins intentionally go free is the one thing that, no matter what, will not be tolerated.”
High Priest Marcel’s shift in tone was quite stark from the previous rules, but his demonstration wasn’t quite done yet.
With the snap of his fingers he beckoned forward some order members carrying a cage. Inside was an Imp, a small creature of red skin and horns that was typically considered a low level threat.
“This thing was captured last year and was detained up until this moment...”
The Imp hissed from the corner of the cage feral intensity and fear in its eyes.
“Ms. Yoko if you would do the honours.”
Inquisitor Uematsu stood up and walked toward the cage slowly. The room was now in a hush so quiet a pin could drop and be heard by all. She clasped the hilt of her katana.
Nobody saw her move, as far as they could tell she was standing in the same precise position when the Imp was split horizontally into two halves, its upper portion landing on the cage floor with a loud clang.
The bars to the cage blocking the Imp were still in perfect condition as if, like air, she merely phased through them.
“Now go forth and rend apart all the other ghastly monstrosities that shall soon plague our paradise of a world! Use the gifts given to us by great Saint Lucius centuries past well!”
High Priest Marcel Wanz finished his impassioned speech with two simple words.
“Happy hunting."
