Gangs, street thugs, they usually kept to the darker corners of town and edges of society. It was not surprising, really, for it provided them the privacy they needed to work. It made their victims vulnerable. They knew it too, which is why they wrapped themselves in those shadows. Of course, it rarely occurred to the thrill-seeking idiots that the darkness they operated in made themselves vulnerable as well. At least not until someone came along and demonstrated that vulnerability to them. Wilhelm was perfectly willing to oblige them with such a demonstration.

The trio of thugs gloating in an alley over a productive night’s “work” would do just fine for tonight. Especially since they seemed to be particularly stupid, or foolhardy, or both. It did not particularly matter to Wilhelm which it was. What did matter is that they were too preoccupied with themselves to notice his presence until it was announced by the dull crack of a collapsible baton meeting the back of a skull. That got their attention, except for that of the man who crumpled unconscious to the ground. But he was not important anymore.

The other two spun to face their assailant, noting the muscular man in dark clothes with twin batons held casually in his hands. Surprisingly enough there were none of the bumbling, boastful comments traditionally associated with such ruffians. Instead they each simply drew a knife and came at him with deadly intent. Perhaps they were merely foolhardy after all. Not that it mattered.

Their first strikes were surprisingly well-coordinated; one high one low, one from the left and the other from the right, both coming near simultaneously. Admirable teamwork, but it did not make up for lacking fundamentals. The roundhouse attacks were slow, and possessed of limited range. It was a simple matter for Wilhelm to step back and watch as the blades passed harmlessly in front of him. Predictably, one of them stepped forward to press the attack.

The counterattack came faster than he could hope to react to. Wilhelm’s baton flicked up and buried itself in the thug’s gut with more force than Wilhelm’s frame appeared capable of delivering. The man doubled over, providing all the opportunity that the Iltani needed. Wilhelm twirled the baton once, clearing it of the confines of the man’s torso, and brought it down sharply upon the back of the man’s head. He collapsed much as his friend had just a short while earlier.

That left Wilhelm facing one last opponent. Oh, he was angry. The Iltani could see it in his eyes. Rage was an emotion he knew well. And something that, for the moment at least, he shared with this street thug. But there was a difference between them, a critical one. Wilhelm had learned long ago to control his rage, this young man was all too eager to let his rage control him. That cost him whatever slim chance he may have had.

The attack was wild, undisciplined, as the man attempted to overwhelm Wilhelm through sheer strength. Probably more of an opening than the Wilhelm needed. His baton rose to block, but it was not a ring of metal on metal as baton met blade. Instead baton met wrist, a jarring blow that knocked the knife loose and sent it skittering across the ground. The other baton spun upward to slam into the back of the man’s elbow. Had Wilhelm desired, it would have been a simple matter to snap the joint like a twig. But he was not feeling particularly malicious tonight.

He stopped once the elbow did not want to move anymore, probably jamming it painfully but that much he could care less about. And the maneuver left the man in an arm bar, maintained by Wilhelm’s twin batons. An inefficient method to be certain, and one that certainly could be broken were the man given a bit of time. But Wilhelm was not about to give it to him. He just twisted, turned, redirecting the man’s charge. One that abruptly ended as he ran headfirst into the alley’s brick wall.

The crack of skull on brick was like thunder to Wilhelm’s enhanced senses. The man rebounded, glassy-eyed and dazed as he reeled away. At least until Wilhelm’s hands took the man into an iron grip, holding him steady as the Iltani’s fangs plunged into his neck. He held the man there for some time, reveling as the man’s hot lifeblood flowed into his undead body. It was something he had experienced countless times throughout the years of his Requiem, but one he never had or would tire of.

When he had taken his fill he withdrew his fangs from the man, licking the bite closed before letting him drop to the ground. His breathing was shallow and skin pallid, but he would survive. He stood there for a few moments, pondering the three unconscious forms scattered around it. He would do well to begin building a herd soon, and was planning to. But even when he did, he wondered how much he would actually use it. The challenge and thrill of the hunt was something that was difficult to resist.

And besides, Wilhelm bent down as he exited the alley to scoop up the wad of stolen cash that the thugs had dropped when his assault had began, a hunt usually netted other rewards as well.