2nd RANGER BATTALION, 75th RANGER REGIMENT
2100(Z) 30-August-2015
FOB Andrew, Syria

In spite of recent conflicts in the area, the Summer night sky in Syria was quite and peaceful. Save for the wind which blew through the mountains and the fluttering of nocturnal creatures, all was silent. FOB Andrew was established by the US and used by American troops alone. Those which were stationed there wore the army MultiCam uniform, PT belt slung over their right shoulder. The FOB was relatively small, featuring several tents for the junior enlisted, and several separate tents for the other personnel. Civilians on the FOB were locals, used solely to act as translators and given their own place to stay within the FOB as well as PT belts for safety reasons. Though the night was peaceful, it would not stay that way for long.

Three knocks were heard on the door of the Executive Officer's tent. “Come in” the Lieutenant answered. It was a mail-specialist, ranked specialist, who stood at attention upon entering. “At ease soldier” said the Lieutenant. “Sir, we've received a OPORD. There is an unknown amount of enemies carrying small arms. We will receive no assistance in this task. No attachments. 1930, a MEDEVAC was called in by corporal Strickland, saying his team was attacked by an assailant wielding a pistol; the FOB is to be put on FPCON Delta. Troops should be woken and prepared to engage the target immediately. First platoon, and second platoon are to guard the two entry ways. Third and fourth are to send convoys out in either direction. Effective now. Take any precautions necessary. That is the end of the OPORD.” briefed the Specialist.

“Very well. AttenTION” the Lieutenant commanded. The executive saluted the mail-man. “Rangers lead the way” they droned to each other, before the specialist ran off, rifle in the low-ready.

There was knocking on doors all throughout the FOB. The soldiers were quickly briefed on their mission before being told to immediately execute. There was an audible chorus of grumbles, before the troops removed their PT belts and prepared for contact.

It took a mere ten minutes for the mission to be executed. The humvees were fired up and were sent in both directions outside the FOB. Meanwhile, there were armed guards standing before either side of the base ready to defend. Rifles were locked and loaded.

Before long, a signal was sent from the humvees. “Contact, contact, contact. 6 o'clock, small arms.” said the man in the front humvee. By the time they could fire back, the gunner on the .50 cal was already dead. The convoy stopped, soldiers drawing rifles and stepping out of the vehicles. Alpha team mobilized from the first humvee- without a gunner.

Soon, the night sky was illuminated by M4s firing rounds of 5.56. The team moved in a wedge formation as they pressed forward, though did not seem to hit any target. “LOA! LOA! LOA!” the men screamed. This signaled Bravo team to move in a similar fashion, flanking from the 12' o clock.

The sound of screams turned rapidly into gurgling, as a man on Alpha team had a stab wound manifest in his neck. Then another, and another, and another; as all five men of the team were found dead. Bravo team was in a panic, as the men scanned about with their NODs on, attempting to find something, only to catch small flashes of green occasionally flash by.

These men were soon decapitated.
Those who were still in their vehicles were quick to break contact, sending in the report back to the FOB. The men that did not stand fully on guard, raised their weapons pointed straight out as the two humvees quickly rushed toward the gate, blocking the entrance. The other convoy was soon called back as reinforcements.

Meanwhile, the first humvee was taken, following the other two back to the camp, driving quickly and aggressively. As the hijacked vehicle neared the FOB, the troops were quick to fire back.

The humvee swerved out of control as a dark figure appeared in the gunner position, firing 50 caliber rounds at the soldiers below. The sound of heavy gunfire were accompanied only by a just barely audible cackling laughter.

BAM! The hijacked vehicle crashed into the walls of the FOB, the figure leaping from the vehicle before it exploded in a dramatic fireball. The soldiers did not hesitate to fire in its direction, surrounding the humvee.

Without a sound, a soldier was decapitated on the spot. The others turned in that direction, and the other platoons quickly rushed to support. Even the medics did not touch the corpse.

The lights of the FOB turned on, the soldiers lifting up and turning off their night vision and quickly surrounded the target.

Standing in a slightly hunched position at the center of the FOB was a slender, pale, “man”. His look was unkempt with his hair worn long and messy, his clothes worn loose. Even the epaulets of his trench coat were undone. In each of his hands, the man held a katana. The swords were mastercraft from the pommel of the blade to the very tip. Their only apparent flaw was that each blade had a cutting edge on the side which curved inward. On the man's face, a simple, silver, thespian mask. As the man opened his mouth to smile, he revealed a pair of elongated fangs.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT BALLS, I'M FEELIN' IT!” he screamed, crouching down, then running off again. The soldiers were quick to fire and history was quick to repeat itself. One man was cut down, and another dragged aside.

Jordan Prentice was a vampire aged 92, and very recently, he was tasked on several missions each involving one the killing of something or oftentimes somethings.

The vampire hurriedly tore through the still living soldier's FLC, apparently looking for something. Soon, the vampire's hands laid themselves on a reflective belt. He turned the soldier over on his stomach, and wrapped the belt around the soldier's neck, pulling tightly from near the center, crossing his arms over. Jordan watched as the belt stretched and the soldier choked to death. Before being able to bite his target, however, rifles were already trained on the vampire. A single round was fired, Jordan maneuvering quickly, deflecting the blade on his mask.

“Weak fuck sauce” Jordan blurted, before grabbing the dead soldier's M4 and switching to fire. He pulled and left his finger on the trigger, running back before the soldiers. To the vampire's surprise, the rifle did not fire another round. That was until Jordan pulled the trigger. Again, and again, and again, until the magazine was empty.

“Man, your guns are fucking lame” the vampire said.
He pulled out his own firearm- a pistol which had earned a name for itself. This pistol was called Rain Shadow, a Deagle brand Eagle; otherwise known as a Desert Eagle. Jordan Prentice reached into his pocket for a magazine and slid it into the handle. Then, he pulled back the slide.

“FUCKIN' BANG BANG FUCKERS!” Jordan announced, pulling the trigger. Square in the nose, a soldier was shot. Jordan rushed back to where he was, sheathing his first katana. In his left hand, he held his other katana.

The soldiers did not worry. They only shot again. Jordan returned fire while evading their onslaught. “Come on you SEAL Team Six fucks! You can fucking do better than that!” Jordan threw a string of insults following as he fired another five rounds, before ejecting his magazine, kicking it into the open mouth of a soldier. Jordan rushed forward once more, grabbing the soldier's face and choking him on the magazine.

Jordan ran around the FOB, away from the curtain of bullets which followed him. As he ran, a hazy, skeletal figure appeared before him.

“I am...”

“Fucking shit, this shit again? Man, you sure fuckin' do know how to blue-ball a guy.” Jordan whined, before looking back to see it was a different shadowy figure than usual. This was a skeleton. “Heh. Spooky motherfucker” Jordan remarked.

“...Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

A grayish figure stood just behind Jordan Prentice. “Say it” the figure said.

“God fucking dammit! You again?” Jordan asked.

The figure twirled his fingers at Skallagrim, as it seemed to moved backwards like a rewinding cassette tape.

"I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds."

“Fuck that.” Jordan pouted, as he continued to run.

Time stopped before Jordan, the gray man, and the skeleton.

The skeleton's voice rewinded again. “Alright! Fuck! Fine!” Jordan shouted. “...fucker...” he mumbled slightly following.

Taking in a deep breath, Jordan breathed “Fuckin'… Skallagrim”. The figure folded its arms and nodded.

---

“I'm here, fuckers!” Jordan announced, as his voice echoed through the halls. The vampire looked around at his surroundings, stretching about. Although he had traveled to many worlds before, the place was a completely new experience to the vampire.

He could have introduced himself normally. He could have inquired about the tournament that he did not know he was a participant in. Instead, the vampire said this. “Alright you fucks. Which one of you fuckers is Skallagrim, and who's asses do I have to kick before I kick your ass?” Jordan asked.