Chapter 5
On the last day of Matthew Murdock’s life the sun dawned across the horizon no different than any other day. It rose lazily into the sky, sprawling out it’s light onto the world. It was indifferent to his numbered heart beats and took no heed to the dwindling number of breaths he drew into his fragile human lungs. He breathed peacefully, asleep and unaware this would be the last morning his heat flushed form would warm Elektra at his side in their shared bed. Both of them carried on dreaming as a nightmare crept into their home.
The crash of commotion and muted shrieks of the dying jolted Matthew from his peace. He had just retired to bed an hour or so before, weary and worn from a night of action. At his side Elektra still slept unperturbed, decades of her vampire nature compelling her to sleep during the day in a way his sleep cycle did not. Of course, she could be woken, but it required far more comotion than he did. Matthew trained his ears to look for the cause of his waking, trying to gauge if he ought to disturb her sleep as well. He heard nothing for several long minutes, almost succumbing back to the cozy draw of his pillow, but then he heard it. The quickest, almost instantaneous chain of noises. The tiniest click followed by a nearly silent whoosh and finished by the dying cry of a vampire.
Crossbows.
“Hunters,” he scarcely breathed.
The Hunters of Manhattan had always seemed to have been of little consequence when Matthew had encountered them in the past. They picked off stray vampires here and there, targeting those without covens or those who were weak and wondered into the wrong place at the wrong time. The Hunters he knew of were poorly organized, individuals or small groups with poor or no training and ill devised weapons. An attack of this scale, one on a well establish and powerful coven, was unheard of in Manhattan. He had heard stories from Stick of run ins with Hunters from the old world. Generations old traditions passed through family and communal lines making them terrifyingly effective.
In his sleep addled brain a sudden thought shocked him into full wakefulness: if he immigrated from the old world what was to stop these Hunters from doing the same?
“Elektra, Elektra get up,” he whispered panickedly, shaking her shoulder harshly.
She groaned and rolled to face him, “Matthew, what’s so important it can’t wait till this evening?”
Another sequence of click, whoosh, death cry echoed in his ears. They were moving closer.
“You need to get up, they’re coming and we’ll have to fight.”
All of the items he needed to grab were too far away. Matthew sprang out of bed as silently as he could, grabbing the closest weapon, a baton, and moving towards his wardrobe to get his armored shirt. He had succeeded in putting himself infinitely closer to the door when he heard the approach of foot steps and their subsequent pause outside his door. The metal of the door handle betrayed a soft groan as a hand was placed on it. With no time for anything else, he leapt to the side of the door frame, baton at the ready. The hinges creaked open the slightest bit and he kicked it the rest of the way. The Hunter fell forward with the door, their grip on the knob dragging them to the ground. Matthew plunged on top of them, pinning their body to the ground with his weight. The two grappled and struggled just long enough for him to wrestle the crossbow out of the Hunter’s hands and pin those to the ground as well.
“You!” the Hunter spit out. “Antonio insisted you were fit for saving, but I knew you were nothing more than a pet to these monsters.”
“I protect what is mine,” he bit back.
“Don’t you see the scars on your neck? What love do they have for prey like you?” The voice was feminine and accented with Italian, but dripping with rage.
By this time Elektra had fully risen. She stormed across the room and pulled the woman from under Matthew’s grip. She slammed the Hunter against the wall, lifting her by her neck so only her toes strained to hold up her weight.
“You might think him a pet,” Elektra purred, her voice deadly as a blade, “but at least we don’t kill our prey like cowards in the day.”
The Hunter choked up something like laughter. “Then he… can die like a dog!”
Quicker than Matthew had ever felt another human move, the Hunter pulled a blade from her belt and threw it. He had only a fraction of a second to hear it ringing in the air before it planted itself into his chest.
For the first time since he lost his sight the world went quiet for Matthew. No external input from his ears, nose, or touch. His whole being welling up around the hot, wet pressure in his chest. He brought his hands up to the knife, the cuts it caused on his fingers going unnoticed as he pulled it from his body. The metal clattered to the floor as he dropped to his knees. A soft body pressed up against him, holding him up so he couldn’t completely collapse to the ground.
“Matthew, please no,” Elektra’s voice came into focus at his neck.
The slip of her teeth into his neck was dull and her pulls, drinking him in, was almost pleasurable. She stopped too soon, no other feeding had ever been so short. Why was she stopping? His train of thought was interrupted at the painful, wet cough that sputtered out of his mouth. Hot and thick blood bubbled over his lips and once he started coughing he couldn’t stop. His lungs ached and throat burned. He couldn’t catch his breath. Why couldn’t he breathe? He was gasping for air in between his coughs when something was shoved into his mouth. More liquid ran down his throat and he choked around it as well. He fought to cough and splutter around the thing in his mouth, but it held firm. His head was feeling lighter, he needed to breathe. He felt his thoughts beginning to dim and flicker until he fell back into oblivion.
…
Waking from oblivion hadn’t been as easy as falling into it.
Matthew jerked up right, tearing at the bed covers that restrained his body. Everything was too much. He thought he could see the world before, but now, now something was different. Even the quietest sounds could be heard, the faintest smells found, the tiniest vibrations sensed. He knew exactly everything about his surroundings. From the rough cotton sheets he still lay tangled in, to Elektra and Stick standing so serently at the foot of his bed he was suddenly aware.
Aware of the fast, bird-like heart pounding away in the far corner.
Aware that in his own chest, that chamber lay still.
“Matthew,” Stick’s voice blared in his ears, “I’ve waited to see this moment for a long time.”
“You, you made me like this,” his words hissed hotly over his lips. “I didn’t want-”
“No darling,” Elektra crooned. “I did, you were dying, and I- I just couldn’t bear it.”
It was all too much. Everything was too much.
His rage boiled inside him and the heart beat in the corner kept thudding.
The earnest love in Elektra’s voice pulled at the pit of his stomach and the heart beat in the corner kept thudding.
The bright pops of sound and smell kept flashing behind his eyes and the heart beat in the corner kept thudding.
“Jeez kid, lighten up,” Stick offered. “We saved you something from the raid yesterday.”
His body perked up at that. The heart beat. It was for him. Warm and alive. He allowed himself to be helped out of bed, but needed no help finding the source. In his eagerness he stumbled over his own feet. No matter, the prey was on the ground and so was he now. He put one hand on the body so full of life, landing it on the shoulder. So close to the neck, so hot it nearly scorched his hand.
But then, she let out a sharp cry. Muffled behind a gag, but unmistakably fearful.
Elektra slid down beside him, “What’s the matter darling? Isn’t she delicious?”
“She’s just, a scared girl,” Matthew panted with his restraint.
“She’s the one who killed you,” Elektra took his face in her hands. “I would have killed her myself, for you- to avenge you- but Stick thought her blood would be even sweeter to you.”
“She wasn’t alone last night Matthew. Her and her people killed too many of our family, do you not want to avenge them along with yourself?”
Elektra released his face to allow him to look over her with his sightless eyes. She had to be young, her body too small to be fully grown. He reached out to put a hand on her face, an unexplainable desire to see if her skin felt as lovely as she smelled. But Elektra beat him to it. Her nails sliced across the girl’s cheek, down her jaw, to her neck. Blood welled up, past the skin and dripped out into the air. The smell hit Matthew like a train, wrecking his resolve.
He learned in and bit, drinking deeply from her ripped out throat. Elektra massaged the back of his neck as Stick stood above and watched.
“That’s it boy, this is what I trained you for. This is what you were made for.”