People have been asking me what I actually write. If I had to describe my style, I guess my goal is to write great fight porn. As in, gratituous fight scenes which people enjoy reading as much as they do perusing yiff. Its a pretty ambitious goal, but hey, I enjoy it.

So here's a sample for a private story I'm writing for a friend and myself.

---

The boarding party was making slow progress. The dingy, crowded hold robbed them of the advantage they'd held on the open deck. Barely able to walk two abreast, they moved down the corridors cautiously, the Customs Guardsmen advancing frontmost with their halberds lowered.

Though this proved effective, their pace was slowed to a crawl, after realising the hold was littered with ambush ports and crawlspaces, from which the crew would emerge like rabid rodents, stabbing and slashing, before scurrying back into the darkness. Most of them were wounded, fortunately without injuries more serious than a few cuts and bruises, quickly tended to by Cain.

Alopex held up the rear, protecting the Wardens who still had their crossbows at the ready. His knuckles ached, but no matter how much he reminded himself of his lessons, he could not stop clenching the grips of his weapons too tightly. Val was in trouble. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.

Something deep inside his chest clutched, and his knuckles popped again as he squeezed his weapons back on reflex. He was about to ask Alain if he would let him scout ahead, when the corridor opened up into the main hold.

Cluttered with barrels, they had little time to take in the room's contents. Instead, their attention was held by Ghelhun, who leaned against one of the barrels that had been upended, spilling its contents of gritty black powder in a little pile.

'Ghelhun! This ship is to be impounded on His Majesty's pleasure, and you are under arrest for abduction, and the assault of the Officers of the Crown.'

The Wardens levelled their crossbows at the man, who calmly raised the lantern he was holding. The naked flame flickered slowly in the stuffy confines, the broken glass casting rainbow shards of light on the walls.

'I'd think real carefully about what you're doing. The Vulture's running with plenty of powder to spare. Enough to ensure none of us make it off here in one piece.'

The Guardsmen paled in dismay, and even the Wardens looked to each other with indecision. Alain motioned for calm, stepping forward with his crossbow lowered.

'Return Valore to us. We will let you leave.'

Ghelhun's eyes narrowed. 'No. We'll hold on to him, until we're clear. I'll not be having a pretty parting gift from the naval guns to see us off.'

Alain raised his crossbow with deliberate purpose, and levelled it at the Shipmaster's chest.

'There will be no negotiating. Valore comes with us, and you get to leave. The word of a Prince is already too generous for one like you.' Turning to his comrades, he motioned to them.

'Alopex, take the rest with you and go. Cain will stay with me.'

'No.'

'Alopex, this isn'-'

'No.'
Alain knew that tone. A herd of charging wildebeests would not move his adopted brother when he used that it.

Curtly nodding his acquiescence, he signalled for the rest of the Wardens to leave, but before they could, a roar of deep primal rage ripped through the tension filled air, a rumble that reached deep into the psyche of all who heard it and chilled their hearts with the dread of trapped prey.

---

Frederick gasped, lurching backward, clutching at his throat like a poisoned king. Searing agony seized him, and he collapsed against the altar, trying to draw unneeded breath into his long dead lungs. Writhing, he laid about, maddened with the pain, smashing the floors, and sending a crack through the solid obsidian altar with his violence.

Startled, Neferina’s concentration slipped, and her spell twisted itself from her mind laughing, lost to the winds.

Often described as soulless, those versed in the lore of the afterlife knew better the wretched fate of the undead. The harrowing rituals of binding they undertook to secure their unnatural immortality came at a common cost. Their souls were shattered, and they hurled asunder what they considered worthless; compassion, love, their humanity. All so they could preserve what little they held precious above all else. Power. Ambition. Wrath.

They felt little, their lives shadowy flames compared to the blazing fires that the frailest human souls possessed. And as Neferina ran towards her sire, she could only look on in horror, knowing the pain that had driven him to such madness must have been unimaginable.

Before she could reach him, she found herself hurtling through the air. There was the sound of dry kindling snapping, and it was only as she bounced off the wall like a tantrum tossed rag doll did she realise her ribcage had been caved in.

She lay still, feeling her bones creak wearily and reshape. Their kind were resistant to mortal wounding, the rituals binding them drawing their forms back to the eternal stasis they had achieved with their sacrifices. But with even limited immortality, the blow injuries she had sustained would require a moment to mend.

She turned her head slowly, hoping to locate her enemy, without alerting him to the fact she was still conscious. Her eyes widened, and she stifled a gasp as she lay eyes on him.

The Janissary. On all fours he knelt, growling ragged breaths and animalistic grunts that no human throat should have been capable of making. His form seemed to be shuddering, like a Hluweed addict in the throes of withdrawal, and to her disbelief, changing, growing.

Her sire gasped, apparently throwing off the effects of whatever had hurt him. The Janissary turned instantly, and was on him in an eyeblink, charging in, his visage twisted into a canine snarl, letting out a primal howl which sent another dread chill through even her unbeating heart.

As Valore crashed into the spot where Frederick had been a split moment past, his features contorted further. They twisted from being bestial, to becoming outright wolven, the bones in his jaw cracking, elongating to form his snarling muzzle. The remains of his clothing shredded as musculature bulged outwards, his back hunching over as his shoulders broadened.

Werewolf.

It is rare that a vampire feels anything but contempt towards creatures other than their kindred. Unsurprising, considering that few beings have the strength or power to threaten them, and their overbearing arrogance.

But as the beast before her turned, any contempt she might have had was drowned out by the dread. It sniffed at the air, seeming to taste it, seeking its prey. Yellow eyes, with the fearless, unblinking gaze of an apex predator, cast across the room. If she were capable of holding her breath, she was sure she would have.

There was a blur of moment, and it took a moment before she realised her sire had thrown himself at the beast. Blows that would have slain a man twice over were blocked and landed, grunts of pain and hisses of frustration their only response.

The vampire lord was doing his best to keep away from the worst of the assault, ducking a split hair's moment before they would have caught him. The wolf, though fast, seemed to be fighting with an undisciplined berserker's fury, and seemed mostly unfazed by the hits he took, despite the force behind them. It lashed out, seemingly in an unseeing rage, most of its blows missing his foe.

The vampire smiled inwardly, baiting the beast. Monstrous as it was, it was a creature of living flesh. It would tire. And then he would-

As he suddenly backed into a bulkhead, the magnitude of his error sank in. The werewolf latched its claws onto him with a howl, and a glint of what could only have been described as malevolent triumph gleamed in its yellow eyes.

He had underestimated his foe, and the price was ripped from him, the werewolf sinking his fangs deep into his shoulder, rending his flesh with a sickening sound of tearing canvas and teeth on bone. For the second time that day, the vampire cried out in pain. The wolf howled once more in triumph, and bit down for the final blow.

A crackle of dark power sang out, and this time, the beast gave voice to a roar of pain, dropping its prey and falling to its knees as its knees spasmed from the electrical discharge. Pushing herself shakily to her feet, Neferina levelled another blast at the werewolf. This time, it growled in defiance, and began to lurch mechanically towards her, its features contorted in fury.

Each of those bolts would have flayed the life from a man's bones, but the werewolf seemed to relish in the pain, and drove itself onward with sheer will and malice. By the third bolt, she could feel herself weakening, the earlier injuries having drained her reserves of strength as it was.

Just as the creature reached her, her sire was upon its back, clawing and choking at it with grim determination. The gory wound on his shoulder had begun to mend, but it was still a mess of crushed bone and black, congealed blood. He could not halt the wolf, but his hold incensed the creature, and it flailed wildly trying to reach him.

As she prepared to launch whatever she could muster at the beast once more, she heard Frederick cry out.

'Get him! Get him awake!'

'But the blood frenzy...'

'Damn the blood frenzy! We can't-' he was cut off, as the wolf hurled itself viciously against the bulkhead, snapping the vampire's arm, and ripping the creature off its back.

Running to the coffin, Neferina bit her thumb, and smeared the dark blood that welled out against the sigils on the last unopened casket. The arcane symbols began to writhe, and she cried out, knocked back as the coffin lid exploded outward in a shower of splinters.

The wolf had hurled Frederick aside, and now, it turned to face this new threat, as the bulky shape rose soundlessly from his resting place.