The Legacy of Mardoc
The gargoyle was waiting for his prey. The molten lava eyes had seen the bandwagon coming from a distance, high in the tree that now sheltered him from sight. The moon was full, swollen like a silver piece in a soup of bright stars. He gave the moon a loving gaze before turning his attention to the noisy wagon that was now bumping and jarring its way down the path led by two sturdy, sweating brown horses. Studs, by the looks of them. He can smell the leather, the animal scent of the beasts, and the sweat of the humans as they hid in the depths of their traveling coffin. And, he knew, at least one of them was a vampire.
He had no love for his dark cousins, no respect, and no appreciation. They ruled the night better than his own kind and that was no way to have things. If it were up to Mardoc, he would have the gargoyles reign as they had done a long time before, ancient times past before the blood god had come forth and stolen the throne.
But he was only one and such things were not for Mardoc to decide. He could only exact small vengeance against the vampires by destroying them one at a time.
As the wagon drew closer, almost directly beneath his perch in the tree, he shifted his three-toed feet slightly, opening his wings and uncurling his tail. A little closer...
He pounced, descending out of the night air with little more than a whistle of sound between his two wings. He wore almost nothing, save for a cloth that went around his waist and covered his non-mentionables. The moonlight shimmered for a moment, blocked, and was gone for all of two seconds as he blocked it from the wagon window. But... that was all the vampire needed.
Mardoc was unprepared. He'd landed on the wagon's roof, and was preparing to fold his wings in to dig his talons into the soft wood and rip it apart when he felt something hard smash into his back and knock him onto the horses, where his wings became tangled in the harness and tack. He struggled, his tail wacking on the ground as the horses began to speed up and shriek their horror and dismay.
The vampire stood up slowly, a pair of eyes glinting in the moonlight, the speed at which the wagon moved not disturbing his balance in the least. Mardoc stared at his opponent with mixed horror and rage, until the vampire vanished, and reappeared, floating for a few seconds with his foot aimed. All Mardoc could remember next was seeing him land on his stomach with one hard boot heel.
It also knocked him through the tack and he landed on the ground, his wings unguarded as the wheels ran over them with two definitive 'thunk-thunk' sounds. He cried out, agony racing up his tender bones and meeting together at the base of his neck and setting his muscles on fire.
He heard the vampire's voice in his mind as the wagon rattled away in the distance. I wouldn't try acting upon your misplaced rage again, or another like myself would have finished you off. Go, and think on your hard on your blunder.
Mardoc closed his eyes, laying there in the road, knowing that soon he would need to rise and nurse his wounded pride. Finally he sat up, moving his feet underneath him while he experimentally folded one wing against his arm. Then the other. Needles stabbed their way along the bone, along his nerves. Fire ants danced on his skin and bit into the base of his shoulders.
He rose, trembling as he watched the vampire slip into the wagon again and ride on. Over the next rise in the road, and his quarry was gone.
He gritted his teeth as he moved into the trees, rubbing his shoulders and treading in the shadows. Mardoc hated, absolutely loathed, to be outdone so brutally and then left to survive his pain. But the vampire was right; his anger was terribly misplaced. Where did it even come from anyway? He doubted it was just because of the clear fact that he was a gargoyle - there were many aspects to his race, other than their lust to battle.
The hills spread out in a blanket of forest, broken by blue sparkling string that fed into the sea. Mardoc's home was by such a string, deep in a lonely cabin that was rather well-kempt. No roads but his own flight paths led to this place, so he cut a new trail to his home by walking and doubted anyone would be fool enough to follow it.
He opened the door, shut and barred it, and staggered into his bed, just a rounded bunch of blankets and pillows on the floor which served as kind of nest. Whatever the vampire meant, it mattered not. He was tired and he needed healing. Once the sun came up, he would freeze in his nest and become as hard as stone, and all hurts would be gone by nightfall.