The rain fell hard upon the worn, cracked street and the faded street lines; the slippery sidewalk was all but flooded as Johnathan's boots stepped upon them in the direction of a bookstore, where it was rumored that an ancient tome bearing the mark of a nasferatu - a single drop of blood - upon its binding. This was the only identifying mark upon it, but even an idiot would know what what was inside it if they knew what to look for - the ancient language of Nakau Lamien. It was the only book ever written by Echthulemnak's people, and the language it birthed poured out the knowledge of over eighty spells of powerful, deadly magic.

Stepping into the store, he saw that it was small and cramped; the shelves were mishappenly lined with thousands upon thousands of books of every shape, size, title, author and description a mortal could ever possibly imagine. The low light given off by the fireplace in one corner gave a cozy feeling to the place, while the smell of so many books would have overwhelmed even a mortal nose.

Echthulemnak began perusing the shelves, seeking out anything that might look as though it had been made by the hands of an Elder Demon of Nakau Lamien.

* * * * *

Outside, a man stared at the bookshop from across the street; his long black overcoat, the black clothing and boots and his black hat gave his stony face a deadly appearance as the rain ran down his body and into the flooded sidewalk upon which he stood, seemingly without his notice. In reality, though, Raden Khan noticed everything; he noticed the hard, pelting rain, he noticed the howling wind - but, most of all, he noticed the heavily-armed gunman known as Johnathan Dark enter the small bookshop. There was only one reason someone like Dark would enter a public place like that so willingly - and that was to make a disturbance with which to distract someone. Probably the police, by Khan's reckoning. He stepped into the street and headed for the bookshop...

* * * * *

Ah, finally. There it was. He pulled it from the shelf delicately, as though it would fall apart at any moment; in truth, though, it was in as good a condition as it had ever been. As he opened it, he felt the familiar rush of power that only a demon could truly understand. He headed for the door, ignoring the voice of the shopkeep angrily shouting at him to stop or she would call the police, but he didn't stop until he was out in the street - and then he stood stock still, staring at the bounty hunter who was now staring equally hard at him. Before the man could fully draw his shotgun, however, he had taken a shot straight at the man's chest.

Khan flew back, pain blinding him as he smashed into the windshield of a passing car; the car slammed on its brakes and Khan rolled off to the other side, only to catch another shot in the chest as he fired his own weapon at the fleeing gunman. He nearly crushed a dumpster as he slammed into it, and it was a wonder he wasn't killed by the impact; his body armour, however, had at least stopped the bullets. But it was now useless. He ran after the man, who had flewn into a wall and was just stooping up to pick up a book; the man looked up and stared at the shotgun pointed at him, sneering. "Die, filth."

But Echthulemnak had no intention of dying, and a shotgun sure as hell wasn't going to stop him. And so the gun battle began; shots rang out, bullets flying in both directions as Echthulemnak ran and fired simultaneously and his pursuer fired back. Finally, however, the bounty hunter took a shotgun blast to the stomach; while this didn't seem to stop him, it at least stunned him - but not long enough to stop the grenade from slamming into his chest. Fortunately, the book was indestructible - made so by the powers of the Elder Demons of Nakau Lamien - so he would simply have to recover it. Realizing that he was beaten, however, Echthulemnak snarled and took off running.

Meanwhile, the bullets that had struck Khan were now being pushed out by the healing powers that had been born within him in his youth; his wounds were completely disappearing. It took a minute for him to get up - even the best man had trouble getting up after getting a shotgun blast in the stomach - but when he did, he walked over to the book. He didn't know what it was, but he recognized what was in it as soon as he saw it - an ancient, demonic language. While he had never seen this one before, he'd memorized four of them during his years as a bounty hunter. This would be no different, and from what he was seeing in the patterns of the text, it looked as though it held some sort of spell written in it. Being a mage, this would be greatly helpful. He pocketed the book, then turned around to see someone staring at what had just happened.

Benjamin Drake stayed close to the buildings trying to avoid the falling rain under the occasional overhangs. He hadn't really been thinking about the weather when he had left his apartment and hadn't brought an umbrella with him. It would have been simple enough to conjure up a shield of glittering energy to protect him from the weather, the foul weather had chased off most the public, but he didn't want to fry every ATM, surveillance camera, and street light along the walk. Rain sluiced off the beaten black leather of his old jacket, but his t-shirt underneath and worn denim jeans were already soaked.

Ben had been on his way to Jacobson's Used and Rare Books when the gun battle had erupted on the street. The first shot had caught him off guard and the Styrofoam cup of crappy corner store coffee had dropped from his hands splashing up on his jeans when it hit the ground. Reflexively his right hand began to reach into the inner pocket of his jacket for the slender oak wand he had tucked away there. Not that the wand would do him much good, the silver bracelet on his right wrist locked him off from the magical energies at his command. His instincts had never been honed for battle and he'd only expected to have a quiet half hour or so searching out a rare volume or two for his private collection.

Pulling the wand from its pocket the nimble fingers of his left hand worked the clasp of his bracelet. When the link of silver loops came apart he felt a subtle release of pressure from his skin, and the tingle of the ambient magical energies around him. With an effort of will, Ben drew on that ambient power. The street light next to him flickered for an instant, popped, and went dark as his own power gathered.

For some reason Ben hadn't even thought of taking cover until the remaining gun fighter turned around and saw him standing there. Ben had felt the swirl of energy around the man and seen his wounds heal. He thought he should say something, but his jaw had fallen open at some point and now it just hung there while his mind spun its tires uselessly. Finally the mental tires caught traction and he managed to say “Ummmm...that must be an important book, eh?”