The Man Who Never Lost...

High up in the hills of the Snowy (I wonder if Remi would have named them Milou) Mountains (paradox??), the Count paced his corridors, his ears strained trying to catch a sound of the end of the Countess’ screams (now how does he expect to hear the end of a scream??) which would indicate a child was born. He poured himself another mug of Maggi tomato ketchup (the company’s latest product for vegan vampires) and waited eagerly. He did not have to wait long, for at the stroke of midnight, a son was born. This young lad was immediately fussed upon by all, and considering the fact that the household had waited half a millennium for the kid (and skewered millions of subjects in that interval; you see, not eating meat or drinking blood does not necessarily mean not spilling it, and the blood was useful in family feasts to keep distant relatives, especially the evil ScoreFang from the Northern Fortress happy), this was no surprise. The kid’s naming ceremony was celebrated lavishly, with none other than ScoreFang doing the honors. The lad was named as Batman the Long-Overdue, for reasons already specified. Now this ScoreFang guy (his name is self-explanatory) was one of the oldest surviving vampires, and it was he who created the first Blood Bank. He loved preying on young women, and it is his exploits which due to the social class of his victims have become famous on celluloid. He despised the vegan Count, and he wished for Batman to become something better in life (or death, depending on whether you are good or evil). So he took the lad under his wing (quite literally, for he turned into a bat before he did it) and flew him to his fortress to train him.

Now ScoreFang developed one great weakness, and it was that he hated seeing Batman losing. Whenever this happened, he either drank the winner’s blood (which was convenient, for he allowed Batman to mix with humans from the long-suffering settlement which still remained under the shadow of his home) or he blew the winner’s head off (which was again convenient, for he used this only on himself, and he loved seeing the atoms of his brain flying apart and then coming back together, drawn to each other by the magical force of the Undead). Now it would be worthwhile to discuss how he could see when his eyes and his brain were reduced to mere atoms floating in the air, but I digress. It is an interesting topic though, and anyone desiring to know more can e-mail ScoreFang himself at igottwentycanines@bloodbath.com. Needless to say, please wear an iron collar when you sleep at night.

Batman grew up winning every event and competition in sight (accompanied by a waitlist for the obituary column for the state newspaper). And it all went to his head. He grew up to be an investment banker in ScoreFang’s firm, and a damn good one he was too. He had such high confidence levels that he soon started winning everything in sight, even without the help of his mentor. He started his own betting agency, and he always made a profit, for he never lost. And then one day he was challenged. At the Transylvanian Snooker Championships, a rookie came out of nowhere (not another warp!!) and defeated the top seed in the first round. Batman suffered heavy losses, and his pride was shaken. He challenged the rookie to win the contest. The rookie was one of those adventure seeking guys who never shies from a contest. He accepted. And he promptly won the next round hands down. Batman’s aides panicked. He won the third round. Batman’s aides tore their hair out. He won the quarters. They bit their nails off. He won the semis. They did something pretty gross to themselves.

The night of the final dawned (paradox for sure this time, because it was a new moon). The rookie faced off against the second seed for the best of nine frames. Batman sat in the stands. He had bet that the rookie would not win, and he had heavy odds against himself. He smiled, looking relaxed. The rookie won the first frame. He won the second. And the third. And the fourth. Batman signaled to his aides and walked out. The rookie was on the path to victory. He was three strokes away. Two. One. He bent over the table, aiming for the black ball. His hand moved back. His eyes narrowed as they focused on his target. And then the building blew up as the bombs detonated in the basement. Batman had won again!!