The Adventures of Queen Draqueesha and the Undead Composer Mozart

Chapter 1 - Stealthy exits are for people with no imagination

A/N : Hey guys, here's the first chapter, I hope you like it. If you don't I sincerely hope you keep reading, because it does get better.  

Mozart stood in the center of the museum, and looked slowly from side to side, grinning like a madman. No bumbling guards ran down the corridors, panting and pointing tasers. The marble hallways were empty, and dark, only sparsely lit by a few hanging orbs, which glistened with an iridescent purple light. His feet shifted slowly as he kept his senses sharp. He heard only the breezes blowing through the drafty hallways. He smelt only cool, dry air, not unlike a clean crypt. All he could taste was salt from the sweat which trickled down his face, caused by excitement and anticipation. All was perfect. He stepped forward into the moonlight, which shone from the skylight of the atrium. He eyed only one thing. The glass case which shone enticingly, beckoning him to hold what was contained within.

A blade, of immeasureable beauty, which glistened with the knowledge and power of worlds and realities. A blade, which could grant him whatever he wanted. An all access pass to the universe. He could use it to infiltrate banks and insurance companies, bleeding them dry. He could put his world to sleep, conquer kingdoms and accumulate riches. All of it, in this one weapon. It was all a bit ridiculous, really. Smiling wickedly he unfastened the knapsack from his shoulders, dropping it to the ground in front of him. Out of the side he drew a crowbar, and stepped over the velvet cord, the only barrier. With all the force he could muster, he brought it down on the glass case, and it shattered outward, peppering him with bits of glass.

All at once, an alarm blared, immensely loud. Cringing he replaced the crowbar almost lazily, and once again swung the bag onto his back. He would need it to survive. There, out of the corner of his eye he sighted a growing blue blob. Whirling around, he watched the guard approach, sweating and staggering. With a snort of derison, Mozart drew his gun out of his belt and held it firmly with two hands. He thumbed the hammer, and slid his index finger towards himself. Such a small movement, but it did so much. The pistol heated up, the warmth oppresive on his hand. A stench of molten metal and gunpowder filled the air. Oh, and the guard went down, clutching his leg and screaming in agony.

Mozart exhaled slowly in disgust. How dare that man ruin his moment? He raised his arms, and held the weathered leather grip of the sword in his palm, lifting it from the silken cushion that had been it's home for centuries, and all at once a searing heat raced through his body, and his mind was jumping all over the place. Had any doctors been there to map his brain activity, it would have been off the charts. He fell to his knees in pain, and his eyes rolled back into his head. As Mozart staggered to his feet once more, he saw that he was surrounded. He had wasted precious seconds in pain. Oh, he'd never get away with this one. Guards and policeman were pressing in on him in a circle, every step they took was one foot further into a prison cell for Mozart. The only reason they stayed that far was because they were afraid of the power he held.

"GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" a guard screamed

The woman pranced around her room, primping up her hair and sashaying her hips from side to side. She was happy, excited and pumped up. She smiled at the mirror as she applied her makeup, one streak along her nose, two on each cheekbone and a dot on her chin. War paint was her favourite part. Sauntering over to the radio in the corner, she hit play and the music began her singing along.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah staying alive, staying alive" she bellowed as she got dressed. She slipped herself into her ribbed leather pants, months of running and fighting had made the material as supple and smooth as the horse she had ripped it from. She strapped twin blades to her belt, and slipped on a t-shirt, stretching her arms to check the fit. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, the last strands skirting her tailbone. The woman rolled her neck and bent to touch her toes. She even did a little warm up. She needed to be limber. That's when the adrenalin flowed best.