My Little Ventrue Pt. 02 Ch. 03

"Um, Madame T-T-Turio, we... um...."

"There was a fight," Jessy said, and she forced her eyes to Maria's.

Julias winced. He knew what was coming. Right on queue the ghost woman reached up to the taller Gangrel, grabbed her by the neck, and brought her down to her knees like she was a toddler. Jessy could only comply, and Julias could see the mix of shock and fear in her eyes.

"Did you kill anyone?" Maria's voice had turned gravely, and Julias could hear dirt and grit coming out of her mouth. If graveyards could talk, they'd sound like that.

"N-n-n-n—"

"Shut up Natasha." Maria squeezed harder, and Jessy brought up her hands out of reflex to grab the elder's wrist. She even struggled a little, but Maria's grip was absolute. The itty bitty ghost woman had more than enough strength to crush Jessy into dust right in front of them, and they all knew it. "Did you kill any of them?"

Julias considered stepping in to help the Gangrel, but the way anger was just pouring off the ghost woman told him he better not.

"Yes but... no one... important," Jessy managed to stay through a crushed windpipe.

With a loud scoff, Maria threw Jessy back and onto the floor. She stepped toward Natasha then, and the tiny Mehket did her best to stand her ground. Julias hid a small smirk, as Natasha managed to even make some eye contact with Maria despite the proximity.

"So you both just strolled in?" the Nosferatu said.

"Y-yes ma'am."

"And you found Lucas?"

"No m-m-ma'am. We found a... a congregation, ma'am, and someone called Bishop Damien." Natasha looked away when Maria leaned in closer. "We... got into a fight, and... B-B-B-Bishop Damien tried to detain us. We... resisted. And we were forced to d-defend ourselves. Some of Tony's old brood died."

Julias blinked, raised a hand to his hair to brush it back, and stepped up to put a hand on Maria's shoulder. A little touch to stop her from getting too angry and damaging their already-damaged Invictus. Hopefully she wouldn't tear it off. "Tony's old brood? So Lucas is back, he's moved into Tony's nest, and he's converted them?"

Jessy got up in as submissive a way as possible, and held her throat in one hand. "Yes sir."

"And the doors to Tony's nest were just... open?"

"Yes sir."

Julias quirked a brow and looked at Maria. The Nosferatu returned his confusion with a frown, and sat back at the table without even a glance at poor Jessy.

"So you killed some of their members. Did you kill our neonates?"

"No sir!" Natasha's eyes went so wide, as if Julias had struck her insides with a hot poker. She was loyal to the Invictus, through-and-through, Julias admitted.

"And this Bishop Damien?"

"No sir. He was who we fought, when he tried to stop us from leaving, but he lives."

Julias groaned and paced back and forth in front of the two right hands. "Bishop Damien... I do not remember a Bishop named Damien before the purge. How long embraced do you think?"

"Maybe fifty years, sir."

Fifty years... Fifty years? Was he new? It wasn't common for Kindred to hop cities; a single mistake meant sunlight and a very painful death. Had he been hiding in Dolareido this long? Was Jacob hiding him? Antoinette?

"We have all we need for now. You two may go. Submit your detailed reports tomorrow." McDonald stood in front of the wall display of the city, and gave a small wave of his hand to dismiss the two right hands.

Julias leaned back against the center table and watched the two girls leave. They left limping. Maria hurt their pride, sure, but they were physically injured too, and if it wasn't from Lucas, it certainly wasn't from some neonates. They were trained, old enough to be ancillae, and hand picked to be the Invictus right hands. Natasha may not have been the best in a fist fight, but she was capable, and her mastery of the Mehket disciplines was astounding. On top of that, Jessy was a terror in combat, and if given room to let loose she could annihilate groups of Kindred.

So... what? They were beaten by this Damien? Someone no older than them?

Once Natasha and Jessy were gone, all three of the triumvirate stood in front of the wall display, and scanned the digital map. They stood in silence for a moment, until Julias turned to look at them. They met his gaze, and a weird, awkward silence fell on them.

"... what do we do?" he said after a while.

"There has been fifty years of peace, and that is largely because of the Prince's choice." McDonald reached out to the digital display and drew an X through each church Lucas used to control. Some of them were actual churches the kine used that were re-purposed by Kindred during the night, while others were strictly Kindred-only buildings. "How many had there been under Lucas's hand? Three hundred? What were left after the purge..." McDonald shrugged. "All Lucas could possibly muster now for his followers are Tony's brood, and our own neonates evidently. He could not reach the numbers he used to control without decades to grow."

"And Antoinette will not allow that." Maria stepped between the two large men, reached up, and drew a circle around Tony's nest. "When she learns of Lucas, if she doesn't already know, she will give him the same ultimatum as before. If he doesn't leave the city, she'll slaughter him and every follower he has."

The two men nodded. It was a tricky situation. Lucas was a valuable ally, even for all his insane ways, but the Prince had not only been clear about her law, she and her sheriff were strong enough to enforce it. If they sided with the Lancea et Sanctum, it would mean war, and last time the odds were in the Second Estate's favor yet they still lost.

But the Invictus had only watched the carnage last time. They'd made no efforts to stop it, and that meant they had the same choice again this time.

For a good long while, they all stood there, thinking the same thoughts, until McDonald spoke up. "Who the fuck is Bishop Damien?"

Maria and Julias shrugged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~Damien~~

He had not expected that.

He'd expected someone to show up eventually, true. The Invictus were as likely a candidate as any, especially considering three of their group had converted. And he'd expected anger, and perhaps even a thrown fist from whoever did discover their congregation.

He hadn't expected to be standing over the corpses of several Kindred. They were young enough, only a few years old, that they didn't even fall to ash like a true Kindred. Instead their withered corpses were left. Other Kindred had wandered up to gather them, and picked up their mangled, dry husks. They stood in front of Damien with the bodies in their arms, and they had sad, expectant faces.

Damien just sat down in a chair, held his sliced-open chest with one hand, and his face with the other. "Take... take them to the second library. I will burn them later."

They nodded and obeyed without question. A part of him wished they'd argue with him, just so he had a reason to let out some anger.

"I see our quiet home has finally been assaulted."

Lucas stepped into the room of metal walls and tunnels and approached him. The good Archbishop, with his soothing voice and soft smile, was dressed in his black robes. He had short, curly black hair and beard, dark skin, and a blend of many accents Damien could not quite place. The Archbishop was from Africa, from a time well before Damien could even imagine.

But just his presence was enough to have every Kindred in the room fall hushed with awe and silence. Damien was not surprised, as their contact with their elders would have been few and far between. They must have felt like simple dogs before the mighty Cerberus, a glorious example of the most powerful of their kind and an icon of faith. Of course they worshiped Lucas, and he could not blame them.

"Archbishop, we beg your forgiveness!" The crowd of Kindred, all fledglings and neonates, bowed and pleaded. "Everything went-"

"Please, children, let the Bishop speak," Lucas said, and approached Damien. He reached out with both hands, and put a hand on his childe's torn open chest and shoulder before touching where the bullet had entered his skull. "But I can guess what happened."

"... the Invictus Right Hands. I thought to detain them, and... that...." The words were bitter.

"I can imagine how the Gangrel would have responded to that. Like a caged animal?"

"Yes." Damien managed a quick glance down at the mess of the fight, where bits of ash coated the floor. "I thought perhaps an Invictus would... would not be so...." He clutched at his wound and squeezed his eyes shut. The healing was slow, painful, as the fight left him drained and unable to regenerate quickly. That Jessy feral animal had hit him hard. And the fellow Mehket Natasha, her quick actions had put a bullet in his head.

Perhaps that was what frustrated him most? That he'd fallen for her innocent exterior? Or that he wasn't fast enough. He needed to be faster. Everything would fail if he wasn't faster.

Lucas gave his cheek a light tap. "I will see to the dead, my childe. You should go, feast, and rest."

"But more may come."

"Unless they can summon an army within the hour, I am sure I will be fine." Lucas shook his head and motioned to the crowd behind him. More and more Kindred had gathered, even the ghouls, and they waited with hopeful faces. All they wanted was a word from his sire, a message or sermon, anything to soothe their fears and worries. Damien could admit he too wanted to be soothed; now that the Invictus could confirm their existence, everything was moving forward.

All according to his sire's plan, but that did not change how dangerous it was. How unnerving.

Lucas gave Damien that same, fatherly smile, but his eyes drifted.

"Sire?"

"Hmm? Oh, I am sorry my boy. My thoughts are elsewhere. An old friend and I shared words." He gave Damien another pat on the shoulder and a nod. "And he will not trouble us. So at least that is one worry dealt with. Now go, but be careful. The Invictus will be slow to react to this, as they are to everything, but you never know."

"I always am, sire." He managed a smile, and with the Archbishop's help, stood up. The wounds were healing, at least enough that he could go hunt.

He decided to take a side exit, one not used by either the congregation or the intruders. Once he was out of sight, he clenched his fists and let the rage work its way up his limbs. He didn't head out into the night until his arms stopped shaking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The streets of Dolareido were loud with the hustle and bustle of movement, whores, drugs, alcohol, self-deceit, dirty money, and suits. Maybe it was the pain of his wounds underneath his coat, but being so near the sheep of God and their sin was more annoying than usual. How many years had he lived in this, and only now it ate at him? How many years he stayed hidden in the most rotten core of the city?

Only now did he have his sire back, but only now did he know the pain of another Kindred cutting him open and blowing his brains out. The highs and lows of the massive changes were a harsh contrast.

"Fifty years... it took fifty years, but I have him back," he said with a hushed voice. He was only talking to himself while he walked deep into the loudest and most compressed sections of the city, where bars and gambling and prostitution were on every corner. Talking to himself while surrounded by people who ignored him.

It almost felt like a film noir scene.

Deeper and deeper he went into the city's underbelly. Soon the bright lights of the casinos and the hum of endless vehicle horns were faded background, and instead he found the hiss of its recesses. It was a quiet hiss broken by random gunfire, sirens, and cat calls. The hookers wore fake fur instead of fine dresses, and the men wore tattoos of hookers in fake fur, instead of ties.

The upper class were a lost cause, but these lower class still had an ounce of soul left in them, and that meant they were worth saving. So as the crowds on the streets grew less and less, until he was surrounded by only dark and windows-with-bars, he kept walking. It wasn't until he heard the familiar cry of crime that he turned a corner.

Down an alley -- Dolareido and its alleys were common to the point of cliché -- he found the source. A woman was trapped between several alleyways, with each containing a thug of some sort or another to block her way. Each offender had lust in their eyes. One of the thugs, Damien noticed, was a woman. At least Dolareido was progressive with its gender roles.

"No! Stop!"

"Shut the fuck up before I break your jaw." A taller guy with broad shoulders stood between the woman and the street Damien walked in from. Apparently, the brute and his group were more than happy to rape in the middle of an alley. They knew the alleys in this part of town had no cameras. Damien knew it too.

"Please... don't...."

Damien crept in closer. Hunger was on his tongue. His body demanded blood. The beast in his chest could smell it, see it, hell he could hear their hearts pumping. The greater the hunger, the closer that beast came to the surface and the more he wanted to rip the blood bags open with savage need, and drink from a fountain of red.

But right now, he really wanted to let out some anger first. Damien was no Gangrel, or Nosferatu or Daeva, or even Ventrue. It was a Mehket's way to use shadows, secrecy, and speed. But for the moment, he didn't feel like doing any of that. For the moment, he wanted to feel a vermin's blood on his hands.

And the satisfaction of driving his sword through the rapist's back and then up and through his sternum was euphoric.

"Aaaaaaaaah!" from the three remaining that lived. They stood there, eyes wide and jaws dropped, staring at him, but he didn't care. He just let the skewered man gargle on blood even as the delicious, warm liquid gushed over his hand.

He removed the sword with a sideways swipe, and it forced the man's body to twist and fold on itself from being nearly split in half. The blood was everywhere, and each splatter it cast drew more screams from the viewers. Their voices were just tiny echoes against the ugly hiss of the city's dark side.

Deep down in Dolareido's underbelly, it was free feeding for any Kindred. They could feed, kill, whatever they wanted to the kine within. As long as the Masquerade was not risked, it was up to the Kindred to do as they wished within its borders. And right now, that meant a killing spree.

"What the fuck is—" The female thug was next. No archaic notions of gender inequality here; the woman died in the same way as her friend, but with the sword stabbing down through her sternum and out her back instead.

"No! No!" The remaining rapist managed to come to his senses just long enough to turn around. He managed a single step, then Damien was behind him, and he sank his sword through the man's back and out through his stomach. Before the prey could start screaming, Damien let go of his weapon and reached out to pull the taller man down to him with a hand around his mouth. His other hand grabbed the man's shoulder, and with enough force to break bone, he bent the man down in an unnatural position so he could sink his teeth into his neck.

Everything went quiet. The dying man could only grumble with Damien's hand over his mouth and nose, and the vampire wasted no time draining the stupid sheep of blood so quickly, so aggressively, that it was only moments before his victim was unconscious. Damien could only just barely hear behind him the weeping, petrified woman he'd saved. Just barely over the pumping blood in his mouth and the roaring beast in his gut, he could hear her whimpers.

She'd have no idea what he was doing, in the dark and with his back to her. It was her only saving grace.

When the last of the warm, delicious red liquid coated his tongue, he reached down and pulled the sword clean from the body. He let the corpse fall, and before it managed to fully crumble he lopped off its head with his sword. Even in the dark, he squarely destroyed the fang marks with his blade and the cold efficiency of hundreds of murders.

And now everything was covered in blood. It was all over his hands, cooling in the night, and it soaked into his clothes. The painful wounds on his chest were already sealed with the rush of fresh Vitae, and hunger was at last settling, but now he was surrounded and coated in so much red that the beast within was rumbling with the glee of slaughter.

He raised a hand to his face without a care for its stained skin, and put it to his forehead. Why was he so angry? Shouldn't he be happy his sire was back?

"I... I...—"

"You!" He slammed the sword into the wall next to her head. Brick exploded into powder next to her skull, and the volume was like a gunshot. The poor, helpless sheep just collapsed and stared at him, shaking, pale, and wide eyed.

"You.... The devil is coming for you, stupid girl."

"What? What, I-"

"Swimming in sin. Stupid girl has forgotten all about the Lord her shepherd." He grabbed her throat, lifted her like she was nothing but a feather, and tossed her forward. He was careful the dumb harlot wouldn't break any bones, but some skinned knees and a piss-soaked skirt would do her good.

"B-b-b-but-"

"I can smell filth and disease on you from here." It was true of course. To the stupid sheep, he was just a blur of movement in the dark alley, but he could see every detail on her painted face and smell the disease coming from between her legs, along with perfumes to hide it. "Now swear to me, you worthless harlot, that you will fear God."

"Fear God? I... my mom, and...."

His patience was gone. Normally he would do all this manipulation, all this coaxing and terrorizing through subtle actions his target wouldn't be able to pinpoint. But now he was just burying himself in the anger that was bubbling up and taking him over. Now he felt like a Nosferatu relishing in the mix of a torturer's power and animal's rage. He reached down, grabbed the girl, picked her up, and slammed her against the wall with his fingers around her neck.

"Go beg the nearest priest for forgiveness then. If I see you out on these streets, I will cut you open from cunt to mouth." His sword, now ruined with scratches from the brick, found its way up to her eyes, and he used his free hand to bring it within an inch of her iris. "Have I made myself clear?"

She fainted.

He rolled his eyes and set the girl back down. There was no way anyone would harm her while she recovered, with all the bodies scaring away anyone who may accidentally stumble down the alley. When she awoke, he was sure she'd do just as he demanded. He knew that look in her eye, terrified and destroyed, and it'd scar her for life. It'd also put her back into God's embrace.

He took a moment to check for evidence. He'd only bit one kine, and destroyed his fang marks after. All DNA that may have been left behind would fade to ash and dust within mere minutes, and even fingerprints were nothing but hazy blurs from a Kindred. The crime, the slaughter, it was all a mess of chaos and random brutality, but it could not be traced. Damien knew which alleys had cameras, so the whore would have nothing but her own word.

Fed, but not satisfied, Damien jumped up onto the rooftops. His wounds were healed, his energy returned, and his inner-beast was no longer ravenous and on the edge of taking over to frenzy. But still, he was not satisfied. So he jumped to another building, and another, with just enough cloak of night to hide himself from accidental glances from kine. After several buildings, he sat down and let his legs dangle over the side of one ledge, seeped in enough dark to hide anything.

"I'm not angry with the Invictus right hands." He brought his bloodied hands up to his temples and rubbed them in circles. Talk through it. Verbalize. Intellectualize. Understand. "Sire said to let them come. Kindred died because of that. Am I angry he made a stupid decision, or am I angry I think it's stupid? Am I angry with myself that I can't see the wisdom in his decision?" He bit down on his teeth hard enough to hurt the fangs hidden behind his lips. "He hasn't told me everything though. How can he not trust me?