The four Kindred stared at the man holding the severed head.
"Why the fu-?" Grace started.
"YOU BROKE RULE SIX, ASSHOLE!" Sybil shouted.
"Your rules, daughter of Malkav. Not mine." The man in the priest's cassock sneered at her. "I have no interest in your Camarilla. I am serving something better."
"If you're about to try to sell us on salvation through the Lord, you're a bit late." Anthony snipped at him. The Tremere noticed something there, almost immediately. A twitch in the man's brow at the mention of the patriarch of Christianity. Could it be. . .?
"I think the Prince is gonna want a few words with you." Ben said, starting forward after the priest. He raised his hand, snapping his fingers. Ben immediately fell back, howling in pain and rage.
"What did you do to him?!" Grace spat.
"He's seeing what awaits those that oppose us." The priest replied coolly. "Such is the fate of-"
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Four gunshots tore through the air and sent the man falling back into a pile of gore. Ben started recovering, though shakily, as the priest's concentration was broken.
"Are you alright?" Sybil asked, gun still trained on the pile of gore.
". . .fuck, no!" Ben hissed, getting up. "Where is the bastard?"
"He's over-" Sybil said, then suddenly saw the form of the man vanish from view. "Ah, shit. He can Obfuscate!"
"Unfortunately for him, he made a mistake." Anthony said, drawing his knife from the pocket of his coat again.
"What?" Grace snapped at him.
"I can bleed." Anthony sliced the knife across his forearm, blood flowing freely from his flesh. His eyes flickered with the activation of his Thaumaturgical training, the droplets rising up into the air before sailing through it toward their target. A scream was heard as the droplets slammed into what seemed like thin air for a second before they became points of hissing smoke. A body became clear, the veil dropping, as they saw the priest. . .clutching his face and screaming. He stumbled toward the small cove leading out into Elliott Bay.
When he got there, Ben was there to greet him.
With a running tackle. And extended claws.
Both Kindred fell headlong into the water, disappearing below the waves.
"Oh, shit!" Sybil ran after them, Grace and Anthony following close behind (the latter of the two willing his remaining blood to stitch his self-inflicted wound back together). The Malkavian scanned the edge of the water and was about to tap into her Auspex when a form began to emerge from the waves. "Oh, geez, Benji!" She bent over to help the man out of the water.
"Don't. . .call me that." Water slid from Ben's mouth as he came up from the surf.
"Where is he?" Anthony asked.
"No idea. Lost him." Ben said as he pulled off his shirt, ringing it out. "Fucked him up royal, though."
"We need to find him." Anthony said.
"Yeah, we do." Ben said. "But we need to get word back to the Prince."
"What? Why?" Sybil asked, raising a brow. "It's a random fang. We can handle this."
"He's not a random fang." Ben said.
"How do you know?"
"He made me see Hell."
"You're sure?"
"One hundred percent." Ben's words made Wren Blanchard's face wrinkle a bit. Not far away, the Tremere of their group was filling some of his lost vitae from a blood doll. Ben, however, was not doing so.
"That is. . .unsettling." Wren said, a hand resting against her cheek as she sat behind her desk.
"Like you wouldn't believe." Ben said.
"I could believe quite a bit." Wren said, her eyes flicking toward the Toreador and the Malkavian at Ben's side. "You two feel the same?"
"I'm not sure I-" Grace started.
"He was soaked in sulfur, your grace." Sybil spoke up. "He smiles at our dying screams."
". . .I am, unclear." Grace said after a pausing, giving Sybil yet another strange look before turning her attention back to the Prince. "What exactly are Baali?"
"They don't exist." Wren said bluntly.
"With respect, he was doing a great deal of existing." Ben said, arms crossed over his chest. He looked to Grace. "Old Kindred boogeyman. Goes back to where the Kindred started. More or less. They-"
"Grayson, you will not!" Wren snapped, slamming a fist against her desk. "I'm not going to have those Sabbat fairy tales be touted around in my city! There are no Baali! End of story!"
"Then what exactly did we see?" Ben asked, almost looking amused at her words.
"Clearly you found some sort of Caitiff or other who managed to cobble together some sort of strange, new power in the Blood." Wren said. "This isn't some sort of Kindred boogeyman and I'll hear no more of this." Regaining her composure, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "The official story is going to be that you found Doctor Julian Crane, who had been dominated by Sabbat infiltrators. His derangements had overtaken him, and you had no choice by to execute him under orders of your Prince."
By this point, Anthony had drank as much as he needed to remain upright and had joined the others.
"Are. We. Clear?" Wren asked them. Silence fell between her and the coterie.
". . .Crystal." Ben said.
"So what is a Baali?" Grace asked as her town car careened through the night, carrying the four Kindred and her two ghouls along.
"Like I said, Kindred fairy tale." Ben said. "Real if you believe the story, anyway."
"We have a few hours before sunrise." Sybil said, looking over to the Gangrel.
"Okay. Way back in the long-long ago time," Ben said, "all of our kind lived in one city. The Second City. How much do you know about where Kindred came from?"
"Not much, I guess." Grace shrugged. "I mean, someone bites our neck, and then-"
"No, no. Not how we're made." Ben shook his head. "I mean where we came from."
". . .no." Grace said.
"Alright." Ben said, pointing to himself. "Gangrel." He pointed to Sybil. "Malkavian." He pointed to Grace. "Toreador." He lowered his finger. "Way back in the long-long ago time, each of our clans lived in one place. The Second City. We were ruled over by our Clan leaders. Call them Blood-Gods, call them Antediluvians, whatever. They were under something even worse - the vampires who made them. They rebelled against them. . .and well, you remember the story of Noah's Ark?"
"Yes, I-" Grace stopped, and blinked several times. "You can't be serious."
"That's the story, at least." Ben said. "There were ten other clans besides us. . .Gangrel, Malkavian, and Toreador, I mean. When the Second City fell, we scattered."
"Wait, so the Camarilla was-"
"That's. . .that's way after." Ben said, holding up a hand to stop her. "The point is, the Baali weren't one of those Clans. And one of those Clans that no longer exists might have been responsible for them existing in the first place." His eyes flickered over to Anthony. Grace looked, and saw the Tremere was highly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat.
"Anthony?" Grace asked.
"Clan Tremere did the Camarilla a great service by exterminating the Salubri." Anthony said.
"Yes, yes, I've heard the company line back in Vancouver. Didn't believe it there, either." Ben waved him off, turning his attention back to Grace. "The Salubri were a Clan of healers. Some warriors, but mostly healers. Their leader, their. . .Antediluvian. . .was a guy named Saulot. He went into the East, Asia, looking for ways to live with his condition as a vampire. He came back, had a third eye and everything-"
"A what?" Grace stared.
"-and at his heels, were the Baali." Ben said. "Devil worshipers, or so the stories went. Salubri went to fight them, other clans joined them. If you listen to people tell the stories, they're all gone now. If they ever existed to begin with."
"Wait, but you said-" Sybil started.
"I saw a vampire that made me see Hell." Ben said. "That's all I know to be fact, but. . .it's a hell of a coincidence if it isn't what we saw. That also isn't the worst part of it."
"What is that?" Sybil asked.
"If that man was a Baali, and he did get away, then there are others." Ben said. "Baali don't travel alone."
Indeed, Ben was correct. The waves had carried him far into Elliott Bay. Hours had gone by, the coterie had turned in for the day. The watch on the wrist of James Calvin read 4:33 AM as he got out of his truck and made his way down to the pier with his fishing equipment in hand. Setting his tackle box on one of the many beams after finding a lovely spot, he baited his hook and cast his line. Only seconds later. . .he had a bite! Quickly, James began to reel it in. It had to be a big one, he reasoned. Fifteen, maybe a twenty pounder! He'd set a new record for sure!
When he managed to pull the thing up. . .there was no fish. And no bait. And no hook!
"What in the hell?" He pulled his line back over, examining it. The line looked like it had been tugged and ripped, leaving only threads. "Goddamn it!" The man of fifty-seven hissed as he reached into his tackle box and retrieved another hook, securing it to the end of the string. After spearing another worm, he cast it out again. A few moments passed before get got a bite, determined to reel it in this time. Needless to say, it was quite a surprise for James Calvin (age fifty-seven) when he did not do that and, in fact, fell right over the edge of the pier with his rod and reel.
His crying out for help was suddenly smothered by water, and a lot of it as he fell into Elliott Bay. At not yet five in the morning, no one was out there to hear him scream, which worked very well for someone who was only seconds from securing a hand around his throat. The vision of the man named James Calvin swam until his attacker came into focus. A man in a priest's frock, who looked as though he had been horribly scarred by acid across the face.
"Fear not!" The man's mouth was opened, showing row after row of angler fish-like teeth. "For I am with you!" Calvin's scream was cut short as the man's teeth sank into his neck, giving him the absolute height of ecstasy. . .right up until he fell unconscious.
Anton, having drank enough vitae to heal his wounds, dropped the man to the ground. As he did so, he glanced at the man's watch. 4:53 AM. He reached down, digging into the man's pockets and finding a set of keys and a wallet. There was an address on his driver's license, as well as some pictures of the man with a wife, son, and daughter. The vampire's lips twisted into a delighted smile that, to anyone who might have been looking, would have seemed absolutely terrifying.
He could use another snack or two. . .
Night came again to Seattle. Ben Grayson felt his blood burn as he rose from his bed. Getting up, he journeyed through the park to hunt. Once he had done so (a jogger yet again going through a heavily wooded area), he made his way back into Seattle. Once more at the Haven of Hope, once more seeing Angelica Knox going to work. This time, she didn't have a box to carry in.
He did notice, however, what she had were three men coming up behind her. One of them was drawing a gun from the waistband of his jeans. Ben quickly moved into action, his feet silent against the pavement as he came up behind the first man, grabbing him around the throat and wrenching his head back as if he intended to bite him.
The Beast, however, would not be sated. . .not just yet, anyway.
The gun clattered down against the pavement, getting Angelica's attention. She turned and gave a scream as she witnessed the two other men bearing down on Ben as he held the third in check. The first pulled out a knife, jabbing toward Ben, who managed to yank the one in front of him in the way, forcing him to stab his compatriot. The third came forward with a raised fist, and Ben threw the one he'd held into him, knocking them both down.
The second attempted to jab at him again, Ben forced to hold back his strength as he snapped at the man's wrist and squeezed, forcing him to drop the knife. He punched the man once, twice, three times in the stomach, all the while feeling the Beast clawing at his throat.
In his mind, those memories of that Hellscape he witnessed flashed before him. Fire. Screaming. Souls writhing in agony as they were torn apart and burned and drowned in suffering again and again and again and again. . anything to escape all that. He would have done anything to escape all of that.
'Even kill all these men. . .' The little voice inside his head whispered to him. 'You could do it. . .just one, and you're. . .'
"Ben!"
He was snapped back to reality as he heard her voice. Like a switch had been flipped, the voice and the panic were gone. The man he'd been punching was wheezing. He struggled to his feet and took the opportunity to get away from Ben, following his two compatriots who had likewise started taking off down the street. Ben turned to Angelica.
"Are you okay?" Ben asked her.
"Are you okay?" The redheaded woman asked him, staring in some strange mix of fear and shock. Ben looked down, seeing that his body was undamaged.
"Yeah, yeah, I think so." Ben nodded, looking up to her. "What was up with those punks?"
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