"We are two of a kind, you and I-"
"I've never killed anyone. Don't intend to start now." Sybil said as he eyed the blonde woman intently, ready to draw her gun once again the moment she made a false move.
"Oh, that's not what I mean and you know it..." The blonde woman chuckled. "I mean this..." She tapped her forehead with a single finger.
"Don't blame dumb, girl. The Sight! You possess it and so do I!" The blonde woman said. "It is what brought you to me tonight and what brings us to Him."
"What, Eric? I don't think he'll be accepting anyone for a-" Sybil started.
"Not him! The Master! The Weaver of Nightmares! The first bitten of Malkav himself!" The woman was ranting, almost hysterically so.
"Oooookay, well, this has been eye opening for me." Sybil said. "Now, you have two options: I put you down or you come with me to the Prince who will probably put you down for risking the Masquerade with your bullshit."
"The Mirror must be fixed." The blonde woman replied.
"What did you say?" Sybil asked.
"He's going to need help, Detective. Our help. Yours and mine." The woman said. "The curse of Malkav has blinded us, but we will see again!"
"Who the hell are you?" Sybil asked.
"You may call me Cassandra." The woman said. "And you will see what is to come soon enough, my cousin."
"Yeah, alright Cassie. Let's go." Sybil said, drawing her gun once again, gesturing to the door. "Nice and easy unless you want some air holes in the back."
"I'm afraid not..." Cassandra said. "I must be away. I will find you again soon enough." She reached into her hoodie, Sybil's finger tensing at the trigger when she thought it was a weapon, but it only turned out to be a small statuette. "Here, catch." She tossed it to Sybil, who caught it. Before the Malkavian could react, Cassandra was bolting for the window, jumping right through and crashing into it. Sybil ran up to the window, seeing no sign of the woman. Instead, she looked down to the statuette that had been handed to it.
It was the form of a hooded and cloaked figure atop a boat, holding an oar in two gnarled, skeletal hands.
"Hello, Charon..." Sybil muttered.
Anthony was unprepared for the chaos that erupted. The Tremere forces had entered the building with only minimal resistance. The ghouls went first, of course, and took the brunt of the initial attack. However, what were presumably ghouls of the Baali didn't even manage to take out one of them. The magi came in after, warding the place against Cainities entering or leaving. They proceeded up to the second floor, then the third, and similar results had been achieved.
Then came the fourth floor...and all hell had broken loose. Some Thaumaturgical traps had been set along the way, claiming the first row of ghouls pretty effectively. Anthony had been in the second wave, witness to the ghouls clawing at their own faces as blood erupted from every orifice. It had taken some work to push forward, more so due to the rattling of gunfire. Lacking Fortitude as many of the elders seemed to have cultivated, Anthony stayed behind the ghouls and continued assisting in the ritual.
"O viarum dominus! Hermes! Hermes! Frangite per viam quam volumus ire!" Anthony chanted along with the other apprentices in his group. The cauldron of vitae between them smoking and bubbling as it was forced into the shape that was desired. Anthony watched as the smoke rose from the cauldron, the blood burning up in the fire that soon leaped from the basin and shot ahead of the group, flying over the heads of the other Tremere and the ghouls still fighting.
Rötschreck claimed a few, who were soon either raving or had been staked by their more willful comrades when frenzy overtook them. Anthony remained stalwart, for now, and followed in the wake of the maelstrom of fire and smoke that the magi had created. The sounds of fighting and chaos and death seemed to fade further and further away as it moved through, The fire storm tore through the traps left by the Baali as well as their minions.
"They're fighting hard to keep us out." Preston Wilson made himself known, Anthony turning to his sire as he spoke. "Their leadership is not far." He seemed rather sure of himself. Anthony provided no comment beyond a curt nod and keeping his attention on the task at hand. "Sweep this floor. If there are any others, kill them. All of them." The ghouls and the apprentices affirmed their obedience and began to sweep the floor. "Come, Wallace. If my timing is right, the sixth floor should be open to us. We'll have this done before midnight comes!"
"With any luck." Anthony said, moving with Preston to the stairs up to the fifth floor. "What about the Kine outside?" He asked.
"I am given to understand the building is condemned. Apart from that, some Halloween festivity or another." Preston said. "The Masquerade is secure." That, at least, was some comfort to Anthony. Ever since the night of the Chantry attack, it had been a constant concern. However, the Baali who had managed to slip into the Tremere ranks hadn't seemed all that interested in the Masquerade. If they weren't attempting to break it with their devil-worshipping nonsense, then what were they doing? Something wasn't adding up about all this, at least not to Anthony's reckoning.
The small army had made its way up to the sixth floor of the building, the one just before the actual roof. Tearing through room after room cyclically, they found...nothing. No enchantments, no artifacts, and nobody to be found, Kine, ghouls, or Kindred.
"This...this doesn't make any sense." Lilah stared blankly at the emptiness before them. "Our intelligence told us they would be here. There was nowhere to run. We had them!"
"This is a deception." Angela Harkness spoke up, wiping her lengthy blade with a silken cloth. "We've wandered into a trap."
"Happy Halloween, Tremere." A voice came through an intercomm system that had apparently been wired in.
"What the-?"
"For many years in Seattle, you have gotten drunk on your own power and on the blood of this city. As of tonight, your feast is nearly over."
"Get someone up here, trace where the signal is coming from!" Preston shouted.
"How?" Anthony dared to ask, but his voice went unheard as the speaker sounded once more.
"This is your final hour."
Whatever was playing the message ceased. There was a deep, mechanical whirring as several sections of wall fell away to reveal false paneling. Beneath that false paneling were counters, each one reading 00:59.
"GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE NOW! NOW!" Lilah screamed, her voice rising over the cacophony that rose up in the revelation that the building was about to be blown sky high.
Meanwhile, Ben Grayson's newly-discovered wolf form was flattened against its back, howling and growling as the now-unmasked figure threw him off for the third or fourth time after either realizing or not caring that his target had no need to breathe. The bear that had once been Blackjack wasn't doing much better, having been thrown through a tree and then stabbed through one of his paws.
As the thought passed through Ben's mind that he ought to get his hands on a ratty blue sweater, he watched as a blur of motion shot over him. Glancing upward, struggling to his four feet, Ben could see the form of the largest peregrine falcon he had ever seen in his life. Nearly the size of a man, it had collided right into Voorhees and knocked him over and was now clawing and slashing at his face. Ben lumbered forward, eager to assist, when suddenly the falcon moved away and the body of the infamous serial killer...lay still. Then, the noxious smell of rotting flesh became all the more potent as the body began to bubble and smoke, melting away into some kind of sludge on the ground.
The falcon gave a loud caw before turning and landing on the forest floor. Its body shimmered and twisted about, feathers fading away and the beak and eyes receding into that of Nathaniel Gray once again. Once he had taken the shift from animal to Kindred once more, he stretched out his shoulders and then set to examining something he held in his hand.
"It's over. It's done." He said. Ben glanced over to see the bear turning back into Blackjack with a rather annoyed look on his face. Ben, too, soon shifted back into his humanoid form. He was a bit amazed and rattled by the experience, a new facet of his vitae unlocked.
"What is it?" Blackjack asked. "What have you found?"
"It seems we got a trick instead of a treat..." Nathaniel said. In the moonlight, the pair could see him rolling a small, blue gemstone between his fingers.
"A gem?" Ben asked.
"Something with strong Necromancy about it." Nathaniel said.
"How could you know that?" Blackjack asked, earning him a raised eyebrow from Nathaniel. "Apologies, Primogen. But...what does it mean?"
"I don't know." Nathaniel said, eyes fixed upon the rock.
"A building blown sky high! The Masquerade is being stretched to the breaking point!"
"Relax, Jenkins."
"My Prince! You must-!"
"You are by far the most worrisome Seneschal Seattle has ever had, Jenkins." Wren Blanchard sat her desking, looking blankly at her panicking subordinate. "I have already approved of the operation with Primogen Brook and the other leaders of the Tremere. A cover story has already been prepared and dispatched."
When the man in front of her continued to look uncertain, her eyes flitted back up to him.
"I'm very good at my job." Wren said. She shifted in her seat. "I haven't run this city for ninety years to have it all crumble due to a little spat amongst the blood witches."
"But the Baa-" Jenkins was cut off as the Prince slammed her hands against the desk, rising.
"There. Are. No. Baali. In. My. City." Wren said, enunciating each word. "Is. That. Clear?"
"O-Of course, your Grace." Jenkins said.
"Excellent."
"But this war-"
"Is well in hand." Wren cut him off. "When it becomes necessary to worry, believe me, I will worry. You may go now." Jenkins still seemed very much the picture of distress as he bowed and left, the doors closing behind him. "Did you get all of that?" A figure flickered into view. A man with a bat-like face, mottled, pox-marked skin, pointed ears that seemed to twitch with the movement of his head a row of teeth jutting out over a pronounced bottom lip.
"Of course, my Prince." Hugo Oswald Combs said, nodding respectfully toward her.
"And your impressions?" Wren asked.
"He's clean." Hugo said. "He's not involved."
"Yet someone has to be. Who?" Wren asked, glancing out the window, a hand to her chin as she thought it over.
"That's the One Hundred Thousand Dollar Pyramid." Hugo said. Wren thought this over, her mind attempting to connect the seemingly disparate pieces together. Nothing was coincidence in the world of the Kindred and what she had told Jenkins was true, she had not ruled Seattle for nine decades to see it crumble over the internal strife of the Tremere.
"The Baali had an in at my court. It is the only way they could have known to set up that trap." Wren said. Indeed, they were not yet aware and probably wouldn't be aware for a few nights if the Primogen or any of her fellows had escaped the trap. For now, there was little she could do apart from wait. The board was set and the pieces were moving, but to what end? To what end? She would have to keep up with the movements and counter them as she had for many nights now. So many nights now that she hardly remembered how to do anything else.
"I will keep my eyes and ears on the others." Hugo said.
"Good." Wren said. "And it is also good that we never had this conversation."
"Of course." Hugo said.
"You may go." Wren said.
"Of course." When the Prince looked back, she saw nothing but the door closing once again after being opened.
"It could have been more festive is all I'm saying."
"Anton, my dear brother, you are far too concerned with the theatrical." Aleister chuckled as he sat upon one of the room's comfy chairs, his white sleeved arms draped languidly against the armrests.
"It is Halloween." Anton said, pulling out the tab out of the collar of his cassock. "All you managed to do was bring up a crappy slasher film to mess with the Gangrel."
"Oh, I did a bit more than mess, brother dear." Aleister said. "Besides, those little messes will cause some problems all their own. Something to keep the Clans on their toes for a while to come. Sow a little mistrust. After tonight, I hardly think the Tremere are going to be a threat."
"So we're abandoning them?" Anton asked, his head cocking to the side in confusion and surprise.
"Oh, no. By no means." Aleister shook his head. "The one we need for our purposes has survived. That is all that matters." He grabbed the source he'd been taking blood from, squeezing out another glass of hot vitae and passing it to his brother. "Soon, the Dragon shall rise and, when He does, he will be under our command." He picked up his own glass. "To the future."
"To the future." Anton said as they clinked glasses, both drinking. Their source attempted to scream out again, Aleister smacking him across the mouth.
"I must say, brother. I didn't expect you to find such a lovely vintage for the evening." Aleister said.
"Call it a fitting tribute to our sires." Anton said. "After all, Moloch and Troile are still entwined in that loving embrace beneath the salted earth of Carthage. Is there anything more beautiful that Baali and Brujah working together?"
"Indeed not." Aleister said, leaning over to look upon the weakened, mutilated body of the Brujah primogen. "Wouldn't you say so, Primogen Samuels?" He asked. The man, so horrifically beaten and torn down, was left screaming in his own mind that he dare not do aloud.
The two brothers, though, they laughed and they drank, toasting a successful All Hallows' Eve.
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