My Little Ventrue Pt. 02 Ch. 11

Pain arrived a couple seconds later, a tidal wave of mind-splitting agony. Move. Do not stop. Her other hand was starting to replace and regrow the shredded wrist, but where once it would have been almost instantaneous, now it was taking time. The oceans of blood in her were dwindling more and more, and each bullet that found her made it that much harder. It did not matter. Move.

Two more Kindred, seeing an opportunity no doubt, rushed toward her. Balancing with only one arm was beyond difficult, but she spun around and kicked outward with sheer brutality into the closer one's chest. Elegance was gone, all that was left was the frenzy of the beast inside her. She even bared her fangs and hissed -- how disgustingly juvenile of her -- as she sent the Kindred back with a crushed rib cage.

She tried to switch feet on the return and do the same to the other Kindred with follow-up kick, but with only the one arm, the balance was flawed and the spin was slow.

Damien must have seen it. The boy was fast, so fast for one only fifty-years embraced. He came at her again with the same speed she used, but she was broken, bleeding, tired and blinded with pain and rage. She could not withdraw her leg fast enough.

This time, she fell onto the floor with a thud. For a second, she felt embarrassed at having fallen over; so unbecoming the Prince of Dolareido. But when she looked out across the floor, and saw that her leg was there, separated from her, it seemed silly to be embarrassed.

She looked over her shoulder at her removed arm; it had fallen to ash. When she looked back at her removed leg, it too fell to ash. She looked down at herself, and the realization crept up her spine with a sickening chill.

She was a mess of bone, holes, vampire blood, her suit was ruined and left in tatters, and her hair was awful. With only one arm and one leg left, she could not even get off the floor. Failure rested in her guts like acid, and joined the new layers of visceral pain. She could not stop herself from grimacing.

Damien walked over to her, stood over her, and glared with a sickening mess of anger, exhilaration, sadness, disgust, and chaos on his face. "You underestimated me."

"... I did." It was true. The young man matched her speed and struck at just the right times. So much like Daniel.

Damien growled. "Say it, snake. Say it again, say that Lucas is a monster. Say it!"

She coughed on the vampire blood in her guts until it was on her tongue. What did he want? Why was he doing this? The robed figures around her were as confused as she was.

Part of her wanted to cry. She could not save her lover, could not save her ghouls, could not even save Daniel. She had grown complacent and weak in the half-century of peace, had let weeds grow around her city and in her tower. But then, even if she had known, she felt she would have done it again. How else would she have met that fool boy Jack she loved so much?

She coughed on a chuckle. Love. How droll. The idea was such a faded thing, crumpled and worn, and only now was she taking it out of the garbage, straightening it, flattening it out, and holding it under the light to see if she could still see what it once said. It was—

A boot to the face woke her from slipping into torpor.

"I said say it!"

"... you already know, stupid child." She raised her only arm, winced at the pain, and gazed at the mess of torn open muscle, skin, and chipped bone. "And... to a stupid child I beg. Do not hurt my loved ones." Jack and her ghouls had no way out of the bathroom they were hiding in. They were at the mob's mercy.

Her pleas earned another kick to the face. Kindred kick hard; she felt the bone in her cheek crack, but more pain was meaningless on top of her ruined form.

"What do you know of loved ones!" Damien stood over her and kicked her again, and again, this time in the chest. His boots were more than enough to crack her ribs. "You slaughtered my loved ones!"

The other Kindred had backed off, and were looking at each other in bewilderment. They must have never seen this side of Damien. Hate could change anyone at a whim, after all.

She no longer had the strength to even block his kicks. All her power, all her strength and speed, whittled away by hundreds of bullets, a damn Theban sorcery, and the conviction of this deluded fool. All her effort for peace, intelligence, awareness, all her trials and tribulations to grow Dolareido so Kindred could exercise some wisdom, all gone.

Her head turned back toward him, and she glared. "The Bishops, the priests, and Lucas himself, they all manipulated you. Under their thumb, your peers were fodder for a war and pawns in the Archbishop's ploy to rule my city with massacre." She scoffed with the little bit of energy she had left, and let her head drift to the side with surrender. It was far more information than the idiot man deserved, but with her second death only moments away, she could not resist one last insult for his master. "Now end it. I have lost."

"No!"

Oh no. No, Jack please. Get out, get out while they circle her!

But her wishes were useless. Jack, the tiny boy, shorter than all the robes he forced through, found his way to her, and even pushed aside the other Kindred to get to her. All of them were older than him, stronger than him, and armed to the teeth. He could die, and she could not do a thing to stop it.

She could hear the faint sobs of her ghouls in the bathroom. Everything was crumbling.

"You won't touch her." Jack slammed his boot down beside her, and stood between her and the swordsman.

The mob laughed, but Antoinette could see it on Damien's face. No laughter, no joy, no glee or passion there. Just anger and misery.

"Jack... please...." She reached out with her useless, ruined limb, but she could no longer even squeeze his ankle. "Go...."

"Listen to her, Terry." Damien pointed his sword at Jack, and stepped close enough that the tip of the blade touched against the boy's chest. "I have no quarrel with the Invictus or you. Begone."

"Fuck you. You aren't touching her."

This was not happening. Damien, showing honor, gave Jack an out, and the boy threw it away without hesitation at some fool notion of saving her. If she could, she would be tearing Jack a new orifice.

The other Kindred stepped closer still, like circling sharks, but Jack did not back down.

Damien was practically vibrating with anger. "How dare you. This snake ki—"

"Shut up!" Jack brushed the sword aside. His words alone had everyone stunned, and his arrogance had them looking at each other bewildered. "You aren't touching her. The fuck do I care what a brainwashed cultist says?"

Antoinette went rigid when Damien slashed. Jack stumbled back a single step, and half-turned just enough so she could see the massive slash that cut him from shoulder to hip. Jack, take the hint, please. Leave!

Jack fell to a knee, holding the huge wound, coughing and choking on small drops of dark Kindred blood.

"You try my patience, child!" Damien stepped closer and stared down at Jack. "Now get out of the way."

Please Jack. She reached out, and managed to only lightly tough the boy's leg with her ruined, only arm. Please, go. "Just... go... please...."

But he didn't listen. He stood back up, trembling, but on his feet nonetheless, and stared right back at Damien.

"Fuck off."

Antoinette coughed on her own blood, straining with all her might to grab Jack's leg and push against him. The boy would not budge.

"Bishop Damien, we don't want a war with the Invictus. Let's just put him out and deal with the Prince."

"You may be ri—"

Jack punched Damien, hard. The young man summoned some strength and put a knuckle into the other man's face hard enough to make a cracking sound.

The silence that filled the room was colossal.

Damien stumbled back, rubbed at his jaw, and glared daggers into the boy. But Jack stood his ground all the more. He was a trembling mess, Antoinette could see that, but he did not move. Her last shield before death.

"You're a brainwashed zealot. You're worse than scum." Jack spat Kindred blood at Damien's feet. "You're a tool, someone else's tool at that. Can't think for yourself, can't think at all, can't—"

Antoinette tried to cry out, but nothing came. She had nothing left, not even for when Damien's sword stuck through Jack's chest and out his back.

Jack looked down, and she was sure purely out of reflex, he grabbed the sword that was skewering him, but Damien gave his gun to a nearby Kindred, and used the now free hand to reach out and grab Jack by the shoulder. He kept the sword buried through Jack's chest.

"I do not think the Invictus will go to war over a single fledgling," Damien said. Antoinette could hear the venom drip from his tongue. "You die with your snake mistress."

Jack, please.... run.

Jack raised his head from the blade, reached out with his hands, took Damien's shoulders, and pulled him in closer. Before she could see what madness would befall her love, the black of torpor pulled her under.

But she heard it.

"... look into my eyes."

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~~Natasha~~

She had never felt so useless in her whole damn unlife.

She was on her feet at least, but Lucas had her neck in his fingers, and every so often the Elder gave her neck a bit of a squeeze to remind her. He may have been weakened with his long torpor, but that didn't mean anything compared to her. He could pop her head off like a cork with a moment's effort.

And there was still at least a dozen other Kindred around. They all had their guns pointed at her sire, and they kept taking quick glances at her to make sure she didn't try anything. Not that she could with her hands bound behind her.

"So, sheriff, what will you do once your Prince is dead?" Lucas said.

God he spoke just like a preaching zealot.

Daniel didn't move though. He just sat there at the other end of the tower lobby, kneeling, head hanging, and eyes raised just enough that Natasha could see them. He looked so broken.

"I imagine you have delusions of revenge, or justice, or some other ridiculous notion." Lucas tightened his grip, and raised Natasha up so her legs were dangling. She didn't need to breathe, but that didn't mean his fingers digging into her neck didn't hurt. "But know that I will keep your childe hostage. If you force me, I will stake her and leave her buried deep underneath the city where only I know."

No response. Her sire was a statue. He wasn't even holding his sword anymore; it was just discarded metal at his side.

It made no sense. They hadn't spoken in years, and even when she was just a fledgling, they could never connect. Not after she was embraced. Not after losing her life.

It made her sick. After leaving him, joining the Invictus, and just cutting the man out of her life, he was rendered broken and useless just by her capture. Her weakness, his liability, was going to get the Prince killed. Her self-loathing approached new heights.

She managed to look around at the robed figures. None of them were as old as her, and she was sure she could take any of them in a proper fight, if she had her sword and her gun. Any of them except Lucas. Think, think, don't stop thinking. Find a way out. Put that Mehket brain to use.

Her thoughts came to a grinding stop when Damien stepped out from the doorway that lead downstairs. He was covered in ashes.

"Damien! My childe, my prodigy, you live! Is the snake defeated?" Lucas lowered her and let her rest her feet on the floor, but his grip did not waver.

Damien was hunched over, tattered and worn, with bullet holes and cuts and gashes through his robes. He walked with a limp, and the sword in his free hand was a mess of Kindred blood that was fading to ash. When he came into full view, the cultists around her cheered, and Lucas's grip tightened with what was probably pure joy.

The Bishop was dragging the Prince by her hair. He'd won....

Daniel's head raised, and he stared at the body of the Prince. She wasn't dead yet, or there'd be nothing but ash, but Natasha was shocked at how Antoinette was still alive. She was missing an arm, a leg, and much of her flesh was missing. She was practically naked, as her clothes had suffered far more bullet holes than Damien. Why did Damien have any bullet wounds? Did the Prince have guns hidden away? Did she even use guns?

Damien came closer, his head lowered, his fingers wrapped into Antoinette's ruined hair. Natasha could see ribs, torn open pale flesh that exposed the cold and withered organs of a vampire. She could even see where a sword had cut clean through the bone of her arm below the shoulder, and the leg at the thigh, with enough speed that the cut went through clean. Damien's work, no doubt.

A part of her was relieved. It was over. They'd won. But the relief washed away the next second; she'd be a hostage until Daniel either died or left the city, or maybe Lucas would let her go once he had the entire city under his thumb and all the powers of his age returned to him.

Either way, it was not a city she wanted to be a part of. Christ, if she could just get away, right here, right now, Daniel would be free to slaughter them all. Poor Daniel. The man was looking at the ruined body of his oldest friend, and he looked even more broken. His eyes were shattered.

"Come closer my dear friend! I am most surprised you have managed to capture the Prince alive. And I see that you are alone. Most tragic, that so many of your brothers and sisters perished." Lucas raised Natasha again, but it was just so he could gesture with both his hands and preach to his group. "But rejoice my children! We have won! Only Garry remains an enemy, and that young fool will be no match without the Prince or the sheriff's aid."

Damien stepped in closer.

Lucas kept talking. He went on and on about the future, about building a new regime, about serving God as the damned children they were, about Longinus and monsters and their eternal duty. The Kindred around Natasha cheered more, and they raised their guns in the air, their swords and knives. They even jumped a few times. The Archbishop just couldn't shut up though, and went on about a future in God's plan. He walked over to Antoinette and put a foot on her torso to stand victorious while he gave the final words of some idiotic speech Natasha eventually tuned out. Disgusting.

But Damien only stepped in closer. Natasha didn't look at the mob, she looked at Damien. His eyes were still downcast, and the more she stared at him, the more she couldn't understand what he was doing. The Prince fought with her hands, so why were their bullet holes in Damien's robes?

Damien got so close, he could have reached out and touched Lucas. He finally let go of the Prince's hair, and just stood there. Natasha tried to glare at him, but his eyes were barren. No anger or turmoil or any of the depression she had seen when she was his prisoner in the altar room. None of that inner conflict that she had tried and failed to appeal to. She could tell the Bishop was not in agreement with Lucas's plans before just from the frustration on his face, but now, his face was void of anything. Like a doll.

"Bishop Damien, you shall be handsomely rewarded. You all shall be! This was the first step in our new church. The Lancea et Sanctum shall turn this city into a monument to—"

Natasha fell to the floor.

She sat there, on her ass, blinking in confusion and looking around in panic. Lucas was no longer holding her, no one was holding her hostage, no one was pointing any shotguns at her or running at her to try and cut her head off. No one was doing anything. Everyone was just standing there, looking at Lucas and Damien.

A loud thunk made Natasha squeak. She looked beside her, and for just one fleeting moment, Lucas looked back at her.

His head rolled back and forth on the floor a couple of inches, eyes locked on Natasha, a shocked expression burned into his face. And then, he fell into ash.

Another thunk earned yet another squeak from her. Damien had fallen to his knees with no grace, and dropped his sword beside him. The blade clinked a few times on the floor, and in the dead silence of the lobby, it was like resounding thunder. For a single second, he looked identical to Daniel, a broken man with their weapon beside them, useless. His sword, however, was covered in a fresh coat of vampire blood.

The Kindred around Natasha freaked. They screamed in horror, looked at each other, screamed some more, and pointed their weapons at the sheriff, at her, at Damien who had just betrayed them.

"D-Damien killed the Archbishop!"

"Fuck! We—"

"N-no one move!" One of them said. A Ventrue, Natasha could see. Ever the first to try and control a situation. The Ventrue pointed their gun at Natasha. "Move and we'll ki—"

Natasha screamed. The Ventrue split down the center, from the tip of his head to the crotch. The cut was so fast, so clean, that the Kindred just fell apart like two sticks that were leaning against each other. A shade, a shadow, just a split moment of an image of Daniel was there, and then he was gone.

The next Kindred to die was the one closest to her. A side swipe of the sheriff's sword cut through their waist, and then into the waist of the Kindred that was next to them. No one had even realized what had killed the first Kindred before the next two died. No one but her; they didn't have her eyes.

She couldn't use her hands, but she pushed herself across the floor, away from the panicking mess of robes. Another one of them fell apart, and again it was the closest one to her. Kindred blood splattered everywhere. Some of it turned to ash quickly, some of it took its time to fade, some of it even turned into light embers. But it was everywhere.

Now the Kindred knew what was happening. The sheriff was attacking, and they couldn't even see him. Natasha could, just barely, using her Mehket eyes to spot the fast movement of her sire. Even then she could only pierce his cloak of night and speed for that moment he stopped to cut one of the robed figures into nothing but limbs.

"R-run! Ge—" This one lost the top half of their head, between the teeth. Daniel had put his blade between their teeth and pushed through their spine, below the skull. What few Kindred remained, screaming and hollering in terror, unloaded all their guns at their now dead friend. Bullets and shotgun shots ripped them apart, but Daniel was just a dark blur, already gone.

Natasha couldn't watch anymore. It was slaughter. She rolled over onto her knees, got up, and sprinted for the other end of the lobby where there was a stairway down to the Prince's basement.

Jack! The boy was peaking his head out from behind the wall where the doorway to the stairs was, and once Natasha got close to him, she ducked herself around the corner to hide.

Jack managed a smile at her. He looked exhausted. Worse, he too was cut up. There was a hole in the back of his suit, and when she had passed him she saw his front had been slashed open.

But the kid didn't sit down or take a breather. It looked like he was watching Daniel's slaughter, but when Natasha traced his line of sight, he was in fact staring at Damien and Antoinette.

The boy was dominating Damien.

"Madame... Vola...." he said with a heavy voice.

Her jaw dropped. This kid, not even a year embraced, was dominating Damien? That's how the Bishop got all the bullet wounds; he'd been forced to kill his own.

"... Master T-t-terry. I'm glad t-to see you live."

Julias's childe, he definitely was. And it was scary. Julias was a very strong Kindred for his age. But this little boy in front of her was far stronger than any young neonate had any right to be.

Finally, the screaming stopped. Natasha poked her head out like Jack, and the beast in her gut at last relaxed. Daniel was standing there, sword at his side, surrounded by nothing but the robes of the second dead Kindred. Before him was Damien, still on his knees, but something was different.