My Little Ventrue Pt. 05 Ch. 18

Liquid.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," the endless void said.

"... h... hello," she said. Texan accent?

"I see I may have startled you. And for that, I apologize." The voice chuckled. A deep, manly voice, with extra bass mixed in that made it sound thick, and inhuman, even monstrous.

"Black Blood," Jacob said. Whoa, wait, where was Jacob? "What happened?"

"It seems that the shaman woman in the hunters' employ is capable of some powerful things. She has an understanding of the realms, greater than ours, old friend."

Slowly but surely, the darkness presented something more than fuzzy silhouettes of obsidian against onyx. It was a road. Not a road like asphalt, but something glowing white. It looked like stars at first, distant, and weak, but with time more of the stars broke through the darkness and became a road of gentle, white light. Very gentle. It was almost like walking on the reflection of moonlight on broken glass.

Natasha was being lowered from above. The hands! They were still on her, holding her, and they drifted through the black, dripping water around them, as they lowered her and others onto the road. Gravity, solid ground, but not, because as far as she could tell, she wasn't in a place where either would exist. Could exist. And yet, there she stood, looking down at herself and testing her feet against the soft white light.

Black, oozing, thick droplets fell onto the strange road, before dripping off and disappearing into the great endless void beneath them. Ok, she had no idea what she was looking at, but she sighed relief as she watched Eric and Jessy, Clara and Noah, and Art and Matt join her.

"Jessy," she said, and she walked over to her friend. "You look... b-beat to hell."

"Ha... fuck... you." The woman was on her back, and she wasn't getting up. Her skin was full of holes, the sort her Gangrel spikes would make; a favorite of her transformations. But that stuff normally healed moments after she was done. "Thanks for... coming to my rescue."

"... w-w-we tried." Sighing, she looked over at the rest of the crew. Art, Matthew, and Noah were all on their knees, panting, wheezing, back in their human form, and bleeding, legs no longer working after Jeremiah's final shots. Their bodies were full of holes, and cuts caused by silver knives. She really, really, really hoped they wouldn't die; she was attached to two of them.

"Cl... ara." Jack! The boy, still missing half of his face, forced himself up onto his feet. Drifting forward along the road of quiet stars, one hand pressed to his shredded skull, he made his way toward Clara. "Clara." When he reached her, he fell down onto his knees beside her, lowered his hand from his face, and pressed the ash-covered palm to her shoulder. "Clara... you..." The sound of Clara's breathing cut through the silence, as Jack rolled her onto her back. He sighed relief, and looked over his shoulder to the rest of them. "Jessy. And... where's Eric?"

"I'm here." Eric sat up, but stayed sitting, just as beat up as the other werewolves. "You guys really just threw yourselves into the meat grinder, huh?"

"Course they did," Jessy said. But she wasn't getting up, and her smile faded as she groaned in pain. "That said, um... where the fuck are we?"

"Wait," Jack said. "Where's Athalia, and Fiona?"

Jacob, standing further down the road, walked over to them, and smiled. "Give Black Blood a moment. They're different, and not so easy to pull through this strange realm. I guess they got hooks in it that we don't."

"Well now, I do believe I have them," the hidden voice said.

And just like the others, black hands reached out from the ooze, and through the strange void around them, pulled two monsters. First was Athalia, the skeleton monster. The hands, floating and drifting, set her colossal form on the road by Tash. Next was the the spider woman Fiona, or Vrall, and Damien next to her. Athalia didn't move, but at least Fiona was breathing.

"Athalia?" Jack said, forcing himself up onto his feet, and walking over to her as well. It was Julias all over again, looking for things to blame himself over as a reflex. Like sire, like childe, she supposed, but it wasn't going to do the boy any favors.

Athalia let out a low groan. How could she groan, she had no vocal cords! But then, the darkness was talking to them, something invisible and with thousands of hands, so talking without a throat wasn't so crazy. What was crazy was how much damage the poor woman had suffered.

And Jack had tried to shoot her daughter. She was going to hate him for that. He was going to hate himself for hesitating. A delightful mix of the most horrible outcomes imaginable.

"We have... ways... to take care of ourselves." Coughing, Fiona forced herself up onto her fe—she didn't have feet. She forced herself up onto her points, where feet should have been, and used her eight spider legs to help keep herself up. "This is... in between. We don't normally walk through this realm. But burrow through it."

"Yeah well, I'm not a Begotten. Black Blood and I have to make due with what we have access to." Chuckling, Jacob gestured to the endless void around them. "But there are many things you can find, if you look hard enough."

"I'll get... Athalia back... to her lair," Fiona said, and she dragged herself over to her skeleton monster friend. "I... I think I could use... a little help."

Damien tried to offer, even raised a hand, but the poor boy fell to a knee the moment he did. He still had a hole in his chest, and his many bandages painted quite the image of broken bones and ruined insides.

"I'll help-p," Tash said. "Matt, Art, are, um, y-you guys... gonna be ok?"

"We're alive. We'll heal," Matt said. The three werewolves helped each other onto their feet, and their legs trembled, bleeding, earning groans from each of them. But they were standing, shaky knees, but standing. Super resilient, if also super stubborn.

Art didn't look convinced. "Assuming Jacob and his spirit friend don't kill us right now."

The dripping ooze, around them and yet connected to nothing, chuckled. "Bless your heart, little doggie. To think I care about your intentions anymore? Well, you have no idea."

"Then explain." Noah pointed his finger out at the blackness, eyes glaring. It was surprising, seeing the bald, tattooed man looking angry, when he was so calm and composed in their initial outing. "Why's an Incarnae working with this vampire?" A rather pointed hand gesture for Jacob, too. A lot of animosity, and as far as Tash knew, Avery's pack had never interacted with Jacob or Black Blood directly. She had, but they hadn't, except that one time with Tash.

Jacob walked up to Noah, and grinned at the man. Grin turned into something more sinister, before Jacob put a finger against the man's chest. Noah didn't stop him, only frowned. If Jacob wanted, he could shove the werewolf, and even a gentle push would be enough to knock the wobbling man over. He knew to not try and fight the elder.

Jacob's expression softened, and he walked ahead on the road of gentle light. "You capable of getting back to your lair from here, Fiona?"

"I... I am... but, I warn you. Don't reside in this in between world for long. Things exist here, old vampire, that should be avoided." Vrall's natural accent and speech mannerism came through more obviously for a moment, and Tash raised a brow as she reached down to help the spider lady lift the giant skeleton. Heavy! And Tash's busted leg screamed at the unwanted weight. Her vitae kept it together though, well enough she could help with this.

"Why thank you for the advice," Jacob said.

"Appreciated, thank you kindly," the darkness said.

Tash looked around at the endless void, and shivered at the sight of it. It was the sort of endlessness that made her think she was in space, in a space suit, abandoned by her fleeing spaceship. Without a way to propel herself, she'd be lost to the void of space, left adrift in nothingness. Chilling.

More chilling, was when Fiona reached out, and touched the darkness. Tash stared on as one of the spider legs on Fiona's back began to tug and pull at the strange blackness, as if plucking and pulling on stretched skin.

The skin tore! Tash raised a hand to cover her eyes as a black fog washed over her. Why was everything black, solid obsidian black? Black ooze, black endless void, black fog; she was sick of it. After this, she wanted bright lights, colorful garments, pink pajamas and cute kittens. After this, she was going to sit down, surround herself with a billion pillows, and watch a romcom.

Sighing, she tugged on Athalia's finger, holding one of the bones of her enormous hand, and struggled to drag the colossal creature into the black fog with Fiona. After this, she was going to throw out all her black clothes, suits included.

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~~Julias~~

The ritual chamber might as well have been under the ocean. The black ooze had filled it top to bottom, and any human was bound to drown. But he didn't have the sensation of being under water, so maybe they wouldn't, but there was no denying that he was submerged in some sort of liquid. It was cold. It was unnatural. It was alive. He felt it pressing against his lips and nostrils, and if he tried to breathe, he was sure it'd enter his lungs.

And then Black Blood was gone, to somewhere with Jacob. Julias had no idea Jacob had become this close to the strange, alien entity. His departure meant the cave was no longer submerged in black liquid, and only silence remained. Even the creepy screams that had come from everywhere and nowhere were gone. Better for Julias to pace around, cradle his fucked up wrist, and worry about everything.

He looked over at Jennifer and Triss, the two of them standing beside the bowl, hands outstretched, and eyes focused. They were the tether. Jacob would find his way back using them, using Black Blood, and maybe his blood too. Owing Jacob a favor was not high on the list of things Julias wanted to have in debt, and this could prove to be entirely pointless.

No, it wasn't pointless. There was something going on. If he could help make sure everyone came back alive, he would. Stepping way out of his duties as a member of the Invictus triumvirate; he should trust the Right Hands to do this. But, no, he knew something was wrong, and if he had to owe the old monster a favor in order to make sure his childe came back alive, so be it.

Perhaps it was the fabled sire and childe link, warning him. Others had spoken of it, and Julias thought he felt it, but he could have been completely wrong. The flip-flopping in his mind grew irksome, and he shook the thoughts clear of his head. Having been submerged in what might as well have been death water didn't help any either, making him reconsider this choice of action. It'd been like swimming in the stomach of a ghost. Or the devil. Did he make a deal with the devil? He tried to tell himself no, but the encounter was not far off from how he imagined such a meeting to go.

Cutting off his wrist, with a shitty knife, like he was stuck in a bear trap and needed to get out. That was hell, in a way he hadn't expected. He'd been hurt plenty of times in his Kindred life, but something about forcing a knife through his own skin, muscle, flesh, and bone, was more than painful. It was sickening down to the soul; assuming vampires had one of those.

"He's back," Jen said.

Julias looked behind him to where they'd originally entered, but Triss touched his arm and pointed to the walls. They were bleeding again. The weird, black ooze trickled down over the cracks of the cave wall, over the red, painted symbols, and the etched carvings, seeping into the crevices as it leaked onto the floor. Other parts of the wall were covered in the strange black liquid dripping upward, and oozing upward, as if gravity was a joke to this monster. Maybe it was.

He sighed, and braced himself for the sickening sensation of being submerged. It wasn't too bad; he'd had to do stake outs submerged in water before, and as long as he didn't try to breathe, he didn't have to deal with water in the lungs. Drowning wasn't the issue, a strange form of claustrophobia and dread was the issue. He did not envy submarine crews.

Once the black liquid filled the cave again, a hand came out of the bowl, Jacob's. Triss and Jen both reached in without hesitation, and began to pull the man out of the bowl of guts. The entrails of his sacrifice had turned black, and it looked less like entrails, and more like some sort of swamp. Except, the swamp's mud didn't stick to Jacob's arm, sliding off of him cleanly as the two women pulled him out.

And after Jacob came more people. Oh shit. Several hands, from several different people. Julias reached out with his good hand, and pulled on one, as Jacob pulled on another, and the girls took one each. Noah, Arturo, and Matthew. Clara, Jessy, and Eric. Then Damien, and finally, Jack. Each one climbed out of the black ooze of the bowl, and each one rolled over its edge to collapse onto the cave floor.

They looked like shit.

Once they were all out, Julias looked around for the others. "Where's Natasha? And the Begotten?"

As the werewolves and vampires forced themselves to their feet, each finding something to grab or lean against, bowl or wall, Jack held up his hand.

"Tash is with them, helping them get back to their lair. They said they can heal better there, and she was the least injured of us."

"Least injured." Julias frowned at the group, but as he looked Jack up and down, the frown faded. The kid really did look like hell, and Julias set a hand on his shoulder as he looked the boy in the eye. Judging from the wound, a bullet must have clipped the side of his other eye socket and smashed out along the bone; the ear was gone, too. Painful, really painful. Only the unnatural vitae of the boy's vampire body was keeping the wound from being fatal, with bits of the inside of his skull exposed.

"I'm fine," the boy said. He was most definitely not fine. He was shaking in pain, and he looked downtrodden, as if he'd failed his mission. Julias knew the look, it was his look.

Jacob laughed, and wiped off his knuckles. "You sure, Clarice? Looked to me like you were all about to die."

Jack winced, and looked over his shoulder at the elder. With a moment to wallow in misery, Jack let his head drop, and stared down at the floor. Julias might as well have been looking in a mirror. Considering the rescue mission seemed to be a success, the boy had to be upset about something else. Something else was probably Angela.

They were all still in the strange, black water, but none of them were surprised. Must have been how Black Blood managed to get them out from wherever. The murky depths made them all look depressed though, and Jack looked like he was morose incarnate.

"The hunters," Black Blood said, voice rippling through the currents of the black, "were more than prepared. Why, they even had someone familiar with the workings of the realms." The bassy voice chuckled, in an all too familiar way, Jacob's way. As it laughed, the water began to drain away into nothing, inch by slow inch, as if the spirit was delighting in reveling in the downtrodden group. "But don't worry about that old bat. I'll get my claws on her, soon enough."

"You don't get to touch anyone!" Matt said, swinging his arm across the air in front of him. Dramatic. "The hell do you think you're doing, spirit? What—"

Everyone fell back as the draining water, waist deep at that point, shot outward, and a giant hand of black, leather skin, erupted from the raised waves. The crashing water, with a great mass it did not have before, sent everyone down onto their backs and stomach, everyone except Jacob. The hand, colossal, the size of a person, slammed down against Matt with all the grace of a car crash, and pinned him.

Everyone stared on, jaw dropping, as the raging spirit began to manifest. Something above them, connected to the ceiling, began to take form. The wrist of the giant hand had emerged from the draining water, but above them a face began to take shape, black, almost shiny with its ooze texture. The form remained vague, without details, but there were enough to see eyes, a mouth, and a nose. Enough for lips to move, and speak.

"If I had listened to my friend Malachi, you would be dead, idiot dog. So hold your horses. The only reason you and your pack get to stay in my town, is because I think you might serve a purpose. Red Tide and the Street-Tail King, they step onto my land and tarnish my waters; deal with them. Until then, dog, accept the truce I offered before, or I will end you myself. We done?"

Matt, giant of a man, was a bleeding, ruined mess. Black Blood hadn't hurt him, far as Julias could tell, the spirit was only taking advantage of Matt's wounds. Then again, seeing a giant face of shadow and ooze looking down at them from the ceiling, with a hand that belonged on a fifty-foot-tall giant made of black leather and metal, put this alien entity's power into perspective. Jacob had made friends with a god.

Matt grunted and groaned, but said nothing. The sort of man who'd die to uphold his views, conviction, honor, and all the stupidity that went with such concepts. Still, he seemed like a nice guy, and Julias hoped the alien creature wasn't going to kill him for the man's idiocy.

"We get it," Arturo said as he walked over to Matt. "Let him go."

Black Blood said nothing for a few seconds, as if contemplating killing the werewolf. It wasn't like they could stop him. The only people in the room not injured were the Circle of the Crone, and the two witches took their queue from Jacob, who would have probably delighted in the death of another of Avery's pack.

But, with time, the spirit raised its colossal hand. The limb disappeared into the draining, murky depths, and the face of ooze above them melded into the stone, before it disappeared.

"Y'all take good care of yourselves now, you hear?" Departing words from the alien entity. Jacob was struggling to not laugh, and Julias was struggling to not pull out his pistol and shoot the man.

"As you can see," Jacob said, gesturing to the large group, "things went badly. Your instincts were right, Julias. Not your Invictus plans that you trust so much, but your instincts that told you your childe was in danger. An instinct of the blood." The old monster came up to him, and pat him on the shoulder, same as Julias had done for Jack moments before. "Wanna come over to my side of the fence?"

"We're already on the same side." This old bastard was going to be the death of them all, if he continued to cause strife in such indirect ways. But, better indirect than direct, like Garry, he supposed. "Report. Everyone going to survive? Uratha need medical attention?"

"I... I don't know," Eric said.

Noah rolled his eyes, and got down on a knee beside the sitting, trembling man. "Of course you don't. You won't let us teach you anything."

Dragging himself back to his feet with Arturo's help, he and Matthew knelt down next to Clara, and helped sit her up against the wall.

"You ok?" Matt said.

"Y... Yeah. That... gargoyle thing..."

"Gargoyle thing?" Julias said.

Jack stepped around the bowl, forced his head up, and cradled his face with one hand. "The Begotten working with Jeremiah and Angela. I... christ, I'll do up a proper report tomorrow night with the details. We hurt them, killed a few of them, and Black Blood forced them to do... something. Not sure how they did it, but they pushed us out of the nightmare we were in somehow. No idea, except from what Black Blood said, that Elen did it."

"That Elen woman needs to die," Damien said. Many of the group nodded.