My Little Ventrue Pt. 09 Ch. 05

The man leaned over the roof edge and peered out into the fire. "Athalia dropped me off."

The damn shadow monster was beyond sneaky, her and Fiona both. They made Mekhet look like stumbling children.

"Leave. Jack told the Begotten to stay out of this."

"Is that what this is? Problems with the Carthians?"

"You could say that. Now if you'll excuse me." Damien blanketed himself in the Cloak of Night, backed up, and made a running leap off the roof. The street wasn't wide, and reaching the building next to the Xnomina HQ easy enough, even with one leg refusing to work well.

A glance back showed Sándor followed him, jumping across to the next building without issue. Half jump, half fly. This high up, no one would see them, especially not with a nearby fire to watch and film.

And that was the problem. A fire meant kine, with smart phones and whatnot to film the mayhem. The Kindred inside had to be careful. A Masquerade violation meant death for whoever was stupid enough to get caught, especially if that meant getting caught on film. Maybe that's what the Carthians were hoping for? Put the Invictus in a position where someone might use their Disciplines to escape the flames, get caught on camera, and earn a swift -- or not so swift -- death at the sheriff's hands.

"Don't follow me, Sándor. If Garry finds out you're here, he--"

"I'm just watching."

Damien frowned back at the man, but shrugged. As long as he didn't get involved, he couldn't make things any worse.

"I need to get into that building."

"The building's contents are on fire, Damien."

"Then it's a good thing I'm wearing a fire retardant trench coat."

The man didn't smile, or make a sound. Eerie, how calm and stoic he was, considering a large building was on fire not far away, and outright war was just around the corner.

"If you die, Fiona is going to--"

"I'm not going to die. But I am going to do something, before everything goes to Hell." Before an Invictus or Carthian made a mistake and broke the Masquerade, if he could help it.

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~~Jack~~

He snapped his gaze back down at Kathy. "Hold still. Stay there." He punched through her consciousness and crushed her Beast beneath his will. It was dangerous to hit her mind so hard, but he didn't have time for shit anymore.

Jack turned, and glared out the broken window, surrounded by the groaning bodies of thralls, and two paralyzed vampires. On the street, Jessy had switched off, and was doing her best to take on Steve.

"Jessy, get to the shadows!" Christ, if she did anymore crazy transformations, and some random kine got a picture of it, that was it. The Prince would side with the Carthians, and the Invictus would be finished.

Would that be so bad? If something happened to Jack, Antoinette said she'd declare him effectively dead, and keep him in her tower. And--no, he couldn't just let that happen. The idea of the love of his life killing the people he worked with, and maybe even his friend Jessy, in a great purge, was gut wrenching.

Jessy nodded, still grappling with the other vampire, and threw the two of them into an alley. Better than nothing. But Steve was ancilla, and Daeva. If Jack couldn't keep tabs on them, there was always a chance Jessy would lose that fight. He had to deal with this shit and deal with it now.

Hella and Joe rolled up toward the Tanvar building, and then into it, glass cutting into them as they tossed and turned. Jack couldn't watch, eyes still locked on Garry, but at least those two were off the street.

"Garry, the fuck is this?"

The man grinned as he walked forward. The idiot wore no weapons, no armor, just jeans and a black t-shirt, and he licked a fang as he approached the building.

"Knew you were here."

"Spotted me?"

"Nah. I've shared this damn city with your asshole boss since I was just a young vamp. Him, that fucker Viktor, and that bitch Maria. I know how he thinks."

Jack looked up outside the window. Hard to see black on black, but some subtle motions told him Scully and Mulder were around, and more crows besides. But this part of North Side didn't have the same crow and rat population of other places like South Side, where they grew fat on the leftovers left by the night life and tourists. If he wanted to summon a legion, their numbers would take time to swell. And he didn't want another hospital incident anyway.

"So, what, you came here to fight me? I'm trying to keep everyone alive."

Garry snorted. "You know what, kid? I believe you." He came closer.

"You... do?"

"Yeap, I do. Julias was a good man, and now he's dead. And the white-haired queen, sitting pretty on her fucking throne, would just love it if everyone took it up the ass for her."

So much for cooperation.

"So, what, you're here to kill me?"

"Maybe. I'm here to kick your ass. We'll see if killing is necessary." He came closer, and Jack took a small step back. Not retreating, just making room for the asshole to hop into the lobby of the building with him. The glass crunched under his combat boots, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

Jack glanced to Hella. As much as Team A, Hella and the kine, were supposed to be guarding the building, and his six, the kine were out of the fight, and Hella was dealing with a Gangrel just as old as her. Joe was supposedly only thirty years embraced, but the bastard was strong. A dumbass, but strong. A big man, bigger than Garry, with a shaved head just like his boss. He had no trouble thrashing Hella around.

Past Garry, Jessy and Steve had vanished, but Jack could hear their yells and grunts of fighting. Behind the elder, Bella had vanished as well. Damn Mekhet. But Ryan's gun wasn't firing anymore either. The two were probably engaged, and Mekhet fighting Mekhet was a game of assassins. Whoever spotted the other first usually won. Better for Jack to not draw attention to Ryan's existence, if the man wasn't shooting anymore.

Team C were still out of the picture, and if those three cars came back, the fight would quickly swing in the Carthians' favor. And if Jack reached for his radio right now, there was a good chance Garry would jump him.

Garry. The youngest elder in Dolareido, barely old enough to be an elder. The files on him told a different story. He'd grown up in Dolareido, and even from a young age, gave the Carthians some direction; usually to fight against the First and Second Estate. The issue was, the files on him made one thing abundantly clear: the man was really, really good at fighting. Not smart, but stupid either. Not a good leader, but not a bad leader either. In typical Carthian fashion, his Kindred followed him, listened to him, because he was 'real', because he didn't bother with the Danse Macabre bullshit.

Or he didn't used to. After the Terra Den maneuver, maybe his covenant thought of him differently? Maybe coming at Jack directly was a chance for Garry to show his covenant that he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty if they went to war, unlike the other elders? Or maybe his ego demanded it?

"Where're the others?" Jack asked.

"Others?"

"The other Carthians. Intel told me if you idiots really came for the Tanvar building, there'd be a lot more of you."

The man smirked, and wiped the corner of his mouth with his knuckles, like a boxer might after a fight. He had the scars of a street fighter, including a nasty one on his lip, probably from a fist busting it open badly enough to require stitches. Those were things he'd gotten when he'd been kine. Hell, Jessy got into a lot of fist fights when she'd been kine, and she didn't have a quarter of the scars Garry did.

This dude had been baptized in fire before he'd ever been cursed with his own Beast.

Garry shrugged, and came closer. "Hitting the Xnomina HQ."

Jack froze.

"You sent Kindred up against Michael? They'll die."

The bastard grinned. "If they were trying to take him down, sure. I ain't Lucas though. Kamikaze? No thanks."

"Then--"

"Go ask em, if you survive." And the man came at him.

Without hesitation, Jack reached into his jacket, pulled out two pistols, and unloaded bullets at Garry. A little vampire strength allowed better control of recoil, and he held the trigger down on both pistols. Fully automatic.

Maybe Garry didn't expect him to be willing to shoot him. Maybe he thought Jack would want a fist fight or something. The man's eyes widened, and he staggered as a dozen bullets slammed into his chest. Predictably, he wasn't wearing a vest, vampires never did, and he stumbled back as the metal tore through his shirt and flesh.

But, he was a Gangrel, and an elder. Predictably, he adapted. Before Jack had managed to get through half the magazine, the bullets no longer sank into Garry's skin. They slammed against his t-shirt, ripping the fabric, but flattening against his hardened body before falling to the floor. Protean.

Jack had never dealt with a Gangrel using their Protean ability. Sure, he'd seen Jessy use it, transforming into animals, or evolving strange, monstrous limbs. It could do other things, too. He'd heard stories about the strange and insane things Michael had done, when putting a stop to a brawl between the Carthians, Jessy, and Eric. But Michael was twice as old as Garry. The younger elder wouldn't be able to transform into a towering creature straight out of Resident Evil. Would he?

"That hurt." Snarling, Garry dashed for him again, a dozen holes in his chest barely fazing him.

Jack stepped back, eyes wide as the man came in close, full on punching distance. Not just punching distance, boxing punching distance. No hay makers or stupid shit like that. He closed the distance quick until only two feet were between them, and the man brought up both hands before putting out a swift jab.

Jack poured vitae into his body, preparing the blood barrier he'd relied on so many times now. But with the Beast tied down, leashed by the necklace, it was like trying to get a car out of mud. Garry's punch collided with his chest, and Jack flew back, spine crashing against the lobby desk. He slumped down, ass on the floor, back against the front wall of the desk.

There were several small holes in Jack's chest. Jack blinked down at his suit shirt, then at Garry's knuckles. He had a spike on each knuckle.

Gangrel didn't usually do small transformations. Subtle wasn't in their toolbox. Transforming into large predators, or monstery shit like Michael could do, or even just some super long claws, sure. But subtle? Never.

Jack grabbed his radio. Mistake. Garry pounced at him, a literal pounce, legs turning into enormous wolf legs that launched him at Jack. A moment before Jack's finger hit the button, Garry slammed into him, and the desk exploded. It was one of those big desks with a solid wood wall on the front and sides. And directly behind it was the door downstairs, that managed to stop Jack's body with a welcoming thunk of his skull.

Garry got up from the mess of torn wood and splattered computer parts. A handheld radio was in his hand, and grinning, he crushed it in his grip. Not like Jack couldn't contact his friends with his smart phone, but it was in his jacket pocket, and that'd take more than a few seconds to get out and use, unlike the radio.

"No hard feelings, kid. I always liked your sire. Julias was a cool guy. His sire, not so much." With a very animal growl, Garry stalked toward him, legs bulging against the inside of his jeans with increased muscle mass. Weirdly shaped legs. How the fuck did what was probably very wolfy feet work in those boots? No, Garry was probably just controlling the transforming perfectly to conform to the boots.

Everyone thought the Carthians were brutish morons, shortsighted idealists, and all-around fools. Garry certainly acted like one sometimes, too. But he didn't fight like one.

Jack forced himself to his feet, glaring at the man. "Garry, I'm trying to keep everyone from killing each other."

"You're an Invictus, drunk on power and control. You might have good intentions now, but we know where those lead. You're gonna be the next Viktor at this rate. Thanks, but no thanks."

"Garry, you--"

The man charged him again, and again, the Gangrel transformed. Jack expected more spiked knuckles, but instead, the man grew a tail, something long, thick, and covered in spikes along the spine. He leaned forward as he charged him, and this time the man full on tackled him, driving his weight -- more than he should have had -- straight into Jack's chest.

The door at Jack's back exploded, wood splintering as it shot outward and around them. But when downward stairs greeted them instead of a flat floor, the world started to spin. Wack, wack, wack, each bounce on the hard surface punched him in the back, sides, legs, but he was light enough it didn't hurt too bad. Garry had let go of him after the first bounce, and had continued to tumble, turning their bodies into rolling balls. He was much heavier. Hopefully he'd break a bone or two on the way down.

They landed at the bottom, against the next closed door, this one made of metal. Garry was up in an instant. Just as Jack rolled onto his back to face the man, so Garry didn't start pummeling him in the back, Garry sprouted a giant claw, and sliced open the lock down the door seem.

Clawing through metal that thick, that easily, that precisely, took skill, and power. Jack gulped.

Garry kicked the metal door open, reached down, and grabbed Jack's foot. Before Jack could kick him off, Garry dragged him into the room, and threw him, hard. The first few wooden crates to block Jack's path broke apart, while others scattered over the floor.

"Michael and I know each other pretty well," Garry said, following Jack in, boots crunching over the smaller boxes the crates had held. Cigars rolled away from his boots. "If you were wondering why you were put here to guard this building with only a small force, even though there was a risk I would show up, it's cause Michael's hoping I might kill you."

Forcing himself to his feet, hand on a nearby stack of crates, Jack glared at the asshole.

"Michael doesn't want me dead. He wants me to use my curse."

"He wants you to use the curse, sure. He wants you to trigger the war." Garry pointed at both his temples. "Think, Jack!... is that the right meme? Mike can't shut up about memes. Kid spends way too much time online."

Jack stared at Garry, blinking several times. "Um... yeah, it is."

"Ah, good."

"What the fuck is--"

Garry charged him again. The tail was gone, and this time, enormous claws broke through the man's boots, tearing at the concrete basement floor as he sprinted at Jack. So much for subtle transformations. Every time the man came at him, he did it differently, a different tactic, a different body part. The best Jack could do was bring up vitae through his limbs to defend against the Gangrel.

Fast, so damn fast, almost as fast as a Daeva or Mekhet his age would be. The man got in close, ducked left, but twisted right, and slammed a fist up against Jack's face. He'd tried to block the left, falling for the feint, and it cost him, his ass on the floor and the world spinning.

"But," Garry said, "Michael's a smart fucker. He wants you to use the curse to start the war, but he also wants you gone, before you turn into another Viktor. So he's doing what all elders do. Making sure that both possible outcomes are good for him. Play chess?"

The fucker was taunting him, knowing damn well getting Jack pissed or frustrated would make it easier to kick his ass. It wasn't just that people didn't realize how smart Garry was, but rather, Garry didn't let people realize it. He'd been playing dumb, all these years, letting people like Jack think he wasn't smart enough to play the Danse. Fuck!

"A fork," Jack said, "in chess."

"Ha! You surprise me, Jack. I didn't think kids played chess these days."

"You--"

Again, Garry came at him, but Jack saw it coming; fucker kept coming at him whenever Jack responded, but the trick would only work so many times. He rolled back, over the table, and Garry sliced down where Jack had been. The man had summoned four giant claws, and they slammed down into the table, skewering it. Apparently less for slicing, more for stabbing.

With a second to react, Jack pulled the necklace off and stuck it in his pocket. Remain in control, remain in control. There weren't any pianos in the basement for someone to smash into his head, just a big room filled with wooden crates and metal tables. As long as Garry didn't somehow nail Jack in the head with one of those tables so hard it put him in torpor for a second, the Ripper would stay out of this.

Garry grinned at him, yanking his hand free, and slowly walked around the table. "The fuck are you even doing, working for the Invictus? You're just a nobody, some random kid Julias liked. Carthians? We've been fighting since long before our embrace. We've had homes taken away, friends lost, streets corrupted and turned into nothing more than shitty coffee shops and mini banks, half of them fronts for black markets and loan sharks. Carthians have been fighting for the people who fucking live in this city, like I've been, almost two centuries."

Jack kept the big table between them, strafing around it, peering at the man around the few crates that remained on it. "Half of the shit the Invictus does in Dolareido only works cause the kine embrace it. This is a city of sin, Garry. We don't force anything on the kine. Be happy we keep shit under control like we do. Far better than most do."

"Just because--"

"Don't give me that shit. You're no champion of the people, Garry. You got an agenda, like everyone else."

Snarling, Garry snapped his foot out, claws still pushing through the boots. He slammed his heel against the table, driving it at Jack, but Jack was ready. He jumped up, letting the table slide underneath him. The bastard had kicked it hard enough, it crashed into a third table, filling the room with the thunder of metal slamming into metal, and more crumbling crates.

Garry dove at him again, leaning forward, with a tail sprouting out from behind him again. He expected Jack to do anything he could to avoid the charge.

Jack came in, getting low. Garry wasn't a tall guy, but he was taller than Jack, and getting under him was easy. And with the necklace off, the Beast in Jack's guts poured through him, flooded him with instinct, drive, and power. The curse and the Beast were entangled, and as the Beast let out its rage, the curse's power came with it.

Jack drove his fist up into Garry's chest, and the man flew into the air, hard. He collided with the wooden beams of the basement ceiling, cracking them before he bounced back down to the floor. And before the man could recover, Jack dashed forward and kicked the man in his side, sending him flying through the air again. He didn't go high, but he did go far, crashing through more crates and sending them tumbling as he flew.

Growling, Jack stomped after the man, but he'd disappeared in the mess of crates and tables. It was a huge basement; had to be, to move all the merchandise.

"Holy shit," Garry said, standing up a good fifty feet away, grin on his face. "A Ventrue, throwing a punch. Now I've seen everything."

"Julias taught me how to punch."

"Funny. Viktor would never punch."

"I'm not Viktor!"

Garry grinned some more, and walked toward him, stepping onto and over crates with casual grace. He kept the tail, and the huge talons poking through his boots. He walked like a fucking dinosaur.

"You know Jack, you could just walk away. Give me the building, and no one has to get hurt."

"You said you were attacking Xnomina right now! People are getting hurt." He had to deal with this and deal with it now. If people were dying back at the HQ, he had to get there and help. Michael could deal with it, but what if something happened? Jessy was here, Jack was here, and Damien was still out of commission. Isabella was at the HQ, but he trusted her to defend the building as much as he trusted her to prioritize the Invictus over her plays.