My Little Ventrue Pt. 09 Ch. 05

The elder snorted. "People that deserve it."

Snarling, Jack came at him, and Garry grinned the whole time. He was enjoying this.

Jack threw a crate at him, but Garry slapped it aside. It was good enough for Jack to close the distance completely though, and take a swing at Garry's face. The Gangrel brought up his arms and blocked, and Jack had to take a second to mentally register that. A block? Vampires almost always dodged, once they realized the vamp they were fighting had some serious Vigor to put into their punches. They simply had too much power to risk blocking. But when Jack's fist hit the man's forearm, it felt like punching a steel wall, and--

Garry's fist collided with Jack's face, and Jack went flying. The world spiraled, until collision pain quickly reminded Jack he was in a room full of painful corners. But Jack recovered quickly, Beast instincts grabbing hold and forcing him up from the mess of destroyed crates. There were sharp points on Garry's knuckles, and sharp pain in Jack's cheek. He ignored it.

"You think you're so righteous," Jack said. "You're doing the exact same shit with Terra Den. Hell, you sired Jeremy Long."

"I ain't happy about any of it, Jack, but it has to be done. The Invictus are a problem, and they need to be gone."

"Then why aren't you attacking Xnomina yourself?"

"Too big a risk. The battle could get pretty hectic, you know? Way too many humans in the area. Gotta protect the Masquerade." The grin on his face said it all. He was lying, and making no attempt to hide that fact.

"Bullshit. You're here cause I'm here. You're here cause the Carthians are afraid of me, and don't want to get into this war unless they know I can be beaten."

Garry paused, and his grin grew. "I've been building up to this war for decades, kid. And it needs to happen. You fucking Invictus are scum, bad for the city, bad for everyone, and someone needs to get rid of you. When Viktor died, I started getting ready."

"Started? You... You wanted Michael to take the Mirrden district."

More grins. "But then you pulled this curse thing out of your ass. Now Michael knows what I'm doing, and he's hoping you'll put the dent in the Carthians that allows him to win this war."

"We don't need to have a war!"

"Yes, we do."

There wasn't any arguing with this man. Garry didn't hate Jack, but he hated the Invictus. He hated Michael and Viktor and Maria, Xnomina, and everything the First Estate represented. He hated them down to his bones, and there wasn't any way Jack would get through to this man with a simple conversation.

Jack bit into his wrist, and splattered his blood on the floor.

Grinning, Garry bit into his wrist, and did the same thing.

The swarm didn't take as long to arrive as Jack thought. Scully and Mulder came in first, and took to high perches in the room, up in the wooden beams overhead. Other birds came in as well, but in North Side, the rats were the larger population. Hundreds of dark brown bodies poured down the stairs and toward the two vampires, massively outnumbering the few birds that navigated through the three doors it'd take to get into the basement.

And then they started killing each other.

Jack stared down at the carpet of bodies, at the hundreds of furry creatures that'd served as his legion many times before. Normally they were summoned by his blood, the dark liquid infused with vitae and sending a pulse into the world that vermin could not ignore. They'd come to it, and upon reaching the source, understand who was their master. From there, Jack could use Animalism to direct and guide them, like a general plugged into the minds of his soldiers. With the Beast guiding his actions and reflexes, it was a smooth poetry of control.

But now, the rats arrived, and found two masters. Maybe if Ripper had cast the Discipline, there'd be no question about who was master, but Jack couldn't use the curse with nearly the same level of skill.

You're right. You can't. Let me out. Let me deal with this cocky fucker.

Jack snarled, shaking his head, drawing a raised brow from Garry.

"You really just decided to show up with a few cars for a distraction, and five vamps to take this place?" Jack asked. "Sounds very... not-tactical. Sounds random."

"Yeah well, sometimes you gotta go with instinct."

"Bullshit. You don't win wars with instinct. You're just an idiot doing shit on the fly." If he could antagonize Garry enough, get him angry, he might make a mistake.

"And the Invictus are paranoid fools, desperate to protect their house of cards. Cause that's what it is, a house of cards. All your rules, all your money, your ranks and protocols, it's all there to keep your stupid bullshit from falling apart." Garry came at him, grinning the whole time, but stopped short. Instead, he spun, and swiped at Jack with his tail.

Jack raised an arm to block. He'd fought a long-ass battle against a giant gargoyle with four arms and a tail. Paying attention to shit like extra limbs felt natural, at this point. And if he could stop the tail and catch it, he could get the upper hand.

Except, when the tail came within inches of Jack's arm, it erupted in spikes, suddenly covered in them, like a medieval mace. They punctured through his suit, his skin, and sank an inch into his flesh and flowing vitae, earning a yell from Jack. Garry ripped the tail back and out, shredding skin on the way, and as Jack stumbled to the side, Garry closed in, opposite of his tail, and sank his right fist into Jack's face.

The world turned around again as Jack went flying, landing on a pile of rats. They softened the landing, but the creatures were mad with confusion, and they bit at each other as they scampered over and around him. Rat claws tore up his suit, and dozens of rats bit into him in the chaos of swarming bodies.

Jack jumped to his feet and scanned the ceiling. The crows weren't fighting, but they cawed at each other incessantly. Mulder and Scully were in there, he could hear them, feel them, and they were trying to convince the other crows what to do. They weren't listening. Hundreds of chittering rats bit into each other, dozens of cawing crows sat overhead, and crates lay everywhere, scattered and broken, with cigars and cigarettes carpeting the floor. The room was mayhem.

"Your problem," Garry said, "is your attachment to routine, schedules, structure. You can't evolve, can't adapt, can't roll with the punches." The man threw aside a nearby table, sending rats bowling over, like a wave of water. "All I have to do is do something a little unexpected, and your plans crumble. I make friends with a suit, and you fuckers don't have a clue. I show up here, willing to get my hands dirty, and you idiots don't have the first fucking idea how to deal with it."

Jack took slow steps back, giving himself a few extra seconds. Vampire blood coursed through him, filling in the holes the bastard was putting in him, but failing to prevent them. Garry was fucking deadly, punching straight through Jack's defenses like Avery's claws had. If he wasn't careful, the Gangrel was going to cut him in half.

"Guilty. I do love routine."

Smiling, Garry came at him again.

Jack met his eyes, and reached out.

The difference was immediately apparent. No small creature guarded the inside of Garry's skull. A roaring, massive Beast waited behind the gate of his mind, a huge creature, swirling mist of black pouring around what could only be a really big... cat? A tiger? Lion? No, it had black fur, and it was way too big to be any Earth cat.

The colossal creature prowled left and right behind the gate, a gate everyone had. You couldn't simply walk into someone's mind, you had to get past the barrier. And when dealing with paranormals, you had to deal with the creature inside. Garry's gate looked like a chain link fence, topped with barbed wire, guarding a prison. A second gate, then? And the prison had a guard dog. Cat. Thing.

Garry stood beside his Beast, hand on its shoulder. He couldn't reach its back, with how big it was. And he was petting it.

Snarling, Jack kicked open the front gate to the prison, and marched forward, his own Beast following behind him. Before the curse had awoken inside Jack, freed by his stupidity, he'd never been able to really see these mind-to-mind engagements before. He could feel a person's mind when he attempted to Dominate them, same as any Ventrue could, but to actually see the inner battle that took place was something that'd only started happening after his first conversation with his Beast, and the curse bound within. A side effect of the curse or something.

He kind of wished he couldn't see this. He didn't want to know what sort of man Garry was on the inside, see that the man's mind was a prison fortress, but also something scarred, something that carried weight with it. Shame? Guilt? He couldn't tell, but the place reeked of an early twentieth century prison, and there were bloodstains on the path that led to the inner building.

"Get out," Garry said, grinning, as he scratched the back of his Beast's arm.

Jack looked up at the dark, cloudy sky. It cracked with lightning, and rain fell, sound drowned by thunder.

"Submit," Jack said

Garry snorted a laugh. "No."

Jack hadn't come alone. His own Beast followed behind him, obviously eager for a fight. It rose up, dwarfing Garry's, a tornado of black mist, and it snarled with alien tones Jack's brain struggled to recognize.

"Submit!" the curse said.

Garry just grinned. "No."

Before Jack could say anything else, Garry hopped up onto the back of his own Beast. The metaphor slapped Jack in the face hard, and he ground his teeth. Gangrel's didn't fight against their Beasts, not like the other blood clans did. Gangrels found a way to keep their Beasts up on the surface of their skin, right on the edge, ready to empower them. That's what he was looking at now.

Garry's Beast roared. Garry roared. Somewhere, somehow, the two entities blurred, and the combined force of their roar smashed into Jack hard enough it sent him backward. Him and the curse both.

Back, in the real world. Back in a room filled with fighting rats, tables and destroyed crates, with smaller boxes everywhere crushed under Jack and Garry's fight. Back, where Jack was losing the fight.

"Get out of my head!" Garry's voice. He'd stumbled back, after ejecting Jack from his mind. Well, at least it took him effort, cause right now, Jack felt a little humbled. That was the first time anyone had ever managed to do that to him, since the curse had been freed.

These ignorant fools, oblivious to what goes on inside the mind. Be happy I let you see.

If you didn't have to, I'm sure you wouldn't let me.

Pfft. I've awoken true awareness in you. These weaklings, completely unaware of the Beast within. Even this idiot Garry, a Gangrel, so in tune with his Beast, doesn't get to see what you do.

Jack snarled and shook his head again.

Garry came closer, slower this time, eying Jack with a suspicious smirk. "I'd heard this weird curse thing wasn't the big gift some people say it is. There's rumors going around, saying it's a problem for you. That maybe it's driving you insane."

Insane. Christ, am I insane?

You're not insane. You're stupid! Let me out! This asshole is stronger than you. Stronger than your stupid boss.

How the fuck is Garry stronger than Michael? He's been losing against the Invictus for decades, and is young as hell compared to him.

Your boss has been sitting in a chair for centuries, ruling a covenant through a council. Garry here has been putting his neck on the line, fighting, and fighting, and fighting. He's risen to his position because he's earned it, not because he just happened to live long enough.

You heard about what Michael did to Eric.

And you saw, felt, what just happened when we tried to Dominate this fucker. You saw what happened when you tried to summon the legion. You really think this fist fight he's aiming for is just his way of beating you? He's toying with you! Let. Me. Kick. His. Ass!

Jack shook his head again. "I'm not insane."

"You look insane. Your eyes were flickering around just now, like you were having a conversation in your head."

Fuck.

"I'm not insane." And the last thing he needed was Garry knowing about the curse having its own persona.

"Then I have to say I'm pretty disappointed, Jack. This all you got? This is the prodigal childe, the young Kindred that escaped the hunters, defeated an ancient Begotten, got his revenge on his sire's killers, and took down Avery's pack? She told me about that fight, told me about how strong you were. What a letdown."

"Is that what this is? You just looking for a good fight? People are going to die, Garry! Kine and Kindred."

"Like you care about kine."

Jack clenched his fists hard, and glared daggers into the asshole.

"You--"

"You know what I think, Jack? I think you've convinced yourself of some real bullshit. You got good intentions, but that's all. In reality, you're just this cynical little punk kid who got his hands on his daddy's gun, and now you're tempted to use it on everyone and everything. I think you're on the fast track to becoming another Viktor. I think, given time, I'll have another maniac asshole, convinced he's better than everyone else, willing to crush the whole city under his thumb to get his way, willing to torture kine and Kindred alike for whatever reason he can think up at the time."

Ice ran down Jack's back. Much as Garry was jumping on some serious assumptions, the words weren't alien. Jack had thought them before, especially when the curse had been sealed and secret, but seeped into his thoughts, corrupting him. He'd been terrified he was becoming another Viktor.

"I'm... not Viktor, Garry. I won't let it happen to me."

"Yeah well, you'll have to forgive me if I don't trust you."

So that's what this was, then. It wasn't just Garry wanting to prove to his Carthians that Jack wasn't the threat the rumors made him about to me. He wanted to make sure Jack wasn't becoming another Viktor. He was determined to make sure Jack didn't. And nothing Jack could say would make him think differently.

"Tell your people to back off, Garry. Tanvar building is ours, but no one has to die over this stupid turf war. Work with me, and the Invictus and Carthians can get along. I have bigger fish to fry than this."

"Bigger fish?"

Shit. Tell him, don't tell him? He was sure Black Blood was the problem, and Black Blood worked with Jacob. And Jacob occasionally worked with Garry.

"Back off Tanvar and I'll tell you."

Garry snorted on a laugh, and charged.

Jack grounded himself and poured vitae through his limbs as the man dashed forward. More, and more, he infused his will into the dark, thick blood coursing through his undead body. If there were kine or weaker Kindred around, Jack could easily Dominate them and turn them into his slaves for this fight; assuming they weren't already under his command. That was how Ventrue won fights, with an army.

He had to get his army back.

Jack held out his hands around him, and focused. Rats. His legion. They were confused, torn between the two pulls, the elder Gangrel, and Jack. Even now, in the mayhem of chitters and squeaks, he knew the rats knew him, just as they knew Garry. The Gangrel was known as the Fighter to the rats, someone who fought against other creatures at the top of the food chain. And Jessy was right, they knew him as the Crow Lord.

The Fighter versus the Crow Lord, and the rats were getting pulled in both directions.

Fuck that. They were his army. How many times now had he summoned his legion? Even if the curse had been the one to do it, he'd done it with Jack's body, Jack's blood, Jack's vitae. The curse was just an amplifier. Jack could do this without the fucking Ripper.

He poured his will into his blood, and prepared. Garry came at him, fingers elongating into massive claws, and he struck at Jack's head, fully intending to behead him. But Jack raised his arm and blocked, summoning a wave of vitae into the limb. If he hadn't, Garry's blade fingers would have cut straight through the arm and his neck. But Jack managed to harden his body enough to block it, even if the blade managed to pierce his skin.

Hell, he'd been counting on it.

The pain was immense. He recognized it, too. It was pain like when the werewolves sliced him with their claws, a pain that went well beyond what a simple blade should have been capable of. With the werewolves, he was pretty sure they had some sort of magical empowerment. With Garry's claws, it was vitae. He didn't know how or why, and neither did Jessy, but their claws could do ridiculous damage, more than enough to cut through Jack's hardened skin, and muscle, until his claws slammed into Jack's bone and came to a dead stop.

With a bit of will, Jack's blood flowed out of the wound, down his arm and elbow, soaking through his suit jacket, and coating the floor. And with every drop of the thick liquid, he poured his command.

Immediately, the rats stopped fighting among themselves. The crows overhead ceased their squabbling. Every dark eye in the basement turned, and looked at Garry.

Jack could feel it, how his will smashed against the Gangrel's. Their Beasts silently snarled and growled at each other, but now Jack had recast the Discipline, and fueled it with a dozen times more effort and vitae. Every bit of training, every fucking drop of effort and will he had, every shred of concentration he could spare went into those drops of his blood, all with the one goal of roaring louder than Garry's Beast could.

The rats, ripping through boxes of cigars as much as they poured over them, flowed onto Garry's legs, and obeyed, taking advantage of how he exposed himself attacking Jack. He leapt back, but a dozen of them had already latched on, and they bit and tore at his jeans in seconds. The man landed back on one of the tables, growling like a tiger more than a man, and tore the rats from his legs. A few precious seconds spent dealing with rats was a few more seconds of rats closing in on him, surrounding him, flowing over the crates and overturned tables like a living brown carpet.

Jack bit into each of his wrists, and splattered more of his blood over the floor. Much of it landed on the rats, but they didn't care. Spreading his vitae onto his territory was how he created the connection with the horde, how they recognized him as the ruler of the land, and their master. Controlling hundreds of rats was difficult. Controlling thousands was extremely difficult, and exhausting. Doing it and overpowering Garry's own attempts to control the swarm, was overwhelming.

But he did it.

Snarling, Garry jumped to another table, glaring at Jack as he spun, kicking off the rats that managed to reach it. With crates everywhere, including still on most of the tables, move from table to table was difficult, and Garry kicked and killed rats by the dozens as they worked together to get him.

"I might not be much of a fist fighter, Garry. Not much of a gun fighter, either. But I am good at one thing." Jack pointed a palm at Garry, and focused.

Not many crows had come, but enough did, and fifty birds descended toward Garry like bombers. They made diving passes upon the man, clawing at him before moving past and retreating to the rafters of the basement. He ducked and weaved with the reflexes of a boxer, deftly dodging each crow, but the bombardment left him vulnerable to the rats, and a few managed to latch onto his legs again.

They ripped into his shins and calves, biting and tearing with their little rat claws, and Garry snarled as pain ran across his face.

Maybe taunting him was a bad idea. Much as Jack had the upper hand now, the basement was just one room, and one covered in a mess of debris. Moving around in it wasn't easy, and Garry knew that. If he could get his footing, he could come back at Jack again, and then Jack would have a hell of a time keeping Garry from ripping his head off. He could sprout claws, or--or grow fucking wings.