My Little Ventrue Pt. 09 Ch. 05

Garry's shirt ripped apart as two wings erupted from his back. Bat wings. Massive bat wings, complete with unusual, long claws on the thumb and fingers. Not bat wings then, but demon wings. Air pushed outward from the sudden explosion of mass, and birds collided with both the wings and the rafters and crates as they struggled to compensate. Garry's tail grew as well, getting longer, growing as thick as a leg, with spikes at its tip growing longer. The man's boots tore apart as his feet expanded in size, and Jack took a step back, eyes wide, as what might as well have been the feet of a raptor straight out of Jurassic Park crushed the edge of the metal table like squeezing a beer can.

Grinning, the bastard jumped off the table, and leapt at him. Half fly, half pounce. Garry closed the distance faster than Jack predicted, and he took a dozen steps back as he tried to compensate, rats barely avoiding his feet. Only vampire reflexes kept Jack from stumbling over the crates and fragile boxes of tobacco.

Garry slammed into him, hands crashing into his shoulders. So heavy. Whatever Garry did, his mass had increased drastically, and Jack stared up at the man as he fell to his back, pinned, with a couple wood crates breaking apart underneath him. Garry had grown taller, his arms and legs thicker, and his fangs had grown longer. All his teeth had grown bigger, and sharper. This wasn't like fighting a vampire anymore. He was fighting something as heavy and big as a werewolf.

The playful look in Garry's eyes was gone. Hell, the human look in his eyes was gone. His pupils were dilated, and they had a slit shape to them, like a cat's. His mouth and nose stuck out a little more, almost like a snout. Oh good god he really was transforming into some sort of bat demon man thing. And comical as that was in theory, it was terrifying from up close.

The grip on Jack's shoulders quickly hit crushing levels, and Jack screamed as something in his arms went snap.

"If you just got out of my way, Jack, I wouldn't have to--aaargh!"

Garry let out a scream of his own, albeit far more inhuman, as Jack kicked the man in his crotch. The impact was hard enough to push him away slightly, and Jack brought both feet underneath him, and kicked again. With both feet planted against the man's chest, Jack drove him straight up into the rafters hard enough for wood to splinter and break against his back, skull, and wings. He came down six feet away, and rats poured over him the moment he did.

There weren't enough rats in the area to provide Jack a true swarm, but there were enough to give Garry a hell of a time getting back up. He roared his frustration as his wings snapped out, sending a hundred of the furry creatures about, and stopping more crows as they tried to harass him. Judging from the angry look on his face, he didn't like that Jack had taken control of the swarm, despite his attempts to block him. Well, fuck him.

Jack screamed again as vitae forced his bones back into position. He screamed some more, as he rolled onto his side, then onto his hands, and forced himself up. Pain was an old friend at this point. The Prince told him getting used to pain was a part of any vampire's second life, but she also admitted Jack had found himself in extremely painful situations far too often. Broken shoulders sucked, a lot, but when compared to getting his hands cut off, or getting his entire chest cavity cut open by magical werewolf claws, this was nothing.

With vitae forcing his bones together well enough to function, he ignored the pain and stood up.

You're slow. You waste vitae and you make stupid decisions. You can't control the power the Strix gave us. Let me deal with Garry!

Shut up shut up!

Snarling louder, Jack grabbed one of the nearby tables. They were long things, big enough for twenty people to sit, and covered in crates. The metal bent slightly in his grip, and he dug his feet into the floor as best he could as he lifted the table up on an angle, raising the further end higher, until its legs were higher than the other tables. With its weight pressing down toward him, he had the friction to anchor himself to the floor, and he spun, swinging the table toward Garry.

Crates went everywhere, and rats squeaked as they disappeared in the debris. Impact, hard enough to partly bend the table's edge around the elder vampire, announced success, but so did the dying squeaks of the rats. If the curse had been in control, he could have guided the rats like they'd been an extension of his body, and simply moved them out of the way. If the Ripper had swung the table, he'd have smashed the table into Garry's body so hard, the man would have folded in half.

Jack wasn't the Ripper, but that didn't mean he couldn't kick this man's ass.

Garry, on his butt with a battered table beside him, hissed and groaned as he got up. He clutched his side for a moment, but only a moment, before standing up straight again; as straight as a beast with a tail and wings would, anyway.

"Been a while since I've had a good fight. Thanks for that, kid."

"Fuck you, Garry. This isn't a game. People are dying."

The Gangrel laughed. "You think? Christ, if only you knew."

"Knew what?" Probably a dumb question to ask. Letting Garry know that Jack didn't know what he meant was a classic blunder in the Danse Macabre, but at this point, he didn't care.

"Invictus and Carthians have been killing each other, in this damn fucking city, for centuries. None lately, but before you were embraced, every so often, a vampire would just disappear." The winged creature took a step toward Jack, before casually using his other foot to knock away a dozen rats. Less rats took their place, and less, and less. There should have been more.

Jack may have taken control of the rats in the immediate area, but Garry had stopped more from coming. Shit.

"The Prince--"

"Has been doing her best to keep us cooperative, and she's succeeded. That don't mean we don't kill each other, Jack, we just make sure it stays out of the limelight. You know how many friends I've lost to the Invictus, in just the past twenty years? Five. Five vampires that, as far as the other covenants care, simply left the city. They know what really happened, though. The Invictus are good at covering their tracks, but they know. And as long as her precious Masquerade is upheld, and her city continues to function, that fucking bitch Prince won't do a damn thing. Lazy, useless whore."

Jack took a step back as another slew of his rats died to Garry's tail. They'd bit into him a hundred times, but the damage was superficial, just like it'd been with the werewolves. And unlike with the werewolves, Jack didn't have thousands upon thousands of rats this time, and they weren't replenishing either.

"You--"

"Viktor was responsible for their deaths."

"Then what the fuck!? He's dead! Move on!"

"Michael and Maria will follow in his steps. They're Invictus. They'll do everything they can to gain control, until eventually they can oust the Prince, maybe kill her, and rule the city. But you," he pointed at Jack with a long claw, "are convinced you Invictus can play nice, and it's pissing me off. You're all assholes who'll run anyone over for a dime."

"You talk like you didn't kill any Invictus either."

He snarled, and took a step closer. "Yeah. Revenge. Justice served."

Jesus. Jack knew the Invictus and Carthians squabbled, but he had no idea it was this bad. Killing each other, and then covering it up so the Prince couldn't act it on? Holy fuck.

"Garry, we--"

The Gangrel charged him, a burst of speed that sent the corpses of rats, and dozens of crates flying. There was no arguing with this man, no getting through to him. He hated the Invictus, hated them with a passion, and had been playing shadow games with them for decades. Centuries.

The only way Jack was going to talk some sense into Garry, is if he knocked some into him first.

Garry came in close, and swiped, raking claws straight down, starting at Jack's head. Jack stepped back, avoiding the swipe, but only by an inch. There was an opening, one Garry left on purpose, fully expecting a Ventrue to back off. So Jack stepped in, and drove his fist into the man's sternum. Might as well have been punching metal. But it was enough to force the Gangrel a step back.

Jack was good at recovering quickly when he got hit, but Garry was better. The fucker might as well have been a boxer. A punch to the chest hard enough to break bricks wasn't enough to stop him for long, and he came in again. And, he got bigger.

Seconds later, Garry was an eight-foot gargoyle-like creature. Well, damn, déjà vu. He wasn't nearly as big as Sándor, but he also moved a shit load faster, vitae fueling his movements. Charging forward, Garry's footsteps shook the boxes and rat corpses with the vibrations of his weight, and his charge sent them outward like a runaway train breaking through wooden walls, smashing them to bits. Jack could only keep backing away, until his back hit the wall.

In the back of Jack's mind, a nasty thought ran in circles. Jessy had told Jack about Michael's fight with Eric, and the crazy shit Michael did. Sure, Michael had zero tact, and if Jack had to guess, the man focused on his Protean transformations more than Garry did. But so far, Garry hadn't done anything Jack couldn't handle. Sure the transformations were scary, but they weren't all that much crazier than what Jessy could do. Sure, the man's fighting skills were far better than Jack's, but they weren't anything Jack hadn't dealt with from fighting the werewolves.

Garry, the youngest elder in the city, was feared by Maria and Michael. Hell, he'd been feared by Viktor, considering the man had invited Garry to his balls to try and placate him. Much as Jack's grandsire was willing to be a shitty asshole and have a shadow war with Garry, he didn't want to take the man head on.

There was only one explanation for the elder's behavior in this fight. The curse had been right. Garry wasn't trying. Jack almost laughed; the gamer in him found that very insulting. Why wasn't he trying? Did he not want to kill Jack, or was he testing Jack, thinking he might be holding back as well, and waiting for an opportunity to strike?

Garry got close to Jack, stopped, and spun. A giant tail with large spikes on the tip came swinging for him, and he had to drop to the floor to keep from getting hit. The tail came down, and Jack rolled to the side, putting another table between him and the elder. With a heavy roar, Garry kicked the table, knocking it over and sending it at Jack.

He caught it, but the damn thing was heavy, and Jack was not. It drove him through a dozen crates before slamming him into the wall. Garry followed the path of destruction, snarling with every heavy step.

Jack reached down, and picked up the table by its edge, forcing it onto its side. It was big enough for Jack to use it as a shield, and Garry's oncoming tail smashed into it. The spikes on his tail skewered the table, and when Garry yanked back on his tail, the table came with it. His tail was stuck.

Why was Garry playing with him? What was he trying to do? If he was trying to spare Jack's life, the asshole could have just talked to him. Christ, he had to know Jack was more willing to talk than Michael would be. Didn't he? Or did he really believe Jack was another Viktor, just waiting to be let out?

Garry stumbled back, the weight of the attachment throwing off his balance, and Jack took advantage. He pounced at the man, driving both hands and feet into the floor and launching himself at Garry's torso. His foot collided with Garry's face, and the huge beast fell backward, balance ruined. The wings flapped wildly, smashing crates and creating a mountain of chaos, sending Jack back as one of them crashed into him before he got the chance to drive his boot up the man's nostrils.

Jack landed on his back, and groaned as crates broke his fall again. Wood crates were going to haunt his torpor nightmares for years, after this.

You suck at fighting.

Yeah, I get that.

You are right, though, as was I. Garry could be coming at you harder than he is now. He may be young for an elder, but he's had to kick some serious ass to get where he is. And he kicked us out of his mind. Me! He removed me! He's dangerous.

Little late warning me now.

"Garry, stop! This is stupid!" Snarling louder and louder, Jack forced himself to his feet. "You think I don't realize you're just fucking with me? The fuck are you trying to do? Hope I'll trigger the war?"

Garry ripped his tail free of the table as he got up, and stomped his feet as he came at Jack again. "The war never ended! This was just a break, a breather."

"You're wrong!" Jack jumped back, ran, and slid. It was a big room, and despite all the destruction and chaos, the broken tables, dozens, probably hundreds of smashed crates, and dead rats everywhere, there was still a lot of room to move around. Once Jack had some space between him and Garry, he slid under a table, and hopped up. Now, a whole bunch of shit blocked Garry's view to Jack.

"Get back here!"

"We had a truce, and you and Michael are ruining it!"

"How the fuck is it a truce if both the people in charge are trying to break it?" Crates smashed, and Jack put another stack of them between him and the Gangrel, as bits of cigars and shards of wood flew overhead.

"Don't give me that shit. You don't want to see Kindred dying anymore than I do."

"Says you. I'll dance on the ashes of every Invictus."

Garry's voice was full of anger and rage, but something else, too. Something was on Garry's mind, but the more Jack thought about it, the more he realized it couldn't be the usual, like the Danse Macabre and shit. That just wasn't Garry. Garry was a Carthian, and had dedicated his life protecting his people. Sure, the man had gotten out of his comfort zone lately, going to Viktor's balls, and working with Terra Den. Not exactly the sort of shit Carthians would normally do, but Garry was willing to get his hands dirty, and blacken his soul, if it meant helping his covenant.

Garry probably hated himself, for playing the Danse. He probably hated himself for the Carthians that died, and felt the only way he could stop it from happening, was playing the game, and killing all the Invictus. Deep seeded rage Jack would never be able to appreciate. Even when the curse had ransacked Jack's mind, all that rage had been on the surface, and explosive. Garry hated the Invictus in the same way roommates could hate each other. Hate from intimacy and familiarity; they had to share a city, after all.

"That's not true. You don't hate the Invictus. You hate what the Invictus have done, to you and your friends. But you know damn fucking well that Maria and Michael aren't that bad. That was all Viktor!"

"That's funny, coming from his grandchilde."

"I am not Viktor!" Christ, this was like arguing with a crazy person. A mad man. Garry was certainly mad with rage, to the point he couldn't think clearly.

Crates flew overhead, dozens of them, and the room echoed with metal hitting metal. Jack threw himself to the side as the closest table smashed forward. It collided with the table behind where Jack had been, and more crates flew around. Maybe putting barriers between him and the Gangrel hadn't been the best idea.

Crows above panicked and flew away, but Mulder and Scully didn't. They flew overhead, cawing, announcing Garry's approach.

A couple of crates flew up and smashed into the rafters above, each thrown by the elder, directly at the crows. And both Mulder and Scully fell.

Jack froze, staring up at the rafters above, at his two friends as they disappeared behind the walls of crates that surrounded him. For a quiet, freezing moment, Jack watched a few black feathers slowly spin and fall.

No. No no no.

"Jack!" Garry jumped over one of the knocked sideways tables, and landed on the concrete beside him. "If you don't want anyone to die, just--"

Jack turned, vitae pouring through him, over him, around him, coursing through his skin and the nicks and cuts this stupid fight had given him. The blood broke through his suit, his jacket and shirt, and coiled onto him as it slithered around, and around his joints.

He drove his fist into Garry's face, and the man flew back, spinning through the air like he weighed nothing, before he collided with the floor, his own claws tearing up the concrete. His jaw half hung off his face, broken, and his animal eyes were wide with pain.

Jack stomped after him, glaring, hands clenched, and hell burning through his veins.

"I'm going to fucking kill you."