My Little Ventrue Pt. 10 Ch. 11

"Kinda, yeah. I mean, if he'd been younger, you'd have probably just killed him." Young neonates like Triss couldn't exactly survive losing all four limbs. Maybe a Ventrue or Gangrel could, but even then it'd be a close call. "He's older than I thought. He'll be stuck in torpor until someone feeds him some blood."

"Lucky for him," Mary said, more of that inhuman rasp coming through, almost like Athalia's Horror's voice. "Let's go." And without so much as a glance back, the young woman drifted forward in the direction Athalia had suggested when they first arrived.

Triss and Athalia glanced at each other. Athalia looked tired, panting and sweating, some blood dripping down her side and leg, but even she noticed what Triss noticed. Mary wasn't scared or jittery or anything anymore. She was angry, and determined. And Triss wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

Athalia followed after her, but Triss took a moment, and squatted down beside Aaron's body. His limbs were already gone, disintegrating into tiny flames that turned his flesh into small piles of ash. Seeing the guy without any limbs was a new kind of sick and twisted, and she was thankful she didn't have a pulse or working stomach organ, or she'd have probably puked at the sight of him. But, he was alive, shriveled and drained, but still Aaron. All someone had to do, was give him a few pints of blood until he'd generated his limbs, and he'd wake up, in a week or five.

"Fucking... fuck. Aaron, you... fucking asshole. You could have talked to me... God damn it, you fucking idiot, you could have fucking talked to me." She knew the dude hated his family from when he'd been alive, but was any of that true? Like he said, she didn't know shit about him, because he refused to tell her.

In the end, she didn't know the guy. But that wasn't quite true, either. She knew him... a little. Quiet dude, read introspective books, thought about shit day-in day-out all the time without pause. That wasn't a lie, right?

She stood up and sighed. He wasn't dead, no need for drama. Hopefully a ghost wouldn't find him while they were gone.

"You better still be alive when I get back." She jogged after Athalia, and a very scary ghost lady.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~The Ripper~~

He turned his head enough to get a peek at the bitch stabbing him. Her face hadn't reformed. She literally had a crater through the center of her head, so the damn thing was split in half, but even like that he could see the crazy expression in her eyes. She stabbed his back again and again, cackling and screaming, and once her mouth fully reformed, he could see the wide, psycho smile.

Damn. That ghost knife really fucking burned.

"Lady," he said, grinning as he looked down, and pushed himself off the ground, "if you weren't already dead, you'd soon wish you were."

"You--" She shrieked again as he jumped up to his feet. "You--"

"Black Blood didn't tell you why I wear the necklace, did he?"

"Weakness! Your weakness!" Her face finished reforming, and she came at him again.

He stepped into her, faster than that idiot Jack could, and drove his fist through her chest and out through her back. He expected it to feel like punching through mist. Instead, her body resisted, like jelly strong enough it could have been flesh. But his fist still went through her, and her screams became endless as she collapsed back into the mist again, a hole through her body. Eventually, they stopped.

He touched his forehead. Yep, she'd put a tiny slit clean through it. Fucking hilarious. The stab wounds burned like all fuck, more of that icy pain that told him they weren't regular wounds. Hell, even moving his limbs felt weird, considering he had a small hole in his brain. But his Kindred body adapted quickly enough. If she'd been smart, she'd have stabbed him in the heart, where the weird ghost wound would have probably put him in torpor for days. Stupid bitch.

He laughed, and laughed, and looked around him at his options. What to do, what to do. Sabrina didn't get back up this time; he'd hurt her a lot. Finally, a bit of peace and quiet from her god damn stupid screaming.

Don't you fucking do anything!

Funny, isn't it, Jack? I kept expecting some big, emotional moment to be how you let me out again, like the first time. Like the time you killed Joe. Ripped his head clean off, remember? You did that, not me. Maybe you are a monster.

Shut. The fuck. Up.

But hey, if getting hit or stabbed in the head does it, then that works for me. You should probably watch your head more. Now, you have to watch all your friends die.

You fucking--

The Ripper laughed, and forced down the voice in his head. That's all Jack was anymore, just a voice, one he could crush and bury. Christ, how long had it been since he'd come out to play. Way too long. And all that time, he'd been waiting, preparing, building his strength, getting stronger. The body was his, this time. He wouldn't let go of it, not again. There wasn't some giant elephant bitch to crush him into a pancake to force it, this time.

He licked his lips, and looked to Clara. Still transformed, the huge wolf fought off half a dozen ghosts that swirled around her. They'd figured out werewolf claws hurt. Sándor was in there too, back to back with Noah and taking swings at any ghost that got too close.

Oh god, this was too perfect.

"David!" The Ripper turned and looked back to the pack. "David! Get over here. I need a distraction."

David, surrounded by his pack, stood over the dying corpse of the spider monster. It hadn't broken apart yet. When it did, Avery and everyone would be very distracted.

David looked to him, then back to Avery. When she nodded, David ran over to Jack, temporarily getting on all fours before almost skidding to a stop beside him. Werewolves really were titanic creatures.

It was a simple plan: kill everyone. He was confident the Prince, the sheriff, maybe Elaine, someone would come looking for him, and he could explain only he'd survived. And then he could kill everyone back in the physical world when they let their guard down.

But in order to kill everyone, he had to get rid of the biggest threats first. The dude with the flamethrower, and then Sándor. The gargoyle fucker would probably be an easier fight than last time, since they weren't in his lair, or the dream world or whatever. But he also had a brain now, and fighting a super strong, giant gargoyle monster with a brain might actually be harder than his battle with the dumb, mindless brute had been. So, sneak attack him, or Noah? And what about Damien? He'd probably be able to tell The Ripper was in control if he used Auspex on him. And what if the sheriff did the same?

Whatever, he'd wing it. What fun was there in violence if you over-planned? It was so much better to go with the flow, and kill anything you could get your hands on. And in the Great Below, they had nowhere to go until rescue came.

"Let's go."

David nodded, and the two of them ran toward Clara. Once they arrived, Clara wasted no time, and ran up to David, ghosts chasing after her. The two fell into a dance they both knew well, David slipping past her and crashing into the ghosts chasing her, and her dodging his pounce with ease.

Clara skidded and turned, and chased after David, only to pounce past him and get another ghost that'd been chasing her. And just like Sándor and Noah, she got back to back with him, and systematically fought off and shredded the ghosts.

"Noah!" The Ripper said, in his best Jack voice. One part pussy, one part entitled know-it-all nerd, one part superiority-complex Ventrue. "Stop with the fire!"

Noah nodded as he let go of the trigger. The igniter was still on, but he stopped spewing liquid flame everywhere. The way the flame interacted with the Great Below was interesting, burning beneath the mist and causing the unnatural stuff to avoid the flames. The ghosts themselves reacted even more oddly. A few of them were on fire, literally, but the liquid flame dripped off their bodies without making any sort of dent in their mass. Some of them dispersed to escape the flame. Some didn't bother.

It certainly hurt them, though. They screamed and roared, just not with the musical agony the Ripper would have hoped to hear. Burning alive was pretty much the most painful way to die, far as he knew, and whatever the ghosts were suffering didn't reach nearly the same level. Ah well, at least it was hurting them enough they avoided the fire.

Spirit magic bullshit was the only thing that'd really kill them. Spirit magic ghost knife. Spirit magic werewolf claws. If it wasn't fancy spirit magic crap, it wouldn't do much to a ghost, or a spirit. Which meant that Sabrina bitch would be coming for him again. He'd deal with her after he'd gotten rid of Noah and Sándor.

"Get lost!" The Ripper yelled at one ghost, thankfully one not on fire, and charged the bastard from behind. One solid punch to the back of the head was enough to have his skull collapse in, and the ghost fell into the mist and dispersed.

The nearby ghosts looked at the Ripper, apparently a little surprised he'd come back. They looked to the distance where the werewolves were ripping apart the dying azlu, and then around, as if looking for someone to tell them what to do. No one did. The ghosts roared with frustration, some even spat curses, and they all flew away.

Clara and David stayed with each other, still back to back, and moved closer to Noah and Sándor. Everyone was panting, exhausted, and the breathers were sweating. Everyone was an easy target.

"You guys okay?" Jack asked, carefully stepping around strips of fire on the stone. It was really fucking hard, finding the right balance of pussy bullshit to say, but he felt he did pretty good. He'd been listening to it for years.

"Yeah," Noah said. "Fire didn't do much but scare them off, even when I hit them directly."

"Shame."

Noah raised a brow. "And the others?"

"Carter took a big hit. Might be dead. Avery and the others are fine, though." Nodding, the Ripper came in closer, and stood beside the man as Noah looked off to where the azlu had been. A little closer. A little closer. Slightly behind. Act like you're checking their six. Perfect. He'd have preferred to kill Sándor first, but he had to work with what he got.

That sweet, sweet moment, when everything goes right. Sándor was looking toward the azlu, now that the ghosts weren't swarming them. Noah was relaxing, and lowering the nozzle on the flamethrower. Clara and David were walking toward their pack. Everyone had their back to Jack the Ripper. It was all perfect.

The Ripper drew back a fist, aimed it for the back of Noah's head, and--

Got punched in the face by Sándor. The Ripper rolled with a groan and came back up on his feet, snarling as he touched where the bastard had punched him. A pretty damn hard punch, too, something the gargoyle's Horror could have done, not him.

"Sándor!?" Clara said as she spun around, and looked between the bastard and the Ripper.

"Well, fuck me." Sighing, the Ripper wiped off the shoulders of his suit, and rubbed his hands together as he looked between the three werewolves and the nightmare monster. "Dude, you ruined it. I was going to punch his head clean off. You were all gonna turn around, shocked, and just as you realized what was happening, I was going punch you in the guts and rip out your innards." He pointed at Sándor, and twiddled his index finger toward his stomach. "How'd you know it was me?"

Sándor made the tiniest frown a face could make, but said nothing. Because of course he said nothing. Fucking asshole was ruining the game.

The Ripper could have tried to keep up the facade. Kept trying to be Jack, and convince Sándor he was wrong. He could have played the long game, looked for the perfect opportune moment to make as big, and dramatic a revelation as he could. Kill them all in the most poetic, perfect way. Alas, real life wasn't a story. Sometimes you had to make due, and roll with the punches. That was fine. He could take a punch.

The three werewolves spread out slightly, finally realizing what'd happened. With two of them transformed, they'd be a problem. Best deal with them, first.

The Ripper licked a fang, grinned, and offered Clara a tiny finger wave. "David, old friend. Would you kindly--"

David froze, the command ringing throughout his whole being. Poor guy. He never knew about the command the Ripper left in his mind, all those months ago when he'd Dominated him. So much for being the spirit guru of his pack.

He turned, and sank his fangs into Clara's neck. She roared as she fell back, but she couldn't dislodge the man, and the werewolves fell into the mist as David tore her open with his claws.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~Antoinette~~

Jen glared at her, but the glare faded into nothingness, and her eyes closed, as paralysis and torpor took her.

"Necessary?" Daniel asked, as he gently set the woman on the bed in the cell, before joining Antoinette in the hall. Scully stayed with Jen, the bird having come to the conclusion that she was to protect Jen, as if Antoinette were not trustworthy. The strange ways a crow's mind, an already intelligent species, interacted with the gift of Kindred unlife, was quite interesting. Pets given unlife often became almost robotic with their newfound intelligence the taint gave. The crows, on the other hand, still held personalities of their own.

Something for her fellow dragons to research later, research likely already done. She had other worries.

"Prudent."

Her sheriff nodded as he followed her, and the two of them descended once again into the deepest layers of her Elysium Tower.

"You are concerned for Jack?"

"Of course I am concerned for my love. But ultimately, I am more concerned for the city, and the world at large."

"I know, but--"

"Enough, Daniel. Do not distract me." This conversation was ridiculous, beyond cliché, and she would not entertain it. They had far larger worries.

It was Daniel's attempt to console her, she knew. Alas, the man would forever have the social grace of an ox. She appreciated his desire to settle her nerves, but it was best she not think about Jack and the predicament he was in. The Prince and her sheriff had a ritual to complete, and until it was done, she would encase her heart in ice.

Deep down in her tower, in the chamber she had painted in thousands of symbols with blood, the Prince and her sheriff withdrew their blades, and began the second phase.

The kine dangling from chains screamed and shrieked. Antoinette did not enjoy the noise, and she tuned it out as best as possible. The fact these kine were little better than scum did not make such butchery enjoyable, and forever she would be unable to process how some Kindred could revel in such violence. But it had to be done, and to her chagrin, the sacrifices had to be awake for the act. Pain, and fear, were components in the ritual.

Intestines splattered over the floor, and the hanging sacrifices, mouths gagged and eyes covered, twisted and writhed in absolute agony. The Prince had not engaged in such carnage in many decades, but the ritual was clear. The symbols had been painted in the blood of the dead, and now, the fuel was to be life represented: more blood, and the organs. The ancient Egyptians knew far more than the modern era realized.

"Now," Antoinette said, "if you would be so kind. I do not have your book or knife; Beatrice hid them well. But I believe I have conducted the ritual correctly according to my records of the book, for a task as large as this, and this knife will suffice." She held out the blood soaked knife, an ancient thing, stashed away in her vaults. A knife baptized in the blood of an innocent child. "I had originally planned to perform this ritual myself. How fortuitous Beatrice left you where she had. And I believe you are the expert in this art?"

Elen managed a small grin up at the Prince from her wheelchair, reached out with a slow, unsteady hand, and took the knife.