My Little Ventrue Pt. 10 Ch. 12

"You're full of it," Jack said.

"Coming from you. That. Is. Rich!" The words were a great climax to the building of his power, and he smashed waves of black smoke, and a myriad of limbs into the gate. Feather and fur, claw and talon, fang and mandible, it all crashed into the great barrier, and smashed the gateway open.

The darkness beyond lit up, at least enough that it wasn't impenetrable to the eyes anymore, and the courtyard to the gigantic castle within awaited. It wasn't the castle from Sándor's lair, but it looked similar, more modern, less ancient stones and shit. A big, beautiful, gothic castle, but with no lights on; or fires or candles or whatever. The courtyard had plants, but they were all dead. Trees, a garden, bushes, all of it nothing but broken branches, twigs, and brown dirt without a hint of grass anywhere.

The castle's front wall had huge windows, old, and so dirty he couldn't see through them. In the center awaited a massive double door, twice the height of the one in Jack's mansion, made of old metal that'd lost its shine at least a century ago. It was, as far as the Ripper could see, what a castle from the 1600s would have looked like, if left to rot and die.

One difference. This castle had gargoyle statues on the walls. Over the windows, over the doors, on the roof, there were gargoyle statues, and each one of them looked kinda like Sándor. A big gargoyle with a human-ish face, four giant wings, four arms, raptor feet, long tail, muscular, and big fucking horns.

Jack and the Ripper looked up at the building, then left and right down its lengths. Much as the gargoyles on the building were big, and looked like the gargoyle, none of them were the real gargoyle. The monster with the red eyes was gone. All show, no strength? Unlikely. But wherever the Horror was, it wasn't here anymore. And neither was Sándor himself.

"He's old," Jack said, voice quiet as he scanned the building and surroundings. "And... not in the best mental health."

"Of course. He let his family die."

"He didn't let his family die, fucking asshole. I--christ, nothing I say can make you understand, can I? You don't have an ounce of empathy in you."

The Ripper grumbled, and pushed forward toward the castle. "Empathy? Empathy gets you killed. The fuck good is empathy if you're dead. Gobble up all the power you can, fuck empathy, and fuck life. Literally."

"You really are nothing more than the Beast given a voice, aren't you?"

Grumble turned to roar as the Ripper turned, and slammed four enormous wolf-like hands down on the black floor around Jack. The little fucker didn't so much as twitch.

"I am the voice of one of the greatest reasons life even fucking exists, you useless little fuck. Where the fuck would humankind be if not for greed, aggression, and lust?"

"Yeah, you got us out of the primordial muck, and let us beat competitors and evolution, I'll give you that. Congratulations. But now? Antoinette's got the right idea. Cooperation is how we get above--"

"Above what? Biology? The need to eat, fight, and fuck? Why would we want to?" The Ripper rolled a few dozen of his eyes, faced the castle door, and threw his will against it.

It opened without fighting him. Unusual. Open invite? Whatever, he moved inside, if only so he wouldn't have to keep listening to Jack's useless prattle.

The inside of the castle was not a castle, not really, not matching either what he'd expect a castle's insides to look like, or even what the outside suggested. It was a giant room with hanging chandeliers above, each decorated with thousands of candles, but only a few candles on each chandelier were lit, providing a small amount of light. Dust was everywhere, covering the smooth white walls, and the smooth stone of the castle floor. A room that'd once been cared for, and was no longer.

It was a long room, rectangle, more than wide enough for the Ripper and the incarnation of his will and the Beast to enter, and long enough it'd take a few minutes of walking to reach the other side. At the end of the long room, was a stone throne, rather fancy and carved with intricate gargoyle faces, and almost large enough for the gargoyle itself if he wanted to sit. Instead, the huge gargoyle perched on top of it, red eyes staring, and Sándor the man sat in the throne, looking far too small for seat.

Much as the Ripper wanted to charge at the man and the reflection of the Horror guarding his mind, he couldn't ignore the giant paintings on the walls. Half of them were bordered in gold, and the other half were bordered in black, all of the metal borders carved with the same gargoyle face indentations that were on the dude's throne. And there were dozens of paintings.

"Holy shit," Jack said, following in behind the Ripper and now staring at the paintings.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the paintings were of, so detailed they almost looked like photographs. The one closest to the door was of a woman and a young boy, both wearing modern clothes, both smiling and cheering as they laughed about something over dinner. The painting was a picture, taken from Sándor's perspective, him sitting and eating something on a dinner plate.

A genuine, happy memory, from the sorry fool's life.

Next to it was another painting, the black-bordered one, again taken from the perspective of Sándor. The same home as the one before, with a couple corpses on the floor in pools of blood, and Angela and Jeremiah in the background.

On the other side of the room in another gold-bordered painting, was a woman, dressed in some rags, and judging from the room they were in, it was a memory from a couple hundreds years ago. A wood cottage somewhere, maybe? Whoever she was, she was smiling up at Sándor, the sort of smile someone used when they were in love.

And next to it was another painting, again of the woman, this time dead in the woods and ripped to shreds by wolves.

Jack and the Ripper walked toward Sándor, but stopped when they eventually came across four more paintings, two on the left, two on the right. On the left, another woman, this time with three kids, having fun in the grass, probably three hundred years ago. Beside that painting, one that showed a couple dozen men and women coming up over the grassy hill, armed with pitchforks, one pointing a butcher's knife at Sándor while another ran his pitchfork through the wife, while the kids were cut down by swords. Looked like a village figured out Sándor wasn't human, and decided to wipe him and his family out. Fucking humans.

On the other side of the great hall, something far more tame. Again, a pretty lady, very young, dressed in clothes so old it was likely that Sándor was older than he thought he was. Beside that, an old woman, sitting in front of a fire in a stone house. A picture so pristine and wholesome it was revolting. She wasn't moving. None of them were moving, since they were paintings, but the picture somehow conveyed the message perfectly.

"Sándor stayed with her until she died of old age," Jack said. "Jesus."

"Pathetic."

"Why? Because he actually formed a connection with someone so strong, he stayed with them for decades?"

"Because he--"

"You know some animals in the wild mate for life? Or at least try to. You telling me they--"

"Are one spike of bad weather away from going extinct for being that fucking stupid." The idiot kid would never understand. Jacob was right. Evolution was right. Survival of the fittest. Adapt.

"Jacob is done with that idea, last I checked," Jack said.

"Then I'll rip his damn head off and put everything back to status quo."

"Yeah, good luck with that. You really think you can beat Jacob, and Black Blood, just you?"

The Ripper laughed. "It's a good thing Sándor will be joining me as my driver, and bodyguard."

Jack winced, and the two of them continued on, small man walking next to the enormous, tainted Beast, as they approached the man on the throne. Much as the Ripper wanted to ignore the paintings, Jack looked at them, and in this place their thoughts were apparent to each other. More memories of Sándor's greatest moments of happiness, more times he'd found love, and more times it ended horribly.

One painting in particular was particularly graphic. It was a point-of-view painting again, except this time from a good ten feet in the air, looking down. A woman's corpse was on the floor, and a gargoyle's four hands were covered in blood. Oof, dude killed his own woman at some point. Or rather, his Horror had.

"Solution seems simple to me," the Ripper said, gesturing around with a few hands at the paintings. "Every tragedy here happened because he keeps falling in love. Harden up, fucker."

"You're fucking heartless. But... he does seem to get the short end of the stick. A lot."

The Ripper laughed again, loud enough it echoed through the walls of Sándor's mind. If the gargoyle had just accepted his fate, and instead indulged in his hungers and strength, there'd be no paintings.

"The paintings..." Sándor's voice. "Are they worth it?" They looked to him and his throne, and from so close, it was obvious the throne was a dusty, dirty thing, with more than a few cobwebs on it.

"They're not," the Ripper said. "Not that it matters. I'm here to break you, and make you my tool, just like Elen did. I'm not your fucking therapist."

"They are worth it," Jack said. "The fuck is the point in life if it was just some static, endless spree of carnal indulgence?"

"Sounds pretty fucking pointed to me," the Ripper said. "Kill, fight, fuck, rape, eat, all at the same time. And don't tell me I'm the only one who feels that way." One of his smoky arms gestured to the painting where Sándor's Horror had obviously ripped his woman into literal bits. "Susanna had it right. The Strix have it right. Give into the desire to dominate and destroy, and swim in the spoils. Kill anyone that gets in your way."

Sándor sighed, a heavy sigh that stirred the air in the place, like a sad wind. Ugh, there were too many similarities between this shit, and that pussy Julias's fucked up personality. No wonder the sharkmouth bitch liked the two of them.

Jack stared up at the Ripper, before gesturing back to Sándor. "The Ripper is wrong, and Jacob is wrong. And you know it. Otherwise why are you here in Dolareido, trying to make up for the shit Jeremiah did, and trying to make everyone's lives better. Why are you protecting us?"

Slowly, Sándor looked down. "Sometimes I wonder."

Jack walked up to the throne, and looked up at the man. "I'm the last person that can talk about this. I'm young as fuck compared to you. But holy fucking shit, there's one thing, one thing I fucking know, and that's that... that... Fuck I don't know how to say it without sound so cliche it hurts. But you know, right? You know the only thing that makes things good, is when things can get bad, too. The only thing that makes up, up, is down.

"The Ripper is just a shortsighted compulsion, a fucking child, like an idiot college student who finally gets to eat all the ice cream they want, until they're begging their mom to cook them a real meal because they're sick of it, and they've gained thirty pounds. And Jacob, the guy is fucked up, depressed and broken, and thinks this"--Jack gestured to the paintings--"is a bad system, that it sucks so bad that he's going to tear it all down, for everyone. He's selfish, and even I'm smart enough to understand you can't just melt everything into a big soup of existence, and call it better than life! Even if it's fucked up, even if it's short for some people, and unfair as all hell, it's still a fucking amazing thing, and it's..." He choked for a second. "It's worth fighting for."

The Ripper growled down at the stupid, tiny vampire beside him. "Did you just quote Lord of the Rings?"

"Just one part of one fucking sentence. Fuck off."

Sándor lifted his head enough to look at Jack, and managed the smallest smile, before standing up.

"You're right, of course. I knew. It's a hard lesson a love of mine taught me a long, long time ago."

Well, fuck. Much as the Ripper wanted to speed this along, it was all a metaphor for breaking into and eventually Dominating the man's mind. It was taking time, because Sándor's mind was taking time to break into. Only a few seconds had passed back in the real world, and that was a few more seconds than the Ripper wanted.

Sándor got off the throne, and the Horror followed. It landed, hard, heavy, and growled up at the Ripper as it glared red eyes at him.

A battle of wills, then. Sándor stood beside Jack, and the two of them looked on, as the Ripper and the Beast faced off against the Horror. It wouldn't be a literal fight, with dodging or uppercuts. Everything in here was just a metaphor for the curse, crashing against Sándor and his Horror.

A hundred limbs came out of the Ripper's body, shadowy things armed with claws, feathers, fur, gigantic muscles, talons, and everything in between. The titanic gargoyle, only half as tall as the Ripper and the Beast he controlled, held out his four hands, and the two of them engaged, grips locked.

Dominating the Uratha had been easy. The wolf spirits within were nothing compared to the curse and the tainted Beast. And now, the Ripper was confident he could defeat Garry's Beast in a battle. And he was confident he could beat the gargoyle Horror as well.

But it wouldn't be easy.

The castle shook violently as the two behemoths began, squeezing on each other's grip. They pushed into each other and roared at each other, until the floor tore apart under their claws. The paintings fell off the walls. The chandeliers trembled, and candles fell around them, like raindrops of fire.

The Ripper pushed forward, and the gargoyle roared with frustration as it failed to match his might. It dug its talons into the floor, and pushed against him harder, but the Ripper didn't budge. He would not lose this battle. He would win, break this worthless fool's Horror, and then break the small man hiding behind it. He would use him as a tool, and together they'd kill Jacob, stop Black Blood, kill the bitch Prince and her dog sheriff, and turn Dolareido into their fucking playground.

Sándor, a gnat compared to the curse, stepped up to the Ripper, and beside his Horror. And just like his Horror, he held out two of his hands, and triggered the confrontation. The Ripper was forced to meet his two hands with two of his own, and somehow, he slid a foot back.

The Ripper snarled down at the human. The fuck was this? A stupid fucking little worm, a fucking useless human, working with the Horror he despised?

"Fucking... hypocrite," the Ripper said, booming voice wavering.

"No." Sándor glared up at him, small hints of anger showing through his stoic face, and he took a step forward. "A warrior might hate his sword, but he'd be a fool to never use it." Oh good fucking god, he really was just as stupidly poetic and brain damaged as Julias. "I'm not going to let you kill anyone, parasite."

This was fucking insufferable. With the Uratha, he'd expected it. With Garry, he'd expected it, the active cooperation between human mind and paranormal creature. But Sándor and his Horror? He'd fully expected the worthless, broken man to watch while the Ripper and the gargoyle duked it out.

The Ripper snarled down at the stupid little man loud enough the paintings that'd fallen vibrated and slid across the floor.

"You don't get a say in the matter. I'm going to--"

Jack, the fucking little twerp, stood beside Sándor, and reached out his hands. A battle of wills, again, enforced and triggered, and the Ripper locked two of his many hands with the damn brat. It was like some shit scene in a shit movie, where the power of fucking friendship would overcome their troubles.

"Jack!"

Jack grinned up at him. "Did you really think I'd just sit by and let you do this?"

"I will lock you away in a cell of pain beyond your reckoning, you fucking insect! I will make an iron maiden seem like a vacation. I will find the darkest, most fucked up corner in your mind, and make you relive it over and over until you wish for a death that will never come! I will show you Ann's face as I rip her head off, and force you to see it for the next hundred years!"

"Go fuck yourself."

The Ripper let out a thousand roars, and a thousand tendrils of shadow snapped outward against the walls of the room of memories. Their claws ripped and tore against the white surfaces, and shredded through them and the memories alike as the curse sank his grip into Sándor's mind. If he had to damage the bastard's mind to take him over, then so be it.

"This isn't in the world of real, Jack," the Ripper said, and both Jack and Sándor winced as the Ripper's voice boomed over them. "In here, I am king. In here, I am god. Every day I grow. Every night, my infection spreads and empowers the Beast within. I will not be expelled by a child, a broken man, and some manifestation of human fears; nothing more than a shadow." A dozen more of his dark limbs shot out and sank themselves into the smooth stone floor, and another dozen. The building shuddered again, and cracks formed on the walls.

The look of surprise on Jack's face made everything worth it.

"You and I are going to kill Jacob, Sándor. Then we're going to kill the Prince and her dog. Then we're going to--"

The building vanished in a shower of exploding white shards. The paintings, walls, the stone, the throne, the fucking ingrates that refused to simply bow down and serve him, it all shattered, as if he'd been looking at a painting on a jar that'd been smashed with a hammer. Or a fist.

The Ripper stumbled back and clutched his jaw. Back in the real world, with mist and fog and stones and werewolves and fucking ghosts. Slowly, he turned, and looked at the mother fucker who'd punched him, the mother fucker about to get his guts ripped out.

Damien. The useless Mekhet stood there, or rather slouched there, struggling to stand. His neck was crooked, half broken, but that was nothing compared to his face. His jaw was shattered, nose too, and the cheek and eye socket of his right eye was smashed into his skull.

"How much vitae did you use to Cloak yourself so I couldn't sense you coming?" the Ripper asked, voice quiet and coming through clenched teeth.

Damien coughed, one hand at his side struggling to make a fist. A broken finger or two. The hand he'd used to punch the Ripper, then. He didn't say anything though. Probably couldn't with one side of his jaw almost hanging off his face.

"All of it, then. All you had, just so you could get in one good hit on me. Ha." The Ripper rubbed his jaw. A bit of a sting, but otherwise, Damien hadn't hurt him in the slightest. "Surprised you didn't look for your sword instead, but I guess you noticed what I was doing, and realized you didn't have time, right?"

Damien said nothing. Christ, another fucker who just refused to banter with him. Well, at least the Mekhet had an excuse, jaw and all.

The Ripper snarled with the power of the curse, ensuring the dead Mekhet heard the strength of it as the rumbling bass pulsed out until the stones vibrated. A quick glance Sándor's way showed the man had stumbled back, and was clutching his head as he groaned in pain. Good. The Ripper had been fully willing to leave the man a husk, empty and broken, as long as he was still capable of using that unique Begotten talent to get around between realms.

Unfortunately, Damien had ended the connection before the Ripper had been able to Dominate Sándor. He'd certainly hurt the fucker's mind though, deeply.

"Whatever, I'll just try again. But I think I'll wait until I've killed everyone else, this time." Grinning and exposing a fang, he took a step toward Damien. Damien took a step back. The fear in his one open eye was subtle, and glorious. "I'm going to--"