The sequel to "Undead Hearts Still Beat" and "Vampire: the Masquerade – Bloodlines". Warning! This will contain spoilers for Bloodlines, so be warned, if you haven't played it, this may ruin it for you. I'd advise you to play it. It rocks! It's best to read "Undead Hearts..." first as well...

Disclaimer: White Wolf owns all in-game characters, tidbits of dialogue, places, and other such from the VtM games. My character, my plot, that's it.

Beast
Humanity
Thoughts
Voices

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Retribution and Revolution
Chapter One: Vengeance on a Ventrue

-Ventrue Tower, midnight-

The night rang with a final singing slash and the gargantuan bat-creature that had been the mighty Sheriff disintegrated into nothing. Black blood dripped from the long, glittering blade in the Kindred's grasp and pooled around her leather boots. The barrels of the Desert Eagle holstered at her hip and the 'Dragon's Breath' strapped to her back were still hot and smoking. The smell of smoldering flesh and fur and ashes assailed her nostrils and she sneered in triumph. It was a sweet incense of victory to her. All around her, warform Kindred gaped at the sight of her standing victorious. She lowered her dark shades and glared at them; mismatched eyes of gold and silver glittered with madness, daring them to attack her after what they had witnessed. A few began to advance before they all thought better of it and grudgingly slunk away from her. Their bloodlust was not wasted, however; the straggling SWAT soldiers running panicked on the roof had to be dealt with by someone. Oblivious to the bloody preservation of the Masquerade, she stalked forward towards the door where she knew her true prey waited.

Stepping through the elevator doors, Wrayth jabbed the penthouse level button. As she sheathed the Ta'malhe'Ra blade, its lightness hanging opposite the weighty pistol, she smoothed her hand over the top of her dark hair. She must look her very best for the prince. A smirk filled with malice spread on her wine-dark lips. "Death comes for you now, Demon Jester."

The elevator doors hissed open and she entered the penthouse. The yet-unopened sarcophagus lay stony and impenetrable. She passed it by, suppressing a shudder that the yet unknown disaster sleeping within it. LaCroix stood still as a statue, facing the window. She knew he heard her come in, he was just too cowardly to face her. As much as she would have loved to stick her blade through his dead heart, she had to see his eyes as he died. She deserved that much after all of this.

Finally, he turned, touching his forehead in disillusionment. "Like sire, like childe." He glared at her. "I should have killed you that night. How could someone as low as you injure me?" Desperately, he smiled, grasping at the last hope he had. "You think you've taken everything away. But I still have my sarcophagus!"

He's crazier than I am and he's not even of my blood. Wrayth threw back her head and let her laughter bounce off the gilded walls. He had nothing. No alliances, no Sheriff; he was all hers now! At last! She wanted so much to slice his head off, or to drain his Ventrue veins into husks, taboos be damned. So many ways to have fun! Finally, she decided to toy with him a little more, to flaunt his helplessness in his face. That would cut deepest. "A snake with gloves. But I have your hands."

Unperturbed, he laughed quietly. "You've done all the work for me once again. So much to learn. I thought I had lost it all, but no. Here you've sailed on a Gehenna wind, bearing my salvation. The key to my future."

At the mention of the final day, her skin crawled. She should finish him now, watch his wretched body burn as Myyrth's did, but her twisted mind couldn't resist a little more teasing. She patted the satchel at her side, bulging with the weighty unlocking mechanism. "Oh, please try to take it...please!"

He smiled charmingly and laughed. She felt his mind try to enter hers as he stared angrily into her eyes. "Give - me - the key."

With a giggle she couldn't hold in, pushed the Prince out of her mind. He gaped as he felt his influence pressed back onto himself. The Malkavian shook her head slowly. "Not going to happen."

Startled, he leaned forward into her face, his anger clouding his power to manipulate. "I said, GIVE - ME - THE - KEY!"

Playtime was over. "Give you a massive chest wound? My pleasure!" Snatching up the ankh-shaped letter opener from the desk, she lunged forward and slashed his pale, pretty throat. He gargled and grabbed the wound, leaving his chest open for her to plunge the makeshift weapon into his heart. He doubled over in pain and she slammed her elbow into his back full force. She chuckled as she heard a vertebra or two crack. The prince crumbled to his knees, gasping and choking. She smiled in satisfaction, tucking the bloody ankh into her belt. She reached for her blade for the final strike. At last...

The Beast consumes its own prey.

She stayed her hand as the spectral voice faded. The old wolf's warning resurfaced in her mind...

"If that sarcophagus is opened, there will be disaster. In what form I cannot be sure. But after studying the evidence, I'm convinced now that it is better left undisturbed. And anyone who would pursue any other course is deserving of the consequences."

At her feet, the fallen prince whimpered, his throat wound closing up enough so that he could speak again. "It can't end like this. Don't you understand the Kuei-jin will kill us all? I can't lose...I will open the sarcophagus. I'll build an empire. It won't end here."

Her mind rewound for a moment, carefully trying to decide what the noble savage had meant. It was all too cryptic, even for her. Best to let someone else find out. She pulled the carved stone mechanism out and let it dangle from her hand. "Me, open that?" LaCroix looked up at her, panic and pleading in his eyes. He shook his head weakly. She chuckled and nodded her head. The prince began to whine and whimper, shaking his head in vehement denial, dreading the thought of her stealing his prize. Her laughter grew louder and louder as she nodded more fervently. This was so fun!

Suddenly, she stopped, her face deathly serious. Slowly, she gave her head a deliberate shake. "All yours. Like you, I'm gone."

She dropped the key, its deceptively heavy mass striking the floor with a thud. Turning on her heel, she walked into the elevator, turning again to watch the prince dragging himself towards the key as the doors closed. The elevator descended, LaCroix's fading voice taunting her as she neared the ground floor. She passed the cowering butterball behind the front desk and pushed the glass doors open to exit the ivory tower. The whisper of a crazed laugh echoed above her.

No sooner did she set foot on the asphalt, then a massive skull-rattling explosion rocked the sidewalk. She spun around and looked up to see fiery debris belching out of the penthouse floor. Boulder-sized chunks of concrete plummeted towards the ground and she dove out of the way. She rolled and leapt to her feet, bolting away from the rain of ruins. When she was a safe distance away, she stopped and looked back. Damn, but she had dodged a bullet!

She looked up at the fire spewing building, and she knew LaCroix had perished in agony. In the end, Myyrth was right; The blind lady works in erratic ways. LaCroix had experienced his own, personal Gehenna.

LaCroix was no more, but the void left by Myyrth's death was still gaping. She supposed it always would be. Warped was her mind, but the strongest memories still remained. Even stronger than the pain of loss was a memory of passion that had fueled her to get where she was now. Her revenge was complete.

"Rest well, Laughing Boy. Those who burned you are ashen."

She shook herself and focused. She had to get to Santa Monica quickly and the path through the sewers was too long. She needed a ride, and there was no cabbie waiting at the bus stop this time.

A growl rumbled down the street and she ducked into an alley. Peeking her head out, she saw a leather-clad figure pulling up to the corner on a slowing motorcycle. Wrayth gazed at it with appreciation. Sleek gunmetal chrome, straight pipes vibrating, and a motor that looked like it could haul ass: gorgeous. The slim figure dismounted and removed his helmet. He smoothed his hand over his short hair and brushed the dust from his apparel. Wrayth watched his hand pass over the shiny brass badge on his breast pocket. One of L.A.'s finest coming to see what the fuss was about. Dinner and a free ride...

She hid her weapons in a galvanized can in the opening of the alley. Assuming a pose of distraught fear, she staggered towards him, glancing over her shoulder for effect. When she was about six feet away from him, he finally noticed her. "You there! Hold it!"

He quickly pulled out his .38 and took aim. Inwardly, she laughed at the pea-popper, but for drama, she gasped and threw her hands up in front of her face, cowering like a good little girl facing a gun. "Don't perforate me!"

"Oh, my god!" He holstered his gun and walked towards her. She wrapped her arms around her waist and took a furtive step forward. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." He ruffled his hand through his brown hair, embarrassed. "It's just, well, there was a sort of gang war going on tonight over in Santa Monica."

"I am not one of the street urchins," she said, her voice wavering.

"Well, they were an assorted group, and uh, I couldn't tell who you were from here."

"Do the children play their nasty games in the city of angels as well?"

"Yes. We think they might've been responsible for the terrorist attack on the Ventrue Tower earlier." He looked up at the smoldering wreckage of the upper floors of the ivory monolith. Fragments of flaming drywall fluttered down like hellish snow. "Looks like they succeeded this time."

Wrayth smiled a little, beginning to change tact. "Seems you're atop the ball tonight. Our city is in the blue boys' good hands."

The officer reddened under her sweetened stare and compliments. He puffed his chest out and held his head high. "Well, we shut down those punks in Santa Monica already. Knew they couldn't keep the fight up all night. They're all the same, these street gangs, and we're wise to all of them."

Don't talk to me about wisdom, Deputy Fife, Wrayth thought, her insight telling her that this human knew nothing about the true nature of the Bloodhunt or the "terrorist attacks". She stepped closer to him, pressing her soft body against his. Her voice dropped into a silky whisper. "I feel so safe with you. Your arms look strong..."

She lifted a hand to his face as he struggled to come up with a response. Drawing her finger down his cheek in a sensual stroke, she took away his ability to think. He leaned forward to hold her, but she took control and swept him low in her arms. Her gold-and-silver eyes delved into his, and in natural response to a female Kindred, his head fell back with a blissful expression. She fixated on the vein in his neck, the bluish fork pulsing faster as her effect on him grew stronger. The hot scent of blood beneath his skin swept over her and she fell into the thrall of feeding. Her fangs slid through his skin, she sensation making him gasp in pleasure. Softly, hypnotically, she pulled the blood from him and felt it spread through her limbs and into her mind.

His muscles began relaxing further as his strength slipped away. He groaned in ecstasy as her fangs slipped out of the tiny wound. She softly licked it, catching any leftover blood and effectively closing up the wound. As she set him upright, the key fell from his fingers and clinked on the asphalt. His chin rested on his chest and he swayed on his feet, a sleepy smile on his face.

Grinning, she stooped to pick up the key. "Thanks for the toy, Blue Boy." She turned and retrieved her weapons, picked up his forgotten helmet and strode towards her ride.