HELLFIRE

Elysium- The name given for the place where the elder vampires meet and gather.

Protean - The discipline allowing a vampire to transform either her body or a part of it into something inhuman. Particularly common amongst vampires of the Gangrel Clan.

Rotschreck- The vampire fear of an end to their existence, normally from sunlight or fire. It is a manic self-preserving terror.

Sire- The parent-creator of a vampire, used both as the female and male form.

pROLOGUE

I still wonder if it is just a dream that we are all here. Perhaps some sick game played by Gods to put the human condition through the most terrifying nightmare possible.

If it is such a game then I have at least lived through most of it. It's funny how long it takes to try and drop terminology like 'lived' and 'breathe'. 'Morning' and 'love'.

But that is only the first obstacle, facing up to the fact that you are now in a completely different world. An entire world you never knew existed and you soon wish you had remained like that.

Do I mean that? It's true I have seen wonders unimaginable before my Becoming. I have also made friendships that will never fade because in the dark out there you have to hold on to all the true friends you can get.

I guess this is our story, of myself, Carmina St.Michael, Fenris of Fey and later Darren Vecna. We were normal people living our lives in the varied, colourful communities that huddled inside the frail walls of Alucard, trying to balance ourselves between a stride towards the developing hereafter and the prehistoric pit that the Holocaust brought.

Perhaps we were chosen, perhaps we were just damned, but we were suddenly dropped into the realm of the Kindred, the Camarilla and the eternal strife between the Clans. To this night I still have only fragments of the picture.

I write this near to the end, as I believe it must be. We have all reached our apex and become powerful monsters but I shall continue writing though I doubt anyone will be around to read it. So I guess I write it as a tribute to my friends, denounced heroes in this world of darkness.

My name is Marian Anastasia and I am a Vampire...

pRELUDES

Grant Fey watched the boy leap again through the flames. The dogs howled almost in triumph as he landed on the rusty coloured sand and stood, his body tense and lean. His tattoos spoke of the adventures to come, an inward claw marking sweeping down from his left arm pit, stopping short of his abdomen to break up in branches that confirmed his inexperienced youth.

The sun began to mist the horizon and it would soon be time to sleep and prepare the boy for tomorrow when he would leave the Gangrel homelands of Sector 7 and travel into the more inhabited areas of the city as all Grey Hunters did. But Grant was worried, Fenris was too eager to join the 'Jyhad'. He was also too pure of heart, his Becoming had been painful as it should be, but his spirit seemed unbreakable and even now Grant was afraid that Fenris' noble spirit might have him play the martyr to those who would abuse it. He had tried to teach him of the devilish ways of other vampires and that those of the Giovanni, Tremere and Setite clans could not be trusted. But he feared that his attempt had been wasted on ears that heard only the songs of the wolves and the pounding of hungry blood.

Fenris was far too headstrong for his liking. He had even commented such to the Wolf-Lord Blackmane that perhaps he might be more suited as a Blood Claw, the furious, bloodthirsty shock troops of his clan. But as he guessed the Wolf-Lord had said that it was he who had embraced the boy from a nomadic desert tribe and forever put him on the path of the Grey Hunter.

Looking over, Fenris seemed to have enclosed the fear of fire that all vampires had, to a degree where he could control the cowardly Rötschreck and not be a liability to his packmates. The boy bounded up the hill towards Grant, becoming a man as he got closer and then Kindred. He was naked and showing the recitation markings of a Gangrel vampire, but out here in these veritable wastelands ordinary mortals were few and thus it was peaceful.

Fenris bowed as he reached him, 'Sire.'

'Fenris, there is no need for that stuff, not with me.'

He stood immediately, standing a good six inches above Grant's six foot. 'I apologise, it's just that the Blood Claws do it to their own.'

'You spend too much time with those maniacs.'

Fenris looked surprised and puzzled, 'But Sire they are proud warriors.'

Grant thought of them, berserk with fury, covered with fighting knives and drooling their own blood, 'Hmm.'

They walked towards the camp, the lairs huddled around the giant banquet hall where the Wolf-Lord prepared for sleep. Fenris spoke, 'I have completed my enclosure of the Rötschreck, disciplined myself in the Protean so that now I can form the claws of the wolf and Rakner says I have excelled the others in physical agility...' Grant waited for him to continue, knowing what was to come next. 'It just seems that despite all this Sire, I suspect you doubt me, am I wrong?'

Grant sighed like a mortal, 'No. No, you are not wrong.'

'Then I have failed you in some way.'

'It's not that believe me, I just...' Grant stumbled for words, 'I don't think you are quite ready for the horrors that the city will bring. It is not like here.'

Fenris turned to face him, 'My departure is under tomorrow's' moon and my destiny lies as a scout of the Grey Hunters', I believe this...even if you do not.'

'Fenris, listen, it's not that I doubt your ability. I have tried to teach you in the ways of the other clans...'

'Then you do think that I have failed!' Fenris stepped up on the musty wooden steps of the Lair, 'If I cannot prove myself to you in training, then I will prove you wrong in practice!' he snarled.

Grant knew he could not realign the bond that was due between them, not now, so he said nothing.

'Will you be there at my departure tomorrow?'

For him to ask his Sire that! Grant nodded sadly although Fenris had already turned and disappeared inside.

The morning rays began to dimly brush the tops of the camp and in the dawnlight, Grant was sure he had seen tears of blood in his fledglings' eyes.

Marian fell back on the mountain of cushions as the drug took effect. Slinky began another chorus of 'We are sailing' that rocked the VW van from side to side when he did the rowing motions.

Someone was banging on the side of the van. The banging got louder until they reached the door and Andrei poked his head inside, 'Ello, what's goin' on here?'

Slinky stopped his rowing and tried to sweep the dreadlocks from his eyes so that he could see who it was. 'A'right Andy mate!' he said showing off the trio of gold caps adorning his teeth. 'Do want some of this shit, its good innit Maz?' He punched Marians' boot, 'Maz!'

'It's her I've come for actually, mate.' Andrei climbed in, trying not to cough his guts up with the heavy incense smoke. He grabbed Marian by the shoulder but she preferred the company of the cushions. 'Gizza hand, will you Slink.'

'I can't man, I'm in a canoe.' he said as if this was perfectly obvious.

Andrei looked at the stringy mat Slinky was sat on, 'That's fair enough, mate.' and began hauling Marian out the side door.

Outside, Andrei tried slapping Marian out of the stupor before she slammed a determined knee up into his groin. She held her head and tried to focus on the figure curled up in agony on the ground. A stereo pumped out music from somewhere behind her. Stereo M.c.'s, cool, she thought.

It was one of the many party nights in the huge gypsy settlement that covered nearly a thousand blocks of Sector 5. Deprived of their traditional travellings by the contaminated land outside the city, the gypsies settled as best they could and mocked life. Massive bonfire's burned, people singing and dancing joyfully around them, Jugglers doing their stuff whilst dodging the joyriders that sped around the camp in old done-up Escorts. People were happy here because they didn't give a shit. Everything was cool.

Even her mother was out partying, Marian didn't have to be home tonight because it was unlikely her mother would be either. So she'd met Slinky and a few of his smelly mates and driven over to this bloke called Gobsmack who dealt them some shit for a few Necros. Everything was going fine until bloody Andy Pandy here started dragging her about.

She helped him off the floor and waited until he could breathe properly. Some bloke with an extremely large floppy hat danced gleefully past until he collapsed in a sizeable pile of lager cans.

'You're...to meet a guy called...Sidra...Peder Sidra. He's parked up behind the...Romanov's place.'

'Why should I do that? I don't even know the guy!'

Andrei waved his hand as if he had something really important to say if he could only get his testicles out of his throat, 'He's...from...the East-side.'

Marian stopped her impending argument. The East-side was forbidden to youngsters and most oldies. It was said that the ancient traditions of the Romani race were still practised there. As children they had been told it was a place to be respected in a world where they were taught to respect nothing. Her mother sometimes spoke of it in reverence at big occasions, of an elder race of gypsies that lived there and protected the interests of all.

Sounded bollocks if you asked her. 'Nah, fuck it. Fancy a spliff, Andy?'

Before he could make a reply she caught sight of a figure striding towards her. The man wore shades and a long donkey jacket in which he hid his hands from view. He brought one out like a weapon as he reached the pair,

'Marian Anastasia? I am Peder Sidra.'

'So?' She said petulantly without taking the pale, slender hand.

'I wonder if I could ask you to come with me.' He spoke with a Romani accent untainted by Alucardian slang. 'It's quite important that you come to the East-side.'

'What for?'

'It involves your family.'

She looked concerned, 'What about them? If you've done anything with my mother...'

'Calm down. We're more concerned about you. Now will you come?'

A thousand other questions bubbled forth, but if she could do something for her family she supposed she would have to go along with the geek. She quickly turned attitude, 'Okay, lets go. You got a BMW or what?'

Marian was disappointed that the East-side looked more or less the same as every other part of the camp. There were not as much bonfires and decrepit caravans, only vast, black reinforced tents, but it was nothing special.

She had been taken from the car (a crappy Volvo) and led to a large sweeping purple tent where there appeared to be another party going on. Only this time she didn't recognise anybody. The geek had disappeared somewhere so she stood like a goalpost near the entrance looking uncomfortable and wondering why she had come here.

Someone was calling her name from the other side of tent, how she could hear it over all the noise she wasn't sure, but then she saw the lips moving in unison with her name. A man grinned at her from between the shoulders of dancers, his eyes gleaming beautifully. He beckoned for her to follow, she would have refused but what other choice did she have?

That thing had bitten him!

Darren Vecna raced down the worn, crumbling steps from the Church, nearly losing his grip on the pistol he held. At the bottom he slammed back against the wall, swinging the gun back up the dark stairway in case the terror should come rushing back out after him.

His neck was bleeding heavily and he felt as if he might pass out at any moment. He waited, trying to keep his concentration fixed on the stairs but his mind drifted against his will to Susan and how he might never get to see her again.

Vecna had been a D.C. in the Alucard Police Constabulary for too many years, too many to be at the same rank anyway. He guessed that his problem was that he was not ambitious enough, the cavalier spirit he had started the force with had withered considerably after years on the dark, dirty, ungrateful streets of the city. Susan looked at him with less respect these days, she still loved him but he suspected it was more pity now.

Martin was a different case altogether. His son made it perfectly clear that he thought the red-tape of the law an encumbrance to sweeping the rubbish from the streets. Almost a man himself, he'd admitted that he thought his father just one more penpusher in that mechanism of pointless stationary. Last week they'd argued about it and with both of them telling too many truths, Martin had left. He hadn't seen him since, Susan blamed him but said nothing, which made it worse.

So after several glasses of J.D. he'd driven here, the closed down Baptist church in Block 98, knowing full well that Ashenlar was handing over a significant consignment of Charlie for conveyance to the Red-Beam district. Of course the A.P.C. wouldn't touch it because the drug-deal was not at a stage where an arrest would be 'viable'. Bollocks to that he thought, for once he was going to break the rules, for Martin's sake if anything.

And of course he landed himself right in the shit. No plan, no backup and plenty of bourbon sloshing around inside him, he had little chance against a gang of drug dealers. But he hadn't expected Ashenlar to almost make him drop his gun and feint just by looking at him and then move so quickly to his throat...like an animal.

Against his will he'd managed to get off a shot that scattered the party and gave him chance to escape. Trouble was, they weren't chasing. Why?

He stumbled down the side of the old building, collecting moss between his fingers as he tried to keep balance.

A shape stepped out from behind a gravestone, a slim knife clutched in its fist. Vecna raised his gun even as the figure charged him growling like a dog. Despite the trauma he was suffering, Vecna was a professional shot, he eased back on the trigger and the bullet flew true, separating the man's forearm bones. He dropped the knife and howled horribly, but kept on coming. He was too close now for a decent shot so Vecna slammed the pistol butt up into the bridge of his nose and made a run for it.

A sleek limousine, looking out of place in the rotting, moonlit graveyard, sped from the driveway and straight towards him. He fired off a shot, which splintered the windscreen and dived against the wall. The car smashed into a gravestone, slamming the drivers' head into the windscreen with a dull thunk.

Vecna was sure he had broken his ribs, the pain and the loss of blood made him unable to move for a moment, then he clawed his way along what appeared to be a tunnel under the church belfry to the driveway beyond.

There was a sound behind him. He whirled round just in time to see the gang of monsters charging. Pale faces, contorted by rage, and wide, red mouths holding bloody teeth.

His screams seemed muffled in the darkness beneath the church.

The digital clock chimed its alarm just as the sun was setting. Carmina made an attempt to push the microscopic button on the clock's surface but only succeeded in knocking it off the drawer and onto the carpet where it continued its screeching tune.

Carmina groaned a second time and threw a pillow over the clock. Holding her head she resigned herself to getting up and getting some supper before she headed out on the job. She stepped from the bed and onto the pillow which, when she stood, made a satisfying crunch which stopped the muffled alarm.

Sleeping most of the day and getting up now was Terry Finch's idea. It would help them stay alert while they waited for the Security Chief of Hydrocon plc. to turn up for his payment. They had been tailing Sean DeSenko for two weeks, the story had been going nowhere and Roiters, the editor of the Rapier newspaper where she worked, had threatened to pull them off if they didn't get results soon. A stray memo had got them that result. DeSenko was doing bully-jobs on the side and she had a hunch his moonlight employers were the Mafia.

She pulled two wholewheat pitta breads stuffed with brocolli and cauliflower cheese from the fridge. After a look at the far-too-healthy snack she pushed them both back. She would have to rely on coffee to get her through.

She made a cup and went through to the living room of the pseudo-yuppie flat that she owned on the left bank of the Acheron River in Sector 2, switching her answer-machine to playback.

The River was no more than the occasional stream that the council of the city had to work hard to get Hydrocon to produce and she looked sadly to where the ducks used to congregate on the green banks before the bombs had rained down around the city.

'Carmina, this is your mother. I thought we arranged for you to call once a week at 7pm Wednesday.' The familiar droll of her all too protective mother was predictably the first message up. She rolled her eyes, 'Now I'm not nagging as you know, but would it be too much trouble just have a chat every now and then. I don't think I'm asking too much so I hope to hear from you soon. Bye, love.'

'Hello, its Terry just to remind you that I'll pick you up at nine, tonight...'

Carmina took a long swig of the coffee and fast-forwarded Terry's message, which would undoubtedly be about things she already knew, like tonight's arrangements and his secretive crush on her.

The next message began but there was no voice on the line and then, '...Hi Babe, my name is Jack? We met at the Rapier party a few weeks back, I gave you my number but you never called...'

'Can't you take a hint then?' She said to the machine as it carried on.

'...So I got your number from the paper' He laughed obviously proud of his 'genius' '...and I just wondered if you fancy...' The tape got fast-forwarded again.

'Carmina, this is your mother...'the machine was switched off.

An hour later Terry's polished Mazda pulled up outside and she went down to meet him. She crept carefully down the stairs in case she stirred the landlord Baxter, from his regular slob in front of tonight's game show. She owed him four days rent and he was meticulous about collecting, (unlike his personal hygiene).

There was a light breeze tonight, smelling slightly of the spicy sulphur that blew in from the deserts despite the contamination barriers. The street was almost silent, with few animals in the city, most of the noise was man-made and ugly. She trotted down the steps and into the car.

Carmina ruffled through the contents of the glovebox, 'You got any crisps? I'm starving.'

'Did you not eat before you came? I said you should.'

'Yes, well we're not all as prioritised as you, Terry.' The sarcasm flew over Terry's balding scalp the way it always did. Terry was not yet in his mid-twenties, yet his black hair was already spreading itself thin. It didn't help that he had a baby-face to go with it, this made him look ridiculous and it was fortunate he was stuck behind the camera lens most of the time.

'Roiters called me up before I left, he wants this one in the bag with no chance for libel. We've got to get him clean.'

'I'll get him anyway that makes the story sell papers!' Carmina looked out at the set of garages which were still devoid of activity after their three hour wait. 'Roiters wants the big stories, the ones that bring sensation, that's why I got took on. He wants to blow NOW newspaper out of the water, but he's not going to get that if he doesn't take a few risks!'

'Yeah.'

As usual Terry was silenced by her passion. No doubt he was on Roiters side and hoped that Carmina didn't go too far and get the newspaper into more trouble than it could handle. The Rapier was small time compared to the large media conglomerate she had worked for in Paris, but that had all been arranged by her mother. She had even lived with her family while working there. Her move to Alucard had dismayed them, but she would never know whether she was the journalist that merited getting the job her mothers contacts had got her until she did it for real, without help. The stories were petty and unexciting for the most part, but at least they were hers.

And this was the biggest yet.

'Someones here.' Terry flinched and ducked down in his seat as if the occupants of the other car that pulled up could see across the yards of wasteground and into the spare patch of parking space hidden behind the bushes.

Carmina handed him the camera, 'Are you going to get some piccy's or are you planning on inspecting the clutch pedal the rest of the night?'

'Oh yeah, right.' He fumbled with the camera and let loose a few shots of the dark suited men that got out of the car. One of them slipped away into the shadows of the inner garage while the rest leant against the bonnet and lit up cigarettes.

Carmina sighed, 'That's what I could do with right now.' remembering the pack of Silk Cut she had left in the bedroom.

Another cars' headlights scoured the horizon and fell short of the other vehicle before both them and the engine died. The only occupant of the car got out. It was DeSenko.

'Get his face!' she hissed to Terry who had the lens pressed up against the glass of the windscreen.

'There's not enough light and the distance is too long.' He reached for his carrying case and a glum expression formed on his face when he opened it. 'Uh-oh.'

'What? What's wrong?'

'I must have left the other lenses in my dark room.' Terry looked as guilty as he could.

'Oh no!'. Carmina covered her eyes with a palm, 'Well you're going to have to go out there, until the distance is right and snap a few faces with what you've got.'

Terry looked at her in horror, 'Who me? What if I make some noise? Those guys have got guns you know?'

'Terry we'll lose the story if you don't!'

'Then that's what we'll have to do.' Terry said in a parental tone.

'Bollocks we'll have to do that!' Carmina grabbed the camera and sprinted out and away from the car.

'Carmina!'

She settled down a few hundred yards from where DeSenko was shaking his fist angrily at a man who was clearly not impressed. The lens was light sensitive so it picked out DeSenko's motley features even in this half-light. She began clicking pictures.

DeSenko had decided to take up his argument with the occupier of the other car who sat in shadow in the back seat. After a small scuffle with one of the bodyguards, the back door clicked open and a hand beckoned for him to get in.

The back seat was almost within her line of sight, through the lens she could pick out the mans' pinstripe trousers, but nothing more from this angle.

She crept through the bricks and dusty shrubs trying to get a shot into the car. The mugshots of DeSenko and a Mafia boss would make the story sweet indeed.

Carmina lost her balance against a sharp half-brick sticking from the ground, she fell hard on her elbow, jarring the picture she was taking. She dusted herself down and looked through the camera again.

People were running towards her.

'Shit!' She scrambled to her feet and pounded her way back towards Terry's car, 'Terry start the car! We're leaving!'

Terry's face dropped several inches when he saw the dark figures closing in on Carmina. He revved the engine, which stalled in his panic.

One of the men fired a pistol which bounced of the cars roof as Carmina floundered on the bonnet. 'Move!'

The car started and reversed sharply, throwing Carmina back onto the ground. Another bullet split the ground apart yards from her. She got up again and raced toward the car door that Terry flung open. Terry's eyes bulged and he was screaming something but the noise of the guns had deafened her.

The moment she grabbed hold of the door, Terrys' boldness ran out, he stepped down on the accelerator and Carmina was dragged from her feet, her arm nearly pulled from its socket.

Dust and gravel slapped her face as she was pulled along the ground, still grasping the car door, she had managed to throw the camera onto the passenger seat, but with another bullet imbedding itself into the Mazda's bodywork, she wished she'd threw herself there too.

Terry, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was being pulled along the side of the road at highspeed, swerved onto the main road out of the Block-area. Carmina's fingers gave up and with a scream she was thrown into an alleyway.

She came to a halt against a trash-skip, not before her body had rebounded off the wall a few times though.

'Ow.' She groaned.

There was no way she was moving anywhere fast for a while. Crawling to the edge of the alley, she saw that all apart from one of the pursuers had lost the chase. One man though had decided he'd deal with her alone and came grinning over towards the alley.

She tried to stand but a lance of hot pain shot up from her leg. She tried to get the Swiss-Army knife from the depths of her rain-coat but the damn thing was stuck sideways in the pocket and wouldn't budge with just one hand.

The man came round the corner, he was still grinning as he saw the crippled woman on the floor. He was faintly European looking, and smelling, she noticed. It seemed insane that she was thinking about this man's garlic breath when she was so terrified.

He kicked her savagely in the leg. A scream of agony burst from her lips and she curled up as best she could against the onslaught.

Large heavy hands grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her from the floor and up against the wall. She almost lost consciousness with the pain but he slapped her face hard until she looked into his cruel eyes. He grinned as he began pushing his fist between her thighs.

His touch never came though. Carmina had closed her eyes tight and allowed herself a squint when his hold suddenly fell away. The man was lying sprawled at her feet, his eyes looking about frantically, while his mouth worked uselessly and dribbled spit

A tall woman stood opposite her, she was gorgeous in her darkness and stature. She moved to Carmina's side before she fell, one of her heels crushing the paralysed man's fingers. He didn't or couldn't make a noise.

'Thank...you' Carmina managed to mumble in the woman's arms, she didn't have the strength to say any more, even when the woman bent to her neck.

Slinky would never have believed this, even if she were allowed to tell him. Apparently those that became the 'Ravnos' kindred were never allowed to socialise again with their former friends. This was probably no bad thing considering the friends that Marian had, but to never see her mother again hurt. She had never known that from birth as the seventh child of her parents she was destined to be embraced by the Ravnos and become something called a 'Dream Weaver' to protect the gypsies of Alucard.

She had never said goodbye properly.

She wondered if her mother grieved or not. Surely she would have known that last night would come, and if she did, all the love Marian had shown her was for nothing, because all the time she was being watched. It made her feel angry to be used like that, but if it was tradition then she imagined her parents had little choice.

Marian felt her rebellious side rising again, but the vampire blood that now flowed in her veins steadied her, not wanting her to lose control. The Ravnos were her family now. The Becoming had been shit-your-pants scary at first, and she had fought hard against the monsters whispering in her mind, but gradually the gentle Romani words of her Sire seduced and comforted her to capitulate.

However, although she was one of them she was also very much herself and there was no way she was going to get swallowed up in some clan.

Madame Saiy's wrinkled, claw-like hand gently touched her arm, 'Are you sure you want to present yourself to the Prince on your own, child?'

Marian nodded, 'Aye.'

Saiy was reputedly the second oldest Ravnos in the camp (although it was hard to tell when you were immortal) and the spiritual leader, her tutor on the path of Paradox. She had wanted Marian to be presented to the Prince of the city as all new vampires had to be, with Ravnos cohorts. But she was determined that the camp was no place for her now, not with the threat, however slight, of running into her mother again. She couldn't face that.

She had contacts in the city that might prove handy. 'Very well. May the Flux blind your intent to others.' Siay rasped

'Aye.'

Marian heaved open the door to her van in the warm night, and her dog dived in (she had been shown a neat trick to bind animals with blood). She looked back at the small frail woman who bent under her cowl with glowing red eyes. What sort of world was she in now?

She started the engine and spun mud for a bit before setting out for the place she had been told in Central Sector. The parliament of an ancient race of super-beings.

The Elysium.