Author's Notes: This Chapter will be in the POV of Tariq Al'Akim. As such the tone will be more educated and wordy, since he learned English from an old-timey English gentleman. Also, my knowledge of the muslim world-view is imperfect, so f I get something wrong please excuse me.

I own fuck-all.

Let none say that I am a cold man. Let none say that I am a heartless monster. I, like my beloved Jessy Quinn, embrace the Path of Harmony. I do not believe that Allah allows the Kindred to exist so that we may be as demons. Rather we are as wolves; neither good nor evil but simply predatory. I do not enjoy torture (either receiving it or dealing it out). However, I love a good assassination.

It is not about the death. The killing itself is simply the goal, it is no more the point of the business than a knockout is the point of a boxing match (do not tell me otherwise; I have heard Bubba complain long and vociferously about what he called 'one punch fights'). The game of assassination is a good deal like hunting, and is very exciting. The stalking, the chase, occasionally the struggle. As I have already said, it is very exciting. Yet what I embark on now is going to be far better, I can feel it in every fiber of my being. To hunt Kine is good, to hunt kindred is better. But to hunt a Kindred who is actively hunting YOU? An assassin whose reputation is apparently a rival for your own? This will be the hunt of a lifetime, and I intend to savor every moment of it.

Naturally I cannot reveal to any of my packmates the full extent of my excitement. They would not understand. Such passions are intensely disturbing, even among the Sabbat, and only another Assamite truly understands it. I recall with great fondness the last time I was able to sit and discuss such matters with another of my clan; to 'talk shop' as Jessy would put it. We spent that whole night siting at a table, drinking Packed Red Cells (the usual manner used in storing blood is simply to store the red blood cells- it lasts longer), and discussing the finer points of eliminating a target. I remember we spent three hours arguing over the best weapons to take with you. A heated debate to be sure, for each situation requires a different combination of arms. There are few decisions more vital.

That sounds strange to an outsider I know. Certainly Jessy does not understand why this is such a preoccupation tonight. "Tarry baby" she says, knowing that to hear her call me such names always embarasses me. Women should not be so forward. "what the hell is the deal tonight? Here I am, hot and rarin' to go, and you'd rather focus on which knife to take with you tommorow night!". This is an accurate description of my mental state, but not feeling particularly suicidal, I decide against saying so.

"My darling" I reply, hoping to avoid a major argument "the weapons I select now may spell the difference between life and final death for me tommorow night. The Toreador is supposedly quite good, and I cannot afford to let any potential advantage slip. Please, dark light of my soul, allow me to work in peace"

For a wonder, Jessy lets it go "Fine Tarry. I understand. "

I should not press my good fortune. Normally Jessy is not willing to take no for an answer. I suspect it has something to do with her clan. As a nosferatu, Jessy's appearance is hideous. Consequently she needs a good deal of reassurance that I am not totally repulsed by her. Perhaps this change of attitude is a sign that she is finally coming to accept that my love for her is based on far more than mere lust. Still, her immediate submission is worrying "You do?"

"Yep. You need to keep that luscious bod in one piece. Cool. But I'm going to help you by making sure you're good and satisfied in time for tommorow night. I figure some bedroom gymnastics will help loosen you up and make sure you're mind doesn't wander during the fight. So hurry this up, Jessy needs her lovin'."

When I was in Japan hunting Kuei-Jin, I read some of their Mangas to familiarize myself with local Kine culture. In these books, characters would 'sweat-drop' in some situations. Had I been able to do so, I too would have sweat-dropped just now.

Jessy walks out of the room, swaying her wasted hips in a way I have long found indescribably arousing. With great effort, I return my attention to the weapons. After much deliberation, I settle on a glock pistol, my short swords, two throwing knives and a tazer. Now, to show Jessy that I do in fact find her attractive…

THE NEX T EVENING

Last nigt was beyond description. That is all I will say on the matter.

Some people question why I love Jessy so. The answer is she is not only as sweet and charming a Kindred as I have ever met, but her fire and paassion are as great as they were when she was still alive. Among the cold-hearted Cainites, this is a true rarity, to be treasured above vitae or power. I cannot help but recall the words of Kayin (called Caine by the Westerners). He wrote "Love is the sweet rain which falls down from Allah. Love is the gift of life". This is nothing but the truth; since I met Jessy, I have felt more alive than I did in Istanbul before I was Embraced. My heart seems to beat again, and my body seems to pulse with life again. For her part she say I make her feel beautiful again. Odd. Only in each others company are we able to forget those things we hate most about ourselves.

Before I set out on my hunt I perform my prayers. AS I have said, I believe Allah has a purpose in mind even for vampires. As such, I do not believe myself to be intrinsically damned, and thus I remain a muslim. I turn towards Mecca and begin. "Ah la il allah, Mohammed razul Allah…". This is important to me, for not only does it soothe my sipirit to know I am "right with God" as Bubba says, it preserves continuity with my mortal life. I pray to Allah for strength and courage, and for the skill to follow the path of Haqim to redemption.

I finish my prayers and contemplate my sacred duty. Few understand the Path of Blood, the Path of the Assamite. It is this : Kayin was the first of us, the only pure vampire in the history of the world, for his blood was purely vampiric. He was offered redemption, an offer he refused. Lesser generations of vampires were created in sin, for Allah had forbidden Kayin the right of Progeny, so we are tainted with sin. But if a Cainite can raise himself to the purity of Kayin (or close to it), he can remove this taint, and be offered salvation, in the form of Golconda. Thus, even diablerie is to the glory of Allah.

Tonight I will have a chance to pursue this glory. For my quarry, Jean DelaForge, is 7th generation, while I am 9th. His sire was a contemporary of Rafael, the Toreador who originated the Masquerade, and chose Delaforge for his beauty. The fact that his childer was an extremely adept assassin was, apparently, merely happy coincidence. Bizarre how the Cainites outside my clan choose their childer, but it is really no business of mine.

My business is the hunt.

My current situation is probably the hardest to plan. The 'average' scenario (there is nor such, not really. Each is totally unique) can be planned out fairly simply. The target is followed, his habits are studied, and eventually the hit is planned for when the target is habitually off-guard. But how does one plan the death of a professional killer? One who, it must be assumed, knows all the same tricks as you do, and probably a few more. I decide the best way is to act as bait, to let my prey hunt me, and then turn the tables when the time is right.. A dangerous ploy, I know. Far too easy to be trapped or defeated, but I have little alternative.

I go out onto the roof of the building. Powtanville is a fair-sized city, for which I a m grateful. This is because it affords a large number of high buildings from which to 'roof-hop'. I use Potence (learned secretly from Bubba; I am still unused to it so I have yet to inform the others) to make the jumps, clearing ten to twelve foot gaps with ease. Most enjoyable, I wonder why Bubba does not do this himself.

My senses are trained to their utmost efficiency as I landon the roof of the Addenval Public Library…and then a knife plants itself in my side.

I pull out the blade and whirl around. Standing casually at one corner of the roof is a strikingly handsome young man, holding another throwing knife in his hand, and wearing a rapier in a scabbard He is tall, six foot one would be my guess, and his features are so aristocratic as to make Jeff look like a dockworker. His blond hair is tastelfully mussed, just enough to imply wildness without implying carelessness. He wears a tight bodysuit. He smiles slightly, in what is not quite a sneer, and his blue eyes shine with delight.

"Tariq Al' Akim. The famed Assamite-turned-Sabbat. How I looked forward to meeting you! You know, I hve studied your work quite closely. Your assassination of the Hermetic Mage Darian Silvers was nothing less than art!" The surprising thing is, I do not get the impresion that the youth is anything less than totally sincere. "I mean, sprinkiing poison on his favorite flowers! SO simple, so ingenious"

I decide to talk in order to gain the time I need to heal myself. Besides, as I said, discussing business with a fellow assassin is a rare treat indeed. "I am flattered. I am impressed by your record as well monsieur DelaForge. Your work in Europe preceded you to North America. The assassination of the Giovanni primogen in Rome particularly intrigued me. I have never heard of anyone killing a Necromancer in Italy and leaving the country alive. Could you tell me how you managed the kill and the escape?"

DelaForge answers, not in the tone of one who is bragging nor of one currying favor. He sounds, instead, like what he is; a professional eager to share his experiences with a respected colleague. "The kill was fairly easy. I contracted men to find the Giovanni crypt. Then, over a few nights, I drilled a tiny hole into the ceiling just above the Primogens resting place, into which I placed a maginfiying glass. When dawn came, a tiny ray of sunlight was transformed into a beam powerful enough to incinerate my target. As for my esape, I subtly left clues that linked the Ravnos to the killing. Even now, the Giovanni are warring on the Gypsies, who likely have no idea what is happening."

A good plan. Cold-blooded, but operationally sound, and with plenty of room for improvisation. My estimation for my opponent increases. This will not be easy. I've healed myself enough. It is time to act while he is still off balance.I nod, and bolt left, using Celerity to enhance my speed.

The Toreador are msot famous for their love of and skill with art. They are seen as artistic social butterflies, excellent at social maneuvering but of little value in direct combat. What most forget is that the Toreador are among the greatest masters of Celerity, and can use this skill to deadly effect. This is immediately demonstrated in the way that Delaforge rushes past me, and slashes at my chest in a move far too fast to see. Fortunately, his knives lack the weight to cause severe damage, but the pain reminds me not to underestimate his prowess.

I leap away and throw my knives. He dodges both and leaps after me, swinging the rapier in a tight arc which I can barely parry. Allah, he's so fast!

I riposte with my short swords, swinging both at once. One comes from the left and is aimed at his neck, the other carcs towards his midriff from the right. This move is excellent against opponents wielding only one weapon. Usually, the target can only block one blow, and is killed or crippled by the other. Delaforge however, ducks his head and blocks the right hand blade, stopping my attacks but putting himself off balance. I ready myself to strike but find that I cannot bring myself to hit him. I realize he's using Presence. BRILLIANT! I would not have thought that the so-called social discpline could be so effective in battle.

I spring back, and quickly consider my options. I cannot use the tazer, as I cannot strike him. The Glock might work, but he is too fast for me to be sure of hitting him. Inspiration strikes.

I use the Quietus abilities Baals Caress and Taste of Death. Baals caress changes my blood into a potent acid (Bubba, in a rare display of insight, compared it to the acid blood in Alien), while Taste of Death allows me to spit my blood. The acidic vitae strikes Delaforge directly in his right eye. To his credit, although the attack stops him in his tracks, he does not scream nor panic. This does not help him. His concentration lapses, and his Presence fades.

I attack, knocking him down and stabbing through his heart with my blade. As he enters torpor, I say:

"Monsieur Delaforge, you have been, without question the greatest opponent of my unlife. Thus I am prepared to offer you a choice. Surrender yourself to me, join the Sabbat. We will keep you a prisoner, but only until we break your Blood Bonds and are certain you are truly with us. We will present you to the Cardinal, and ask him to place you in a war-pack, where you can use your talents to save all the Kindred. Refuse, and I will consume you, and send your spirit into the next life with honor. Choose"

In a voice so weak that it can barely be heard, Delagorge says "I cannot. My life is yours, for you won it by besting me. You must choose for me" and he lapses into torpor.

I consider for a moment, before picking him up and heading back to the lair. He is too valuable to waste, and the war against the antedeluvians will require skill such as his. Janus will understand.

End Chapter

I know this is not the canon understanding of the path of blood. But I think that, just as two members of the same religion will see it in radically diferent ways, so there is no 1 understanding of a Path of Enlightenment. This one happens to be tinged with Muslim belief. Mind you, I may not understand Muslim belies perfectly and if so, I'm sorry

Also, if the fight seems short remember that battles that last five minutes make legends that live forever.