Damn you, White Wolf, will I never be free!

[dosetsu]

The rain poured down in a frigid torrent that early spring night, battering roofs, pooling in streets, soaking the town guardsmen who were out in force that night. It mingled with the blood of the dying woman laying nearby, whose wide and rapidly clouding eyes were focused on the stormy skies above--and whose thoughts as were no less tempestuous, a furious tirade raging through her mind even as she felt her life ebb away. What had she done to deserve this? Who gave those brave warriors of the Hunt the right--how could they simply cut her down, when all she had done was give a poor traveler a little shelter for the night? How was she to've known that the bedraggled man whom she'd found seeking shelter under her awning was Anathema? She'd done nothing wrong, nothing, and now she would die, and it was all their fault, and the Anathema's as well, he'd done it on purpose, surely--set her up as part of some sadistic game--damn him, damn them all . . . !

And then, cutting through her angry thoughts like a knife through flimsy cloth, she heard the voice--it was a woman's voice, low and velvety and seductive, speaking directly into her mind. Its words beckoned her from the brink--not back to life, but to something else, something darker.

"Heeeey, baby," the Deathlord whispered into the dying woman's mind, "wanna kill all humans?"