Blood Ties: Chapter II
Well this moves on a pace, I am making serious headway on this, I get it back from my beta and I already have 1200 words of Chapter 3 written. Though this is the point that I should put up a warning. I am tentatively exploring an idea I have wanted to write for a while as a part of this fic. As a result the themes will get dark and there will be some torture involved in this fic. So, I shall repost the specifics...
Title: Blood Ties
Anime: Final Fantasy VII crossed with Vampire: The Masquerade
Setting: AU, set in the world of Vampire: The Masquerade, complete with Camarilla and all it's clans
Pairings: Zack x Sephiroth, Sephiroth x Zack
Rating: 18+
Warnings: This one is violent, technically bloodplay, torture and extreme themes in some chapters
Summary: The Camarilla is rotten to the core. The anarchic Brujah decide to take a stand, and approach the Gangrel to ask them to honour the old alliances, the Blood Ties...
~> Chapter 1
Blood Ties
In the midst of the increasing restlessness that was snaking its way insidiously through the Camarilla, the Brujah were not the only ones to be planning for war. In fact, there were others who were counting on it. Rufus Shin-Ra, Ventrue and heir to the ShinRa Empire, stood at the top of the tower at the ShinRa building, looking out on the city lights of Midgar. With his sight he could even see the slums below the plate. He hated this place. It was a rotten empire built by his father, a man he hated. The alliances he had made… he hated to think about the scientists working in the bowels of the building. The labs down there with experiments that made even him feel sick, and he had become inured to quite a lot round his father. They were an awful place, not that he was allowed access. But he had been close enough to hear the screams.
Then there were the not so hidden labs, the ones just a few floors below this. The experiments were much less extreme, the more… ‘public’ face if you will. But they were run by the same scientists, a mix of Malkavians and Tremere. The positioning of the lab meant that he had to pass them in the corridors, share an elevator with them, even company meetings. During these encounters it took all of his considerable will power not to shudder with the way they made his skin crawl. The Malkavians made the archetypal mad scientists and ‘Professor’ Hojo was the worst of the bunch. The Tremere were not so bad, unless they were in the vicinity of Tseng. Then he had this insane urge to tear them to pieces.
He was very possessive and protective of his Turks, an odd misfit bunch. His dislike of the Tremere scientists came from the fact that Tseng was one of the few Salubri Clan still surviving. The Tremere had basically hunted the Salubri to extinction and he did not want Tseng to fall to them. Fortunately his head Turk could take on any comers, his third eye hidden by his tilak, and his healing abilities were so useful. He was waiting for Tseng to arrive with two others. The Turks were a large organisation, but these three, they were his; they were the ones he could trust. But an odder trio you could not imagine. Tseng, the calm, controlled, even sometimes serene Salubri, Rude, the strong, tall, Assamite, capable of great violence under that still, silent exterior, and then Reno. The redhead was a typical Caitiff, the Clanless. A street rat of a vampire, scruffy, cocky, but under that, one of the best Turks you would ever find.
In this world where his father had control of almost everyone and everything, these three were loyal to him. Which in Tseng’s case meant a lot as head of the Turks, and the Turks in the main would follow orders - there were just a couple they weren’t sure they could rely on when the chips were down, and they took a stand against the President, but they could be weeded out in time. But these three were the only ones he could talk to, trust to plan with, work behind the back of his father. And that he was doing, more so than ever before now that ShinRa’s enemies were beginning to gather.
He was well aware of the Brujah moving, of them recruiting the Gangrel, alliances of old being honoured. The Turks were an intelligence organisation, amongst their other duties, and he knew of the trouble brewing. But since Tseng was his man, certain reports were not making it to his father. The elder ShinRa was aware of the discontent, he would have to be blind to not be, but he was unaware of the true depths of the danger, did not know that the muster was being called. And that was good, it made it so much easier for him and his plans.
The door opened and his three warriors stepped in, settling behind him, the door closing and locking behind them. They stood in silence for a few moments, Rufus unmoving, his eyes roving over the humans wandering through the streets, like ants at this distance. Because of the Camarilla, the Masquerade, they knew nothing of their world, except what they told them. Smoke and mirrors, glamour and illusion. A war was brewing right under their noses and they knew nothing of it. Yet vampires pretty much ruled their existence. This was real power, holding all those lives in his hands while the humans felt utterly safe, blissfully ignorant. And soon, that power would be his.
The sound of Tseng politely clearing his throat drew him from his musings.
“Sir?”
“Anything new to report?”
“Brujah and a Gangrel were spotted together in a club. A bar fight broke out and the Brujah fell to his Beast. Must’ve done, no fucking reason why else a Gangrel would shift and attack, but then not kill yo’.”
Rufus finally deigned to look at the three, the redhead in particular.
“Repercussions?”
Reno grinned toothily, fangs showing, Tseng rolling his eyes.
“It was taken care of,” the dark haired man explained.
“Good. So the Brujah are actively on the move. Do you know when and where they will strike?”
Tseng merely nodded, dark eyes utterly serious. Rude seemed to tense, come more alive from his stillness at the prospect of battle.
“Be still,” Rufus said softly to the dark Assamite. “You know my plan.”
The three nodded.
“Then keep an eye on things, we need to be ready when they move.”
With that he dismissed the three, but Tseng lingered.
“This is a risky plan.”
“Indeed,” Rufus agreed. “But with great risk comes great reward. We can let them do the dirty work, rebuild alliances and take power all in one fell swoop. And we have deniability if things do not go to plan.”
“Your father will suspect.”
Rufus laughed darkly.
“My dear Tseng, he suspects me already, he may be a fool but he is not a complete idiot. I don’t want to disappoint the old bastard do I?”
On the floor the great dark cat that was Dark Nation stirred and woke, stretching and padding over to her master, resting her head in his lap as he sat by the window. Rufus ignored the cat as he was once again looking at the city.
“This world needs a change, my father’s regime is rotting it from the inside out, corrupt to the core. Even the humans know it. They will accept the changeover of power easier if it is through a perceived act of terrorism. It will also be easier for the survivors of the regime to swallow.”
“Just do not let yourself fall into the same traps as he has, or someone else will be doing the same to you in years to come.”
Tseng did not truly believe that Rufus was anything like his father. He was far more intelligent, a fact that actually made him more dangerous. This one would be the proverbial viper in the father’s bosom, but would not leave himself open to such plots later on.
Rufus just chuckled and dismissed him with a wave of a hand, this time Tseng heeding the dismissal. The great dark cat did not like being ignored and showed her displeasure by wrapping her powerful jaws round his forearm. Rufus smiled at her silliness as there was no pressure behind the massive teeth and took to petting the great head. Dark Nation released him, purring deep in her broad chest, allowing Rufus to trace and explore the bones of the great cat’s skull.
“Silly cat,” he muttered.
Looking into the night he wanted time to move faster, for the time of his ascension to come on swift wings. But he would be patient, and reap the benefits. Just a little longer, and this world would be his.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Zack stood in human form scenting the wind. His sense of smell was equally good no matter his form. Turning his face into the breeze he tried again to pick it up. It was so slight, but it was there, the faintest trace of a familiar being. The scent danced on the edge of his senses, tantalising, awakening memories of passion and pain, but not yet recognising to what or whom it belonged. It was almost frustrating, but the scent was too far away to really track, teasing at him, yet calling him in a visceral way. He had begun to suspect it was deliberate, that this scent belonged to someone, someone who wanted him to track them down. He looked up to the sky, the waning crescent moon giving its light to the forest. Alright, he had nothing better to do, nothing like a good hunt to entertain now, was there?
He closed his eyes, letting his sense of smell become his primary sense, the noises of the night becoming the secondary, the two most important things to get this hunt started. Sight would come later. He cast his head about in a sweeping motion, in and out of the breeze, trying to get a sense of direction for the elusive scent. He grinned as his direction at last became clear and he set off at a hunter’s pace after his quarry. It was on the move, but moving at a leisurely pace. It looked like he was being led as they got closer and closer to civilisation. But by now he had a better grip on the scent and who it belonged to. He was grinning in anticipation. For him to be playing this game was a surprise, a pleasant one, but a surprise none-the-less. But the game was coming to an end as the figure was stood before him, a silhouette with neon lighting from a shop sign behind him. Pink was not a good colour on him though.
The figure beckoned and Zack followed as they walked down the street to an old house, run down and empty, and as he stepped into it, it looked like it had been used as a squat in the past, though the scents in here were old. Nothing human had lived here for weeks, but he could smell the rats either way.
“Classy,” he said with a grin.
“Private,” the other replied.
“So what is this, social or business?”
Zack was hoping the former, after their little chase he was excited, wanting a more satisfying conclusion to it than just finding his quarry and talking, though he knew he couldn’t push the other into anything. At last the other stepped into the light, a shaft of moonlight reflecting off quicksilver as it swayed and moved, Sephiroth at last visible.
“Come with me,” he said softly, leading him upstairs.
Zack couldn’t fault him, he had obviously planned this, for in an upstairs room there was a clean and new mattress on what was, admittedly, a ratty old bed frame that looked like it might fall to pieces at any moment. The message was all too clear. He didn’t need those lips taking his own, the feral snarl from the Brujah, but hell he would not argue with them either. He suddenly understood why here, here they could let loose, hurt each other, snarl and howl and scream and not be heard or disturbed. It was a good job the spot was as well chosen as it was, since Zack was not turning down that offer, and Sephiroth seemed hungry. Anyone who walked past must have surely thought there was a murder being committed inside the house. And by the time they were done, they were hurting and spent, the air tainted with the scents of blood, sweat, and sex.
As they lay recovering, catching their breath, letting the deep bites and gouges heal, Zack lay looking at the Brujah that had become his lover through some twist of fate. Neither pretended this was an emotional thing, this was strictly casual. A more literal twist on the saying ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’. They did a lot more than scratch. Sephiroth was the first to sit up, looking out of the window towards the tower of the ShinRa building, his eyes hard and cold. Zack could tell he was itching for the fight, and was starting to guess at why.
“I guess we are going to move soon,” Zack started softly, testing the waters.
“Yes, though I wish it would be sooner,” the taller vampire admitted.
“This is personal for you isn’t it?”
It was a guess, but Sephiroth’s demeanour, his need and ache to get to battle was beyond normal for even a Brujah. Violence did not drive them, a cause did, but the prospect of violence seemed to enflame the man before him. Sephiroth didn’t answer him at first, and Zack remained very still, well aware that he might be treading on dangerous ground. But the broad shoulders sagged, the noble head drooping.
“My brother was one of those captured for their experiments.”
Zack hissed, no wonder Sephiroth was eager for this.
“It has been weeks since then, much longer and it will be months. We have an idea what they do in those labs to those captured for these experiments. I can only hope he has endured.”
Zack could hear the anger, the tension in his voice and felt for him. He would do anything for a fellow Clansman, but for it to be your own family, it had to be tearing Sephiroth apart.
“That’s why you have been struggling with your Beast.”
Zack had been surprised that this had come so soon, but under that strain, the need for vengeance, to free his brother from the hands of those sadists, it was no wonder that an already volatile Beast was more active than was usual for even a Brujah.
Sephiroth nodded.
“And I have tidings for you. I believe it will be easier to gather the Gangrel together with it, get them behind us. The faster we can do that, the faster we can start the assault. Though I apologise, I suspect that this will hurt you.”
Sephiroth rose, an ethereal figure of pale skin and mercurial hair, he looked like something straight out of a myth, some fey creature, wild and magical, as the moonlight struck his form. Zack had missed the bag sat in the corner when they had first arrived, he had been rather distracted at the time. But from it Sephiroth now took a file, handing it to him, sitting before him, looking a little concerned. He supposed he should be warmed by that look, but instead it made dread settle in his stomach like ice. So it was with trepidation that he opened the file.
He froze, there was no other word for it. His blood ran cold and he could scarcely breath as he read the report of a Gangrel captured by ShinRa, but he hardly absorbed the content of the report, his eyes fixed on the photograph. He knew the youth well, and while not family, he might as well be. He was childe of someone he had known, who had died a while back, and he had taken him under his wing. He had struggled with his Protean abilities, but Zack had helped him through that. To see him in the hands of these animals made him angrier than he could describe. He was also regretting not keeping in better touch with his friend.
“When?” he asked seething.
“A week ago as far as we can tell. I was aware that you are close to him, and apologise for being the bearer of bad tidings. But we did feel we could get things moving within your clan better if we had some proof.”
It had been slow going, approaching Gangrels individually. They had hoped they would reach the Clan Elders in the process, but they had not had much luck. As such, progress had been painfully slow, and the Brujah were not strong enough to mount the attack on their own. It was possibly cruel to target Zack in the way that they had, but they needed someone to take this higher, and so he had done what was necessary. In return he would offer comfort if Zack wanted it, feeling guilty for causing him this pain when he understood it so much himself. But they knew this was the only way to get things moving.
Zack sighed heavily.
“You are right of course, but you are not the only one itching to get in there and get someone out now.”
“I appreciate that. And these are but two that we know of, ones we know have people to go after them, who care for them in some way. Who knows how many more we will find when we get into those wretched labs.”
It was a chilling thought. What little intelligence they had was bad enough, but they all knew it was the tip of the iceberg in terms of what was really going on. But Zack was rising to dress. No matter how scattered his Clan were, there was always a way to reach the Elders in times of emergency and this was definitely one of them. They needed to know, the clan had to come to muster.
“I need to get this before the elders. How can I contact you when the Clan is ready to go?”
Sephiroth had anticipated this. Also from the bag he handed Zack a mobile phone.
“It has my number programmed on speed dial. If you call from this phone I will know it is you and I will know what it means.”
Zack nodded, looking serious, and unusually cold. Sephiroth decided he didn’t like Zack looking like that, the cheerful and almost annoying persona suited him much better.
“Expect to hear from me in a couple of days at most,” he said quietly, but Sephiroth could hear the reined in anger that he was holding back.
Sephiroth nodded, and with that the Gangrel was gone. If Zack could do what he said he was going to, then within a week they would be storming the tower in the centre of Midgar. It was a thought that gave him some ease, even though most of him screamed that it was not soon enough, that he may not have a brother left to rescue after all this time. No, he would not think like that. His brother was a Brujah, a warrior born, one of their strongest. He couldn’t imagine what it had taken for them to capture him, and he hoped he had killed many in the effort. The ground had been stained red with blood at the site where he had been captured, though no bodies had remained. ShinRa had obviously taken and disposed of any there were. He had to believe in his strength, his will, the things he knew were strong in him.
He looked to the tower, feeling the ache in his heart. He wanted to tear them apart, make the corridors and floors run red with the blood of those that would dare to do this to those of their own kind. To rip the corruption apart at the source, purge it, for the good of all the Camarilla, and destroy the evil that festered in the heart of the city. They would burn this cancer out of the world and never would this world have to see its like again.
“Soon brother, soon you will be free, and we will have vengeance.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Deep in the bowels of the tower the dark haired scientist grinned happily to himself. The subject was a good one, and despite the weeks of continual experiments he was holding up well, continuing to take all they threw at him. This was good - no excellent. He had proven an excellent subject for some of his most complex research. He had known that a Brujah specimen would be best for experimenting on the Beast that dwelled in them all. The already volatile nature was easily corrupted, and combined with the Protean ability they all had, he had been able to achieve some remarkable results. The forms he had managed to achieve as a result of tampering with both Beast and Protean abilities were nothing short of wondrous, and warmed his black little heart. But he was not finished. There were yet more enhancements he could make, finishing touches yet to be added to the monster he was fashioning.
This specimen and others he was working on would be the beginning of a new breed of vampire, bypassing the slow and tedious process of evolution, accelerating it, thrusting vampire kind forward millennia. So much progress in so little time. He truly was a genius. But enough musing, he had given the specimen enough of a break, it was time to return to his work. As he walked along the corridors he looked into the restraining areas where his prized experiments were housed, making quick notes as they occurred to him. Hmm, he would have to see the result of separating the dark one from his brother, keeping him restrained, just how would the two react? It could prove interesting in controlling them.
He frowned as he passed a mako suspension tank, looking at the blond that lay within. Such a disappointing specimen, not responding well at all. He would have to see if the G series of enhancements took any better. He scrawled a quick note on the clipboard he was carrying to remind him to do it later. Inferior specimens, why couldn’t they bring him more like the Brujah? Though he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on the Salubri currently serving within the Turks. So many things to test, the healing abilities, see if the disturbing little flaw regarding only being able to drink from the willing could be cured or bred out of them. So few of their Clan left, it would be a sin not to help them get over such weaknesses.
Ah, but here he was, back with his current pride and joy. He stepped into the laboratory, relishing the scent of blood, the sound of the pained and laboured breathing of his specimen. He turned on the recording equipment to log this session, the screen showing the specimen’s heaving chest, covered in sweat that dripped onto the steel table he was strapped firmly to. The sweat mingled with the blood that had long since pooled and congealed on the table, blood having also dripped onto the floor from the partially dissected arm that currently had retractors holding open the wound, skin peeled back and held out of the way, to expose the structures within. The bound man shivered and trembled as much as his restraints would allow, his body’s expression of his ongoing agony, something he could no longer hide, not after all that had been done to him by this man.
The Professor examined the wound with a frown. The wound was showing signs of beginning to heal and that would not do. Picking up a syringe he drew a large measure of shining fluid into the chamber looking back at his specimen.
“A little something to give me time to finish,” he said cheerfully. “When I am done there will not be another like you. I will be quite anxious to see what kind of childe you can produce when I are finished.”
“Never!” the specimen hissed, blood stained sputum spraying from his lips as he forced the word through clenched teeth. “I’ll never give you the satisfaction.”
“Now, now,” the Professor chided as he pushed his glasses up his nose, thoroughly amused and exceptionally pleased that his specimen was both aware and able to continue to fight back like this; so much resilience in him. “I think you would be surprised at just what you might do for me, given the right motivation.”
He spent a bit of time, carefully injecting the glowing liquid into precise points in his open arm, drawing grunts of pain from his specimen. But that done he turned his back on his panting experiment, turning to the brass object before him. That would come later, for now came the grafting of the exquisite and complicated electronics that would make it function, and he picked up the construct of wires, and some small, specialised tools for the work he was about to undertake. The unfortunate vampire lay waiting for this newest torture as the Professor laid out his tools with precision, checking that each one would be within reach and he had all he would need. Satisfied he turned to the console.
“Specimen B31, session 265, commencing graft procedure. Once complete, fitting will need to occur and testing of the resilience during Protean change will need to be conducted.”
Yes, he looked forward to those experiments, to see the results. He would have to pit him against the big berserker, also with Protean enhancements and see which proved stronger. He could force both specimens into those changes and record as much data as possible.
But now back to this specimen and the experiment in hand.
“Let’s begin shall we?”
He repositioned the flap of skin to his liking, pinning it back, ignoring the hiss of pain as he pinned flesh to flesh with a large needle. This was going to be a long session with fine and painstaking work. He was looking forward to this. And as the razor sharp blade cut into the fine and sensitive tissues of the specimen’s nerves, the screaming began.
Title: Blood Ties
Anime: Final Fantasy VII crossed with Vampire: The Masquerade
Setting: AU, set in the world of Vampire: The Masquerade, complete with Camarilla and all it's clans
Pairings: Zack x Sephiroth, Sephiroth x Zack
Rating: 18+
Warnings: This one is violent, technically bloodplay, torture and extreme themes in some chapters
Summary: The Camarilla is rotten to the core. The anarchic Brujah decide to take a stand, and approach the Gangrel to ask them to honour the old alliances, the Blood Ties...
~> Chapter 1
Blood Ties
In the midst of the increasing restlessness that was snaking its way insidiously through the Camarilla, the Brujah were not the only ones to be planning for war. In fact, there were others who were counting on it. Rufus Shin-Ra, Ventrue and heir to the ShinRa Empire, stood at the top of the tower at the ShinRa building, looking out on the city lights of Midgar. With his sight he could even see the slums below the plate. He hated this place. It was a rotten empire built by his father, a man he hated. The alliances he had made… he hated to think about the scientists working in the bowels of the building. The labs down there with experiments that made even him feel sick, and he had become inured to quite a lot round his father. They were an awful place, not that he was allowed access. But he had been close enough to hear the screams.
Then there were the not so hidden labs, the ones just a few floors below this. The experiments were much less extreme, the more… ‘public’ face if you will. But they were run by the same scientists, a mix of Malkavians and Tremere. The positioning of the lab meant that he had to pass them in the corridors, share an elevator with them, even company meetings. During these encounters it took all of his considerable will power not to shudder with the way they made his skin crawl. The Malkavians made the archetypal mad scientists and ‘Professor’ Hojo was the worst of the bunch. The Tremere were not so bad, unless they were in the vicinity of Tseng. Then he had this insane urge to tear them to pieces.
He was very possessive and protective of his Turks, an odd misfit bunch. His dislike of the Tremere scientists came from the fact that Tseng was one of the few Salubri Clan still surviving. The Tremere had basically hunted the Salubri to extinction and he did not want Tseng to fall to them. Fortunately his head Turk could take on any comers, his third eye hidden by his tilak, and his healing abilities were so useful. He was waiting for Tseng to arrive with two others. The Turks were a large organisation, but these three, they were his; they were the ones he could trust. But an odder trio you could not imagine. Tseng, the calm, controlled, even sometimes serene Salubri, Rude, the strong, tall, Assamite, capable of great violence under that still, silent exterior, and then Reno. The redhead was a typical Caitiff, the Clanless. A street rat of a vampire, scruffy, cocky, but under that, one of the best Turks you would ever find.
In this world where his father had control of almost everyone and everything, these three were loyal to him. Which in Tseng’s case meant a lot as head of the Turks, and the Turks in the main would follow orders - there were just a couple they weren’t sure they could rely on when the chips were down, and they took a stand against the President, but they could be weeded out in time. But these three were the only ones he could talk to, trust to plan with, work behind the back of his father. And that he was doing, more so than ever before now that ShinRa’s enemies were beginning to gather.
He was well aware of the Brujah moving, of them recruiting the Gangrel, alliances of old being honoured. The Turks were an intelligence organisation, amongst their other duties, and he knew of the trouble brewing. But since Tseng was his man, certain reports were not making it to his father. The elder ShinRa was aware of the discontent, he would have to be blind to not be, but he was unaware of the true depths of the danger, did not know that the muster was being called. And that was good, it made it so much easier for him and his plans.
The door opened and his three warriors stepped in, settling behind him, the door closing and locking behind them. They stood in silence for a few moments, Rufus unmoving, his eyes roving over the humans wandering through the streets, like ants at this distance. Because of the Camarilla, the Masquerade, they knew nothing of their world, except what they told them. Smoke and mirrors, glamour and illusion. A war was brewing right under their noses and they knew nothing of it. Yet vampires pretty much ruled their existence. This was real power, holding all those lives in his hands while the humans felt utterly safe, blissfully ignorant. And soon, that power would be his.
The sound of Tseng politely clearing his throat drew him from his musings.
“Sir?”
“Anything new to report?”
“Brujah and a Gangrel were spotted together in a club. A bar fight broke out and the Brujah fell to his Beast. Must’ve done, no fucking reason why else a Gangrel would shift and attack, but then not kill yo’.”
Rufus finally deigned to look at the three, the redhead in particular.
“Repercussions?”
Reno grinned toothily, fangs showing, Tseng rolling his eyes.
“It was taken care of,” the dark haired man explained.
“Good. So the Brujah are actively on the move. Do you know when and where they will strike?”
Tseng merely nodded, dark eyes utterly serious. Rude seemed to tense, come more alive from his stillness at the prospect of battle.
“Be still,” Rufus said softly to the dark Assamite. “You know my plan.”
The three nodded.
“Then keep an eye on things, we need to be ready when they move.”
With that he dismissed the three, but Tseng lingered.
“This is a risky plan.”
“Indeed,” Rufus agreed. “But with great risk comes great reward. We can let them do the dirty work, rebuild alliances and take power all in one fell swoop. And we have deniability if things do not go to plan.”
“Your father will suspect.”
Rufus laughed darkly.
“My dear Tseng, he suspects me already, he may be a fool but he is not a complete idiot. I don’t want to disappoint the old bastard do I?”
On the floor the great dark cat that was Dark Nation stirred and woke, stretching and padding over to her master, resting her head in his lap as he sat by the window. Rufus ignored the cat as he was once again looking at the city.
“This world needs a change, my father’s regime is rotting it from the inside out, corrupt to the core. Even the humans know it. They will accept the changeover of power easier if it is through a perceived act of terrorism. It will also be easier for the survivors of the regime to swallow.”
“Just do not let yourself fall into the same traps as he has, or someone else will be doing the same to you in years to come.”
Tseng did not truly believe that Rufus was anything like his father. He was far more intelligent, a fact that actually made him more dangerous. This one would be the proverbial viper in the father’s bosom, but would not leave himself open to such plots later on.
Rufus just chuckled and dismissed him with a wave of a hand, this time Tseng heeding the dismissal. The great dark cat did not like being ignored and showed her displeasure by wrapping her powerful jaws round his forearm. Rufus smiled at her silliness as there was no pressure behind the massive teeth and took to petting the great head. Dark Nation released him, purring deep in her broad chest, allowing Rufus to trace and explore the bones of the great cat’s skull.
“Silly cat,” he muttered.
Looking into the night he wanted time to move faster, for the time of his ascension to come on swift wings. But he would be patient, and reap the benefits. Just a little longer, and this world would be his.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Zack stood in human form scenting the wind. His sense of smell was equally good no matter his form. Turning his face into the breeze he tried again to pick it up. It was so slight, but it was there, the faintest trace of a familiar being. The scent danced on the edge of his senses, tantalising, awakening memories of passion and pain, but not yet recognising to what or whom it belonged. It was almost frustrating, but the scent was too far away to really track, teasing at him, yet calling him in a visceral way. He had begun to suspect it was deliberate, that this scent belonged to someone, someone who wanted him to track them down. He looked up to the sky, the waning crescent moon giving its light to the forest. Alright, he had nothing better to do, nothing like a good hunt to entertain now, was there?
He closed his eyes, letting his sense of smell become his primary sense, the noises of the night becoming the secondary, the two most important things to get this hunt started. Sight would come later. He cast his head about in a sweeping motion, in and out of the breeze, trying to get a sense of direction for the elusive scent. He grinned as his direction at last became clear and he set off at a hunter’s pace after his quarry. It was on the move, but moving at a leisurely pace. It looked like he was being led as they got closer and closer to civilisation. But by now he had a better grip on the scent and who it belonged to. He was grinning in anticipation. For him to be playing this game was a surprise, a pleasant one, but a surprise none-the-less. But the game was coming to an end as the figure was stood before him, a silhouette with neon lighting from a shop sign behind him. Pink was not a good colour on him though.
The figure beckoned and Zack followed as they walked down the street to an old house, run down and empty, and as he stepped into it, it looked like it had been used as a squat in the past, though the scents in here were old. Nothing human had lived here for weeks, but he could smell the rats either way.
“Classy,” he said with a grin.
“Private,” the other replied.
“So what is this, social or business?”
Zack was hoping the former, after their little chase he was excited, wanting a more satisfying conclusion to it than just finding his quarry and talking, though he knew he couldn’t push the other into anything. At last the other stepped into the light, a shaft of moonlight reflecting off quicksilver as it swayed and moved, Sephiroth at last visible.
“Come with me,” he said softly, leading him upstairs.
Zack couldn’t fault him, he had obviously planned this, for in an upstairs room there was a clean and new mattress on what was, admittedly, a ratty old bed frame that looked like it might fall to pieces at any moment. The message was all too clear. He didn’t need those lips taking his own, the feral snarl from the Brujah, but hell he would not argue with them either. He suddenly understood why here, here they could let loose, hurt each other, snarl and howl and scream and not be heard or disturbed. It was a good job the spot was as well chosen as it was, since Zack was not turning down that offer, and Sephiroth seemed hungry. Anyone who walked past must have surely thought there was a murder being committed inside the house. And by the time they were done, they were hurting and spent, the air tainted with the scents of blood, sweat, and sex.
As they lay recovering, catching their breath, letting the deep bites and gouges heal, Zack lay looking at the Brujah that had become his lover through some twist of fate. Neither pretended this was an emotional thing, this was strictly casual. A more literal twist on the saying ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’. They did a lot more than scratch. Sephiroth was the first to sit up, looking out of the window towards the tower of the ShinRa building, his eyes hard and cold. Zack could tell he was itching for the fight, and was starting to guess at why.
“I guess we are going to move soon,” Zack started softly, testing the waters.
“Yes, though I wish it would be sooner,” the taller vampire admitted.
“This is personal for you isn’t it?”
It was a guess, but Sephiroth’s demeanour, his need and ache to get to battle was beyond normal for even a Brujah. Violence did not drive them, a cause did, but the prospect of violence seemed to enflame the man before him. Sephiroth didn’t answer him at first, and Zack remained very still, well aware that he might be treading on dangerous ground. But the broad shoulders sagged, the noble head drooping.
“My brother was one of those captured for their experiments.”
Zack hissed, no wonder Sephiroth was eager for this.
“It has been weeks since then, much longer and it will be months. We have an idea what they do in those labs to those captured for these experiments. I can only hope he has endured.”
Zack could hear the anger, the tension in his voice and felt for him. He would do anything for a fellow Clansman, but for it to be your own family, it had to be tearing Sephiroth apart.
“That’s why you have been struggling with your Beast.”
Zack had been surprised that this had come so soon, but under that strain, the need for vengeance, to free his brother from the hands of those sadists, it was no wonder that an already volatile Beast was more active than was usual for even a Brujah.
Sephiroth nodded.
“And I have tidings for you. I believe it will be easier to gather the Gangrel together with it, get them behind us. The faster we can do that, the faster we can start the assault. Though I apologise, I suspect that this will hurt you.”
Sephiroth rose, an ethereal figure of pale skin and mercurial hair, he looked like something straight out of a myth, some fey creature, wild and magical, as the moonlight struck his form. Zack had missed the bag sat in the corner when they had first arrived, he had been rather distracted at the time. But from it Sephiroth now took a file, handing it to him, sitting before him, looking a little concerned. He supposed he should be warmed by that look, but instead it made dread settle in his stomach like ice. So it was with trepidation that he opened the file.
He froze, there was no other word for it. His blood ran cold and he could scarcely breath as he read the report of a Gangrel captured by ShinRa, but he hardly absorbed the content of the report, his eyes fixed on the photograph. He knew the youth well, and while not family, he might as well be. He was childe of someone he had known, who had died a while back, and he had taken him under his wing. He had struggled with his Protean abilities, but Zack had helped him through that. To see him in the hands of these animals made him angrier than he could describe. He was also regretting not keeping in better touch with his friend.
“When?” he asked seething.
“A week ago as far as we can tell. I was aware that you are close to him, and apologise for being the bearer of bad tidings. But we did feel we could get things moving within your clan better if we had some proof.”
It had been slow going, approaching Gangrels individually. They had hoped they would reach the Clan Elders in the process, but they had not had much luck. As such, progress had been painfully slow, and the Brujah were not strong enough to mount the attack on their own. It was possibly cruel to target Zack in the way that they had, but they needed someone to take this higher, and so he had done what was necessary. In return he would offer comfort if Zack wanted it, feeling guilty for causing him this pain when he understood it so much himself. But they knew this was the only way to get things moving.
Zack sighed heavily.
“You are right of course, but you are not the only one itching to get in there and get someone out now.”
“I appreciate that. And these are but two that we know of, ones we know have people to go after them, who care for them in some way. Who knows how many more we will find when we get into those wretched labs.”
It was a chilling thought. What little intelligence they had was bad enough, but they all knew it was the tip of the iceberg in terms of what was really going on. But Zack was rising to dress. No matter how scattered his Clan were, there was always a way to reach the Elders in times of emergency and this was definitely one of them. They needed to know, the clan had to come to muster.
“I need to get this before the elders. How can I contact you when the Clan is ready to go?”
Sephiroth had anticipated this. Also from the bag he handed Zack a mobile phone.
“It has my number programmed on speed dial. If you call from this phone I will know it is you and I will know what it means.”
Zack nodded, looking serious, and unusually cold. Sephiroth decided he didn’t like Zack looking like that, the cheerful and almost annoying persona suited him much better.
“Expect to hear from me in a couple of days at most,” he said quietly, but Sephiroth could hear the reined in anger that he was holding back.
Sephiroth nodded, and with that the Gangrel was gone. If Zack could do what he said he was going to, then within a week they would be storming the tower in the centre of Midgar. It was a thought that gave him some ease, even though most of him screamed that it was not soon enough, that he may not have a brother left to rescue after all this time. No, he would not think like that. His brother was a Brujah, a warrior born, one of their strongest. He couldn’t imagine what it had taken for them to capture him, and he hoped he had killed many in the effort. The ground had been stained red with blood at the site where he had been captured, though no bodies had remained. ShinRa had obviously taken and disposed of any there were. He had to believe in his strength, his will, the things he knew were strong in him.
He looked to the tower, feeling the ache in his heart. He wanted to tear them apart, make the corridors and floors run red with the blood of those that would dare to do this to those of their own kind. To rip the corruption apart at the source, purge it, for the good of all the Camarilla, and destroy the evil that festered in the heart of the city. They would burn this cancer out of the world and never would this world have to see its like again.
“Soon brother, soon you will be free, and we will have vengeance.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Deep in the bowels of the tower the dark haired scientist grinned happily to himself. The subject was a good one, and despite the weeks of continual experiments he was holding up well, continuing to take all they threw at him. This was good - no excellent. He had proven an excellent subject for some of his most complex research. He had known that a Brujah specimen would be best for experimenting on the Beast that dwelled in them all. The already volatile nature was easily corrupted, and combined with the Protean ability they all had, he had been able to achieve some remarkable results. The forms he had managed to achieve as a result of tampering with both Beast and Protean abilities were nothing short of wondrous, and warmed his black little heart. But he was not finished. There were yet more enhancements he could make, finishing touches yet to be added to the monster he was fashioning.
This specimen and others he was working on would be the beginning of a new breed of vampire, bypassing the slow and tedious process of evolution, accelerating it, thrusting vampire kind forward millennia. So much progress in so little time. He truly was a genius. But enough musing, he had given the specimen enough of a break, it was time to return to his work. As he walked along the corridors he looked into the restraining areas where his prized experiments were housed, making quick notes as they occurred to him. Hmm, he would have to see the result of separating the dark one from his brother, keeping him restrained, just how would the two react? It could prove interesting in controlling them.
He frowned as he passed a mako suspension tank, looking at the blond that lay within. Such a disappointing specimen, not responding well at all. He would have to see if the G series of enhancements took any better. He scrawled a quick note on the clipboard he was carrying to remind him to do it later. Inferior specimens, why couldn’t they bring him more like the Brujah? Though he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on the Salubri currently serving within the Turks. So many things to test, the healing abilities, see if the disturbing little flaw regarding only being able to drink from the willing could be cured or bred out of them. So few of their Clan left, it would be a sin not to help them get over such weaknesses.
Ah, but here he was, back with his current pride and joy. He stepped into the laboratory, relishing the scent of blood, the sound of the pained and laboured breathing of his specimen. He turned on the recording equipment to log this session, the screen showing the specimen’s heaving chest, covered in sweat that dripped onto the steel table he was strapped firmly to. The sweat mingled with the blood that had long since pooled and congealed on the table, blood having also dripped onto the floor from the partially dissected arm that currently had retractors holding open the wound, skin peeled back and held out of the way, to expose the structures within. The bound man shivered and trembled as much as his restraints would allow, his body’s expression of his ongoing agony, something he could no longer hide, not after all that had been done to him by this man.
The Professor examined the wound with a frown. The wound was showing signs of beginning to heal and that would not do. Picking up a syringe he drew a large measure of shining fluid into the chamber looking back at his specimen.
“A little something to give me time to finish,” he said cheerfully. “When I am done there will not be another like you. I will be quite anxious to see what kind of childe you can produce when I are finished.”
“Never!” the specimen hissed, blood stained sputum spraying from his lips as he forced the word through clenched teeth. “I’ll never give you the satisfaction.”
“Now, now,” the Professor chided as he pushed his glasses up his nose, thoroughly amused and exceptionally pleased that his specimen was both aware and able to continue to fight back like this; so much resilience in him. “I think you would be surprised at just what you might do for me, given the right motivation.”
He spent a bit of time, carefully injecting the glowing liquid into precise points in his open arm, drawing grunts of pain from his specimen. But that done he turned his back on his panting experiment, turning to the brass object before him. That would come later, for now came the grafting of the exquisite and complicated electronics that would make it function, and he picked up the construct of wires, and some small, specialised tools for the work he was about to undertake. The unfortunate vampire lay waiting for this newest torture as the Professor laid out his tools with precision, checking that each one would be within reach and he had all he would need. Satisfied he turned to the console.
“Specimen B31, session 265, commencing graft procedure. Once complete, fitting will need to occur and testing of the resilience during Protean change will need to be conducted.”
Yes, he looked forward to those experiments, to see the results. He would have to pit him against the big berserker, also with Protean enhancements and see which proved stronger. He could force both specimens into those changes and record as much data as possible.
But now back to this specimen and the experiment in hand.
“Let’s begin shall we?”
He repositioned the flap of skin to his liking, pinning it back, ignoring the hiss of pain as he pinned flesh to flesh with a large needle. This was going to be a long session with fine and painstaking work. He was looking forward to this. And as the razor sharp blade cut into the fine and sensitive tissues of the specimen’s nerves, the screaming began.