Pallor Mortis
"The Signs are all around, Kelly."
Chemuel sat reclined in one of the black velvet couches of Club Succubus, her black cocktail dress immaculate, a black mink coat draped across her slim shoulders. Next to her sat Sororitas, clad in a simple white shirt and black slacks, her businesslike image clashing violently with Chemuel's criminal-underworld-chic.
"What "signs", Dylan?"
"Take heed that no one deceives you. For many will come in His name; saying, "I am He" and will deceive many."
"Morpheus..."
"And you will hear wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and Kingdom against kingdom."
"The end of the Truce..."
"And there will be famines and pestilences... All these things are the beginning of the sorrows."
For a long time, Sororitas was silent. Slowly, calmly, Chemuel set down her cigarette, and reached out her hand, laying it across the other girl's.
"Whatever you choose, know that I will still watch over you."
Algor Mortis
Chemuel lounged across her couch in Succubus, a cigarette dangling from her delicate lips. A flustered operative ran into the room, his face creased with worry.
"The Truce has fallen, Chemuel! We have to get to Vanil... or Morraeon, somebody!"
"I know, Ampelos, but we will not flee to the temptation of those two."
"Well, it's too damned late. I already called Vanil. He sent some flunkies to meet us at Sanguine."
"That was a mistake, Ampelos."
"Like hell it was! We're going to die unless we've someone powerful on our side. Let's go!"
"Some power is not worth its cost, Ampelos; but very well. I'll go."
"You mean we'll go..."
"I'll go."
"Huh?"
"And I will strike down with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brethren. And you will know my name when I lay my vengeance upon you."
"What?"
"Goodbye, old friend."
A shot rang out, and then all was silent once more.
Rigor Mortis
"Where the hell is that *CENSORED*?"
"Shut up. If Lord Vanil says we're supposed to treat her nice, then we do, got it?"
"Whatever."
Vanil's operatives stood scattered about the Sanguine Room; each more a parody of Merovingian style than the next. They were brutish thugs; not the higly trained spies and assassins that made up The Masquerade, but they did their job well enough. Tonight, their job was to escort Chemuel to a safe point where she could be transferred back to the Masquerade. It was an easy enough task, and one beneficial to both parties. Chemuel got the "Big Guns" of the Merovingian on her side, and Vanil got Chemuel in his debt.
Funny how "easy" never is.
A thunderclap could be heard above the din of the rain as the club door opened to allow the entrance of a dozen men, all with black bandannas obscuring their features.
"Where's Chemuel."
"Lady Chemuel."
"Yeah, whatever. Where is she?"
"She'll be along shortly"
Before the man could respond, the air exploded with the sound of a dozen firearms going off, each one delivering its deathly messenger into the body of one of Vanil's servants. Bullets fell like rain as the masked gunmen strode through the nightclub, shattering Man and Exile alike in symphony of cordite, lead and blood. The few that made it past Chemuel's soldiers were cut down like cattle as they tried to make it up the stairs to freedom. Vanil's men were more numerous, but they simply weren't prepared. Eventually, when all was still but the halting flow of blood and cadaveric spasms of the dead, one of the men drew a two-way radio from his pocket.
"All's clear, Miss."
A short crackle came from the other end, then a woman's voice; very young, and tinged with a great sadness.
"Thank you, Mr. Schultz; I'll be in momentarily to pay my respects to the fallen."
"Yes ma'am."
Outside the club, the low purr which accompanies only the finest of engines was barely audible above the storm as the black Murciélago crept to a halt outside the doors. One of the gunmen, his face still hidden by the black veil of his bandanna, emerged from the club carrying an opened umbrella, which he held above the vehicle's side. The car's door slid up, revealing a slim, tan woman dressed in a tight black cocktail dress. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a bun secured with twin obsidian rods, and her eyes were hidden behind the crimson lenses of her designer sunglasses. Neither man nor woman spoke a word as they made their way to the door; once inside, the woman removed her sunglasses as the man shook the rain from his umbrella. Slowly, almost reverently, the woman made her way through the nightclub, stopping briefly at every corpse, every bloodstain, as though these things were sacred artifacts. Finally, she made her way to the central dance floor, where her soldiers, her Templars had begun the arduous task of piling the bodies. She stopped, and raised her hands for attention.
"The path of righteousness is beset on all sides by the injustice of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is she who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For she is truly her brother's keeper and the finder of lost children... You were lost, my children, and now you were found. But many still remain lost. The End of Times is upon us, yet thousands still remain ignorant. It is the responsibility of We, the άγγελος, to open their eyes, and to protect them from the Injustice of The Selfish and the Tyranny of Evil Men. Go forth, my Children, My Harbingers, and do what must be done."
Livor Mortis
"What in the Bloody Hell was that stunt you pulled at Sanguine?!?!"
Chemuel sat reclined in one of the black velvet couches of Club Succubus, her black cocktail dress immaculate, a black mink coat draped across her slim shoulders. The man currently striding towards her, his eyes aflame with the malice of a man who knew he had suffered defeat at the hands of someone he never expected was, of course, Vanil.
"Do you think you can just slaughter my men whenever you please? Is this a game to you? What were you thinking, Chemuel?"
Vanil slammed his gloved fist into the marble coffee table, a spiderweb of cracks stretching from his hand, yet Chemuel remained silent, smoke coiling from her elegant lips.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or should I just kill you right here? What on earth would possess you to do that?!?"
"Nothing personal at all, sweetheart. I simply can't have myself in your debt, especially in such trying times. That's just good business. Come now, don't be sad. After all, I learned it from you."
Chemuel smiled at Vanil; the 40-watt smile of a girl who knows she's gotten the better of an invincible man.
Despite himself, Vanil couldn't help but smile back.
"The Signs are all around, Kelly."
Chemuel sat reclined in one of the black velvet couches of Club Succubus, her black cocktail dress immaculate, a black mink coat draped across her slim shoulders. Next to her sat Sororitas, clad in a simple white shirt and black slacks, her businesslike image clashing violently with Chemuel's criminal-underworld-chic.
"What "signs", Dylan?"
"Take heed that no one deceives you. For many will come in His name; saying, "I am He" and will deceive many."
"Morpheus..."
"And you will hear wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and Kingdom against kingdom."
"The end of the Truce..."
"And there will be famines and pestilences... All these things are the beginning of the sorrows."
For a long time, Sororitas was silent. Slowly, calmly, Chemuel set down her cigarette, and reached out her hand, laying it across the other girl's.
"Whatever you choose, know that I will still watch over you."
Algor Mortis
Chemuel lounged across her couch in Succubus, a cigarette dangling from her delicate lips. A flustered operative ran into the room, his face creased with worry.
"The Truce has fallen, Chemuel! We have to get to Vanil... or Morraeon, somebody!"
"I know, Ampelos, but we will not flee to the temptation of those two."
"Well, it's too damned late. I already called Vanil. He sent some flunkies to meet us at Sanguine."
"That was a mistake, Ampelos."
"Like hell it was! We're going to die unless we've someone powerful on our side. Let's go!"
"Some power is not worth its cost, Ampelos; but very well. I'll go."
"You mean we'll go..."
"I'll go."
"Huh?"
"And I will strike down with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brethren. And you will know my name when I lay my vengeance upon you."
"What?"
"Goodbye, old friend."
A shot rang out, and then all was silent once more.
Rigor Mortis
"Where the hell is that *CENSORED*?"
"Shut up. If Lord Vanil says we're supposed to treat her nice, then we do, got it?"
"Whatever."
Vanil's operatives stood scattered about the Sanguine Room; each more a parody of Merovingian style than the next. They were brutish thugs; not the higly trained spies and assassins that made up The Masquerade, but they did their job well enough. Tonight, their job was to escort Chemuel to a safe point where she could be transferred back to the Masquerade. It was an easy enough task, and one beneficial to both parties. Chemuel got the "Big Guns" of the Merovingian on her side, and Vanil got Chemuel in his debt.
Funny how "easy" never is.
A thunderclap could be heard above the din of the rain as the club door opened to allow the entrance of a dozen men, all with black bandannas obscuring their features.
"Where's Chemuel."
"Lady Chemuel."
"Yeah, whatever. Where is she?"
"She'll be along shortly"
Before the man could respond, the air exploded with the sound of a dozen firearms going off, each one delivering its deathly messenger into the body of one of Vanil's servants. Bullets fell like rain as the masked gunmen strode through the nightclub, shattering Man and Exile alike in symphony of cordite, lead and blood. The few that made it past Chemuel's soldiers were cut down like cattle as they tried to make it up the stairs to freedom. Vanil's men were more numerous, but they simply weren't prepared. Eventually, when all was still but the halting flow of blood and cadaveric spasms of the dead, one of the men drew a two-way radio from his pocket.
"All's clear, Miss."
A short crackle came from the other end, then a woman's voice; very young, and tinged with a great sadness.
"Thank you, Mr. Schultz; I'll be in momentarily to pay my respects to the fallen."
"Yes ma'am."
Outside the club, the low purr which accompanies only the finest of engines was barely audible above the storm as the black Murciélago crept to a halt outside the doors. One of the gunmen, his face still hidden by the black veil of his bandanna, emerged from the club carrying an opened umbrella, which he held above the vehicle's side. The car's door slid up, revealing a slim, tan woman dressed in a tight black cocktail dress. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a bun secured with twin obsidian rods, and her eyes were hidden behind the crimson lenses of her designer sunglasses. Neither man nor woman spoke a word as they made their way to the door; once inside, the woman removed her sunglasses as the man shook the rain from his umbrella. Slowly, almost reverently, the woman made her way through the nightclub, stopping briefly at every corpse, every bloodstain, as though these things were sacred artifacts. Finally, she made her way to the central dance floor, where her soldiers, her Templars had begun the arduous task of piling the bodies. She stopped, and raised her hands for attention.
"The path of righteousness is beset on all sides by the injustice of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is she who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For she is truly her brother's keeper and the finder of lost children... You were lost, my children, and now you were found. But many still remain lost. The End of Times is upon us, yet thousands still remain ignorant. It is the responsibility of We, the άγγελος, to open their eyes, and to protect them from the Injustice of The Selfish and the Tyranny of Evil Men. Go forth, my Children, My Harbingers, and do what must be done."
Livor Mortis
"What in the Bloody Hell was that stunt you pulled at Sanguine?!?!"
Chemuel sat reclined in one of the black velvet couches of Club Succubus, her black cocktail dress immaculate, a black mink coat draped across her slim shoulders. The man currently striding towards her, his eyes aflame with the malice of a man who knew he had suffered defeat at the hands of someone he never expected was, of course, Vanil.
"Do you think you can just slaughter my men whenever you please? Is this a game to you? What were you thinking, Chemuel?"
Vanil slammed his gloved fist into the marble coffee table, a spiderweb of cracks stretching from his hand, yet Chemuel remained silent, smoke coiling from her elegant lips.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or should I just kill you right here? What on earth would possess you to do that?!?"
"Nothing personal at all, sweetheart. I simply can't have myself in your debt, especially in such trying times. That's just good business. Come now, don't be sad. After all, I learned it from you."
Chemuel smiled at Vanil; the 40-watt smile of a girl who knows she's gotten the better of an invincible man.
Despite himself, Vanil couldn't help but smile back.