90

You stare down at Ichiro pitilessly. There's no time to regret sweeping another pawn off the board—it was his life or yours, and you won't be undone by the likes of a ghoul. You reach down and pick up his sword. It's surprisingly light in your hand as it slices through the flesh and spine, sending Ichiro's head rolling listlessly across the hardwood floor.

Your left eye twitches, and a tremor flows down your entire body. You're not entirely sure why. It's getting harder and harder to feel affected by murder as the Beast slowly takes hold of your soul.

You find yourself wondering just why the old Sewer Rat wanted this specific ghoul dead anyway. Is it an attack on Alisha, or something more personal? You lean down and pick up Ichiro's sword, turning it over in your hands to look closely at the blade. The base by the hilt has been monogrammed in a bold, cursive script. "MB." Michel Bouchard?

You unstrap the sword's sheath from around the dead ghoul's waist and attach it to your belt. It's an awkward fit, but it will do for now. You wipe the blade clean and sheath the sword. Time to get out of here.

The way is clear, but you can hear police sirens wailing from the outside parking lot—best to avoid the mortal authorities if you can help it. Your search for an alternate exit is quickly rewarded, and you leave by the maintenance door, disappearing into the shadows surrounding a smattering of decorative trees which dot the grounds around the exhibition hall.

Your sense of relief is palpable. You've done it! For better or worse, you've proven yourself to Bouchard. Will this new alliance be the key to your survival, or are you simply a sacrificial pawn in their games? Either way, there's no turning back now. The sheathed sword bounces against your thigh as you sprint away. You're going to have to find a place to hide it for now, and you'd better choose a less conspicuous route back to your haven. The last thing you want is to get picked up by a mortal cop for walking downtown with a lethal weapon. Your long night just got longer.

Next Chapter

Chapter 6 Archon

You dream. The city sidewalks are uniform—symmetrical in a way that only a dream or an artist could conjure. The air is frigid and you shiver unconsciously, something so human that for a moment you forget your nature. Two figures emerge from the fog ahead of you, and as you get closer, their faces swirl into recognizable form. Robert Ward walks side-by-side with Arundel, speaking together in animated conversation. You've done it! You've located the missing Prince! But what could have persuaded Arundel to run off with an Anarch?

"I know this is difficult for you to understand," Ward says. There's an edge to his voice. It has the ring of a conversation that's been had many times before. "But you gotta know that the whole thing is crooked. She's fought your ideas the whole way through."

"That's why you can't leave, Robert," Arundel replies. "You'd hardly be the last Brujah operating within the Camarilla. Work with me. We can make change together, even if it takes another century."

Ward shakes his head. "World's not gonna wait that long. You know what I have to do."

A growl rises in the back of Arundel's throat. "Only you would talk to me like that in my own domain. Even Corliss wouldn't defy me to my face."

"We both want the same thing, boss," the Brujah grunts.

"That's why you're still here," Arundel says. "Eden would have you assassinated the moment I allowed her to send the order."

"But you haven't."

"No. I haven't."

The Dream-Vision Dissipates