Flint sat in the lookout car, it was parked across the street and half a block back. He didn’t talk to any passengers, more focused on keeping his eyes peeled for anything suspicious down the street. He feels his way to the glove compartment and removes another old fashioned revolver, he slips it into his jacket pocket then glances to the sawn off shotgun hidden between the seats, beside the hand break. After the last battle, Flint was not going to run out of firepower any time soon.

Flint caught a few people he could suspect where vampires, how they moved so elegantly or the way there chest rose as they breathed. Despite this they weren’t just here for vampires, they were here for vampires they could use. Flint wasn’t really up to date on the vampire families, if he ever got a case he would read up on them but then would forget a few days later. As he opened up a bottle of cheap whiskey, Flint sighed out of boredom, glugging some of the dark liquid down

Invisible to the mortal eye, Beth wandered around the stolen vehicle in a vast circle. She knew from past experiences that vampires could not only sense her, but see her whether or not she was tangible. The relationship between vampires and the undead was little to be spoken of. There may have been a few vague alliances between some of the living dead and the bloodsuckers before Nemsemet rose, since both lost their humanity. After the dread mummy sacked the Court alliances fell to shit.

She surveyed everything around them twice—she kept to the shadows and passed through a few walls to avoid appearing suspicious—and spied a few stragglers. Slipping through the side of the van, and careful not to pass through any of the others, she spoke to the rest of the team. “Two in the alley behind the bar, two more lingering by the door, and one outside.” She crouched by the back of the van, only a thin layer of tangibility at the soles of her feet keeping her from falling through the floor.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” she added, before exiting the van. Beth waited in the long shadow it cast for the mystery woman, the hunter and Rikive to join her.

Karram sat in the back of Flint's vehicle watching the activity near the club. It was a dingy looking environment, to say the least. But Karram knew all too well this was simply a front for what lies beyond those exterior walls. Inside would be a dimly lit and highly fashionable area full of vampires and thralls and everything in between dancing and sorting their business and enjoying drinks. The quality of the interior could beat out any 5-star club downtown, and that fact filled the vampires with a sense of pride. Karram had been in quite a few of these exclusive clubs in his lifetime, mostly by order of the court to investigate suspicious transactions; after all, de Lacy liked to keep a watchful eye on all his subordinates.

And yet now, he sat parallel to the place, hoping there wouldn't be a need for him to enter The Rusty Steak Knife (what a terrible name, he thought). He hoped this small-scale operation would go off without a hitch, but a churning pain in his stomach seemed to think otherwise. Nonetheless, Karram stayed on guard, his eyes carefully scanning the club and the area surrounding their car, and his hand firmly grasping the hilt of his blade. Karram's eyes darted to Flint when he began sipping down whiskey. Nerves, or boredom? Never know with this guy, he thought as his sense memory kicked in and the taste of the whiskey subtly flavored his palate. He shook off the thought and leaned forward.

"Spare a swig," he questioned? A little alcohol might calm my nerves.

Parry did not take to the group's berating him well. Not at all. In his mind, the lawyer was a flawlessly qualified and safe companion for having bailed Parry out of jail on de Lacy's orders, putting up with his admittedly dramatic whining over the outfit, and to top it all off, not billing him at a Paranormal rate for her services. She'd done it at human rate- practically pro-bono. de Lacy was willing to spring Parry's bail, but the Celestial had to pay for his own mistakes. Fair enough.

And then there was that hunter. Mmmmmmmm-mmmmm! Yummy! But the bunker wasn't a bar, and even Parry could exercise a little self control. So while he pouted over being on the outs with the group, the Celestial let visions of Gray dance in his head while he unpacked his change of clothes. A more formal black clubbing shirt, done by Gucci. The group was supposed to be sneaky about this whole operation and luckily Parry had grabbed one piece of black clothing before the daycare was destroyed.

Even as the group pulled up outside the Rusty Steak Knife club (and really, what kind of a name was that anyway? It didn't communicate flashing lights, dancers and loud music very well- more like a fancy dinner place where everyone had to wear nice clothes and guys in foreign accents made deals in dark corners- oh, wait!) Parry was stuck in the front seat of the van, pouting with his arms crossed over his Prada diaper bag. The vampires were coming and going outside the club, while well dressed humans from the West Side waited in line with their dates, preparing for a fancy steak dinner, overpriced and underfed, serenaded by a vampire with a Siren's voice. Or maybe an actual Siren. The humans would spend-spend-spend, Master vamp Billy Rikkers would rake in the cash from the food and booze. And the small vampire covens he controlled would keep giving him tribute.

Unless somebody upset the system.

Now Parael Magnus had existed for a long time. A long, long time. So he was occasionally capable of thinking like an adult. But there was a reason he was so good with children. That reason: he might think like an adult, but he definitely behaved like a child. He acted on impulse, went for self-gratification over self-preservation.

So while Parry sulked in the front of the van, left out in the cold from the group, Parry's mind seized on an idea that would redeem him in the eyes of the group.

Foolproof. Ingenius. Laudable.

Undoubtedly poorly thought out.

So Parry fished one hand into his diaper bag, grabbed the empty flask of Celestial blood, and slipped it into his jeans pocket. He unlocked and opened the van's front door, murmuring "Potty break. Gimme two seconds." Nobody stopped him since they were all focused on Tony and Flint and one of the vampires on the outside. So Parry casually and non-chalantly walked across the city street, to the front of the establishment where the vampire Maitre'd stood like an elegant bouncer and gatekeeper, gazing at this newcomer in admittedly expensive designer clothes, but clearly not dressed in a suit and tie like most of the clientelle he was letting in.

"I need to speak to 'il Duce', please," Parry said, deliberately using Billy Rikker's nickname among the covens. He might not come off as a vampire to this guy, but the head waiter would know Parry was in the know about who Billy really was. To emphasize his next words, Parry pulled the empty silver flask from his front pocket and unscrewed the cap, letting the scent of the dregs of Celestial blood waft up into the waiter's nose. "I have something he might be willing to, er, purchase."

Gray had a little fun on his grocery run. He didn't need any more guns at this point but he employed his imagination anyways. After all, this was supposed to be subtle and he could do subtle. The AA12 rested comfortably beneath an article of clothing on the center floor in Flint's car as the hunter got out. No point in making things obvious by bringing it. Instead he had a long gym bag with him. The buttoned coat covered his armor, managing to make him look more bulky than he really was.

The night was a welcome thing to vampires. They were unrestricted and bold but it also made them more predictable. A club. A filthy place of intoxicating influence and obnoxious noise. Like high school prom night all over again. Good thing he had no intention of actually entering. Gray was here for the nab and working as a group would certainly make this easier. He glanced over to the van expectantly. Autumn could help identify a target and Rikive, the other volunteer, would help nab them. She was a mystery. She didn't smell abnormal or look strange. Though she did talk with rather a "classic" vocabulary. Kind of like she was stuck in the past. And then there's that sword she had in the bunker. Gray shrugged at the thought and pulled out his cell phone. "Hey Autumn, time for the party. Are you ready to dance?" He had some fun with the euphemism, grinning playfully despite the fact that no one seemed like they were paying attention to him.

With the hasty preparations in order they had gotten into their respective vehicles and gone out to nad a vampire. As she herself had learned the majority of them had joined Nemsemet after the fall of the court. That detail didn't really surprise her. More often than not they would side with whomever benefited them the most. A trait she herself practiced often. However the new player was an unknown and threatened to upset the balance of power, something she worked very hard to fit into.

Originally planning to go in the car she opted for the van so she could be the communicator of the group. Keeping her phone out she appeared to be messaging someone. There was a female vampire just outside the club that had been talking with another. While the details of the conversation were unclear it did look as is one of them had higher clout but where on the food chain that actually was was anyone's guess. Answering Grey's call she had her usual together tone. "Of course. There is a woman of interest just outside... hold on a minute."

Having trailed off she got up from her seat and tried to get Perry's attention before he got too far but it was too late. "Perry, get back here you... ugh." Getting back in her seat she held the phone back to her ear. "Perry has taken it upon himself to be an idiot and stepped out. Our plan may be shot. Stand by." She peeked out of the window to watch as events unfolded.

"Shit," Tony breathed. There was nothing stopping the vampers from going after people anymore; not on Nemsemet's watch. It was a war now, and Parael seemed to be operating under the idea that diplomacy was a thing.

It was "Autumn," Rivike and he in the van, with a lot of bad smell in the air thanks to the measures taken to keep his scent out of vampire nostrils. "There's gotta be a bunch of vamps in here, we can't take them all on like that just to get one guy out." That, of course, was the whole reason that they decided on a kidnap, because going in was bad, especially when the vampires seemed to be firmly in Nemsemet's camp and reveling in their little empire of the night.

"I think we need to ask Casper to go around and keep an eye on the most expensive car in the place's parking lot -- that'd be the big boss vamp's ride. Probably a limo. If he tries to come out with Parael, so like to drain him dry in private, maybe we can try to stop it somehow after it pulls out for a bit. Flint will know best how to tail it, so we should follow his lead on how to handle that." He was lowballing it-- sure, he could go man-beast, but it'd draw a lot of bad attention and throw this place into lockdown."

He took in a deep breath of the air and instantly regretted it; that fabreeze shit was stinging his nostrils something harshly. But he had a sudden idea, "If we grab the vamp you were just eyeballing, and we gotta do it fast with Shieldmaiden and maybe me goosing them, we can get the big vamp to pop out of his clubhouse in a hurry...either that or he locks himself down and we can figure out something to do with that too. But the numbers in there really suck and if they load silver, I'm in bad trouble there. Of course, they aren't expecting a lot of lycan trouble, since they're playing for the same team, aren't they? What do you think?"

Rikive stood up so fast that she nearly bumped her head on the roof of the van before she remembered the height. "What in the Nine Worlds is he doing?" She asked, barely keeping herself from shouting when she saw what Parael had done. This was bad, the place was full of vampires and one whiff of Parael's blood he carried in those cursed flasks...He may not be able to walk out.

"I have to go in and get him." She said after Tony laid out his plan, moving forward so she could lean over the front seat and speak to him better. "I doubt he has much of a plan. With how many vampires are in there, he'll easily be overwhelmed if they attack him. I can drag him out before he does anything." It'd have to be now though, while he was still only just inside the building. The deeper he went, the more of a mess it would be to try and pull him back out. "My attire suits the establishment, I could be quick. I'll go in, say he's drunk, then pull him back out. If he isn't that far into the damned place."

She didn't move after she laid out her plan. She didn't head for the doors at the back, she stood and waited for Tony to weigh in on her own half thought out plan. There was no clear leader yet, but Tony seemed as good a candidate as any.

Jean's life as a vampire, in a nutshell, was a joke. Billy Rikker had made it seem so romantic when Jean's ex brought him before her Sire. Live forever, untold wealth, all the bitches, blah blah blah. What did he have to live for back then? Twenty-something and working full time as a valet, driving other people's fancy cars and getting a whole lot of nothing for pay. That wasn't a life! So he'd signed on the dotted line, bared his neck a few times, proved his loyalty in a few ways that had made his conscience shudder, but in the end he got let into the supernatural club.

He'd lost 20 pounds overnight, his acne cleared up, and he'd gained night vision with an all liquid diet.

And now he was only a Valet on Sundays. The rest of the week, he was a bouncer wearing a bow tie.

Bullshit night after bullshit night. Signing off on reservations for humans too rich to know what they were wearing was his Monday-thru-Saturday gig. In 30 years, he'd work off his "Apprenticeship" and get into the next level of Billy's clan. Where he'd be a waiter.

"Kaori, party of one," Jean said, glancing at the digital clock on the podium. It was ten minutes after the lone vamp's meeting with Quill was supposed to take place, but orders were orders and Quill said to have the lady wait so she could stew over the slight. Of course, she'd probably expected that and arrived late in the first place. Jean had spotted Kaori a few times at a Blood Moon party, but he'd given up trying to talk to her after realizing she was higher up on the Totem Pole. "Kaori, party of one."

Which was when the night got weirder.

Tall, pale and blonde walked up and asked to see Billy by his underground name. 'Il Duce' was a throwback name. The Duke. Most vampire lords took regal names to reinforce their stature, and as code for the occasional outsider to let the clans know they were in the know. Mortal or supernatural, it was a way of separating the goats from the sheep. So Jean was prepared to make the guy an appointment for three weeks from now after the requisite security checks cleared.

Then tall, pale and blonde opened the bottle and Jean got a whiff of what he was selling.

On his first Blood Moon party, de Lacy had hosted all the clans for an old-world ball. Food, booze, blood and games. It was absolutely boring on every level, and Jean wanted nothing more than to go home and watch the Packers smoke the Lions on channel 2. So he'd used his talent for fading into the background to explore de Lacy's place. And when he caught the vampire Lord himself slinking into a back room with a few confidants, Jean thought he was absolutely toasted. But de Lacy was high as a kite on something. A lot of something. He waved Jean back, clearly thinking he was one of de Lacy's drones, and the two bodyguards with de Lacy didn't question their boss. de Lacy offered Jean a shot of something. Bourbon, Jean figured.

Nope. Not bourbon.

Ever since turning, Jean hadn't been able to get a buzz going from booze or grass. He even went over to coke to try and get something going on. none of it stirred him that much.

But this shit de Lacy served had him toasted, roasted, and loving life for a good two hours.

Jean never forgot the smell of that stuff. So tall, pale and blonde's flask immediately caught his attention.

"Of course, sir," Jean said, grinning like a cat. Oh man, boss is going to kick me so high up the chain for this it ain't even funny! "I'll see you to Il Duce's table immediately."

=====================================================================

Oh man, Tony's going to kick me so high up the chain of command for this it ain't even funny!

"No," Parry said, putting the flask back in his diaper bag as the Maitre'd started whispering into a microphone. "Tell Il Duce I'll meet him inside the front doors. On his turf, but not inside it. I know what I'm carrying and what it's worth."

The vamp blanched, stuttered into the microphone again, and received a curt reply.

"The Duke will see you inside the front doors."

Parry took a moment to smile, flashing a thumb's up behind his back where he figured the group would be watching, and waited until a figure in a black Tom Ford suit stepped into the front lobby of the Rusty Steak Knife, flanked by two brute force types looking like they weighed a good 300+ each. Impressive for vampires.

Without skipping a beat, the Celestial whistled as he walked through the front glass doors.

=====================================================================

Billy "The Duke" Rikker had arranged his evening perfectly. Word had come down from the Mummy that Kaori would be ready to talk with Quill, the sneaky asshole. Whether that was diplomacy or outright surrender by the city's top Rogue Vamp, the Almighty Bandaged One hadn't said. A bit busy playing lord of the city to share that detail, Billy supposed. That was fine with him. He could show Kaori whose clans were on the rise, and that she'd have a place at their table if she dropped the lone wolf act. She'd be serenaded and feasted like a true guest, Quill and Kaori would have their chat while Billy played gracious host to their conference, and then he'd drop the bomb on both of them: Ivan's vamps had already started stamping out the troublemakers on the East Side. Nemsemet had given a few targets to hit, and the go-ahead to start making human thralls to do the dirty work.

If Quill didn't already know about the attacks, Billy wouldn't tell him- let the rival parasite squirm over the fact that he wasn't involved. And if Quill was in the know, his clan being left out of the hits would be a sign the mummy lacked trust in his guild. The Billy and Ivan were Nemsemets new nobility. The shifters would be muscled down the ladder where they belonged in no time.

So Billy woke up at sundown, put on his best suit, looked at his thin-if-balding head of black hair, and decided not to wear his hairpiece for the evening. Let everyone snicker over his bald spot. He was already working his way up the chain of Nemsemet's favorites. After tonight, he'd be Number Two to a living god. Couldn't climb much higher than that!

East Side was crawling with junkies looking for a fix, and combine all that with his Soviet arsenal, Ivan had an army in no time. The gas explosion at a daycare and the fire started in the park were the two warning shots across the bow. The Fairie court in Central had been gassed with kerosene and half their knights mowed down with iron crossbow bolts from Billy's people. Ivan had taken care of the mage in the Daycare with good ol' Soviet efficiency.

Except, as he stood in his own front lobby, Billy was knocked on his heels as the Mage Parry Magnus walked into the front door of his own 5-Star establishment, grabbed a glass of claret from a passing waiter's tray, and raised it in a toast to Billy.

The scent kept him from ordering Left and Right from wasting Parry, though. It was an unmistakable stench. He'd smelled it on de Lacy the day the arrogant prick had come into his club, at high noon, dragged his boy outside, and toasted him in the street while Billy and his whole watched in impotent horror. That stunt had forced a dozen challenges to Billy's leadership. Not to mention the death of his boy.

"Pretty boy," Rikker said, grinding his teeth so his fangs showed. "You have ten seconds to talk before I have Left and Right smoke your ass like a log."

Parry blanched while looking at the other two vamps, his skin took on a paler look, and he cautiously reached into his bag (while Left and Right reached into their jackets) to remove the flask. The one that smelled exactly like de Lacy had the day Billy's son died. Whatever de Lacy did to walk in the daylight had something to do with that smell, Billy was sure of it. Being a vampire lord and walking in the daylight would put him one up on all the other sycophants in the Mummy's court.

"I come in peace," Parry said, taking a step back and holding out the bottle. "Wanted to trade for, ah, information."

"Oh you want info? Sure, I'll trade you info for what's in the bottle. Deal?"

Parry nodded vigorously and extended his arm with the metal flask. Right opened a fist the size of a ham and took it.

"The Mummy wants Tony, Karram, and Flint to swear allegiance to the New Order. Bring the last of their kind in line. He wants Viking-Xena to do the same, but he put a bounty on her head to be brought in alive. Casper he could care less about, but he wants her corpse for something- weighing her heart I think? Something to do with the Egyptian Underworld and figuring out her undeath. And you-" he pointed a ringed finger directly at Parry's chest "- he wants for giving Augustus a cheap necklace. And Nemsemet never said he wanted you alive."*

Left and Right took this as their cue to pull a pair of silenced Glocks from their jackets.

"The mummy was right pissed you helped Augustus. So tell me, pretty boy wizard, would you like an open casket or a closed one?"

Parry dropped the bottle of Claret, clutched at his diaper bag, and took a single step back before Left and Right squeezed of two shots each into the mage's chest. He fell on his back, clawing his way to the revolving door, and Billy had to smile.

"Open. Just so Nemsemet can fuck up that face of yours, I guess."

Left and Right were both aiming for Parry's heart when the blood from their shots started to seep into the guy's jacket. And then, oh man, every vampire in the club stopped what they were doing, sniffing the air as that smell hit the air. The humans in sight of the front door screamed, started to panic.

And Billy had to yell "SONOFABITCH!" as he realized his men had just shot the goose that laid the golden egg.

*Subject to GM approval.

Flint turned his head to look to Karrem, his five-o-clock shadow shading his hard features. His face looked of utter boredom mixed with anger and a dollop of unemotional death. He looked down at the bottle then back to Karrem, the expression not changing.

He finally spoke. “Sure” the word came out in a mono tone voice almost like that of a robot. The bottle of whiskey was soon in Karrems hand as Flint turned back to look towards the club. Action man had exited the car and seemed to be talking to someone, Flint didn’t pay too much attention as he unfortunately began to see the plan fall apart.

Parry was walking towards the door, and Flint didn’t seem so bored anymore. “Fuck” He muttered, sitting up straight and looking to Karrem in the back seat. “You sure you are going to be ok with that stick if shit go’s down” Flint asked, noting the sword at the faerie’s hip. “I can give you something with a bit more reach if you want.”

Karram took hold of the flask and took two deliberate sips of the bitter liquid. His face twinged a little before turning normal once more. He handed the flask back, wiping his mouth as he did. He stretched his arms out wide and let out a half-yawn before Flint muttered a breathy "Fuck".

Karram instantly reached for his blade's hilt again and peered out the window of the vehicle. Parry was on the move and was soon talking to the bouncer... about what Karram could only guess. And none of his guesses led to a happy ending.

“You sure you are going to be ok with that stick if shit go’s down. I can give you something with a bit more reach if you want.” Flint was eyeing Karram's sword. This sword had seen many years of use, and yet it never dulled. Eromyr had given it to him as a gift in celebration of his passing the council's judgement in Ireland. Oakbane, a fearsome blade that allowed Karram to harness natural energy and wield it as his own. Its abilities were powerful, but relatively unknown even to other magical beings. Karram was good at keeping secrets after all. He clutched the hilt tighter and looked back up.

"Oakbane is suited for any style of combat, so I think I'll manage. Thank you though, Flint. It 'shit go's down', as I presume it will, I've got your back." He nodded to emphasize his point and slid into the front seat with ease so he could get a better view of the club's entrance.

The tall vampire had heard her name being called from the door, "Kaori, party of one?" But Quill would wait, at least long enough for her to gather her senses. Unfortunately, as soon as she had, she heard the 'pop' of silenced fire. To the ears of a vampire, a silencer was virtually useless. It wasn't as explosive, but perfectly audible. But then, the silencers weren't for their benefit. Any wise vampire wouldn't dare intervene in Rikker's work. The silencers were meant to keep things quiet enough to deflect unwanted outside attention or interference. Although, in times like these, it seemed unlikely that anyone would want to tangle with the vampires, especially someone as powerful as Rikker.

A scent ripped through the air along with the subtle sound. In instant, her head was swimming again. What is this? She was pulled under. So deep, she had all but lost her grip completely in a fraction of a second. A menacing growl raked over her ears. She felt it rumbling from her throat like thunder. Her body tensed into a low crouch, like a coil ready to spring. It was instinctual at this point, impossible to ignore for someone her age. The older a vampire, the more experienced they tended to be with matters of self-control. Kaori was remarkably controlled for someone under 50, but even she couldn't help herself with that incredible aroma in the air.

Chaos erupted within and around the club as celestial blood was shed. In a short instant, she was a part of the animalistic herd, frenzied over a feeding. She sprung from her spot on the wall, leaping half the length of the sidewalk and running along the rest to burst through the entrance. There was a mass of vampires clawing for the bloodied body on the floor. Kaori knew it would hardly be a single minute before the unknown idiot was torn to shreds. She didn't care.

Her eyes flicked around, assessing the situation. It was similar to the way a pack of wolves would feed. Rikker and his guards lunged for the body, claiming the kill. The majority of vampires in the club had flown from their seats. The wiser ones had begun to form a circle, waiting for a scrap or two to be left behind by their leader. The few younger vampires that either couldn't control their urges or didn't know they had to were torn back, viciously punished by an older and wiser beast. Battles developed, staining the floor with rich, red warmth. The unfortunate mortals that had shown up that night began to scream, looking for an escape and torn down before they'd made it more than a step or two.

It was unrestrained violence and chaos, and Kaori hated how good it felt. It was home for a vampire.

But not just any blood would do tonight. It had to be this unearthly creature. Her predatory gaze narrowed in on him, in the murderous clutches of Rikkers fists. The vampires in the surrounding circle grew increasingly anxious as Rikker toyed with his prey, as if the conquest would be satisfaction for the group as a whole. Rikker took his time, savoring the kill and teasing it with the chilling words, "I will devour you."

The sound of gun fire reached Rikive's ears and her eyes widened before she turned and bolted out of the back of the van. She passed right through Beth and a shudder ran up her spine from the sensation, but she ignored it and headed for the club that was quickly descending into chaos. In a matter of seconds she was at the front door of the club, pushing her way through panicking humans that were fleeing the club.

It was absolute chaos. A horrifying feeding frenzy and she knew what the cause was.

Rage flooded through her seeing Parael in the clutches of a vampire. Not breaking her stride she reached into her purse to pull forth her sword. Rather than try to go through the chaos in front of her, she jumped up and over the fighting vampires. Her head brushed against the ceiling as she unsheathed her sword.

With a battle cry she descended into the center of the madness where Parael lay. The light flashed off the metal of her blade as it whistled through the air like a flash of lightning. It sliced through the hand of the vampire as he turned to react to her. His scream of pain from his smoking stump was cut off when she slammed her shield into him and sent him sprawling back and away from Parael. His dismembered hand turned to smoldering ash when it hit the carpet.

"Away or I shall send all of thee back to the fiery pits from which thy crawled from!" She shouted, taking up position over Parael and knocking back another attacking vampire with her shield. Movement out of the corner of her eye had her turning and her sword cut off the head of a red haired vampire. Her face was frozen in stunned horror for a moment before her head and the rest of her body exploded into ash and embers.

A vampire managed to jump on her back and sunk his fangs into the meat between her neck and shoulder. As the man let out a pleasure filled moan, she swung her sword back and stabbed him in the gut. He shrieked and released her, his fangs tearing open her flesh and clothes as he fell off her back, clawing at his burning wound. The injury on her neck was large and the scent of her own blood mingled into the air even as it began to close.

Parael didn't have the same ability as her. She needed to pick him up and move him somewhere safe to take care of his wounds. However she also needed both her arms free to keep the damn leeches away. As she hit away one vampire with her shield and turned to slice another open with her sword, an idea of pure madness came to mind. "Thou hast no hope of getting by me!" She shouted even as she continued to fight. "But, I will allow the vampire that aid's me-" She stopped to stab out with her sword, sending it straight through the open mouth of an attacking vampire and out the back of his skull. She yanked it out as the vampire's head as his body turned to smoldering ash. "To drink freely from me!" If nothing else the proposition should help further turn the vampires onto each other. They had already smelled that her blood was just as intoxicating as Parael's.

When the humans boiled, out, Tony decided that the situation was screwed and they better hit while the chaos was happening. But he told Autumn first, "Shieldmaiden and I are hitting the front door. Tell the others that the plan is hosed, do whatever they can."

He added, even as he pulled off the jump suit, going down to shirts and a wifebeater, "Incidentally, you might want to tell your hunter to go easy on the silver. I'm the only lycan in this bitch and if he shoots me, he might not be able to escape, because the vampires are going to get him after he gets me. There's an AK in the van, lever down all the way for rock n' roll because the thralls are packing. Short, controlled bursts, you got it?"

He didn't like leaving his back to a hunter. Not at all. And he didn't like it. Not one little bit.

It was funny that Rivike managed to create a stir all of her own as she got to Parael first, but while they focused in on her, Tony made his way into the club, stiff-arming and pushing his way past panicking mortals while yelling, "Terrorist attack! Chechens are on a rampage!" in a spin that the Court would have appreciated back in the day -- with all the fucking Russian types running around, that made total sense, especially after the Boston Marathon bombings.

But once it was down to vampires and thralls, the latter of who couldn't smell a lycan, he changed is tactics; the thing was, the thralls weren't sure what the hell was going on, so they were confused and it was easy to slip past them. But as soon as he pushed into the vampire club behind the restaurant.

When he finally did encounter a vamp, snarling obscenely and not even realizing that he wasn't some vamper out for the happy juice out of a Celestial, he yelled, "GET PARAEL OUT NOW!" and he shifted rapidly and brutally, prying two sets of fingers into the vamp's head, and tearing off the jaw in one brutal motion.

It got pretty chaotic from there on out. Once in man-beast, he ran on a great deal more instinct than intellect in this form, and it was hard to necessarily distinguish friend from foe when the hormones were flowing the way he did, as the thrill of killing and struggle overtook him. A vampire could certainly relate, but that was perhaps why Lycans and vampires detested each other so. Most of them had, perhaps, dealt with the wolves before, but never quite so close quarter -- when the celestial blood entered the place, the vampires got sloppy in the throes of their great thirst and desire, and the thralls were, quite frankly, not the first line of defense in these situations anyway.

Still, it wasn't quite so easy as just ripping a couple thralls. The next vampire fought fast too, striking, using a table leg as an improvised weapon, bringing its muscle and speed into play. It was true that a lycanthrope was a nasty customer for a vampire, and probably the match for a couple in a toe to toe fight, and it was also true that Tony, possibly the only big cat running around town, was actually a good bit scarier than even some of the wolves, probably was good for a couple more.

But there must have been fifty or so vampires in the room. Even more thralls. That was just too much, especially if they did recover their wits and start organizing.

“I’ll take your word for it” Flint said, as he noticed the Cinema explode into a frenzy of mortals .“Well the shit has hit the fan” Flint was soon outside the vehicle and to the boot of the car, inside he grabbed his beloved Thompson and racked the slide. “Ok stay beside me, I’ve got the range covered, but if they get close enough to caress my hair I’ll need you on point” The orders where directed towards Karrem, and before he gave him chance to respond Flint was on the move towards the club.

When he got to the entrance he saw the chaos unfold, vampires and thralls in troves as Parry lay bloody. Rikive thought with her sword and yelled something Flint could not hear. Tony was slashing and ripping people a part. Flint took a swig from his bottle and smashed it onto the floor by his feet. He was back in the 20’s, the enemy gang drinking and brawling in front of him. He was the leader of the Booze Hounds, and he began to clean up. Flint fired from the hip, the gun in one hand as he began to light up fireballs in his left. The recoil was controlled, and the gun hit its mark as vampires and thralls where spattered by .45 calibre fire. In ten seconds the entire 100 round magazine was empty, the bodies of the men he had shot barely had hit the ground before the Thompson was dropped and his right hand erupted in flame.

Flint aimed his two hands at the crowd and a wave of orange flame erupted over the masses, he hoped his comrades would be safe from the blast but his main concern was causing as much damage and as much panic that the Vampires would think they were up against an army of flame thrower wielding, machine gun toting bad asses. Instead of the ragtag group of sword wielders, drunks, monsters and the rest of the motley crew.

Half-tempted to grab his shotgun he reasoned there was another way. In the gym bag in his left hand were items meant to help him capture a vampire but they would certainly be good enough to disrupt the crowd given the right combination. He dropped the bag and unzipped it, sifting through several items, metal bat, wood stake, towels, - there it was. He pulled an aerosol can out of the bag followed by a towel and tied it hastily around the can, creating a makeshift sling. Out of a pouch he retrieved a lighter and lit the bottom. Gray didn't smoke but man did a lighter come in handy. He walked toward the Rusty Steak Knife as the towel burned, picking up heating and volume. With one good swing he shot it over the heads of his companions and into a group of surprised denizens.

As the can impacted the pressure and heat caused it to burst outwards in flames catching clothing and skin alight and making for some impressive pyrotechnics from such a small object. Though not necessarily to an immortal foe it was one hell of a painful deterrent to buy the others some time.

To further support the others Gray drew a Glock and started firing three-shot bursts into the wings of the vampire group that threatened to surround his retreating allies. They would need to get to the cars fast. Even outrunning vampires here could prove challenging.

And then Flint showed everyone why Gray loved weapons with large magazines. Then he made the hunter's pyro trick look like a cheap match.

"I'm-" Rikive cut herself off to slash at another vampire. "TRYING!" She shouted back at Tony. She needed a bigger distraction, something that would really draw these damned creatures away from-

Flames as bright as the sun suddenly swept through the crowd and Rikive held up her shield to protect herself from the heat. The fire blasted against her shield as it blew over their heads. She remained relatively untouched, but the vampires surrounding her ignited and furthered the spiral of chaos. Flint. That would certainly work.

She crouched down and picked up Parael's limp body, throwing his lanky form over her shoulder. Her shield arm gripped onto him to keep him there so he would be somewhat protected. Taking in a deep breath she charged back into the crowd, not as thick as before and greatly distracted by the attack on the fringes.

A few times she had to lash out with her sword or slam her shoulder into someone, but she managed to bully her way through the crowd. A stray bullet went in her gut and she grunted, but pressed on. Finally she broke free onto the other side, panting for breath and sweat beading on her skin. "I got the eldhúsfífl!" She shouted, running toward the safety of Flint and the hunter Gray. "Send them to their weak and pitiful Gods, lads!" She yelled as encouragement while she passed them and headed for the door. Loved as she would to stay and continue to help with the fight, Parael had been left to bleed for far too long.

The outside air felt like a blast of arctic wind when she emerged and headed for the van. She threw open one of the doors to the van and laid Parael down on the floor as her shield returned to a sheath. It clattered onto the floor and she placed Winterthorn beside it, within easy reach if something else happened.

Rikive barely acknowledge those still in the van and focused on taking care of Parael. A heap of swears and other choice words fell from her lips in old Norse as she ripped open Parael's shirt to get to the wounds of his chest. Her heart was pounding in her chest and it had nothing to do with the battle.

It had everything to do with the fact her close friend may very well die if she made a mistake. Tear's were close to the surface of her eyes as she pressed her hands tightly over the two gunshot injuries. The blood was warm against her skin but it sent a chill down her spine. Relax. Wisps of luminous white mist drifted from between her fingers, her magic flowing into Parael's chest to repair the damage. Please don't die.

There was an extremely limited number of ways to kill a vampire. After turning, each vampire learned these methods by heart. Sunlight, fire, and staking with wood that was older than the vampire itself. The only additional way to subdue a vampire was to take off its head, and that would only last as long as the head and body were kept separate.

So, Kaori believed they held the advantage. When a vampire fell to a bite or a bullet, they would likely stand again in the next few moments. The added attack wasn't enough to pull her focus from the scent of celestial blood. Not until flame erupted into the space. She felt the heat as if it were coming at her in slow motion. It took her less than a second to spring from the floor onto a nearby bar counter. Thanks to their natural speed, a good number of the vampires had dove or otherwise dodged the path of the flames, but a few who had been trapped in chaos were suddenly lit up like a number of small Christmas trees. The agonizing screams reached her ears seconds before the scent of burning flesh, and that was enough to slice through her blood-dazed mind like a blade.

Her concentration returned to her forcefully, strengthened by her sudden enragement. Not all of these - actually barely any of these - were her friends. But they were her people. Her kind. And they were being burned alive.

Her red-wine eyes darted about the space. She zeroed in on the source of the fire. She slipped a hand into her boot and pulled out a small, curved blade with an ornate handle. She took a running start across the bar, zipping over its length and diving from the edge. It was just enough momentum to put her above the flame. She could feel the sting of heat against her skin and smelled the singe of a few strands of her long, shiny hair. How dare they.

With her fist curled around the handle of her blade, she turned her body enough to swing her arm around and down as she came back towards earth, aiming a swift swipe of the sharpened blade at the back of the living flamethrower and landing in a low crouch behind him.

Only a moment after she left the van, Beth saw Parael follow suit and head straight for the Rusty Steak Knife. That was not the plan. She spared the van a brief glance before surging after him. Still, she kept to the darkened half of the street and moved through any would-be obstacles to reach him faster. She halted in her path when he entered the bar. What was he up to?

She weighed her options: follow him inside and draw attention as an unfamiliar spirit, or wait and hope he had some sort of an idea. Neither felt like a particularly good plan, and she left herself a mental note to kick Parry up the ass should they make it back to the bunker. Beth huddled in the shadows near the building, watching the front doors and the Celestial as she tried to keep an eye on just about everything else, as well. Despite having no body, she felt tense, especially when she saw Parael disappear into the bar.

She cursed the old witch for never giving her something more than what she did, for not granting her superior senses upon her death, or something. Beth couldn't hear a thing said inside the bar and it only served to make her more anxious.

Then she heard the gun shots, and Rikive sped through her and sent a bolt of pins and needles through her form.

Beth moved so fast she all but vanished. She raced into the Rusty Steak Knife, disregarding the multitude of sensations that washed over her as she passed through humans and thralls alike on her way into the club, and wound up among the swarming bodies of vampires. She turned corporeal and shoved the nearest body out of her way, then spun, looking everywhere for Parael, and saw the clan tearing at themselves in their haste to feed on him. Then the Asgardian reappeared, leaping over the fray, and providing Beth with a trail to follow.

Halfway to the center of the frenzy, she started throwing bodies. She dug intangible hands into their chests, ignoring the burning sensation that grew the longer she did, became solid again, and tossed them as far as she could. Tony's beast form flashed in her peripherals. A quick look around deduced that her allies were pulling together, but if they did not organise themselves they would surely fail.

A flash of light erupted into a curtain of flame around a large portion of the clan. Beth walked through it quite unharmed, only to lose sight of her goal when something exploded behind her. A bullet or two zipped through her. She growled and, no longer caring, passed directly through the remaining throngs of vampires to reach the center. As she did, she saw Rikive hoist Parael onto her shoulders and sprint away with him, past Flint, and out of the building. Beth made to follow, and came to Flint's side as a figure swiped at him.

"Move!" she yelled, though her voice could barely be heard over the frenzy. She turned tangible once more and rushed forward to tackle to offending vampire. Perhaps there was still a chance to complete their initial mission.

"I'm on acid," Parry said. "And I swore I'd never do acid again after the 70s."

"Whatever," the giant caterpillar with the face of Richard Pryor said, taking another hit from his bong. Caterpillar Pryor passed the bong to the white rabbit wearing a disco jacket, who promptly hit that glass pipe and blew a wave of smoke into Parry's face. The rabbit promptly checked its watch and checked out, then passed the bong to Michael Jackson. All three were careful to avoid the tabletop of Doritos, Funions, Cheetos, and cold pizza that covered every inch of the tablecloth.

Parry refused to believe he was where he thought he was. Because if he was where he thought he was, he was royally fucked. The entrance to the Nether, who or what waited for a being, changed based on who died and where, but some things never changed.

He was 90% sure that the beach of silver sand that stretched on into eternity was normal, as were the golden waves lapping at it in the darkness of night, from an ocean that also stretched onto the horizon. One occasionally had a fog bank rolling in around oneself as well, when one investigated the surroundings too closely. He was on The fucking Shore. The Shore was bad news. Maybe he was just in a coma. He'd escorted a few beings to The Shore back in the day. Caesar showed up to a banquet full of bitches eating honey cakes and drinking wine in an orgy of food. And he'd escorted one guy here for just a few seconds back in the 80s. A cutie pie who'd contracted HIV and didn't have anybody to stand at his bed- Parry walked him in real quick, before any of his colleagues noticed he was on the Shore, and found a display that would make the San Fran Pride Parade stop and go "Okay. No. Just, no."

But the tea party table with giant Caterpillar Pryor, a white rabbit in a disco coat, and Michael Jackson in his glitter jacket and white gloves passing a bong between each other- that was from his own fucked up brain.

"So... I'm dead?"

Caterpillar Pryor took the bong from Jackson in one of his twenty-some arms. "You took two bullets to the liver, one to the right lung, and another grazed your heart. And then you got turned into a buffet for a clan of vampires before leaving a pint of blood on their carpet." Pryor lit the bong with a snap of his/its fingers, took a long puff, and set the pipe down. "So yeah. You're boned."

Michael Jackson reached for the pipe again with a white gloved hand. "On the plus side, you found a way out of the city before the mummy went nuclear."

Parry had to nod while he considered this. He was out of the city, true. No more Nemsemet to worry about. He could relax, chill for eternity, and have a gay old time. He was a Celestial, which meant he got VIP tickets to eternity by default, right?

Right?

"Not necessarily," said the black-robed, hooded figure with six wings that sat at the head of the table. It extended one glowing hand and took a bag of Funions from the munchy buffet the three hallucinations had set up.

Parry's heart stopped (which, when he thought about it, wasn't really possible because his heart hadn't been beating in the real world for a few seconds at least [or maybe minutes; time was fucked up on The Shore]) as he drank in the sight of Cymriel ripping open a bag of Funions, flaming sword sheathed on one hip, eyes glowing like faint blue stars beneath his hood while he munched on the salty and probably foul tasting snack food. And if Parry was a betting Celestial, he would say that his body peed a little in terror from seeing Cymriel sitting on his Shore.

Right.

Time to settle old accounts.

Parry held one hand out to his left, said "Hit me," to whoever had the bong now (the Rabbit) and took an enormous hit from the hallucinated drug paraphernalia. Thankfully he did feel a buzz kick in when he blew out the smoke, so that was at least working on The Shore. Armed with said bong and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos the giant caterpillar gave him, Parry put one foot in front of the other, trudging through the sand as Cymriel pulled a chair out for him.

"So," the Seraphic Celestial said between bites. "How was life while you were AWOL? Because I sure as shit hated doing all your work plus mine while you partied it up with the mortals."

Parry sat down, putting the bag and bong in front of him, and held both hands up in a gesture of surrender as he said "Look Cym-"

"Cymriel," the being snapped. "You should at least do me the courtesy of using my full name when addressing the being you left to do all of your work for six-hundred-fucking years."

"I was gonna use your full name!" Stuck up asshole, always playing by the books. Probably gonna draft me back into the Cherubix and make me do all the shit assignments.

"Parry. We're on the gods-damned Shore. Nothing you say or think is private here. Mind yourself or I won't send you back."