Comprehension
Despite the appearance of a matte black figure, its entire surface was in constant motion. It was most noticable around the edges, especially about the head, shoulders, and arms depending on their position: black flames licking across the extremities, burning silently and in slow motion. Kine would run screaming if they saw it, crying about demons or monsters encroaching upon a scientifically explainable world... which was to be expected whenever darkness behaved contrary to nature. Even to a Tremere familiar with 'blood magic', it would have been unnerving to behold even before the monster had incapacitated your two compatriots and inflicted a significant amount of pain upon you.
The effect was lost, somewhat, as the figure typed awkwardly on a smartphone.
Eyes, black on yellow on black, rose from the screen to the Tremere. "Gib mir was mein ist." The accent was not good, but the command was understood, and that was all that mattered. The wounded warlock struggled to find his feet, and the shadowy tentacle about his neck lifted him high enough to achieve the task before releasing him. Now that the eyes were no longer locked to his, he struggled to break free of the Lasombra's Domination, but despite his own not inconsiderable willpower, he could only slow his movements as he walked to a cabinet and retrieved a heavy briefcase from within.
"Testing." The word did not carry the preternatural authority Vale was inflicting on the thaumaturge.
A pause, a bleep, and then a female voice answered, "Testen."
The Tremere returned to the table and laid the briefcase upon it. He then dipped a hand into his pocket, retrieved a vial of elaborate design, and placed it by the briefcase.
The Lasombra spoke into the device again, then parroted the response. "Entfernen der inhalt unversehrt."
The warlock cursed silently. It was all he could do as he disabled the trap in the lock before opening the briefcase and carefully removing each item individually. They included more vials, physical samples that Vale must have healed once he had been revived, and what was left of his bloodstained clothes after Jean Paul had finished with him.
"Gibt es noch etwas von mir in einem anderen standort?"
"Nein."
Vale reached down and took one of the Tremere's broken hands, holding it palm up before his chest. He did the same with his other hand, then placed the smartphone upon them. Tapping the microphone symbol on the screen, he spoke again, listened to the response, and returned his eyes to those of the warlock. "Sprechen sie in diesem. Erklaren sie den rituellen sie verwendet um mich zu finden."
Sharing such secrets was entirely contrary to any Tremere. A burning anger rose within the Usurper, and it carried in his voice, apparently to the Lasombra's cold amusement.
"It is a combination of several rituals," the female voice translated, "Designed to sense mystical effects and track users of thaumaturgy."
Vale was surprised that the device knew the translation for the last word, though it had sounded similiar enough for him to catch it himself. "Warum wurde dieses ritual geschaffen? Die es geschaffen?"
"After the destruction of the anti-tribe, a subsect created rituals to hunt transgressors using Thaumaturgy."
"Sie sind einer dieser jager?"
"Yes."
The Lasombra considered this information as he looked over the items on the table. The destruction of the Tremere antitribu had been one of many disturbing events in 1999. The clan operated under a pyramid scheme of control, and any who escaped the system were highly prized by the Sabbat. Someone or something had drawn most of them to a single location and burned them all to ash. Something as terrible as whatever had caused the Gangrel clan to break away from the Camarilla. It would make sense to capitalise on such an advantage by hunting down any remaining rogue thaumaturges.
Any possession of his could theoretically be used to track him, but these Tremere had been using his vitae to track him dpecifically by his use of Obtenebration; the signature discipline of his clan had a cost in blood, just as Tremere thaumaturgy did, and they were not the only clans that practiced something similiar. Vale recognised the vials for what they were, magically created containers that had kept his vitae fresh for all these years... and there were quite a few of them.
"Was wolltest du mit meinem blut zu tun?"
"Whatever we could to learn about and destroy you."
"Nennen und beschreiben sie die rituale die dies zu tun konnte."
The warlock's face darkened considerably. He began to hope that this line of questioning would provoke a frenzy that would break him free of the Lasombra's Domination, and fostered the anger in his heart even as his mouth rambled on for some time without him. He named and described rituals typically used with the blood of enemies, from tracing their lineage to remotely turning them to ash; the latter required an entire night of chanting and proximity to the victim, but that was small comfort compared to the knowledge that such a ritual even existed. Vale felt the familiar urge to learn all he could, but he was on a schedule and they were flying in the direction of the dawn, let alone the stronghold of the Tremere.
One tentacle flattened and spread across the the table, pooling around the items and flooding them until they were lost from sight. When the darkness receded, they were gone. The Lasombra then retrieved the pair of staked Tremere, laying them on the table with their heads hanging off the edge, their throats bare. "Trinken sie so viel sie konnen ohne sie zu toten," he instructed as he retrieved his phone, and watched as his captive shuffled over to the nearest one and sank his fangs into his neck. One after the other, they were drained to the point of torpor. When it was done, tentacles yanked the stakes from their chests, wiping them fairly clean on their shirts before enveloping them.
Compared to their conversation thus far, it was a simple matter to instruct the last Tremere to take a seat, strap himself in, and remain there until landing. Vale considered leaving without a word, but instead of pocketing the phone, he spoke into it. "I destroyed Markus Mueller in frenzy. After what he did to me, I do not regret it. Tell his sire that, unless he sent Markus to Paris to find an angel, he did not have as much control over his childe as he thought." He paused as the device translated, then added, "And if you choose to continue pursuing me, I will not be so lenient."
Having said his peace, Vale withdrew to the rear of the aircraft. Once he was in the bathroom, he dropped the metamorphosis, pocketed what items he could, and tucked the old clothes under his belt. Once everything seemed as secure as he could make it, he opened the lid of the toilet and sat crosslegged upon the seat, facing the flush lever. As his transformation to Tenebrous Form began, he lay the fingertips of one hand on the lever and waited as more and more of him lost cohesion to drain into the toilet bowl. When all that remained was a forearm, the hand pulled the lever before disintigrating along with the rest of the Lasombra.
A patch of darker shadow plummeted through the night sky. It would take a while to reach the ground from this altitude, but the arrival would be harmless. When he reformed, he would burn everything the Tremere had laid their hands on before finding somewhere to spend the day.
Carmilla's personal backstory was one thing, but spilling the few details she knew about what happened to the girls who went missing? Far more likely to upset her mother. Fortunately, that worry had been pushed to the back of her mind, first by Xena with her bright green pants and stake (though watching Laura shoot her pining ass down was a hoot); then by the alchemy club's giant mind control mushrooms. Most of the students in Crowley Hall had gone out with masks or scarves covering their faces to avoid being contaminated by the spores as they hacked the mushrooms down. Carmilla had followed Laura onto the quad, but she spent more time watching Laura hack away at the fungi than helping. And the very next day, her alone time with Laura had been interrupted once again by the remaining two thirds of the ginger squad. Yes, the mad scientist had information, but when they started interrogating her again...
The starvation diet was preferable.
A daylight escape from the dorm meant only one destination: the library. Its consciousness was often inscrutible, but Carmilla had learned a long time ago that library could be... comfortable.
Maybe it liked her too. If so, she had no idea why.
The building itself was massive enough to hold hundreds of thousands of books on a thousand shelves spanning nearly two floors. Everything looked and smelled as old as the library's three ancient librarians, all dark wood and old paper. Igor sat at the front desk as always, grunting in acknowledgement as his single oversized eye tracked Carmilla's course to the creaky spiral staircase that led to the second floor.
Most students were not inclined to come upstairs unless they had to, let alone cross the rickety wooden bridge which was the only way to reach the landing on the far side. Even the ghosts seldom came this close to where the library's copy of the Silas Charter was kept. Even the other books on its shelf gave it as much space as they could. It gave off a feeling of electricity when you got close enough, but as long as Carmilla avoided that particular sensation, this was the best part of the library in which one could read in peace... especially with the eerie silence that pervaded the upper floor despite the cavernous interior of the building. She wandered the stacks, eventually pulling a book from a shelf and settling in an armchair situated where there was enough natural light to read by, without having to suffer the weakness that would come from direct sunlight.
Instead of actually reading the pages she turned, she found herself thinking about Laura. Big surprise.
Brave. Strong. Righteous. Those were the words Laura had used when describing what she liked about the ginger giant. Being a vampire had given Carmilla an advantage over her - though reaching her throat had been a stretch - but she doubted that physical strength was all Laura was talking about. Besides, when you are strong enough to rip out someone's spine, there is nothing particularly brave about exercising that strength. Carmilla knew she was not the bravest soul in Silas, but she was a survivor. That was a strength, if not one the teenager seemed to have difficulty comprehending. At least she had learned to appreciate the vampire's sarcasm. After spending several lifetimes existing alongside humanity, it was impossible not to develop that form of wit.
Laura did not want to be protected like she was still a child; but she was still a child, and she had said that while wearing the charm bracelet. Of course, altering a grade did not compare to being kidnapped and infected with brain parasites, so perhaps she was not being a total hypocrite. (Microbiology revealed monsters of an entirely different caliber to what Carmilla was used to, and she was glad she could not imagine what the spores from the giant mushrooms were doing to control peoples' brains specifically enough to set fire to the Lustig.) That conversation was also the second time Laura had brought up the overprotective dad. Carmilla assumed it was connected to whatever happened to the teenager's mother, but asking about her would have probably have resulted in a conversation that was far too sappy for her liking.
Besides, it's not like she actually cared.
It would just be nice to have the option. To be close enough to Laura that asking something so personal would not be so invasive.
Carmilla fell asleep while imagining the possibilities. She may have been drinking regularly again, but she was still a nocturnal creature at heart.
Decius found its master north of Munich, using Arms of the Abyss to traverse the unlit landscape or leap above the streetlights of the autobahns. Vale had underestimated how much of Franch there was to fly over before passing into German airspace. The problem with Germany was that the Ventrue held and dominated the country as the Toreador did France, and the antagonism between the Ventrue and Lasombra clans predated both countries by centuries, if not millenia. They respectively led the Camarilla and the Sabbat in these modern nights, but before the Convention of Thorns, the Ventrue had been the power behind the thrones of the old world, while the Lasombra had been the power behind the catholic church. When Vale was mortal, he believed that while crown and church were vying for world domination, the merchants had snuck in and beaten them both to it. Since learning how Cainite society had influenced human society throughout history, he suspected the truth was rather more complicated.
The princes of the German cities were among the eldest active Ventrue in the world. The Lasombra had no intention of entering Munich due to his own kind, but one of the reasons that Cainites were urban dwellers was because werewolves preferred to roam rural areas. Vale preferred long distance travel via the Abyss because he could avoid both; having travelled the world once, there had been enough encounters with the shapeshifters to dissuade further encounters. Canis Nobile once suggested that the Gangrel clan used to have an accord with them, perhaps due to the shared ancestry that was hinted at in the Book of Nod, but werewolves invariably attacked Cainites on sight in the modern nights. Either they were also aware of the Final Nights, or the results of science and technology spreading across the world had left one hell of a chip on their massive furry shoulders.
The flightplan of the Tremere jet must have included avoiding the city's airspace before turning slightly south for Vienna. Perhaps Vale should have fed on one of the staked Tremere, but that would have resulted in a blood bond, albeit of the lowest level, but if they could create a bloodstone from their own vitae and plant it on someone or something as their own personal locator beacon, they might also be able to use a blood bond as a tracking method. The risk was simply too great.
Vale still wanted to feed before resuming his travels in the Abyss. While his efforts on the aircraft had drained him, he was only peckish rather than hungry, but it was always a good idea to top up the tank before embarking on any serious endeavour. The Abyss was serious business. Werewolves, even more so, and while his stakes did have silver, he knew it would not be enough. He had crossed the French Alps on foot, once, and he had only survived because he had been able to ambush a werewolf and slit its throat with a silver blade before it could summon more of its kind. He assumed it survived, and certainly did not linger long enough to find out. If the blood of animals could nourish him, he would have happily resorted to that, but after a century or so, nothing less than human would do. Only the older Gangrel and Nosferatu could counter this particular inefficiency; it required mastery of the Animalism discipline to achieve. While Vale had an interest in most disciplines beyond those of his clan, controlling animals was not among his priorities.
With Decius once again draped across his shoulders under his coat, the Lasombra surveyed a gas station from the edge of the parking lot, a safe distance from the whores. There was more than one truck in the lot, their drivers most likely refuelling themselves before fucking, sleeping or continuing on. He had to wait several hours until there was only one truck left and the potential witnesses had moved on for the night. With one of the Arms, he was able to unlock one of the truck doors from the inside; he climbed in, sat in the sleeping area behind the driving seat, and waited.
He attacked immediately once the returning driver had slammed his door shut, a hand over his mouth and fangs in his neck. It was a bulky body; he could take enough to satisfy his need without too much risk to victim's blood pressure. Once he had his fill, he dragged the driver into the bed, looked him in the eye and said, "Schlafen und vergessen," before rolling him over to sleep it off. The driver promptly started snoring as Vale sat crosslegged in the space between the bed and the seats.
Instead of filling the cab and suffocating the kine, the Shroud was spherical and only large enough to envelop the Lasombra; maintaining its shape was an act of will he had practiced often, and it aided his meditation now. With only a few hundred kilometers to go, he could reach Silas University with enough time to spare.