"We are the Sword of Caine!

By the gift of our blood, and the divinity of our Dark Father, this world all within it is our birthright. Why feed on the miserable and mortal kine if we were not meant to rule them? Why feign humanity and mortal dignity, when the kine break so easily beneath our heel? We have left humanity behind. The gift of Undeath frees us from mortal shackles, and the blood of Caine spurs us to master it.

Pay no attention to the lies of the Camarilla or the lesser evil of the spineless Anarchs. They hide in the shadows, treating the kine as toys and children to be tended to, rather than the disposable meat they are. Do not as they do. Do not cling to humanity as they, for it has been taken from you. Do not deny the Beast they so fear, for it hungers only for its rightful throne atop the bleeding Earth.

And do not fear or pity the human filth we are forced to endure. Feed! Kill! Dominate! Follow the will of Caine, and brand your own upon our rightful and bloody empire.

We are the Sword of Caine, and the sword shall not pity what it cleaves!"

Dictation of speech from Bishop Kylie of the San Francisco Sabbat.

Incomplete, and salvaged from the corpses of undercover operatives.

********

This city was in great contrast to the mountains of Kristoff's home. The Carpathians may have seemed desolate to some, but they were alive with all the creatures and elements nature had to offer. This thing though, this Phoenix, was a dead thing. Even from a distance, he knew it to be a worthless machine of artificial laws and artificial people subsisting on artificial purposes.

If humanity was so intent on turning itself into one great mechanism, why not just bow to their betters? Becoming Food for Kindred was no different from being fuel in a corporate machine, or gears in federal artifice.

"Civilization...Thousands of years and this is all it amounts to." Even alone, Kristoff couldn't help but sneer and growl. The contempt for this place and all the others like it was more than he could conceal. 

But tonight, he had a greater purpose than distant rebuke. Mistress Veronica had given Kristoff the task of killing Isaac Sharpe's new protégé. This target, and soon to be dust pile, was named Jessie. She was barely a Neonate, less experienced than even some of the ghouls who served the true monsters of the night.

Drawing on local intelligence provided by Sabbat deep agents and his own experience as a covert operator, Kristoff had managed to place himself in a good position outside Montrose Enterprises. Just far enough where no one would see him while he observed the building through a telescope. 

The device itself was a powerful thing. A damascene and glass instrument, forged with sorceries pierced the concealments employed by most supernatural entities.

There was a hiccup though. Clare D'Angelo, a long-time enforcer and comrade of Isaac Sharpe, had left the building with Jessie in tow. Last Kristoff saw they were driving away in a custom-built and most likely armored sports car.

The two of them together would be a challenge. And the fact that Clare seemed to be taking Jessie into some kind of apprenticeship left Kristoff wondering if his information was accurate. The younger Hecate was supposedly new to her powers, so why would an experienced fighter like Clare train her if there wasn't potential? Why would Isaac entrust Jessie to such a wild operator, if she hadn't already proven her metal?

Kristoff decided a new approach was needed, and since another of Veronica's inner circle was close by, he went to propose a collaboration. 

"I will never live this down. Not even if a hundred centuries came and went." It was humiliating. Kristoff was the trusted huntsman of Lady Veronica. Even when he was a young man, newly initiated into the service of his ancestral masters, he could find and kill the most dangerous of opponents. He'd even hunted a killed a werewolf on his own. Though the beast was young and even more inexperienced than he.

Trekking out of the city to beg for assistance from anyone would have been demoralizing on its own. But only one member of the inner circle was close enough to help. This man, as luck would have it, was the only member of the inner circle that Kristoff both hated, and feared.

"Master Kristoff? I thought I wouldn't see you again, not so soon at least." Pietro was on his own mission; the nature of which Kristoff was ignorant. Yet it must not have been too critical, or at least dangerous, since Pietro was perfectly welcoming. "Has some calamity befallen you?"

"I have encountered a difficulty." Kristoff didn't expect Pietro to set a trap for him. Yet meeting the Elder Kindred in the desert outside Phoenix was an uneasy experience. So he spoke as gingerly as he moved about and observed his surroundings. "I need to test my targets' capabilities."

"What good fortune you have. That your own mission was not so hidden as mine." Pietro was never condescending, or even that prideful. Not compared to many vampires of power. Yet his chosen words always carried an air of doublespeak. As if he were playing with their meaning and enjoying every bit of it. "Our good mistress guards her secrets closely, as does every mighty dragon."

"You would have discovered it on your own." Kristoff made no secret of his apprehension. Pietro had an uncanny talent for knowing, or at least deducing the true purpose of most things. "You always do."

"Very True. I haven't the sight of Malkav's spawn or the charm of The Twins' assorted bastards." There was no condemnation in his "insults", or even jealousy towards those he spoke of. They were more of lament than anything. "But many whispers take respite in my ears, and there are so many dark corners from which I await them."

He was very much in love with the sound of his own voice. What Clan was he even from? The only one who might know was Lady Veronica, and she had not seen fit to share that information with anyone.

"He was a stranger to our lands. He's remained as much over a century now. What is he?"

"Tell me, where is Isaac's found childe?" Pietro was always energetic when outside of the council. He even seemed like an invigorated youth as he walked backward. All while his intentions were concealed behind the dancing lights of his eyes. "I can only be of service if I know where I am serving?"

"I last saw her heading downtown, in the company of Clare D'Angelo."

"Young Clare is here?" His interest was piqued, and he even seemed delighted at all the scenarios undoubtedly playing in his labyrinthine mind. "I see the reason for your caution. You usually kill the newborn dead with gleeful abandon. But Young Clare is no fledgling."

"I know, hence my coming here." Kristoff was in a hurry of course, but he also didn't want to tread on the toes of the man he needed help from. Not this far from any backup of his own. So he tried to be polite, loathsome as it felt. "I need your help in this."

"You underestimate yourself, Master Kristoff." Pietro at last turned back to his destination and seemed more purposeful with each step he took. He was no doubt close to his own appointed task. "Your charge is not so beyond your talents, that you must feign respect for mine."

That took Kristoff by surprise. There were not many self-deprecating vampires, certainly not in the Sabbat. He was grateful of course, that this might be more pleasant than the usual kowtowing an ego-stroking he did for the others. But still, this was very unexpected behavior.

"I'm obliged to you, Pietro." Kristoff finally took the time to examine where they'd come to.

The sight was instantly recognizable. First, there were several large trucks at the side of the road. Each of them was crewed by a team of Sabbat members. All of them were Caittif, mostly footsoldiers but still dangerous and fierce compared to the pampered brats of the Camarilla or the deluded idealists of the Anarchs.

At the other side of the road was a massive pile of recently dug and then set earth...the kind of arrangement one might see for a communal grave.

"A mass embrace?" Once again, Kristoff was taken by surprise. He'd known that theirs was a mission of destruction of course. But a mass embrace? Turning and unleashing this many vampires this early in the campaign? "Mistress Veronica is deadly serious in this."

"Oh yes indeed. Our friend Isaac did much harm to our sculpted suzerain. Both to her body, and to her pride." Pietro lifted his hands, and the veins in each of his fingers pulsed and burned with infernal light. "She might very well have preferred death to dishonor. Let us hope our new brothers and sisters will feel the same."

Pietro then spoke in words so foreign and so old that even Kristoff could not track them. The voice that rang in everyone's ears did not come from the vampire's mouth. Instead, each syllable seemed like the thundering of a great storm, crashing against the sky from beyond the stars. The Caitiff standing guard at their vehicles stood further back, their eyes wide with fear and their fangs barred for whatever they thought might come for them.

All the while, Pietro's lighted hands twisted and strummed the night air as if he were conducting a grand and haunting music. A symphony of terror that gripped the minds of all who listened, and called for murder and death the likes of which would not ever be forgotten.

At last, the grave trembled. One, two, then more and more beating notes, loud as racing horses rang from beneath the dirt. Growing louder and heavier until the cacophonous and muddy drums filled the air with their desperate clamor.

Then hands. Bloody, darkened, and bruised fingers burst forth from the grave. They grasped for ground, and then tore at what little purchase they found. Seconds passed and then the screams of dozens of terrified and frenzied souls erupted, and the poor creatures who wailed and howled their despairing cries could, at last, be seen.

They climbed from their deaths like ants from their hills. And looked ready to surge forth in a great horde. Until Pietro spoke again.

"Begin."

The Caitiff waiting in the wings charged forward and began beating the newly risen with all manner of blunt instruments and weaponry. The most common of which were the shovels so recently used to dig the now vacant mass grave.

Though smaller in numbers, the Sabbat enforcers were veterans of the blood. They were deadlier by far than these poor fools. So they had no trouble encircling and then corralling their targets. And beat the newborn vampires until they were a pile of gibbering animals huddled together and clutching each other for safety.

"Enough!" Pietro called forth again: His voice imperial and commanding, but his mirth undiminished. "Our night is only begun."

"Rise, my children." The power of his blood crept into his voice, his presence encapsulated the minds of all in attendance. Even Kristoff had to raise his guard, for he had no wish to fall under anyone's spell, even for a moment.

"You are frightened, my poor but blessed children." Pietro walked to them with outstretched arms and open hands. "But that is natural. What newborn does not fear their new world?"

"Whatever you were, whatever dreams this mortal hell may have crushed are gone now. Like dust in the wind." He placed a gentle hand on the creature closest to him and raised his other hand to the night sky. "You are of Caine now. Caine's blood, Caine's sword." His mere saying of those words provoked an awed reaction from the just recently abused audience. They looked at him with such trust now, and fervor.

"You need nothing of the hollow niceties that once enslaved you. But you still hunger. Come with me now, and you shall feast. You shall feast, and become your true selves."

He gestured towards the trucks, and his new flock piled into them. Like sheep being led into a slaughterhouse. The true Vampires leaped into their cabs and drove off towards Phoenix, and would do so until arriving at whatever targets they'd been given. Then, they would let their new brothers and sisters loose into the world.

"It is a pity." Pietro's lofty demeanor had given way to melancholy. He no longer appeared as a grand conductor but as a  worried parent. "I do so prefer the relationship of sire and childe. The exchanging of talent, the growth of trust, and the tests of power and loyalty. Still, this practice has its uses."

"Such as?" Kristoff knew the incoming answer, but he was curious about how Pietro might deliver it. The how and why of a thing were just as important as the what. "What use do you see in this?"

"For the sake of tradition, and out of respect for more artful times." He laughed, once more enamored at his wit. "Every great siege must begin with a Forlorn Hope."