So Leona ran. All the present guards gathered around the Prince, using the Limo as a cover under his command and fighting back with weapons they have in hand: shotguns, machine guns, blades, while Prince LaCroix immediately called for backup. Veronica, however, was facing the enemy with no barrier in between, leaning her back on the car and smoking relaxedly. All the bullets fired by those red-eyed Sabbat soldiers pierced and left dozens of ugly holes on the metal surface of the limousine, but none of them was able to hurt her soft, radiant skin for one bit.
Until a black woman with braided hair came out of one of those Sabbat vans, seemingly the leader of this assault. Unlike her ill-worn cannon fodders, she was dressed in a…strange and excessively decorated way, like some sort of hippie priest: her black-and-white robe was deliberately cut into a irregular shape, and she was wearing dozens of pagan symbols on her neck, as if she's a believer of all the unorthodoxy religions in the world.
"Bishop Bridget." Veronica addressed the woman so, stubbing out her cigar.
"Bitch." Bridget smiled.
The next thing Leona saw from afar, was the two women fighting with each other—Veronica using her swords, and Bridget using her arms that stretched two meters long like tentacles with joints. Their speed was so incredibly fast that even with her vampiric eyes, Leona could barely follow the moves, and compared to their combat, those flying bullets didn't look so quick and…undodgeable now, not like in her memories.
It was her first time to witness the vampiric strength. It was…monstrous.
Swallowing her fear and shock and feeling even more eager to get out of here, Leona came out from the security booth she was hiding in, dashing towards the opposite direction, but before long she found her way was also blocked by Sabbat vehicles, too, and that private army the Prince just summoned was battling with them almost everywhere.
Shooting, chopping, limbs, heads, organs, bowels, there were pieces of meat flying everywhere: the lamplight, the bushes, the fountains…everywhere. A corporate office turned into a war zone, just in a blink.
What frightened her most, however, wasn't really these brutal killings—it was the changes in her perception of them. She thought this violence to be cruel and disgusting, of course, but something else rose up in her sensational parts also, something primitive and hungry, kept her staring at the scarlet liquid gushing out of the wounds of every wounded soldier, no matter which side they were on, telling her how delicious it tastes, and how beautiful its colour is…
"…Kid…Hey! Hey Kid!"
Until a voice pulled her out. She shook her head to find her sanity back, turned around and saw an old man with a big, grey beard and a jeans outfit was shouting and waving at her from the front gate of LaCroix Foundation building, with a rather familiar group of people standing behind him—they were the Kindred who stood up for her in the trial.
Wagering they were her best chance out of this mayhem, Leona quickly snuck out and reached their position. The old man slapped her back with his firm, strong hand and said in a half-worried, half-blaming tone: "What the fuck are you doing here? This is no playground for a fledgling like you!"
"It's not like I had a choice!" Leona was no less anxious, "What's going on? And what are you doing here? You don't…seem like Prince's people."
"Fucking hell no." This beardy man was full of contempt, "But kicking heads and taking names's great fun, and I get to save your sorry ass, too." And the younger guy who the Prince called Mr. Rodrigues stepped up, explained everything properly for her: "The Sabbats are attacking this place…don't know what they are planning, even for those terrorists this is too reckless. We Anarchs are no friends with the Camarilla, but we won't stand by this, too." Then he looked to the old man and said, "Jack, you get her out of here, we can do it."
"Sure, Nines, have fun." Jack snapped his finger.
"Take care." Before taking off with his fellows, Nines gave a light tap on Leona's shoulder, "You take care, too, kid."
Watching them leaving like this, Leona was a little concerned. Compared to those Camarilla soldiers, these Anarchs were rather ill-equipped: they didn't have any armors of sort, and their weapons were very…unprofessional—tire iron, baseball bat, police baton that doesn't seem like an authentic, and Nines was literally bare-handed.
"Don't worry, kid, they are veterans." Jack tapped on the back of her head, let her quit thinking, "Come on."
He led her to a manhole cover on a road nearby, removed it, and jumped right in. Looking down on the smelly sewers, Leona felt a strong sickness in her stomach, but she looked at herself, finding her own body was already stinking of blood, then quickly let go of this unrealistic thought about sanitation and followed Jack down.
She landed in an wonderous steadiness for this height, and even with no lighting of any kind underground, her eyesight was still clear as it could ever be. Lucky for them, this part of the sewers is mainly for discharging rainwater on the surface, and it hadn't been raining a lot these days, so the conditions were tolerable. Jack quickly walked through this maze with no hesitation, taking Leona away from the chaos above.
"Why are you helping me?" Until she can hear nothing but usual traffic and pedestrians on the surface, Leona finally felt at ease and asked.
"I owed your daddy Garrett a favour. We go way back…poor bastard, getting his head chopped for a chick." Jack lighted up a cigarette and smoked, "As for Nines, well, he just has this soft spot for sireless kids…and lots of Anarchs think Gare was killed because LaCroix believed he was too close with them, so, here we are, feeling responsible." Reading the numbers of the exits written on their signs nearby, Jack turned back and asked, "Where you are going?"
"Santa Monica."
"Cool, then we should leave here. I have a night cabbie friend in this area who would take you there without asking stupid questions like, 'what happened to you' or 'can I get you to a hospital'." While saying, Jack crawled into the closest exit, crooking his finger, "There we go, right out of the rabbit hole."
Climbing up in a narrow passage behind Jack's butt wasn't really pleasant, but Leona's was simply happy she could live through this night soon—when creeping out of another manhole, she found herself in a dark alley of a much quieter neighbourhood, already away from the downtown area,
"Thank you."
She hadn't been this genuine about thanking for a long time.
"No prob," Jack reached his head out of the alley, looking around to locate their position, "It's six hours till sunrise, we need to hurry up…"
He suddenly stopped talking, beckoning Leona to be quiet with his index finger up. She hadn't known Jack for a long time, of course, but a man like him being so vigilant and nervous with goose bumps on his skin, was definitely alarming enough.
Then Jack suddenly grabbed Leona and began running, so swiftly that she seldom felt her feet touched the ground. They ran deep into the darkness of these alleyways, turning around and around again, until Jack finally stopped at another exit to the big streets, relaxing and cursing: "Freaking Lasombras…what are they doing here?"
Leona remembered the name: "Lasombra…isn't that one of the two Sabbat clans?"
"Yeah, and if Bridget was leading the Tzmisces attacking LaCroix building, they should be there, too, I mean, that's what they always do—making shit together and let everyone else wipe up their asses, no plan, no benefits." Jack sighed, hand-rolling another cigarette for himself, "I'm telling you, this whole thing doesn't feel right, it feels…planned. Duh, but you shouldn't worry about it, kid, it's way above your paygrade. Besides, I didn't smell many of them, they were probably just passing by."
So Jack took out his phone, made a call to the cabbie friend he just mentioned, and left with a wave to her above his head. Leona waited alone for the taxi to arrive on this side of the street, folding the coat Veronica gave her around herself tighter, which was a strange thing to do—vampires don't really feel cold, it's like…an old habit left by the shadow of her human life. Breathing, too.
However, she didn't notice a shadow standing on the top of the shopping mall a few blocks away, watching her from afar. It was a man with a strange, silver-white wolf mask that covered all of his face except the right eye, wearing a long, black leather trench coat with two axes chained together in his hands. A symbol of crown was embroidered on his back, which was the clan emblem of Lasombra.
"Are you sure, Knight Commander?" Another Lasombra soldier in the same uniform as his came behind him, asked him in confusion but with fear and respect, "Jack was definitely a threat, and this Childe seemed very close to LaCroix…"
"Remember, we are going undercover, secrecy is above everything else." The commander answered coldly, "Send the news to Bishop, the target is destroyed, she can retreat now."
And so indeed, Bridget ordered the troops to retreat from the LaCroix Group shortly. The two squats joined forces, leaving LA in two big trucks.
There was a huge death toll on Bridget's part, but she didn't seem to be disturbed by it—in fact, she brought four young humans, two men and two women, into the container, as a treat for whoever survived tonight—these four were not some cheap, easy homeless or hookers, but fine-looking, well-fed people who were just out in the night clubs for fun.
"Do whatever you want—fuck them, eat them, torture them, you've all earned this." Bridget shouted, throwing those naked, crying humans into the crowd of the red-eyed cannon fodders, "Rejoice, my warriors."
The desperate screamers were soon flooded by a plie of fanatic monsters. Appreciating this scenery of revelry from a distance, Bridget reached her hand into the mouths of carnivores with her freely elongating arm, searching for a snack, and took out the first chunk of flesh she grabbed. It was a bloody penis.
She shrugged and ate that junk, wiping her hand on the back of a Sabbat who was busy having an oral job given by a head. Then she looked at the masked man who sat at the corner, showing no interest of this feast, asked: "You don't want to join us?"
He didn't answer.
"The mask was a nice touch, by the way." Bridget walked towards him, stroke the nose tip of his wolf face like she was petting a dog, "Your little princess will surely love the new look of her favourite puppy."