Little story, might be multichap or one-shot, all depends. Thanks for reading

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One hundred and seventy-six years it took, but it was finally his; he was now Prince Archibald. Of course, the location was less than ideal, being a point of conflict between Camarilla, Anarch, Sabbat, and even the Kuei-Jin, but that was all irrelevant. Los Angeles was his. Taking a moment just to sit in the comfortable leather chair, he swiveled so he was looking out of the penthouse window of the newly-repaired Venture Tower.

There was a buzz, letting him know that his appointment was making it's way up the elevator shaft, allowing him time to face the entrance and look suitably regal. The door opened, allowing the Tremere Regent, Strauss, to enter the room carrying a manila envelope. "Ah, Strauss, thank you for bringing this to me. I wish to know of all threats to my new rule, and how to suitably eliminate them."

The Regent took a moment to watch the relatively young Ventrue Prince, before speaking, "As prudent as forethought may be, I must advise caution. These two are not to be trifled with unless ample preparation has taken place, and I have yet to see anything close to be what could be considered 'ample preparation.'"

Archibald waved off the comment. "The others were idiotic. I do not underestimate these two Anarchs, I am just aware that my power far outmatches their own." Glancing down at the contents of the folder, he saw their pictures. The first had dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail laying down his nape, a high collared trench coat buttoned from his throat to his waist, with both the collar and the legs left unbuttoned for mobility. Underneath that was a simple white shirt and black pants, along with combat boots. Next to the picture was all the necessary information, such as his name was Morgan Anders and he was Malkavian.

The next picture showed a stocky fellow, grey shirt and blue jeans with a leather biker's jacket over it and his short brown hair left uncombed. Heavy, military-grade hobnailed boots were laced halfway up to his knee. This one had the same information, name was Marius Umbran, belonged to clan Gangrel.

These two would bow to him like everyone else, or they would die.

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The water dripping from the fire-escape rattled against his nerves. He could hear the tapping, sounding out the rhythm of the world; and how suiting it was that that rhythm came from the runoff of civilization, splattering amongst the trash and sick of society. How he loathed them, all of them. They were hateful, deceitful creatures, wanting nothing more than to injure him and his friend. None of them could be trusted, alliances of convenience and respect amongst equals was the closest things he felt to camaraderie with the lowly rats that called themselves people.

The alleyway finally gave way to a door, relatively clean when compared to it's surroundings. Rapping on the door with the silver head of his cane, the eye slit opened, producing a gravely and wholly unpleasant voice, "What do you want?" He could just imagine from the voice the kind of man that was on the other side of the door; jealous of what he and partner had accomplished, plotting to kill them for no other reason than spite. He would show them though, Morgan Anders was not one to fall so easily into tricks, he knew of their conniving, deceitful little ways.

Peering through the slit, Morgan opened the proverbial floodgates. The Madness he worked so hard to keep pent up was focused into the little thing that called itself a man in front of him. "I am the hopes and dreams that you've locked out from your heart. Why would you do that to me? Please let me in." The sentence came naturally, as if it had been planned ahead, years in advance, and Morgan had just now brought the scheme to fruition.

Nodding dumbly, the thug opened the door, eager to reconcile with himself on the dreams he'd abandoned; going to college, meeting a nice girl, becoming a musician. And then he was dead, gurgling as the sword was slid back into the cane that acted like a sheath. Not giving the cooling body a second glance, Morgan continued into the thief's den.

He could hear the television before anything else, a grating, horrible thing that seemed to claw at his ears. What a sickening thing, to see all of those humans around that flickering box, worshiping it as some kind of idol. Glaring into the back of a young man's head, he opened the floodgate again.

The first sign the others got that something was wrong was the laughing. Blade started chuckling, and they had passed it off as him enjoying a one-liner that Daniel Tosh had put out on the T.V. After a few seconds of the laughter only growing, however, they began to get worried. That's when things started getting worse.

Alex began hyperventilating, tugging at the roots of his hair before breaking into a shriek, the scream causing the other to grow afraid. Morgan grinned from the doorway, before reaching out with his mind once more. He could feel the threads of their sanity, already unravelling, and all they needed was one…more…tug.

The resulting cacophony was truly impressive. Weeping and wailing and gnashing of the teeth was the symphony orchestrated by the Madman, and it was the music that greeted the Brujah cretin as he ran to check on his men. Morgan smiled, standing amongst those who he had broken, "So there you are, Mr. Bradley. I was worried that I would have to search the entire premises for you."

Morgan knew his type, utterly cowardly when alone. Unfortunately, the Brujah was definitely not alone at the moment, with a Gangrel and what he was fairly certain was a Toreador standing behind him. Emboldened by the knowledge of the two Kindred he had with him, the Brujah was more than confident on their ability to rid themselves of the insane assaulter, "There's three of us an' onl' one of you, yeah? What are ya' gon' do now that I've got incendiary ammo pointed at ya'? Not such a one man killin' machine anymore, are ya'?"

Morgan knew of the plots and plans that everyone had, no matter how they tried to hide them, and he was far to clever to fall for their games. Always be smarter, always be one step ahead, and always be three times as devious. "I was never the one man killing machine, you utter simpleton. It doesn't surprise me someone so stupid as you could not grasp the idea of a flanking manoeuvre." Morgan could see the slow realization on the Brujah's face. "That's correct you neanderthal. I'm just a distraction." And then the killing began.

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If there was one Marius thought everyone could agree on, it was that entering a room via the skylight was atleast in the top three ways to arrive. Of course, the armed guards stationed around the broken down room disagreed, but they were of little consequence, simply little pigs waiting for the big bad wolf.

Nightwisp Ravens to occupy the first gunman, summon wolves to get the second. Dodge the shotgun blast by ducking low, throw the Burrowing Beetle at the third, and do your best to ignore the screaming. Unpleasant work, but they needed to understand; when the wolf comes knocking at the door, the little piggy's need to run back inside, not try and play hero.

This was a completely revolting house that looked abandoned from the outside, and not much better from within, with moulding dry wall, collapsing ceiling tiles, and stains of unknowable origins spread casually about the room. It was the seat of power of a small group of Kindred using a flock unwitting humans to produce and sell their foul narcotics. Nines wanted the place cleaned out, and was willing to pay for the service, so without a second thought Marius had signed him and Morgan up for the job.

The sledgehammer Marius used weighed over twelve pounds, handle included. Of course as the goon in the next room found out through very unpleasant personal experience, it feels a great deal heavier when swung by a vampire. The Gangrel managed to dislodge the hammer from the skull of his last victim with little trouble before thinking of his partner. Morgan was dangerous, that much was certain, but he had faith in him. Glancing at the clock on a pile of cardboard boxes, Marius realized he was a little behind schedule.

Jogging briskly into the next room, Marius could smell his next victims. Atleast two of them, both were huddled up in the centre of the room, quaking in fear, as they should. They must have heard the sound of the apex predator doing away with their little piggy friends. "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? Big bad wolf? Big bad wolf?" The smell of ammonia was heavy in the air as the two lost control of their bladders and clasped to each other even tighter. "Cer-tain-ly not I."

Shifting into war-form mid-jump, Marius landed next to the cowering duo, focusing his clan's blood to harden his skin as the automatic weapons fire dug harmlessly into his skin. Growling, the transformed kindred backhanded the sub-machine guns away, before grasping each of the thugs by the throat. "My, what strong claws I have." And with a sharp twist of the wrist, they were dead.

Getting down onto his stomach, Marius pressed his ear to the floor in time to hear the voice of the madman that was his friend, "…I'm just a distraction." With that, Marius brought his arms down onto the rotting carpet to smash the termite infested boards, allowing him to drop behind the three enemy Kindred. They turned to fight, but it was of little hope, the enemy Gangrel was a weak excuse for one of his noble clan, and died easily and with little resistance. The Toreador, however was different.

Utilizing celerity to its fullest, the young female was able to simply avoid all of Marius' attacks. Quickly, however, the tides turned as the young woman seemed to suddenly panic, before leaping backwards away from the conflict. "Do not worry, Marius," The Gangrel looked over to his partner who had locked eyes the young woman, "She poses little threat to me. No matter how fast her body is, her mind is far to slow. Handle Mr. Bradley, if you would?"

Nodding, Marius turned to the Brujah, who had levelled shotgun at him. "Don' come any closer you freak, this things loaded wit' dragon's breath." Marius smiled at the poor man, doing his best to put on a brave face. And it was working too, until, of course, the Brujah heard his only remaining ally began pleading to her father for forgiveness, before beginning to claw at her scalp. Both of the combatants looked over in time to see Morgan place his revolver against the Toreador's forehead as she sat with her knees pulled up to her chin. The loud 'bang' that followed seemed to drain the Brujah of the last of his resolve. "Please, le' me go. I won' come back, I promise."

Marius nodded, understanding of the mans plight. Then he brought the sledgehammer out of it's sling on his back and put it through the cretin's skull. "Come on Morgan, that's that done. How about we head back to the Last Round, we'll get our payday, and maybe head out somewhere? We could go to Vesuvius, or Asylum?

The Malkavian shook his head, "The only reason you wish to go to those dens of depravity is so you may once again bed Miss. Velvet or Miss. Jeanette. I really wish you would not frequent those places, it makes it far too easy for our enemies to get to you. I do not trust those two at any rate, Miss. Velvet is far too concerned with her own ventures, and Miss. Jeanette is incredibly selfish. That by itself is enough to warrant suspicion."

Marius laughed, "Of course you don't trust them Morgan, you don't trust anyone except for me. You need to open up more." Laughing at his partner, the Gangrel wiped the grey matter off the head of his hammer. "Now let's go, we need to get our payment for this job, then we can get another. I heard the Sabbat are making another push, it's been awhile since we killed some of them." Giving another laugh, the Big Bad Wolf gestured for his Madman of a partner to follow him out.

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Yes, there was no doubt in Archibald's mind. He had nothing to worry about.