Chapter Text
Act 1. "Trojan Horse".
The Mansion in the Woods. April 12th.
Gustav unhurriedly made his rounds of the mansion. Not finding Pasha in the basement, nor Yulian in his quarters on the second floor, the Elder headed to the library. The main hall was empty, but Gustav knew exactly where to look. In the farthest, darkest section of the library, hidden behind velvet drapes, was a secluded little island, or as the young Cainites called it, their "oasis".
Hiding from an Elder in his own home was impossible, but Gustav allowed them this illusion of privacy. Sometimes, even vampires just needed to exhale. Approaching the drape silently, he slightly pulled back the edge of the heavy fabric.
Yulian was sprawled languidly on the sofa, lazily twirling short strands of Pasha's hair around a long finger. The girl didn't mind in the least. She sat next to him, her legs tucked beneath her, covered by a black cashmere blanket.
Over his five centuries, the Elder had seen many Fiends and knew their Clan Bane well. Usually, they were driven mad by the absence of their native soil beneath them or the inability to surround themselves with their strange and grotesque collections. Pasha's attachment to her flesh guitar a living creation crafted by her own hands was entirely understandable to Gustav. That was the pride of a creator. But this piece of cashmere? For a long time, Gustav had raised an eyebrow, considering it a ridiculous sentimentality. A pathetic attempt by a young vampire to cling to the illusion of humanity. Understanding had come later, back during their days in Wrocław. Gustav remembered how once, just before dawn, when Yulian had gone on a Sect mission and hadn't returned by sunrise, the Tzimisce's fingers frantically dug into this dark cashmere. She buried her face in it, and only then did the tension leave her body, guiding her into daysleep. The blanket was not merely an object. It was a surrogate for presence. An anchor given to her by Yulian.
The Elder shifted his gaze to his clanmate. For the Lasombra, any relationship always boiled down to use and manipulation, where everyone around them were mere convenient tools to achieve their own goals. In the first nights of their pack, Gustav had no doubt: the young diplomat was simply taming a Tzimisce with useful skills. Yulian was forging a perfect tool for himself. That was surely how it had begun.
But now, watching Yulian's shadow glide softly and almost weightlessly across the sofa toward Pasha, the Elder saw something else. In their unlife, the words "sincerity" and "loyalty" had long since faded as human concepts, taking on a twisted, possessive hue. And yet, whatever had woven itself between these two broken children of Caine turned out to be stronger than any Vinculum.
The Elder's gaze slid to an armchair standing next to the sofa. A tiny arachnid creation, woven from flesh and bone one of Pasha's creatures rested on its armrest. She watched her creation intently, testing its reflexes using the shadows that the Lasombra had graciously agreed to provide. Yulian let thin tendrils of shadow slip from his fingers, teasing the spider, and the creature responded by threateningly raising its front legs, making sharp lunges at the clumps of shadow.
"Well," Yulian said, watching another lunge, "it seems he is perfectly fine."
The Tzimisce said nothing. She simply opened her palms in silence, and the creation, instantly losing interest in the dancing shadows, obediently jumped right into her hands. Yulian winced slightly when the multi-eyed spider got so close to him. And yet, remembering perfectly well what kind of freaks the Tzimisce usually sculpted back in the Sabbat, this little spy seemed almost... cute to the Lasombra. Exactly as cute as something stitched together from raw flesh and bone could possibly be.
"Yes. He's fine," Pasha finally said, releasing the spider onto the floor.
The creature quickly scuttled away into the darkness. The Elder pulled back the drape and walked in, sitting in the armchair and crossing his legs. Yulian, who had been sitting lazily until then, straightened up quickly, almost mechanically, and stopped twirling the Tzimisce's hair.
"I assume your creations are already deployed and patrolling the mansion," Gustav said to Pasha, then shifted his gaze to Yulian. "You were in Stockholm yesterday. What is the news?"
"There is very interesting news. Yesterday at Elysium, Prince Einar introduced a new member of the Stockholm Camarilla. Lukas, a Lasombra defector. I heard from the local Toreadors that our clanmate is aiming for the seat of Lasombra Primogen here."
Pasha narrowed her eyes.
"And what price did he pay? Did he sacrifice his Sire or his pack?"
"That is exactly what I was trying to find out," Yulian replied. "The rumors at Elysium vary. And I don't know what to believe. Some say he offered his Ductus as a sacrifice to Prince Einar. Others say he gave up an entire Sabbat domain in Spain, where he came from, to the Inquisition. Whatever the case, Einar introduced him with honors. Lukas is wealthy; he has serious assets in shipping. For the Stockholm Camarilla, that is a compelling argument."
The Elder shifted his gaze back to Pasha.
"It doesn't matter what exactly Lukas did. The main thing is, he has shown he is ready to betray. And one who betrays once for the sake of survival will do so again for the sake of power."
Pasha, who had been sitting quietly under the blanket, tilted her head slightly.
"If he's aiming to be Primogen, ships alone won't be enough. The Stockholm Camarilla will want to see how useful he is. And what could be a better trophy for an ingratiating Lasombra than..."
"...Than the destruction of a powerful Autarkis Elder of his own Clan, who audaciously lives right under the Prince's nose," Yulian finished for her. "It drives Einar insane that an old Magister is sitting right next door, refusing to bow his head to him, having taken up residence in the woods by his own choice, even ignoring the local wild Gangrel, Vidar, for whom these woods are his territory. Though negotiating with him was... simple. Lukas could offer the Prince your head, Gustav, or force you to finally bow to the Ventrue. Though, I have no idea how that could be done, considering you outmatch them in power and resources."
Gustav allowed himself a faint smirk.
"Einar believes that even the ancient spruces in this forest should grow by his decree. And Vidar... Gangrel, no matter how wild they may be, respect the language of strength and clear boundaries. The same cannot be said of the denizens of the Ivory Tower. You are right, Yulian. A direct confrontation is suicide for him. Lukas will not come here to challenge me. Which means he will act as befits a Lasombra. Through the hands of others. He will try to strike us. Try to isolate us from the city or, what is far more likely, 'accidentally' leave tracks leading to this forest for the Second Inquisition or the Camarilla Sheriff."
The Elder turned to the Tzimisce.
"Pasha. I need to know everything about him."
The girl instantly shed the last remnants of her lethargy. Her blue eyes focused on her Mentor.
"It will be done. Wealthy corpos always leave a digital footprint, even if they are vampires. I'll contact Blood Rat. Nosferatu love digging through dirty laundry for the right price."
"Excellent," Gustav nodded in satisfaction and looked at the blond. "And you, Yulian... keep smiling at them in Elysium. Be their favorite, harmless independent guest. Charm the Toreadors, agree with the Ventrue. Let the Stockholm Camarilla and this Lukas think we are naive Autarkis who locked ourselves in the woods and suspect nothing. Give them that illusion."
"With the greatest pleasure," Yulian purred.
Gustav rose from the armchair. His tall figure seemed imposing against the backdrop of the bookshelves.
"Prepare yourselves, and do what you must."
With those words, Gustav left the secluded "oasis," leaving the young Cainites alone together.
"Finally," Yulian said, stretching. "Sitting here in the woods and only occasionally going into the city, I was starting to think I'd grow into this mansion out of sheer boredom."
Pasha grunted. She threw off the blanket and folded it carefully, almost obsessively.
"All you want to do is flap your tongue and stir up drama," the Tzimisce replied without malice, heading toward the table where her laptop sat. "I'm perfectly fine in the woods. Nobody bothers you, nobody whines about the noise, and there's plenty of time to work with the... material."
Yulian sighed, getting up from the sofa.
"Your material sometimes whines entirely too loudly in the basement, sister. I need a stage. Elysium is like a disturbed beehive right now. Einar is puffing his chest, acting the omnipotent ruler, and the local Toreadors are weaving gossip so fast sparks are flying... And this Lukas... he is confident he has bought himself a nice, safe little spot."
Pasha opened the laptop lid. The screen flickered, casting a cold light on her pale face, and her fingers instantly began flying across the keyboard with habitual speed.
"Just make sure you don't overplay your hand with him," Pasha said seriously, not taking her eyes off the lines of code and passwords. "He burned all his bridges to get here. And you know perfectly well how dirty your methods get when you're backed into a corner."
Yulian stepped a bit closer, stopping just far enough away so as not to cause interference with the laptop, and even then, nothing but a distorted shadow-blur would reflect on the screen anyway.
"Which is exactly why we will pull the rug out from under him before he even realizes we are playing with him. While he is looking for leverage against Gustav, I will tear his reputation in the Camarilla to pieces. I just need to know what his confidence is built on."
"Give me a couple of hours," Pasha finally hit Enter, sending the first request to Rat. "And keep in mind, Blood Rat doesn't always take money. You might have to pay with some of your gossip from Elysium to get the hacker to dig into a fish this big."
"I'll dump all the secrets of the Stockholm Toreadors on him wholesale," Yulian smirked. He turned around and headed toward the exit of their "oasis". "I'm going to go pick out a suit for my upcoming visit to Elysium. If I'm going to throw dust in the eyes of the Prince and his new favorite, I might as well look gorgeous doing it."
The drape rustled softly behind him. Pasha rolled her eyes and snorted.
"Dandy."
Only the hum of the laptop's cooling fans remained in the library, along with a barely audible rustling in a dark corner. The little spider had returned to its creator. The Tzimisce cast a glance at the spider and plunged headfirst into the digital world.
The Mansion in the Woods. April 12th.
The silence of the library was broken only by the quiet hum of the laptop's cooling fans. Several hours had already passed. Pasha sat motionless before the screen until the icon of an encrypted messenger finally flashed in the bottom right corner.
"Well, little one, this Lasombra has a lot of mortals. Ghouls who handle the paperwork, use the internet, order his clothes, drive him around.
A little about him: he really is from Spain, from Madrid to be exact. He beat a hasty retreat from there when the city mostly fell under Camarilla rule. So he probably just didn't want to die and fled.
As for how he was received... Oh-ho, that is very interesting. You guessed that he simply sacrificed his Sire or his pack? Well, no, his Sire kicked the bucket a long time ago, back when our mutual Sect, my dear Fiend, still had some influence. The Toreadors of Stockholm chatter even when they should keep their mouths shut. Rumor has it Lukas is under a Blood Bond to Einar. That was his price of admission. Some say he just gave up part of his assets to the Prince. That's all I've found for now."
The light of the monitor reflected in Pasha's narrowed eyes. Her fingers, resting on the keyboard, tensed involuntarily, and beneath the skin her bone needles shifted threateningly, eager to pierce through. Inside her, raised in the Sabbat, the very concept of voluntary slavery through blood provoked an almost physical bout of nausea. To surrender one's will, to allow someone else's Vitae to rewrite your feelings just for a cozy spot... It was worse than Final Death.
The living room on the ground floor smelled of metal and gun oil. Gustav sat in a deep armchair by the unlit fireplace, smoothly polishing the guard of his flamberge with a soft cloth. Yulian was by the opposite wall. He stood before a tall mirror, meticulously adjusting his suit, relying entirely on muscle memory and tactile sensationsthe mirror's silvering reflected only the room and a quivering blur of gloom where the Lasombra should have been standing.
"Rat brought news," Pasha announced from the threshold.
The rhythmic sound of metal polishing ceased. Gustav rested the sword on his knees, and Yulian slowly turned to her, leaving his cufflinks alone.
"Our defector is a coward and a laughingstock. He is from Madrid. Fled from there when things got too hot. The Camarilla took over the city. He didn't want to die, so he bolted here. He didn't sacrifice his Sire or his pack; his Sire turned to ash a long time ago."
"Cowardice is expected," Yulian sighed in disappointment, perching on the armrest of the sofa. "If that's all, then Rat is wasting his... whatever it is he eats down there in his sewers."
"No, not all," Pasha looked straight at Gustav. "He brought a whole crowd of mortals with him. Ghouls run all his affairs: paperwork, logistics, clothes, the internet. But the main thing is how he paid his dues."
Pasha paused.
"Lukas gave up part of his assets. But besides that... He accepted a Blood Bond to Prince Einar."
Yulian let out a chuckle and shook his head.
"A Blood Bond... A Lasombra. On a Ventrue's leash. He literally became his lapdog. What a humiliation."
The Elder's face, usually impenetrable, contorted.
"To voluntarily drink from a wrist for the illusion of safety... That is worse than betrayal. That is an abdication of one's very essence. But this changes things. If Lukas is Bound, it means he has no will of his own. The Prince is using him. If Lukas strikes at us and loses, Einar merely loses a pawn and writes it off as a newcomer's foolishness. If he wins, then the Ventrue gets this forest without getting his hands dirty."
"So, we can't just kill Lukas," Pasha quickly realized, leaning her hands on the table and tilting slightly toward Gustav. "To destroy him means directly destroying the property and loyal slave of the Prince. That is a declaration of war on the Stockholm Camarilla."
"Correct. A direct strike is unacceptable. But... Lukas relies too heavily on mortals. Ghouls are convenient in the daytime and the digital world, especially when you are a Lasombra."
Yulian picked up on his Mentor's train of thought, understanding where he was going with this.
"And if the Ghouls start making catastrophic mistakes?"
"Exactly," Gustav nodded. He shifted his gaze to Pasha. "Pasha, I need the addresses, names, and work schedules of his primary Ghouls. Everyone keeping his business afloat."
The Tzimisce nodded and left them, returning back to the "oasis".
A Loft on the Outskirts of Stockholm. April 13th.
Lukas stood by the panoramic window, his hands clasped behind his back, staring intently at Stockholm spread out below. A woman sat in a deep leather armchair behind him. At first glance, she was a typical Toreador: refined, impeccably dressed, with a beautiful shock of red hair and flawless facial features. But then she slowly ran a finger along her cheekbone, and a barely audible, wet crunch sounded beneath the skin as she corrected a small defect she hadn't noticed immediately. The true owner of this visage, a Neonate of Clan Toreador, Vera, had already turned to ash, leaving Elena with an excellent disguise.
"A Blood Bond with the Prince?" Elena asked, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "Are you serious? Do you think that's a good idea? The assets are one thing, but this..."
Lukas turned to her, smiling condescendingly.
"It is a brilliant idea, Elena. I fed this rumor to my own Ghouls, and the local Roses joyfully spread it throughout the Court. Does Einar know? Of course. And his bloated Ventrue ego won't allow him to deny it."
The Lasombra stepped away from the window, pacing smoothly across the loft.
"Let the entire Camarilla think I am their Prince's broken slave. No one perceives a chained dog as an independent threat. When I take the Primogen's seat, they will drop their guard completely. And while they whisper about me in Elysium..." Lukas gestured toward the bay, "...my ships are already unloading weapons in the ports, and money is flowing through shell funds straight to our brothers on the front lines. Stockholm is the perfect transit hub."
Elena adjusted her hair, leaning back in the armchair.
"Still, we are in enemy territory. The Inquisition doesn't sleep here either, and if someone starts digging into your bookkeeping..."
"They won't," Lukas cut in with certainty. "I gave them exactly what they want to see: money, submission, and status. I will be their perfect Primogen. And when the time comes, and our packs are ready to strike the Ivory Tower from within... this city will drown in blood."
"Capturing the city is a future prospect. What about our current problem? What about the Archbishop who deserted?"
Lukas pursed his lips. While he felt contempt for the Camarilla, the name Gustav Adlerflügel evoked hatred.
"Gustav... A cowardly old man. He had resources, influence, packs... And he abandoned the Sword of Caine when the Sect needed him most, scurrying off into the woods with his sycophants," the Lasombra ground out. "Einar hates Gustav, but fears a direct confrontation. I will use that. As soon as my position at Court is fully solidified, I will offer the Prince a solution to the Gustav problem myself. The Camarilla will give me the resources and authorization for his destruction. We will punish the Sabbat traitor using other people's hands."
"Sounds like a plan," Elena said. "But don't forget our Ductus, Vsevolod. If you play politics too hard or if things go wrong... you know what Vsevolod will do. And what's the news from Catalina?" the Tzimisce asked casually, referring to the other Lasombra, another member of their pack, who, unlike Lukas, sat quietly in the shadows monitoring the situation in the city.
Lukas flinched almost imperceptibly. To the observant eyes of the pack's Priest, this fleeting movement was more eloquent than any words. At the mere mention of Vsevolod's name, a sickening stench surfaced in the Lasombra's memory. Their Ductus was not a simple sadist. He was a genius of Vicissitude. Lukas could almost vividly see that towering, athletic, four-armed figure covered in bone growths. And beside himthe Vozhd. A whimpering, shapeless mountain of fused bodies, dotted with dozens of faces distorted in agony and massive claws. The memory of Vsevolod affectionately stroking that monster made the Beast inside Lukas cower in fear.
"I haven't forgotten about Vsevolod. None of us have, Priest," Lukas finally said, deliberately using her title in the pack to emphasize his awareness of the hierarchy and to conceal his own fear. "My assets are just a tool. The Camarilla swallowed the bait. When Vsevolod decides it's time to unleash the Vozhd and our assault packs, the gates of Stockholm will be opened from the inside."
He turned away from Elena, peering into the night, as if trying to find solace in his familiar darkness.
"As for Catalina... she is doing her job. Perfectly and silently. The Camarilla hounds and the Sheriff don't even suspect there's another Lasombra in their city."
Elena remained silent, listening intently. As the pack's Priest, she had to know everything.
"She watches from the outside. Melts into the shadows where the cameras can't reach," Lukas explained. "And she brought interesting news. Our dear Autarkis, Yulian... He is a frequent guest at Court. Catalina tailed him after a reception. Smart son of a bitch, he knows how to weave and shake a tail. She hasn't been able to slip past the city limits to their haven yet."
Lukas turned to Elena.
"Yulian plays the role of a harmless diplomat. And that Tzimisce girl, Pasha... she doesn't even appear on the Camarilla's radar, she sits in her Mentor's shadow. Catalina believes they will be testing the waters."
"Let them test," Elena replied, adjusting her fake Toreador face. "The main thing is that they don't trace things back to Vsevolod before he is ready."
"They won't. Gustav and his whelps are smart, but they are used to thinking in terms of survival and isolation. And we," Lukas swept his hand across the loft, implying the unseen presence of the entire Sword of Caine, "we have brought them a real war. If Gustav tries to cut off my logistical routes, he will come out of his woods himself, and then we will show him why one cannot simply 'leave' the Sabbat."
"What about Griselda?" Elena asked further.
She walked over to the window and looked down.
"Acts of violence and robbery have escalated in Stockholm over the last few nights the packs can't wait any longer. The police are blaming it on a sudden spike in local gang crime. The Camarilla is on alert now. Especially the Sheriff, that Brujah, Björn. He doesn't trust you, Lukas. He is clearly not just the Prince's bouncer. He has brains. He might suspect, if he hasn't already, that this sudden outbreak of violence strangely appeared right when you arrived in the city."
Lukas drummed his fingers irritably on the glass table.
"Björn is not the kind of Brujah who hits first and thinks later. The old soldier survived the Inquisition purges; he knows how to see patterns. And Griselda doesn't know how to keep her dogs on a leash. The nomadic packs have starved for too long. They forget that we aren't here to throw a couple of loud riots and burn ingloriously under the fire of the Second Inquisition. We are here to slit Ventrue throats."
Elena turned back to him.
"The thirst of the nomadic packs is the nature of the Beast, Lukas. They cannot be kept locked up forever. The Sabbat does not know how to just 'sit and wait' while you weave your lace in Elysium. If Griselda loses control of them, Björn will track them down. And from them, the chain will lead to you. A Blood Bond, even a fake one, won't save you from the Sheriff's justice if he proves you brought the Sabbat into his city."
"I have the situation under control, Elena," the Lasombra snapped. "If Björn starts asking questions, I will give him answers. Fake ones. Einar is convinced the Autarkis are a ticking time bomb. If Griselda's packs cause a couple more incidents... we will ensure the evidence leads straight to Gustav."
"Leave tracks on the edge of the woods?" the Tzimisce clarified.
"Leave corpses, drained and mutilated," Lukas corrected. "Those who remember Gustav from Wrocław know his cruelty. Björn will follow the false trail. It will keep the Sheriff busy, give Griselda a chance to blow off steam on the outskirts, and... perhaps force Einar to finally give me sanction to kill the Autarkis. We will kill three birds with one stone."
The Lasombra paused. His confident tone suddenly cracked slightly.
"But before you go to Vsevolod... I have a favor to ask of you."
Elena raised a questioning eyebrow.
"My Ghoul, Henrik. He's gotten too loud. Blowing my money on whores and drugs at the club. A little more, and he'll attract the Sheriff's attention. He needs to be taught a lesson. Catalina or I would quickly give ourselves away in a crowd of mortals. But you, with that face... you can get close to him. Displace a few of his bones, and I will handle the psychological conditioning."
Elena rolled her eyesa gesture that looked startlingly natural on that manufactured face.
"Can't keep your own Ghouls on a leash again, Lukas?" she hissed with contempt. "You breed them like house pets that crap on the rug."
Lukas's face twisted. The fact that he had to ask Elena for help because of the blunder of his own mortal slave was humiliating. But he knew all too well that attempting to solve the problem himself in a noisy, camera-filled club could turn into a disaster for any Lasombra.
"My Ghouls are my problem," he ground out through his teeth, trying to keep control of his voice. "Henrik manages my 'white' bookkeeping. I need him alive and capable of signing documents. But his human frailties have crossed the line. I give them a luxurious life in exchange for loyalty, but some mortals confuse privilege with impunity."
"Your problem, Lukas, is that you try to buy their loyalty. Ventrue break the will, Tzimisce alter the essence, and you just shower them with money like cheap whores. And now you're asking me to wipe up after you."
She walked slowly past him, heading for the exit of the loft.
"The address of the club."
"'The Velvet Owl,' VIP area," Lukas replied grimly, pulling a thin phone from his jacket pocket and tossing it onto the table without even looking at the screen, which wouldn't respond to him anyway. "And displace his bones so he can't walk for a week, but can still type on a keyboard. I need the pain to remind him of his place every single second. And then I will lock him in the basement and explain clearly who he belongs to."
"Done," Elena tossed over her shoulder. Her voice suddenly changed, losing its melodic Toreador softness and turning harsh. "But remember this favor, Lukas. When we start carving up this city, the first helping of Camarilla blood goes to me."
Without waiting for an answer, the Tzimisce disappeared down the corridor. Lukas was left alone, staring at the lights of nocturnal Stockholm. Everything was getting complicated. The Camarilla, the Sheriff, Griselda's packs, the Autarkis in the woods, and Vsevolod's controlall of it had to be kept in balance. The Lasombra adjusted his tie and walked out into the corridor.