*Max steps into the cool evening air, drinking in the wonderful silence of night; free from the screams of the asylum. There was something reassuring about being alone again; no one distracting him, pulling his mind from it's train of thought. Alone, silence... Peace all too fleeting as he feels a vibration in his pocket; pulling his phone out and clicking it off vibrate.*
*One new voice mail... He must have missed it in all the excitement of the night. A few taps on the Iphone, and the message began playing in Max's ear. A soft, feminine voice spoke in submissive tones; but even the subservience ingrained in the women couldn't hide the happiness in her voice.* “Hello Master, I have returned to the city. I'm sorry I took so long, but there were.... complications in retrieving some of the items for the apartment. I'm at your disposal, should you need me.”
*He dials her number, giving directions to the imposing asylum; thankful she's close so he doesn't have to spend any more time than necessary near that damned building. As the black BMW pulls up, she eases it to a stop; parking it perfectly next to Max as she steps out. Samantha slips out of the car, unable to contain a wide smile as she sees Max again for the first time in nearly a month.* “Good evening, Master...” *She says softly, opening the door for him.*
*Max slips in without a word of greeting; a move uncommon enough to take the smile off the ghoul's face. Had she displeased him? Was it because of how long she was gone? She thought she made good time picking him up. Thoughts running through her head, the young looking asian woman moved back to the driver's seat, closing the door and pulling off from the curb. She doesn't speak, and neither does he; Max simply staring out the window into the night, lost in thought.*
*He knew what he had to do; the events at the asylum had forced his hand now. Unseen monsters were stalking the Kindred; and Max would be damned if he was going to be caught unaware again. Max knew what the first step to protecting himself would be; even if it would bring him one step closer to that bastard Aziz. Max curses under his breath, he was becoming more like his Sire every night.*
*The two drive in silence to the university, the black 745i pulling to a stop in front of Willard Hall; Samantha putting the car in park and beginning to open the driver-side door. Max reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder to hold her in the seat* “No, you're headed back to the apartment; get the room ready for me. I may be forced to abandon my office without warning. And after that, see what you can find about a Horizon Pharmatech. Specifically, the CEO. Dead family members, strange accidents. Anything the might be the work of one of my kind. But be discrete, as always...”
*She nods, reaching up to place her hand on his arm, giving it a soft squeeze.* “Master, please tell me what's wrong. Let me help you, anything ju...” *Max pulls his arm back, and her voice trails off. He opens the door, sticking one leg out onto the pavement.* “No, this is something I must do alone. Come around tomorrow and check on me. If I'm not in my sanctum, all is well. If I am... You know what to do; just like that night in Queens...” *Samantha can only nod, knowing that meant a sacrifice would need to be found for Max*
*Max turns, unlocking the door to the Hall; not looking back as the black BMW speeds off into the night. Down the stairs, into his office, a quick pull on the lever that opened the passage to his private sanctum. He doesn't feel the usual wave of relaxation that came with entering his haven; only a grim determination for what was to come. He'd been putting this night off for many decades, refusing to allow himself to come one step closer to becoming like his Sire.*
*And yet, it was his Sire's blood; the power of the blood that ran in his veins, that might provide an edge in the war he found himself in. And any advantage to help ensure his survival was worth taking a step towards becoming a bastard like Aziz.*
*He walks over to the long table that rested against the far wall, reaching up into the overhead cabinets to retrieve a large black bag. Max pulls out an aged leather doctor's bag; the kind one would carry to a house call, when they still did such things. He runs his fingers over the well-worn handles, remembering the Daeva he acquired the bag from; a diablarist that wouldn't be making house calls ever again...*
*Max pushes the memory away, trying to refocus on the work ahead. He unzips the top of the bag, pulling out an array of specially prepared items. First was a large stainless steel bowel, large enough to hold over 8 quarts of liquid. A spigot has been fitted to the side, with a long hose fitted with the needle from an IV. Next a metal rack, four short legs supporting a large metal ring. A can of Sterno jellied alcohol; the kind used for heating serving trays at catered events. A long stick lighter. Two vials; thick, dark liquid sloshing lazily inside them, sealed with stopper and wax. And the finally piece: an obsidian-bladed knife, with a bone handle.*
*Crafted before the birth of Christ, the dagger was one of the treasures Max stole for his Sire when he left; it's jet-black blade as sharp today as it was when used in rituals in the Temple of Set. He runs his thumb along the edge of the blade, the volcanic glass slicing cleanly through the pale flesh of his finger. Max examines the cut, his blood quickly healing and sealing the wound. He places the knife to the side, it's use will come later.*
*Max puts the bowl on top of the rack, it's rounded sides sliding into, and resting easily inside, the custom-built metal frame. The seals are torn off the vials; Max pouring the contents into the bowl. He opens the can of heating gel, placing it under the metal bowl; and igniting it with the stick lighter. The thick liquid begins to warm, releasing a heady perfume of spices and oils as it's heated from underneath. Max reaches down, undoing his belt and dropping his slacks to the floor. He forces his heart to pump once more, feeling the inside of his thigh until he finds the faint pulse of the femoral artery. With his other hand, Max takes the IV needle, jamming it into his leg. He misses the first who times, but finally he strike the artery; a little bit of crimson blood flowing back into the clear tube.*
So much for the easy steps... *Max thinks to himself. He takes hold of the knife, placing his hands over the bowl. Max pauses, his mind going back to the night his Sire explained the Khaibit to him. Ancient servants to their masters, Guardians of the temples to Set. Warriors and protectors, how they would rage if they knew their Childer were a scattered and dying race; invoking the power of their blood to save their own skin.*
"Mighty Set, Lord of Storms," *Max calls out, speaking in ancient Coptic; the lines to the prayer long ago memorized. Max presses the tip of the knife into his palm just above the wrist of his left hand, he then slices down perhaps 6 inches. His pumping heart pushes his stolen blood out through the laceration; the white of the bone handle soon coated in crimson.*
*He has to grit his teeth to keep from crying out, the pain overwhelming as he slices himself open, passing the blade into his trembling left hand.* "No mortal may stand before You." * He repeats the slice on the right wrist; the cut not nearly as neat as the first. He can barely set the knife down; almost dropping it onto the hard metal table; his hands reaching up to grip the sides of the bowl for support. His arms are shaking, blood pouring into the bowl as he continues the incantation.*
"Ruler of the Red Land, hear my prayer:" *He closes his eyes, trying to calm his nerves; to focus on the incantation. His grip on the bowl relaxes a little, the blood still flowing freely.* Focus, Max; you only get one shot at this... *His head is spinning, over half his precious Vitea having flowed into the metal bowl.* "I ask for Your help," *His Beast calls out, sensing the dangerously low level of blood inside it's host.*Feed... *It calls to Max, soft but urgent; feeding the Mekhet's growing panic as he watches his life blood flow out of him.* No... Remain focused, you must finish... *Max tells himself.*
"I come in Your service;" *Yes, there it is! The darkness, the power that hides in his very blood. Max can feel it, the strength he's avoided embracing for so long. He pools a single quart of blood in his heart, filling it with the arcane potency of his birthright. It's cold, and dark; straining to break free of Max's control, to fill his body with it's forgotten potence.* No, damn you... not yet... *Max struggles with his own body and beast, his head spinning as the last bit of his Vitea drips into the bowl.* FEED! *His Beast snarls inside his mind; but Max is too far gone to hear it's demands. Every ounce of will left in the Vampire is focused on completing the ritual; too close now to allow himself to fail.*
"I am Your strong... and... ebon spear." *The last words come as no more than a whisper; Max's eyes fluttering as the last free drops of blood in his body flow into the metal basin. His eyes roll back, his body going limp as his legs begins to buckle. He releases the mystically-infused blood in his heart; the Vitea racing through his veins to unleash the power it contains; tissue absorbing the crimson liquid in an instant; leaving nothing to sustain him. With his last seconds of lucidity; Max trips the release on the valve at the bottom of the bowl, blood flowing through the plastic tube and into his body*
*It is too late; Max collapsing to the floor in a pile of limp limbs; like a puppet who's strings are cut. There is only darkness as his body hungrily drinks up the blood flowing into his legs; the deep cuts on his wrists healing themselves as his body fills itself once again with Vitea. Sated, his Beast crawls back into the recesses of his mind; as Max slips into a rest somewhere between the Day Sleep and Torpor.*
*There is no peace in this sleep, his mind tortured with visions of his Sire, congratulating on him on another oath broken. The darkness of his blood, soaking into every cell of his head body; cold, distant, and alien. And shadows, horrible visions of the monsters that attacked him at the Asylum; and other, less distinct forms. His own shadow reaching out for him; trying to sink razor-sharp claws into his neck. Once the day has past, Max awakes with a start, picking himself up off the floor. His phone vibrates on the desk on the other side of his haven; the Mekhet trying to clear his head as he picks it up.* God damn it, what does that woman want now.... *Max thinks softly to himself.*
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