Hell Opens Its Gates

-Narrated by Hjerstald, Gangrel antitribu and ductus of the Ice Fang pack, missing since late 1998.

Everything was ready. The air smelled of rust and promised death. It was time to temper our frozen bodies with enemy blood still burning hot. We had endured the Deacons' passivity for too long. My pack, and many others gathered that moonless night, still carried old debts with Prague. Debts that would finally be paid in blood. The Beast demanded it, sleeping and expectant, and once awake, nothing would hold it. Hunt time had come.

Packs came from Budapest, Bohemia, and Moravia. Old brotherhoods the territorial Tzimisce had driven from their lands returned from Hungary, Romania, Albania, and Bulgaria.

We even ran again beside Sabbat from Berlin and Poland. Caitiff, hunted across Europe like foxes in an endless winter, came lured by reward and by the hope of acceptance among the Pander. Their fresh blood gave our ranks new strength. In the end we were a hungry legion, steppe wolves with fangs drawn and hearts rotting from thirst for slaughter.

Here in Europe, things are done differently. No mercy. No restraint. We all knew it would be a bloodbath, and that the fanaticism of many newcomers in Sabbat ranks would cost us. The shovelheads, freshly Embraced and still drunk on immortality's vertigo, wanted to test the limits of their new curse. They were dangerous: impulsive, arrogant, unable to control their rage. We knew if even one gave too much ground to the Beast, we'd end up in the sights not only of those damned leeches, but of nearby Camarilla cities as well. Last thing we needed was to repel reinforcements while we were still tearing Prague apart.

But luck favored us. Camarilla remains what it has always been: arrogant and stupid. You can hit it, drown it in its own filth, and it will still hesitate before baring fangs. They prefer hiding behind a facade of nobility and humanity. Their greatest weakness is shame. While we cleansed the city of parasites, they had double duty: fight for miserable unlives and protect the Masquerade that chains them. They could not allow mortals to discover that nightmare monsters walk among them.

That was our true victory. Without realizing it, we had Camarilla working for us. As they fell and wondered what was destroying them, they covered every trace, every sign of what was really happening. They silenced screams, erased bodies, lied to humans. Their secret was our shield.

What irony. What a beautiful spectacle.

But what fools... what fear can mere mortals possibly inspire in us?