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Rated: 18+ · Serial · Horror/Scary · #2123022
Punishment for Failure

War, war never changes, a populate Video game opens with these words. It is a true statement hidden in a medium often mocked and seen as Childish. Laython Looked out over the fire at the men around him the year was 1867, Their numbers were dwindled and it was his fault.

Krom Leaned against Tree a wound his Right arm wounded, the others around him. Were others Sired by Krom a Brujah though and though when Krom found worthy people as he saw it he did not wait for permission he was at war, and the true about war was you needed people to fight it.

His Eyes fell on Laython. Cold and Dark anger boiling beneath the surface. He then looked around at the others their some wounded with Burns. The Sabbat they had Fought had been Capable and Laython had lead them strait to them, they had been 13 now they were 6 Among the Dead Was a Termer who had come for his own reasons his own vengeance. It was getting increasingly harder for Krom to get other clans to support his raids, His war to avenge Adam's vill.

“What have you to say Codwell”

“I did not see them, I don't know how they saw me,” his voice was low and measured.

“This is not the fist time Codwell,” Krom voice was stern “Some days I think the Spirit I saw that day in the woods died their.

The harsh words hit him hard, he only failed like this once before but that had been fifty years ago.

“Seven are no more, and the Sabbat are still out their we are all wounded and It is your carelessness that did it. That Brought them here.”

The others did not say anything they looked on, was this careless or were they just good it needed to be deiced, Seven had died and he needed to answer for that.

Virgil, Spoke “It could be they were better then he was Maybe he was not just careless their only one way to know for sure”

Krom smiled, “Yes, your right form up then Codwell you will run the Gauntlet.”

The Six of them stood up muttering between them selves

Laython moved to the front of the line. His Fist Brother was their Ball, he was a ex-slave His mortal Life had been filled with hard work When he had been Embraced he left his Slave name behind and too the name Ball. Laython stepped up set to him and waited Balls Massive fist slammed into Laython he staggered back from the hit but remained on his feet.

Laython moved to the next in line Kat she was Irish and had grown up on the streets of new York she have a classic beauty like Morin O’Hara. Her eyes meet Laython's she frowned. She always liked him but her lover was wit the dead had he been carelessness they would soon know the truth. Her back had came fueled with blood he slammed into his face. Spinning him but he remained on his feet.

The third was Bast Marks. He was the youngest a Steamboat captain in life he was not a large man but he was capable. A fist slammed into Lathon's chest it did not hit with the impacted the other two had but all ready weakened from the other two's blows he staged back.

Virgule was a brute of a man, He had not talked about his past life much and one the few here not Sired by Krom. He Punched Laython in the chest and he staged back. Falling to one knee. Laython got up and moved to the Four in line.

Roudlaph looked at him His Hit had been a Massive on the flatten laython to the ground, he rolled over to stand up blood healing his wounds as he did, though he had little left in him.

Only Krom Remained now as Laython stood. His eyes focused on Laython “One more, one more and it not Failure,”

Resolved Laython stood their waiting for the final Blow. It came with a thundering power that seemed to shatter the world as it was Laython's chest cave in upon it self as he fell to the ground unconscious. He had in deed failed. Unconscious Laython Laid their. Warm Vital flowed into Laython's mouth.

He heard his voice. “Get your ass up, their work to be done.”

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