This time the Lord was kind to him. Allowing him to part with praxis after only a few scant months. Though turbulent they may have been, his time in praxis was well spent. He had done everything that he had set out to do when he took the thrown months ago. There was no reason to hold it any longer. 

Severus was safe. Diablorie was about to be outlawed in the whole of Orange County.  The Masquerade was safe. Though he is left to think on the cost of these accomplishments. His freind Papa Ashe was dead. Murdered as he stirred in his grave at the Cathedral. Father Von Hapsburg was beheaded by his own hand. Some duplicate ghoul, some thing, had been killed when Kioske thought it was Von Hapsburg. 

The only thing worth a damn was Ashe. He was most curious about the way that Papa Ashe venerated the dark prophet Longinus and his saints. Yet, from what he saw there was nothing really wrong with it.  With Ashe's belongings and remains on his mantle it was no longer of serious consequence. 

Soon he would be able to step back from political life entirely, then he would step back from religios responsibilities as well. Back to what he set out to do when he arrived in the new world. Retire and enjoy what is left of his requiem and bringing forth gods plan. 

Until the next time the lord pressed him into service that is. 

In the meantime, he stalks his prey.  They cannot hide forever.

God will have his pound of flesh. 

The Tsar's name was finally revealed to the masses. Even the Nazi that wished him dead.   A quiet silence briefly fell over what was a loud gathering as he rattled off his lineage to all those present. Even in front of his sire.

The words echoed in his mind. Words that he swore nearly two centuries ago never to say again. 

"I am Antoine LaCavalay Savage. Oldest Childe of Severus Savage. Grandchild of Edward Savage. Great Grandchild of Alder Edward Cornell."

When he was a neonate he recited that lineage and the entire Savage family line as if it were a prayer to god. Knowing each line, backwards and forewards.  He thought on for a moment that it was ironic that he had worn the tie that Evelyn had said was forbidden. The one that advertised his lineage to those who knew what to look for. 

Red. Silver. Black. 

Savage. 

He considers the murder of Father Von Hapsburg with a shrug.  An inferior predator to be sure.   One that followed a broken and crippled ideology brought forward by a broken little painter.  "I thought I left the Nazi's in Stalingrad."
He shrugs and continues to dust himself off. The remnants of the now destroyed priest falling around him. "Michael you are such a mess." The Tsar remarks with a fang filled chuckle.

He sits before a now lit computer screen and waits for the machine to turn on. His hands resting on the keyboard he notices how pale they have become.  It is in this moment when he realises one of the reasons he wears the gloves. 
To hide what he fears most. 


He begins to type..."Your grace, I need you now more than ever....."

It is midnight in the Diocese of Lost Angels.

The Bishop sits in a litany of scattered furniture, broken keepsakes and shattered glass.  Though the room is silent he can still hear her voice.

"It's the right thing to do."

 The words ringing over and over in his mind.  Even now he could feel his beast welling up inside himself at the very thought that he might have to do this for him. But he wouldn't be doing it for him. Not in the slightest. Though he is loyal to him he considered himself even more retired.  It took him a century and a half to get out from under the mantle of praxis last time. 

"Never again." The old Tsar whispering in the darkness of his office.  

And yet had already made up his mind.

Divinity was enough.

His office in the Cathedral of Lost Angels was dark and quiet, her last words ringing in his ears. 

"Thank you, this is very important to me." She said.

After even so short a time of knowing Angelique he could not believe that she was gone. A child of the Circle, washed in the waters of the lord to become a Bishop of the faith.  A sublime predator that was taken from her mission far too soon.  Having now been asked to look into her death because it was "important" he took a deep breath and allowed himself to feel the loss of her for only a moment.  As the moment passed the old Tsar let out a long and tired sigh.

"I told them I was retired from that life" he muttered under his breath.

An hour passes, the only light in the room from his computer screen, the only sound from the keyboard. He speaks to a woman until recently he thought he would never meet.  She speaks to him of potential and what will be asked of him in the future and he wonders what on Earth his Grandsire would think of all this. They never really saw eye to eye on anything. Why start now?

He leans back in his chair in contemplation. Wondering where the future will take him and his people. He knew that after tonight the fuse was lit. He only hoped he could cut it in time.

The large grandfather clock in his study chimed as the hour struck four.  The old Tsar had not moved in nearly three hours.   Staring down at his desk at some old artifacts he had allowed his mind to wander.  Having dismissed his Paladin to see to her penance for the nights events he was totally alone.

Though he had much in the here and now to occupy his mind he still felt himself falling into the past. In another time and place, along the banks of  the Volga he stood in contemplation.  He can scarcely remember  where it was that he last uttered the words that stuck in his throat.  Things were changing in his family, in his diocese, in his city. With this change came a welling of feeling and thought that he had not felt since he left the palace.

In those times he thought only of her.  Was beaten for her, broken for her. He would have gladly died for her in those nights. Standing just to her right around the corner was the most common of his haunts. Always ready to lay an assasin to rest or steal her away to her bed chambers. In the centuries since she left his side forever he has always wondered why he did not save her.   Why he did not think of himself then as he had so many times before. 

"Love". He uttered softly in the stillness of his office.  Though he could not beleive it, that was his reason. More than any treasure, any wine or song he loved her.  Though it had been in his power to save her he didnt do so.  Because he would not damn her to this sort of life.  He knew that she did not deserve to become one of gods chosen.  She was a pure soul and he felt no end of pain for even having brushed her with the life that he lead. 

Now as everything changed he began to wonder if he could ever love like that again.  Of the many whom he had taken there were few that he had a second thought about.  Three stood out in his mind and yet another still would not leave his thoughts. One that he could have if he wished it but enjoyed the games.

Finally, the clock struck five and he rose from his seat.  "Love and war is all youve ever been good at" he said as he breifly looked out the window noting his Paladin making one last set of rounds.   

With the completion of a ritual he allowed himself the days rest.  Trying to forget how alone he is.  Clutching the crucifix she gave him, going to the only place he can still speak with her. 

Dreams.