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The Camaro screamed down the street of Las Vegas like so many of its brethren had done before, but instead of ferrying drunk college kids it carried instruments of God's will, two of his children and one of the dogs designed to serve them. They had taken the time to gird themselves for battle on the way in, holsters strapped on and bandoliers wrapped around chests. Adjusting her rearview Ekaterine could Yami doing a final count of her magazines and speed loaders, the flash of silver from Cohort's muzzle telling the nun that their hound had been properly armed as well. She had yet to meet the creature that enjoyed being chewed on by seven hundred pounds of jaw strength, especially not when it had been augmented by blessed silver.

Ekaterine liked to think that Cohort was as dedicated to task as she was, for what other reason did he allow Yamileth to poke around his mouth covering his fangs with metal caps? 

Her own loadout was ready, her habit now covered by her armor plates and a surplus ammo-carrying vest from Vietnam, each pocket loaded with a magazine for one weapon or another. At her hip was a shotshell bag, a fresh box of buckshot tucked in for easy access. Her bag contained more and of differing varietals for changing situations.

All in all Ekaterine was pushing a hundred pounds of extra weight, a load that even seasoned soldiers would find hard to fight in. She carried it as if it were all a part of her body, legs carrying her into the thick of the fighting as soon as the car stopped moving.

She didn't waste time making conversation like her Muslim comrades did, nor did she respond to Father Alistair's words. In that moment she existed for one purpose: violence.

The Elder Vampire needed to go. Ekaterine saw everything else as distractions, problems to be dealt with once the root was dug up. She sprinted past soldiers, civilians, and monsters alike, deadset on destroying the mockery of human beauty. 

[color=orange]"Anyone that brings me back a head will earn their ascension!"[/color]

None of them would bring anything to the wretch, not once Ekaterine was done with it. Her boots trod rats into mulch as she bore down, eyes narrowing as a pair of ghouls attempted to put themselves between her and her prey. A swing of her gloved fist shattered one's jaw while the other was sent stumbling back by way of a shoulder to the chest, mere distractions trying to keep her from her righteous goal. 

She didn't aim her shotgun so much as she pointed it in the general direction of the Leader, relying on faith and close range to guide her shot. The Ithaca jerked in her hand at the pull of the trigger, blessed buckshot ripping holes through the monster's side. But to Ekaterine's annoyance the fiend had been ready, deftly dodging most of the payload. 

The Leader snarled, launching itself at Ekaterine with all the speed and strength of an apex predator. The nun saw the claws coming but found herself temporarily helpless, the devil's eyes locking with hers and reaching past for her soul with its foul magic. For a moment Ekaterine remembered what it was like to be terrified, the natural superiority of the undead once again unquestioned. She was a rabbit challenging a hawk, a fool! 

Ekaterine only just managed to lift her weapon in an attempt to block, the talons deflected away from her tender throat towards her exposed face. There was a flash of white pain and trickles of blood dripping down her forehead, the sense of violation as her body reacted to injury...and the leering smile of That Which Should Not Be.

The spell was broken. Ekaterine was enraged once more. 

She lashed out with a scream, drowning out all noise as she smashed her head forward. Her body was just another holy weapon, a tool to be used. Shards of teeth pierced her headdress and dug into her scalp, more minor wounds to be treated later. The Leader was defanged with a gurgling cry, the sound of weakness only serving to encourage the berserker's hate. Ekaterine's throat produced sounds that could only barely be considered human as she lifted the Less-Than-Mortal by the neck, throwing her quarry to the asphalt. 

Vampires were largely resistant to physical trauma, making brute-force weapons generally inferior. It was simpler and far easier to invest in a consecrated spear or a simple stake with which to stab the swine. Ekaterine liked having options, however, which was why the spiked bottoms of her boots were also silvered. She gave the monster no time to escape, jumping on its chest with a brutal snarl. 

Its sternum cracked, the black heart beneath crumbled to dust, and Ekaterine laughed madly. 

All the doubt, the exhaustion and her loosening grip on reality, all of it was so very worth it now that she was home.  

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Yamileth wouldn't have admitted it under torture in Tartarus itself, but she was very much out of her depth. The hunts with Ekaterine, the banishing rituals with her adoptive coven, all of that had been good experience but nothing could have prepared her for this. They had driven into a warzone, Green Beret black ops type yelling commands and emptying M16s into feral hordes while civilians scrambled for safety. There was a guy with a sword fighting two vampires at once, swarms of bats diving in to nip at exposed flesh...

...what the hell was she doing here? She wasn't ready for this! 

But it was too late to back out now. As Ekaterine tore off in search of skulls to collect Yamileth took up position behind the car, arms shaking as she tried to steady her rifle. There were so many targets to choose from and too much chaos to do it in, friend and foe alike embroiled in a great melee so that Yami couldn't even shoot without risking friendly fire.

A flailing of limbs in her periphery stole her attention, Yami swinging her M1 towards the commotion with her finger on the trigger. She almost put a bullet through the head of some unfortunate barman running as fast as his legs could carry him. That speed was still far too slow, the bloody gash across his thigh draining his strength as a ghoul gave chase. As Yami switched targets the man stumbled and fell, desperately dragging himself as his pursuer drew closer. 

[color=cornflowerblue]"Cohort, fetch!"[/color]  

She pointed to the bartender and the Cane Corso bounced forward, bowling past friendly troops to grab the injured soul's collar with his teeth. As Cohort pulled the man towards cover Yamileth dumped shots into the ghoul, focusing on volume as opposed to accuracy. 

The first shot went wide, two and three snapped an arm like a dry branch and number four went in through the temple and came out by earlobe. 

One done, way too fucking many to go. 
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