The silence in the ruins after Kael's flight was heavier than the shattered concrete around them. Jerry stood, his chest heaving not from exertion, but from the seismic shift within his own identity. The monster was gone, replaced by a revolutionary. The weapon had chosen its own target.
Elara was the first to break the silence, her voice laced with a newfound, grim respect. "That was... decisive."
"He would have condemned us all," Jerry replied, his voice steady, though his hands trembled slightly. The act of unleashing his full presence, of consciously using the power he had spent a lifetime hiding, was both terrifying and intoxicating. "He will be a problem later. Fear is a poor leash."
"Then we must move quickly," said the scarred Hunter, introduced as Roric. "The Council's culling of the Bullpen is imminent. We have days, perhaps hours."
They moved deeper into the ruins, to a hidden sub-basement shielded from aerial scans. This was the heart of the modern Serpent's operations. It was not a lavish base, but a functional one: maps of Crimson City and the Bullpen covered the walls, annotated with patrol routes and supply lines. Alchemical equipment hummed beside stolen vampire data-terminals.
This was where Jerry's real education began. Elara and her lieutenants laid out their intelligence. The Council's plan, dubbed "Operation Scorch," was chillingly simple. Using the recent "Revenant attacks" as a pretext, they would declare a quarantine of the Western Bullpen. Then, Deathstalker teams would move in, sector by sector, and "purge" the population—a clean, final solution to the human resistance problem.
"Our sources within the blood-tax administration confirm it," Elara said, pointing to a map of the Bullpen. "The order has been signed by the Grand Chancellor himself."
Jerry's mind, freed from the constraints of his old life, began working at a frightening pace. He was no longer just a student; he was a hybrid of ancient vampire intellect and the focused purpose of a revolutionary. He saw the patterns, the weaknesses.
"A frontal assault is suicide," he stated, his eyes scanning the maps. "And you can't evacuate thousands of people. The only way to stop a purge is to make it politically impossible for the Council to carry out."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that?"
"By giving them a bigger monster to fear," Jerry said, a dangerous glint in his eye. "The Grand Chancellor is using the Revenant myth to consolidate power. We will use it to shatter that power."
His plan was audacious, a blend of misdirection, psychological warfare, and his own unique abilities. It had three parts.
First, The Ghost in the Machine. Using his access to the Task Force and his innate understanding of the Citadel's security, he would feed the Council a narrative of a Revenant that was not just a beast, but an intelligent, vengeful spirit. He would plant fabricated evidence—shadowy sightings in secure areas, strange energy signatures near the homes of high-ranking Council members—to spread paranoia and turn them against each other.
Second, The Voice of the Serpent. The Hunters would use their clandestine networks to spread the truth among the human population and the lower vampire classes. They would leak fragments of the real history of the Purge, exposing the Council's lies. They would tell the story of the "Cured One," a figure of hope who walked in both worlds. They wouldn't use Jerry's name, but they would create a legend that could inspire rebellion and sow doubt.
Third, and most dangerous, The Proof. To make the threat real, to force the Council to divert resources from the Bullpen, they needed a spectacle. They needed to show that the "Revenant" could strike at the very heart of their power.
"We hit the Aethelburg Manor," Jerry said, pointing to a prominent estate on the vampire side of the city. "The family are staunch traditionalists and major financial backers of the purge. More importantly, they boast of having the most impenetrable security outside the Citadel."
Roric scoffed. "That's not a plan; it's a suicide mission. Their defenses are legendary."
"Not for me," Jerry replied, his voice quiet. "Their security is designed to stop vampires. It assumes a fear of sunlight, a reliance on blood, and a detectable aura. I am none of those things. I can walk through their day-lit gardens. I can bypass their aura sensors. I can enter their home not as a monster breaking in, but as a ghost passing through."
He would go in alone. His objective wouldn't be assassination or theft, but terror. He would leave a single, unmistakable mark—the symbol of the serpent and the broken chain—in the family's most secure vault. He would show the vampire elite that their safe havens were an illusion.
The Hunters were silent, absorbing the sheer scale of the plan. It was a gamble that relied entirely on Jerry's unique nature.
"It could work," Elara finally conceded, a spark of hope in her eyes. "But the risk to you..."
"Is mine to take," Jerry finished. For the first time, he felt a sense of purpose that was entirely his own. This was not his father's fear or the Chancellor's ambition. It was his choice.
As they finalized the details, a young Hunter rushed in, his face pale. "Elara! We have an intercept from a Council communication channel. It's about the student, Laura."
Jerry's blood went cold. "What about her?"
"The Council is suspicious of her closeness to you, Jerry," the Hunter said. "Captain Vorlag has convinced the Inquisitor that she is either a co-conspirator or a thrall under your influence. They've issued a summons for her. For... enhanced interrogation."
The room spun. Laura. They were going to torture her. To get to him. The thought of Vorlag's cold eyes, of Inquisitor Morvan's cruel tools, turned on Laura... it unleashed something feral inside him.
His plan, their entire rebellion, teetered on the edge. If he went after Laura, he would walk directly into the Council's trap, revealing his allegiance and getting them both killed. If he did nothing, he was sacrificing the one person who had stood by him when he was nothing but a ghost.
Elara saw the conflict on his face. "Jerry, the plan... the thousands in the Bullpen..."
"I know," he whispered, his fists clenched so tight his nails drew droplets of his strange, silvery blood. The two halves of his existence were at war: the revolutionary and the protector.
He made his decision.
"The plan stands," he said, his voice a raw whisper of pain. "The attack on Aethelburg Manor happens at the designated time. It's our only chance to save the Bullpen."
He looked at Elara, his eyes filled with a storm of anguish and resolve.
"But first," he vowed, the words dripping with a cold, terrifying fury, "I'm going to pay a visit to the Inquisitor's tower. If they so much as touch a hair on her head, I will show them what a real Revenant looks like."