A Day in the Life of Rev. Omnicynic
  The Land of Milk and Honey : 1983


        Dark and rained, the impenetrable gloom of sprawling city streets
after a shower of water from the sky, whipped in frenzied winds and arcs
of lightning fire.  Puddles, silver reflections of the night sky in pools
of black asphalt, covered the roadways and sidewalks.  Humidy hung in the
air, carrying with it the smells of street, building, and humanity.  
        With purpose and stride, the faded green canvas duster walked 
through 
the recently cleansed arteries of the city.  The person inside the duster,

tall and with long grey hair tonight, had his eyes closed.  Fingers held 
together in a small triangle under his thin jawline, the boyish man made his
way past a junkie, stepped out of the street less than a millisecond before
a bus growled through where he used to be, and then reached out with his 
magical fingers of telekinesis to push a punk to the ground, before the
knife-weilding man could grab a woman who, oblivious to the danger she was
in, fought with the lock on the door of her car.  Only when she had 
brought 
the vehicle to life, and moved its bulk into the swift flow of traffic was
the kid, maybe a man, maybe too young to understand what a man was, able to
rise from the wet concrete sidewalk.  
        But the Rev. Ubermensch Omnicynic had walked past, and did not look
back.  There were greater considerations to be dealt with this night.  Souls
at stake, lives about to be lost.  Maybe his own.  He sighed to himself,
even though the act was lost on his physiology, it helped to clear his mind.
With power comes a price, always.  And the vampiric sorcerer was on his 
way 
to pay it in full.  Damn.    
        Visions and hallucinations.  Sights unseen by mortal eyes, and 
even  
those of his own kind.  Death, pain.  The gateway unfurled some nights ago,

he knew, but in his arrogance he assumed perhaps Connell had noticed and
would deal with what came through.  He could leave on his own tasks.  
No.  
The elder Tzimisce was not oblivious, but on a different path than the one
which Omnicynic knew he must walk.  Connell had seen the intrusion into this
dark world, and instead of facing it, he called upon the Reverend to 
accept 
the burden.  Both knew through their own sight that although unwelcome, 
perhaps even lethal, it had to be done in this manner.  They knew this, 
but 
even between them, niether could say why.  The future is fickle, not to 
be 
trusted, and wary of her secrets.  
        The night warped and twisted around the vampire as he continued his
walk.  None noticed, for the aberration was not physical, but of a deeper 
realm.  Under his duster, Omnicynic was armed well for the task, and his 
accounterments were constantly at odds with accepted reality.  The sword,
especially, with its runes of warding and harm, healing and death.  
Orichalum,
the metal of Atlantis, which the blade was formed from, couldn't even exist
on this plane -- so it was bound into a hilt which opened a gateway into
Arcadia down the length of the swirling orange metal.  It would be 
painful  
to weild the blade tonight, and his adversary -- an enemy of all that 
walked  
this Earth -- would know his intent instantly upon seeing it, should the
Reverend's Obfuscate and spells not be sufficient to hide the weapon's 
corruption of the local umbra.  
        Guided by a force between Auspex and destiny, the vampire's 
destination arose before him from the concrete jungle and forced his eyes
back into the world of the mortals.  It was a restaurant.  
        Large and impressive, the establishment was meant to cater to a type
of person far removed from those who haunted the streets and alleys of this
section of town.  The gentle gods and goddesses of the social elite flitted
about outside, from their expensive cars, to their expensive cars, back and
forth in a meaningless pattern which to them was somehow important for their
own self-worth.  Men in suits stood in the display, playing the function 
which
a little red vest or silly hat invested in them.  Pretentious as the 
behaviour was, even Omnicynic felt a slight glimmer of jealousy, but that 
was quickly smothered by the simple truth that he controlled enough wealth
to buy and sell every person who danced the entropic dance of status before
his eyes.  Wealth he would need on further quests such as this, money 
which  
would pay for equipment and journies that offered whole new and exciting 
ways for an immortal vampire to horribly die.  Eris could be such a bitch 
at 
times.  
        None challenged him as he passed through the metal and glass 
doorways,
none met him in the lobby, and the vampire was not stopped on the dining 
floor by any of the waiters, security guards, or the snobbish staff who
passed around him as if he was not there.  He scanned over the purposely 
sparse tables, looking at each diner in turn.  As his gaze passed over the
mortals, Omnicynic's mental eye probed into their minds, catching fleeting
images of failure, insecurity, worry, grief, and the plot and plans of 
the ruthless evil that human culture calls success.  A slow, strangling
demise.  Then, he saw his reason for being here.  It was sipping a nice 
wine, speaking in low tones to a lovely woman of fragile beauty and less 
substance, who smiled and nodded at the right places, while inside, she
recalled the lyrics to a sixties folk song, and wondered if her son would 
ever come back from New York.  
        A man, the body at least, was white in skin, black hair, healthy, 
and looked like a rather well-off businessman.  To the vampire's sight,  
however, there was a cloud of astral essence, dark, hateful, surrounding the
man's body and subjugating his aura.  Tentecles of foul plasm extended 
from 
the shifting fog of evil, wrapped around the human's limbs, piercing into 
his skull and flesh.  Wisps of the demonic essence wafted away from the 
creature and its host, curling in the air like thick steam, tendrils reaching
out into the aura of the young woman who sat, oblivious, next to the monster.
A few strands of the vapour carressed her skin, and were breathed into her
body through her nostrils.  This then, was what had shattered the 
planar   
boundries and forced itself up from hell and into this world.  It was 
feeding.  
        Drawing a chair from another table, the Reverend sat down next to
the two, woman and demon, and smiled freely.  The creature's unwitting victim
turned in surprise to suddenly see the oddly attired Omnicynic take a seat
near her, but her expression of outrage turned to warmth and friendliness
as the vampire's Presence took hold of her mind.  He turned his attention 
to  
the demon's host, who was not affected by simple disciplines.  It ceased
conversation, and looked the Reverend over with a cool, practiced air of
disdain.  "Do I know you," questioned the host's mouth.      
        "I'm afraid you don't," replied Omnicynic, calmly probing the 
creature's mental defenses, "But I have heard of you --" Omnicynic bent 
over 
as if coughing, but instead, his Vicissitude-altered throat pronounced 
the 
sylables of the demon's name, found in Connell's ancient books 
of magical research.  The blasphemous tones and twisted words fell from 
the  
vampire's lips like mucus and shards of broken glass.  Pulling his hand away
from his mouth, Omnicynic rose back up to his full sitting stance.  
        The girl, surprised and frightened by the Reverend's coughing 
utterance, moved to support him, but he waved her away, saying, "It's 
nothing,
just a bit of a demon that's been plaguing me."  The creature across the
table draw its feeding tendrils back into its own churning maelstrom of a 
body,
while its host's eyes became cold and calculating.  A tentecle took hold 
of 
the vampire's mental probe, and a telepathic link opened between the two 
supernatural beings.  "Who are you, vampire," asked the demon.      
        "A concerned citizen," answered Omnicynic, "It's time for you to go
home now."  
        "Never," growled the demon, as its host took another sip of wine
in the real world, "This plane is rich in pain and sensuality.  I will not
be denied it."  
        "You don't have a choice," stated the Reverend's dreamself, drawing
the demon into astral space through their shared telepathic bond, "I have

come to send you away from this world."  
        Shifting, the state of being for the demon and the vampire changed
from a small table in an opulent restaurant to the trackless expanse of the
astral plane.  A circle of spiritual fire wrapped around the two, cutting
off escape and forming an arena.  As the restraints of physical reality fell
away as ice in the noon sun, the vampire's astral self expanded and formed
from a young man into an armour-clad warrior.  The demon too transformed, 
changing from a cloud of malice into its own astral representation; a 
floating
eyeball the size of a man, tentecles reaching from gaping pores, hooked 
suckers on each rubbery limb opening and closing in excitement as a pus-like
liquid fell from their orifices.  
        Omnicynic drew forth his sword as the beast advanced towards him, the
weapon's astral light casting a surreal glow over the duel.  He lowered the
blade at the demon's form.  "Flee or be destroyed, demon."  
        The entity shook, a gelatinous gurgle breaking forth from its bulk.
Laughter.  "It is you, vampire, who shall die.  And when you do, I will feast
on your soul."  A tentecle plunged into the eye itself, rending the 
orb's  
flesh, and in a spray of foul substances, brought forth a sword of its own.
Made of dark metal, the demon's blade gleamed with pale green runes, a 
twisting ether of magic wrapping about the cutting edge.  The bleeding 
wound  
of the eye sprouted another suckered appendage as the creature made a few 
swings with the dark sword.  
        In another world, a green-clothed man with grey hair called over a
waiter to bring him some coffee, while a dark-haired businessman discussed
an investment portfolio with his female dinner companion.     
        Swords locked together in a spray of sparks as the two combatants
danced in deadly rhythym of astral warfare.  The Reverend parried a sword
blow from the demon, then dodged away from a lashing tentecle.  Twirling on
his heel, the vampire launched into a vicious downward stroke, his blade 
catching the attacking member and severing it in a burst of smoke and ichor.
The demon howled in pain and rage, backing away in a retreat.  Before 
Omnicynic could fully turn to face his opponent, however, the creature thrust
out a tentecle towards the vampire's leg, grabbing on and around with hungry
suckers.  Off balance, the Reverend whipped his sword out before him, forcing
the beast to draw away.  As it did so, though, the appendage about his leg
snapped up, taking the vampire to the arena floor.  Quickly, Omnicynic 
shielded himself with the sword, just as the demon plunged its own blade
at the vampire's vulnerable neck.  With a crunch and splitting of flesh, 
the Reverend's sword skittered into the arena wall, and with it, his 
right 
hand.  The demon's dark weapon flashed in green glow of triumph as a part 
of 
the vampiric warrior's aura was sucked into its form.    
        Omnicynic's tattered aura flushed red with pain and shock, but the
demon's momentary pause to take in the energy it had just stolen was enough
for the warrior to swing his mutilated arm in the creature's direction.  
Drops
of florescent blood from his wrist sailed into the air, and like small 
insects
against a car's windshield, they impacted on the demon.  Unlike insects, the
drops began to eat their way into the creature's flesh, acid burning away 
tissue and membrane.  As the demon lashed and spun randomly in pain, 
Omnicynic  
regained his feet.  The vampire stood before the writhing monstrosity, and
brought his stump of a wrist up before him.  A lance of bone suddenly jutted
forth from the severed wound, the vampire's arm lengthening around it to form
a spike of several feet in length.  With a punching motion, Omnicynic sent
the spike into the demon's thrashing body, puncturing the glossy skin of the
eye with an audible pop, then piercing into the creature's depths as a 
greyish-green ooze poured from around the Reverend's transformed arm.
Inside,      
the arm sprouted spikes which curved backwards into blades.  A scream of 
anger, and Omnicynic ripped his right arm out of the demon's body, opening
the creature's flesh like an over-ripe grapefruit left to burst in the sun,
taking with it organs and entrails of unnatural form and shape.  A spray of
ichor blasted out of the creature's violated side, followed by a flowing 
wave 
of putrescent ooze as ruptured sacks and bladders spilled forth their 
contents.  
        The demonic beast flailed backwards, falling sideways as the life
drained out of it and into the astral plane itself.  The creature began to
fade as it lost its power to remain in the world of man and vampire.  
Clutching, it reached to the one remaining anchor it still possessed in this
world.  As the monsterous eyeball faded, the form of a man, the demon's host,
grew solid.  Sucking away the man's soul, the demon attempted to heal 
itself, 
to regain its own life.  The blood and ichor-stained Rev. Omnicynic spread
his hands out, mystical energies crackling towards the host's soul, in a 
desperate rush to pull it fully out of the body and away from the demon's
hunger.  
        The woman screamed as her date, the black-haired businessman, 
collapsed on the table with a gurgling shriek, his body and head smashing 
through the wine glass, lacerating his face and knocking the remains of the
wine bottle to the carpeted floor.  Wine spilled out of the bottle, and 
was  
soaked up in the elegantly patterned fibers beneath.  Omnicynic stood,  
grasped the man's body by the shoulders, and flipped him over.  Quickly, he
placed his head against the man's chest, listening for a heartbeat...and 
finding none.  A crowd was begining to gather, attracted by the commotion.
"Stand back, I'm a doctor," cried the Reverend, before himself falling to his
knees in pain.  
        Arcane power leapt from Omnicynic's astral fingers, wrapping the
man's body in a necromantic embrace.  But it was too little, too late.
The mortal's body burned away as fine paper in a fire, leaving only a single
tentecle suspended from a warped hole in the astral umbra.  The tentecle 
held 
the demon's dark sword, with which it struck out at the vampire.  
Distracted 
in two worlds, the Reverend was not quick enough, and the blade ran its 
jagged tip up from the astral warrior's crotch to his rib cage, which 
split 
open with a crack.  Omnicynic fell backwards, clutching at the blinding 
wound 
with his good hand.  The sword's arc threw the vampire's acidic blood 
into 
the air once more, and the glowing fluid splattered over the murderous 
demonic limb.  With an unearthly squel, the beast's flesh was burned 
away, 
leaving little but a chewed stump to retract back into the portal, which 
vanished in a wash of light and darkness.  The creature's dark, evil 
weapon 
clattered to the surface of the arena, even as Omnicynic himself, barely 
alive, fell out of the astral plane and back fully into his own body.  
        The flames of the arena died away, opening astral space to the recent
conflict.  Amid tables, chairs, and a cold wind, lay the dark sword.  A 
shadow
of the past, curious of what happened, moved in close to bask in the heated
emotions.  Its form grew more solid, and then, it saw the vile, runed 
instrument of death.  Picking it up in a ghostly hand, the wraith grinned 
with evil intent.  
        People had gathered around the two prone figures, one a businessman,
obviously dead, the other an oddly dressed hippie, convulsing on the dark
carpeted floor, blood seeping from his mouth to hiss in the plush 
fibers.  
Police and ambulence sirens wailed in the background, as a cordon of EMTs,
brightly coloured in their festive red and white emergency jumpsuits,
secured the area.  One of them jerked her hand back with a cry of pain 
and  
surprise after touching the Reverend's blood.  A bit of smoke came up from
her rubber glove.  Someone noticed the orange sword hidden away in the folds
of the vampire's duster.  People tried to jostle in closer.  Suddenly, the
hippie's skin grew deathly pale, and his eyes opened.  Then, he was gone.
A few mortals milled about in confusion, but most wondered why the paramedics
weren't helping the guy in the suit.  
        Out on the street, white and blue and red flashes lit the night into
a carnival of chaos, complete with spectators in attendance.  Junkies, 
hookers, and the elite of the city all clustered about, getting in the 
way of 
those who were deemed worthy enough to be allowed entrance to the fatal 
restaurant.  Unseen, the Reverend passed slowly through them, his whole will
centered on the task.  There was little precious blood left in his body, and
if his concentration faltered, those innocent and confused mortals 
around  
him would pay for the lack of strength.  He was weak.  
        Away from the crowds, once again on the open streets, Omnicynic let
down his disciplines, slumped against a cold, damp brick wall, and inspected
his wounds.  Physically, he was whole, although his life force was barely
attached to the body which contained it.  Blood would heal him, eventually.
But his hand, it was dead.  Not only dead as the flesh of all vampires, but
dead to his aura as well.  The limb was without feeling, without pain.  Bits
of skin were beginning to peel away.  A dark line of corruption was formed
around his wrist where the demonic sword had cut through.  Sunrise 
would   
come soon.  
        Limping back to his haven, a car slowly began to follow the wounded
vampire.  Slithering rubber against the slick pavement pulled along side
Omnicynic, and the vampires inside, city vampires, taunted him.  "Parasite,"
screamed one, a Ventrue.  "Hell," began the driver, a Brujah, "he's stoned.
The fucking caitiff's stoned off his ass!"  Omnicynic continued without 
acknowledging their presence.  He was too badly hurt to fight, and had too
little blood.  Then again, the Brujah had seen the Reverend throw a 
minivan 
almost a hundred feet to land on a raging werewolf.  Perhaps that memory 
would
serve as protection enough.  "Damn bastard," the Ventrue again, "sucking our
blood, and then breaking our laws.  We outta drag him to the prince!"  
Before the Brujah could agree, Omnicynic's Presence expanded outwards, 
silencing the two.  They decided to check out the commotion down the road
a ways instead.
        The wounded, maimed, and now insulted vampire crept back home.  To
cool darkness and warm earth, where he did sleep.  Tomorrow night, he 
would  
see about getting the hand replaced.  Tomorrow, he would feed.  
        Tonight, he would dream. 

-------
To Random A 
-- if you will not accept what I am, at least try to understand why I am