Mortals vs Monsters

JP with Jaxx and Trustno1

Agent Powers looked around at the decor and was not too impressed since he had seen a lot of over the top mansions from insane drug lords in his time. He gave the Prince a smolder and then looked at the others in the room as he kept his thoughts to himself. At this point he was figuring out several ways to escape if the meeting went south. Ekaterina on the other hand looked around at the gaudy decor as she maintained her elegant and regal manner. So Princess Ekaterina elegantly smiled at the Prince and replied, "We are intrigued. Perhaps the beginning would be best.”

Prince Lodin leaned back in his leather chair, a glint of wry amusement and unease in his eyes. He swirled his drink, a deep crimson that caught the low light of his office. "The last time the Red Star was seen, the star that someone messaged you about Miss Wilson, was in the fall of 1999 ." The Prince would pause . "Ah, Baba Yaga. The Iron Hag of Russia, the Mistress of Moscow’s Shadow… truly a legend among our kind. To think that mortals, let alone one of Russia’s men of steel, could bring her down? But they did.”

He leaned forward, his gaze growing darker, and his voice dropped, casting the room in shadows with each syllable.

"It was 1999, deep in the heart of a Russian winter. The cold was so fierce it would pierce even our dead hearts, or so they say. In Moscow, rumors whispered through our ranks about hunters—government-sponsored, militarized, efficient. These were no torch-and-pitchfork vigilantes; these were the best Russia had to offer. And one man at the helm: Vladimir Putin, an ambitious young intelligence officer and a rising star with a fierce reputation.”

Sartre looked to Alyssa.

Alyssa would remain silent, and let Ekaterina speak for the group as agreed, unless it was made known, to her, that changed. She was oddly not exactly uncomfortable in front of the Prince, in was more a knowing of being respectful and she managed that, for now. She was curious as to what else the Prince had to say, but, wondered mostly what the vampire wanted with those assembled in his office.

The Prince continued, "He was tasked with cleaning house—eliminating those who held power in the shadows, who threatened the order he envisioned for his Russia. It wasn’t long before Baba Yaga was at the top of his list.”

Lodin paused, letting the silence stretch, as though even the walls could feel the chill of his memories. “Putin’s team was a motley crew of hardened operatives and hunters equipped with an arsenal of weapons engineered by the finest Russian minds. These were people who had faced the worst of the worst; people whose nerves were tempered steel. And still, none of them truly understood what they were up against.”

He leaned in close, a malicious glimmer in his eye.

"Baba Yaga had ruled Moscow’s underworld since before many Kindred even knew her name. She was ancient, a true Methuselah, wielding powers that would make even the most hardened elder tremble. She commanded the earth itself, bending shadows to her will, turning her very blood into a weapon. She could seep into minds, paralyzing them with terror, and conjure nightmares that would make your skin crawl."

“They found her in an abandoned Soviet-era factory on the outskirts of Moscow, a place steeped in death and decay, reeking of old rust and cold iron. Her lair was buried within the bones of the factory, protected by layers of traps that would’ve felled most mortals. But Putin’s team was prepared. With specialized infrared scopes, enhanced ammunition, and relics rumored to be centuries old, they forced their way through her defenses.”

Lodin’s eyes grew distant as though he could see the scene unfolding in front of him. “They cornered her in a room thick with shadows, a place she had turned into her personal fortress. Darkness clung to the walls, moving with a life of its own. And there she stood, her figure hunched, skeletal, eyes black pits in her withered face, lips peeling back over a mouth filled with too many teeth. Baba Yaga.”

“For a moment, they hesitated. Even the bravest of men faltered under that terrible gaze, as she seemed to swell, filling the room with her presence, every shadow bending to her will. Her voice, a rasping whisper, slithered through their minds, promising endless horrors, ancient torments. Some of them dropped to their knees, clutching their heads, praying, screaming. But Putin held steady.”

"With a grim determination, he ordered his men forward. They struck hard and fast, rounds of blessed silver piercing her defenses, ripping into her ancient flesh. Each hit sizzled against her skin, filling the room with the stench of burnt hair and scorched meat. She fought back, of course, her power lashing out like a wounded beast, creating illusions and nightmares to cloud their vision. She twisted shadows into monsters, wrapping them around the soldiers, crushing bones, snapping necks.”

Lodin chuckled darkly, a flicker of admiration lighting his eyes. "But Putin was relentless. His men pressed on, undeterred by the carnage. With each blast, each cut, they chipped away at her immortality. Until, finally, weakened and cornered, she resorted to her last defense. Her body cracked and morphed, shifting into a twisted, grotesque mockery of life itself, a thing of bones and rot, her final form. The sight of it alone drove some men mad on the spot."

"But Putin, cold and calculating, pressed forward, unyielding. He waited until her form solidified, her ancient hunger exposed, her monstrous flesh vulnerable. Then, he ordered his remaining men to unleash everything they had. Fire, silver, even ancient incantations they had dredged up from some priest buried in the Kremlin’s archives. And as the final blow landed, she let out a scream—a wail that echoed through the factory, a sound of ages collapsing upon themselves. And then… silence."

Lodin sighed, the thrill of the tale fading from his face. "What they pulled from that room was little more than ash, bones, and whispers of a horror most humans could never fathom. But they killed her. The Iron Hag, the Mistress of Moscow’s Shadow—destroyed by a mere mortal. And Putin? He rose through the ranks as the iron fist that would rule Russia.”

A heavy silence settled as Lodin finished. His eyes gleamed with a strange mix of amusement and dread.

"And that," he murmured, “is how mortals slew one of our greatest monsters.”

"Of course, you should not believe anything I just said, find out for yourself. I suppose you are wondering what any of this has to do with that theatre in Gary?" asked Lodin.