The stage was set for a proper exchange of power. The delegation from Miami celebrated the elevation of one of their own to the station of Cardinal. The native daughter,  Ofelia Castell, from the line of ancient Lasombra sat ensconced over the whole of the Southeast US from Miami to Baltimore and West to Biloxi. Her establishment in Atlanta’s stronghold was a source of pride for her hometown, where she had held the Archbishopric for the last half century. With the blessing of Mexico City, Cardinal Castell now chose her successor from among Miami’s four Bishops.

The choice was made and ratified by the Regent. The highest station in Miami would remain in the hands of Clan Lasombra under the considerable reason, power, and insight of Gabriel de Rosario. Most of the Cainites of Miami agreed that he was the best choice - at least in public.

But as the preparations for de Rosario’s confirmation were made, there was a murmur spreading out from the chambers of one of the other Bishops.  Too long, the whispers said, had the Archbishopric remained with Clan Lasombra. A change was needed, a metamorphosis of the city, if Miami were to prevail in the deferred goal, long held, of the conquest of Florida.

And so, the decision was made and a new set of preparations began in secret and in earnest, for only 4 nights remained until the Blood Bath that would create Archbishop de Rosario.

The same night, one of de Rosario’s oracle advisers, Samuel Rhodes, who was known as Prophet, entered a trance and spoke. He spoke of blood and death and diablerie.  So close to the ritual confirmation, such Malkavian’s babblings were simply inappropriate in the eyes of the Bishop’s personal Priest, and so Prophet was dismissed roughly from his position and told never to come near de Rosario again.

Packs had come in from all over, as far as Chicago, Detroit, and Philadelphia to witness the event. The atmosphere was charged with bloodthirsty frivolity as out-of-town packs challenged locals in Games of Instinct. But all who survived these were brought into the ceremony of celebratory feasting the third night, the night before de Rosario’s confirmation by Blood Bath.

The night following the Blood Feast, the Cainites were called together. High on a dais was the stone pool that would hold their vitae. Beside it, sat Gabriel de Rosario, dressed in an ornate robe of red. Each of the gathered monsters approached the dais and offered words of praise to the new Archbishop before opening a vein and willing a portion of his or her stolen liquid lifeforce to fill the pool. The procession of 527 Cainites took most of the night to perform their duties to the Blood Bath, but even with so many in attendance, some were pointedly missing. Nevertheless the ritual carried on, with a sermon of Caine being offered in inspiration by the Cardinal’s Priest before de Rosario cast off his robe and lowered himself into the pool of blood.

Something happened then, just as de Rosario’s head dipped below the surface. Those who were watching saw the surface of the blood shimmer ever so slightly and another, one who was not de Rosario, rose from the pool. His eyes were wild with the pleasure of taking de Rosario’s soul and the grin on his face was without a hint of regret.

This was Victor Constantin, Tzimisce Bishop of South Beach and now Usurper. He turned his eyes upon the crowd, cast the Cardinal’s Priest’s head from his neck, performed his own consecration of the vitae joined in the pool and spoke as his Paladins gathered to guard him.

“Cainites of Miami, I am your true Archbishop. I will lead you into a glorious new era of conquest and we will slake our thirst upon Camarilla throats! Join me or be the first of that slaughter! If you are with me, drink this Vaulderie in renewal of your allegiance to the true sons of the Sword of Caine, then turn your fangs upon all those who will not. Let not one dissenter escape! KILL THEM ALL!”

The chaos that ensued thereafter left the air thick with ash and the ground slick with blood. In the confusion, however, one pack slipped away, each drawn away from the horror and rage by a thin hand belonging to Samuel Rhodes. He would be their Prophet and he was ready to see them to safety - if only one of them would drive. He had never learned how.