Steeple leaps towards John and tears the sword out of John's gut, throwing him to the floor, before driving it back in through his leg - pinning the Brujah to the ground. John reaches up and grabs Steeple's leg, his grip far weaker in the throes of death than it should be but carrying the strength of the hot-tempered philosopher's clan all the same.
He drags the Malkavian to the ground with him and for a moment both opponents lie prone on the ground, holding each other rather tightly in an almost intimate embrace.
For a moment, John's grip falters and Steeple smiles.
"Now strike!"
His fangs sprout through his slightly parted lips and he throws off John's grip while sinking his teeth into the Butcher's neck.
The Brujah's soul is torn apart by Steepleton's iron will, he didn't even need Maurice's backing, the rock holding the strength of the dozens of souls Steeple had assimilated into his own and his glorious lord's minds.
In some way, Steeple is almost disappointed. There was no dramatic scene, no titan's struggle, no terrific fight between two equals for Vladivostok's favour.
Just a slaughter.
"Good, good... Hahahahahahahaha!"
Maurice's laugh goes on a while, the sound echoing across the warehouse walls. It's a while before Steeple realizes he's the one laughing.
He hasn't felt this good in years. The children he'd devoured were nothing compared to this. The Tzimisce's childe might have been comparable, but he'd been in terrible condition from the fight with the Vozdh and the war ghoul both. He flexes his fingers and is content with the knowledge that new power runs through his veins.
Clearing his throat, Maurice continues, "Now, to shift the blame for this heinous murder!"