To the ears of kine, the catacombs below the streets of Paris were, to use a clichéd term, as silent as the grave. To a Kindred, however, there is no such thing as silence. The air, cold and stale, flowed in faint whispers past the neatly stacked bones of the underground ossuaries, the faint squeaks and scratching of the rats that called the dark passageways home, the slow dripping of water, regular like clockwork; these sounds were all clear and defined to the ears of the creature who lurked down there in the dark, as if they were music played for an audience of one.

The figure wore a thawb, an ankle-length, long-sleeved tunic of rough black wool that scratched against his cold, pale flesh. Carefully wrapped around his right hand, was a string of ninety-nine delicate olive seeds. These were his misbahah or, in layman's terms, prayer beads. His most treasured possession, these particular seeds had been imported from a grove in the Holy Land in the late 17th Century, preserved by various oils and glazes he applied himself.

In the metropolis above, dawn was beginning to break and, although none of the sun's deadly light would illuminate the tunnel down which he walked, the skeletal being could see as clearly as if it were noon. Long, skeletal fingers, tipped with vicious claws, traced with unnatural grace over the bones that lined his path. He could not help but wonder, as he often did, who these people might have been before; before they had succumbed to death, before they had been laid to rest in the cold earth and before they had been exhumed and carefully arrayed in this hallowed place.

Rumors of a Nosferatu presence in the catacombs had been a staple part of Camarilla society since their construction, but only recently the presence had announced itself to the Prince. It was, no doubt, an uncomfortable revelation to some; even the local Nosferatu had failed to see it and their investigative skills were second to none. The truth was that certain areas of the Catacombs occupied by the bones of particularly pious individuals. Even in death, these Kine projected an aura not dissimilar to True Faith among the living; any normal Kindred who approached them would no doubt feel negative affects. It was these very bones that had shielded this particular Nosferatu from the outside world. He had once been a member of the Hajj, a sub-sect of Ashirra Nosferatu that had once guarded the holy sites of the then-fledgling religion of Islam and it was this affiliation that provided him with a particular resilience to the effects of True Faith.

With his birth name long forgotten, he instead used a name that had been with him since his induction into the Hajj, nearly fourteen centuries ago. The name had been chosen then for its ominous associations held by his namesake, the angelic guardian of Hell whom the Prophet(ﷺ) had met on his heavenly journey; Maalik. The irony was not lost on him that he was a damned individual using so holy a name to identify himself. It was this concept of identity Maalik pondered now as he proceeded to slide his skeletal frame through a gap behind a stack of skulls that stretched from floor to arched ceiling, disappearing into the darkness beyond.