Vicky stood in the main chamber of "The Vault," the newly acquired subterranean headquarters of The Crimson Pact. The Old Veros Bank Vaults were a marvel of pre-war engineering: multiple levels of steel-reinforced concrete, isolated from the city's power grid, and completely hidden beneath a mundane corporate building owned by Nightwatch Holdings. It was the perfect fortress: secure, secret, and impervious to the sun.
He focused on his status screen, which hovered in his vision.
VICKY THORNE: TIER STATUS
Tier: 2 - Vampire
Level: 6 (665/1200 XP)
Stat Points: 3
Skills: [Blood Arrow (Lvl 1), Blood Claws (Lvl 1), Blood Shield (Lvl 1)]
He now had 3 stat points to allocate. His battles with the Skirmishers and Alphas had taught him that while his core stats were high, he needed more specialized power. He decided to invest in his offensive abilities.
STAT ALLOCATION
2 Points -> Strength (STR)
1 Point -> Speed (SPD)
New STR: 11 / New SPD: 10 / New END: 9
With his stats allocated, he turned to his skills. He had enough ambient XP and understanding from his last fight to upgrade his primary weapon.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
Skill Upgrade Available: Blood Claws (Lvl 1)
Upgrade Cost: 500 XP? (Y/N)
He confirmed the choice. 500 XP drained from his total, but a new, more potent understanding of his power flooded his mind.
SKILL UPGRADED: Blood Claws (Lvl 2)
Effect: Claws are now 50% longer, significantly denser, and inflict a [Bleed] status effect, causing minor damage over time to non-vampiric foes.
XP Total: 165/1200 XP
He flexed his hands, and the new claws shimmered into existence. They were a deeper, more menacing crimson, visibly sharper and imbued with a subtle, predatory energy. He felt a satisfying thrum of increased power.
The New Chain of Command
His Lieutenants entered the chamber. Marcus Keller, the strategist, held a tablet. Elias Vance, the enforcer, stood with his arms crossed, his sheer physical presence a silent threat.
"Master," Keller began, his voice echoing slightly in the vast vault. "The acquisition of The Vault is complete. We are invisible here. The Vance family is financially crippled, and Senator Hayes has successfully buried all inquiries into their collapse."
"Good," Vicky said. "The revenge is complete. Now, the expansion begins. Elias, your recruitment in the poor districts is vital, but we must first clear the parasites."
Keller swiped his tablet, projecting a map onto the concrete wall. It showed the entire docklands district highlighted in red. "The territory is held by a criminal organization known as the Iron Hand Triad. They are not simple gangsters, Master. They are deeply embedded in the city's infrastructure. They control logistics, extortion, and smuggling. More importantly, they demand absolute loyalty from the people Elias is trying to recruit. We cannot expand our influence while they hold the hearts and minds of the working class."
Vicky looked at the map, his eyes narrowing. "A human problem. They have guns, I assume?"
"They do," Keller said, "but that is not the problem. Our Tier 1 Night Walkers are bullet-resistant. The issue is their leadership. We have... conflicting reports. Our sources speak of enforcers who do not use guns, who move with impossible speed. They are referred to as 'Masters' by the Triad members."
"Masters," Vicky mused. He had fought monsters and humiliated businessmen. This was something new. "We need information. I am sending the 'Alpha' Night Walker team—the first ten you recruited, Elias. They will be led by 'Alpha-One'. Their mission is to break the Iron Hand's control of the main warehouse, neutralize the mundane threat, and capture one of these 'Masters' if they show themselves. I want a live specimen."
"It will be done, Master," Elias said, bowing. He would dispatch his best team immediately.
The First Contact
That night, the Veros docklands were shrouded in a thick, wet fog that smelled of salt and diesel. Inside a large, brightly-lit warehouse, thirty members of the Iron Hand Triad were busy, some counting smuggled goods, others playing cards and drinking. They were loud, arrogant, and felt completely secure in their territory.
CRASH!
The massive, corrugated steel door of the warehouse didn't just open—it was torn from its hinges and thrown twenty feet into the room, crushing a stack of crates.
The warehouse went dead silent. Every gangster scrambled, grabbing pistols, shotguns, and a few submachine guns, aiming them at the gaping, dark hole where the door used to be.
Into the light stepped ten figures. They were Tier 1 - Night Walkers, led by Alpha-One. They moved with a silent, coordinated grace that was deeply unsettling. They wore simple dark clothing, but their eyes seemed to glow with a faint, predatory light in the fog.
"Who the hell are you?" a man with a gold chain and an Uzi shouted, his voice shaky. "This is Iron Hand territory!"
Alpha-One, the designated squad leader, stopped in the center of the room, the other nine fanning out to block all exits. He ignored the dozens of guns pointed at his chest.
"This warehouse," Alpha-One stated, his voice a cold monotone, "and this entire district, now belong to the Progenitor."
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a roar of laughter. The man with the Uzi sneered. "The 'Pro-what'? You're all dead! Light 'em up, boys!"
The warehouse erupted in a deafening storm of gunfire. Muzzle flashes lit the room like strobes. Shotgun blasts, pistol rounds, and a spray of 9mm bullets converged on the Night Walkers. The gangsters expected to see the intruders turned into bloody pulp.
But they weren't.
Tink-tink-tink. Thud. Ping.
The bullets either flattened against their skin, bounced off their chests, or embedded harmlessly in their flesh, stopping instantly. The Night Walkers didn't even flinch. Alpha-One slowly looked down at the three shotgun slugs now embedded in his jacket, then brushed them off like dust.
The gunfire sputtered and died. The confusion was total. One gangster, his hands shaking, fumbled as he tried to reload his pistol, his eyes wide with terror.
"W-what... what are you?" he stammered. "He... they just ate the bullets!"
Alpha-One smiled, a cold, terrifying gesture. "Our turn."
In the next second, the warehouse became a whirlwind of fear and violence. The ten Night Walkers moved with speed that was simply impossible.
One gangster tried to run for the back exit. A Night Walker crossed fifty feet in a blur, appearing in front of him as if teleporting, his hand grasping the man's face.
Another raised his shotgun. Before he could pull the trigger, a Night Walker's hand shot out, grabbing the barrel. The steel of the gun groaned and crumpled like paper under the vampire's grip. The gangster stared, his mind unable to process what he was seeing, before a backhand sent him flying into a brick wall.
The man with the Uzi screamed and emptied his clip at Alpha-One, who just walked calmly through the hail of bullets. The gangster threw the useless gun at him and drew a knife, lunging. Alpha-One caught the man's wrist, and with a simple, brutal twist, snapped the bone. The man shrieked, falling to his knees.
It was over in less than thirty seconds. It wasn't a fight; it was an execution. The surviving Triad members were on the ground, disarmed, crippled, or frozen in pure, catatonic terror.
"Pathetic," a sharp voice cut through the whimpers.
From the rafters, a young man in a simple martial arts uniform dropped to the floor. He landed lightly, his hands glowing with a faint, white light.
"You freaks are strong, I'll give you that," the man sneered. "But you're sloppy. Time to learn what real power is."
This was a Disciple (Iron Tier) of the Silent Dragon School, tasked with overseeing the warehouse. He saw the vampires as just strong brutes. He lunged at the nearest Night Walker, his glowing "Iron Fist" striking the vampire square in the chest.
There was a sickening CRUNCH. The Night Walker, who had just shrugged off a shotgun blast, was sent flying backward, a visible dent in his chest. He hit the ground, coughing up blackish blood. The Disciple's Chi-infused blow had bypassed his supernatural durability and damaged him internally.
The Disciple smirked. "See? Just glass ca—"
He didn't get to finish. He had made a fatal error: he had assumed he was fighting one opponent.
Alpha-One gave a silent hand signal. The other nine Night Walkers attacked at the same time.
The Disciple's eyes went wide with shock and fear. He was fast, but he wasn't that fast. He ducked under a clawed strike from the left, only to be grabbed by the ankle from the right. He used his Iron Fist to shatter the vampire's grip, but three more were on him, their raw, unrefined strength and speed overwhelming his trained movements.
He was a skilled fighter. They were a pack of wolves.
He managed to break one Night Walker's arm and kick another hard enough to crack its ribs, but he was drowning in a tide of black-clad bodies. Alpha-One ended the fight, his hand chopping the back of the Disciple's neck, knocking him unconscious.
"He's different," Alpha-One noted, looking at his two wounded, but already healing, subordinates. "He can hurt us. The Master will want to see this one."
They rounded up the terrified, whimpering gangsters. "This territory is ours," Alpha-One declared. "Spread the word. The Iron Hand is broken. There is a new power in Veros."
The team vanished into the night, taking their unconscious, Chi-wielding prisoner with them.
(Please do support , comment and share. Thank you for reading.)