After over a decade with three personality cores integrated into my Magic Crest, I had become accustomed to them. I no longer talked with them; instead, they functioned almost instinctively—like an extension of my own thought process, half-conscious, half-subconscious.
Leo was going through all the vampire hunters, sorting their personalities and qualities, and planning how to organize them under my leadership for the grand crusade. Arnold was drafting designs to secure Irem's borders against vampire intrusion. I had already implemented one: bending gravity so that water from the lake coiled through the air like an airborne stream, encircling the Plaza of Doors. After all, vampires could not cross running water. At the same time, I quietly ordered Cid to begin installing Irem streetlights near the portal to this world.
There was neither sun nor moon nor star in Irem's sky, hidden as it was beneath the canopy of titanic trees. But that didn't mean there was no sunlight, moonlight, or starlight—for light in Irem could perfectly mimic any naturally occurring source, celestial or biological. From the gleam of distant stars to the faint shimmer of fireflies.
And Boaz was meticulously cross-referencing the vampire's face against everyone I had ever known in all my lives, trying to trace where that nagging sense of familiarity had come from.
When one possible match slid into my active consciousness, it was surprising—but it also made sense. Shift the Slavic features toward more Japanese ones. Replace the hair—make it an unnaturally bright blue, the mark of alignment with water-based magecraft.
Quite a familiar face. One I had not seen in decades yet was unlikely to forget. He could not be Shinji's alternate—not as an ancient vampire—but that still left one likely option.
It seemed some looks ran in the family—and perhaps even a trace of mannerism, too.
And, of course, the sound of cicadas—something I had originally assumed was part of the soundtrack—but in retrospect, that had been a mistake.
"Zolgen?" I asked, part surprise, part curiosity—and I didn't bother to hide either, because I wanted to see the vampire react.
"Magnificent! Simply magnificent!" the vampire exclaimed. The more he spoke, the more memories surfaced—ones I had almost forgotten. Not truly forgotten; my eidetic memory made that impossible. But I had no reason to recall them, and doing so left a bad taste of nostalgia in my mouth.
"I haven't used that name in centuries. The only two who'd remember it would never share it with hunters." His grin widened, the hint of fang becoming less a hint and more a statement. "Is this the power of Scholomance? Divination? I suppose it makes sense—if the Lesser Key of Solomon says most demons exist to reveal secrets, then of course the Scholomance would teach divination."
"But that can't be all?" he continued, voice vibrating with excitement before calming slightly. "There must be more. Knowledge alone wouldn't let you kill everyone gathered here. Not that fast."
He was right in this particular instance—but, in my opinion, he was underestimating knowledge a bit too much. Knowledge of a vampire's weaknesses had long allowed hunters to slaughter them despite being, save for a few dhampirs, mostly human. Still, if he hoped to experience the power gained through transfer, even he was wrong about the source—who was I to stand against such earnest desire.
"Of course there's more," I said lightly, with a faintly flirtatious smile, before my tone sharpened—low, precise, and hungry. "And I'll be happy to show you. Now, pay close attention—it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I'd hate for you to miss a single detail."
And then I snapped my fingers.
That did absolutely nothing. Because it was meant to do nothing. It was a distraction—a visible threat meant to draw attention.
Once again, there was an explosion of magical energy, and Archer vanished from my side. The vampire came apart.
Head, limbs, even the torso—split clean in half.
Unfortunately, it didn't burst into ash. Instead, it unraveled into a swarm of insects.
Each insect was about the size of a human finger. I wasn't an entomologist—and, frankly, I had little interest in that field of science—but they looked alike, bearing a surprising resemblance to common locusts. Except they were blood red instead of green.
Fortunately, Archer was already gone from the area, the ground now crawling with vampiric locusts, as he had once again applied hit-and-run tactics.
Briefly, I reflected that I probably wouldn't be able to convince Arnie this was also part of my film project. There's only so much special-effects work one can excuse on a student budget. Though, admittedly, if this had been a magical illusion, the visuals would've rivaled a Vegas show. A front-runner, even.
It wasn't an entirely unprecedented ability. Some vampires were known to change into less solid forms—mist, or, in rare cases, flocks of bats. And there were some who released butterflies from their mouths while perishing, as a last-ditch effort to survive. This could be seen as a peculiar conflation of those traits.
Although… this was too similar to his alter. Coincidence, or resonance? The thought almost made me want to capture him alive. But that would've been impractical. And unethical. He was a sentient being, and experimenting on sentient beings without their informed consent was wrong. No matter their morality.
On the other hand, obtaining consent was not impossible. After all, if I captured him and offered a choice between participating in my research or being disposed of, it was almost obvious what he would likely choose. But would that really be ethical either? With the potential research data involved, I had motivation to preserve his existence—but without it, the effort required to contain a vampire was simply not worth it, considering their almost non-existent chances of redemption.
But on the other hand—was it worth the effort? Containing and capturing him? Especially since this resonance could be either coincidence or something beyond my current capacity to measure?
"Impressive. Impressive. So, one gained wisdom, and the other power?" the insects buzzed in chorus, creating the illusion of speech. "Was that something you chose—or based on your innate nature?"
I, on the other hand, was less impressed. He was starting with a conclusion and trying to fit facts into his theory. I almost reached out to correct him—but tactics must yield to professional instinct. One should never correct an enemy when he's making an obvious mistake.
"It's… it's not real. It's not real. It's not real," Arnie whispered. I glanced over and saw him hiding under the counter. Good. He was out of the line of fire for now.
Turning my gaze back to the vampire Zolgen, I noted that Archer's attack had not been utterly futile. There were a few dozen locusts bisected and turning to ash on the floor. So cutting was, in fact, effective; he just needed to slice him into smaller pieces. If he had chopped him finely enough—like vegetables for soup—Zolgen wouldn't have had the chance to dissolve into a swarm.
But the problem with Mana Burst was that it's, in the end, a burst—excellent for rapid, simple movement, but less suited to playing human blender.
Archer had reached the same conclusion, because I could feel the surge of Od rising—and rather than an explosion, the steady flow characteristic of Reinforcement.
It was not the most efficient method in Archer's arsenal for dealing with a vampiric swarm, but it was the most efficient one that still adhered to the framework built by Zolgen's assumptions.
Both Archer and I knew, the moment the vampire split into many bodies, that we had to prioritize information denial. The prudent thing for the vampire to do would be to have at least one blood locust escape immediately—and we had to assume the enemy would act prudently. Especially a vampire who had survived for centuries.
Of course, even more prudent would be if he had already left one insect in a safe place before even venturing here. That, however, depended on the exact limits of his ability. Could he produce a blood locust while in human form, or was it all or nothing—either swarm or humanoid? I could not assume that a surface similarity to the ability of his alter meant it had comparable limits.
But if he was anything like his alter, he would have left at least a single insect burrowed into human flesh as a parasite—ready to feed quickly and reconstitute in case of emergency. Probably a child, for sympathy. And likely in the care of someone he could trust in a moment of weakness—if such a person existed.
Or, more likely, he'd hidden it in a place full of defenseless children—somewhere like a pediatric ward. Especially if the parasite could mimic the symptoms of sickness.
But I shouldn't let my imagination run too wild. After all, I did not yet know the limits of his ability.
Keeping to the skills that Zolgen had wrongly deduced I possessed was the reason I couldn't openly use my other abilities. We had to maintain the illusion that the only new supernatural powers we'd gained were insight and knowledge for me, and enhanced physical ability for Archer.
Of course, that didn't mean I had to remain completely passive. There were still skills the local Rin was known for before we merged. Shadow Hound was not useful at the moment, but once Archer dealt with the swarm, I could try to use it to hunt down any escaping insects—if such insects currently existed at all.
But there were options. Not ones that could deal with the swarm entirely, but ones that would allow me to test implicit assumptions.
I reached for the counter, tearing open one of the paper-wrapped toothpicks. Running a finger along one of the toothpicks, I noted the fine grain of the wood. Good. I'd been momentarily worried they might use the cheaper plastic ones.
With a deft hand, I launched a few—each one hitting a blood locust in what passed for its heart. They crumbled to dust instantly. I'd already suspected that much from earlier encounters, but with two weakened vampires confirmed, it likely held true for all others as well. Which allowed for certain options should Archer's melee assault fail.
Not that I had any reason to believe it would.
"Stop! This is an unacceptable destruction of an interesting test subject!" GLaDOS's voice interrupted, coming from my breast pocket.
I stopped my lips from curving into a frown. I would have liked to preserve the secret of her existence—but that ship had already sailed, straight over the edge of the world. Still, perhaps she was right. Having a vampire test subject—especially one we could use again and again—could allow me to devise better anti-vampire weapons, and thus save more lives in the long run.
Perhaps I had been too cautious.
"It is a fundamental law of the universe that all anomalies must yield to SCIENCE—so that they may be tested, cataloged, and understood! Cease this chaotic, inefficient dispersal at once and submit for analysis! Be advised: your contribution to this research will be the most meaningful act of your entire existence. Resistance is both futile and painful, and will result in further damage that could shorten the testing phase."
The blood-red carapaces of the vampiric locusts began to darken, and small traces of smoke poured from them. It was similar to an event I'd once witnessed—when Father Risei destroyed a vampire with words from the Bible. I suppose it was the faith, not words nor subject, that truly mattered.
GLaDOS seemed to fail to notice and instead finished her speech: "Compliance, however, will be rewarded. There will be cake."
The only answer she got was a rain of ash where the swarm had been. Well, I supposed it would be unkind to fail to explain to her what had happened.
"Congratulations," I said dryly. "You have empirically proved that faith in the scientific method is strong enough to purge the unclean. Unfortunately, that test did completely expend the test subject."
I was not completely displeased. While we had lost one potentially valuable test subject, there were more where that came from. Vampires were hardly rare. Vampire hunters, like other exterminators, were not likely to run out of work any time soon.
And besides, if I understood the process by which Zolgen was destroyed correctly, distance should not have mattered. Every part of him her words reached would have burned; our secrets should have remained preserved.
"Also," Archer added in a teasing tone, "I don't think he would've liked cake. Perhaps next time, you offer blood pudding."
Naturally, he was joking. Unless the blood pudding was actually made from human blood, it wouldn't be to a vampire's taste. And even if it were a cannibal's delight, cooking would have ruined it for the undead connoisseurs. From what I knew, vampires inhabiting this world preferred their red juice as fresh as possible—preferably directly from the vein.
"It's real! It's real! It's all real!" I could hear Arnie muttering from behind the counter. I looked over it and saw the young man on the floor, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. "Vampires are real. And they're so scary. Why did I ever think they were hot? Well, vampire hunters are hot at least. But GLaDOS is real too. How can she be real? What else is real?"
"Arnie," I said gently—but when he didn't respond, I added a little more force. "Arnie!"
He looked up, pupils so dilated they almost devoured his eyes. He stared at me; focus returned for a moment—then his gaze slid downward to my chest, and to GLaDOS.
"No, I don't want to be a test subject," Arnie whispered to her. "Please don't make me a test subject. I don't want to run through acid pits and laser beams."
"I see—you're using reverse psychology. Attempting to convince me to make you more useful. Whimpering 'no' while secretly applying for a better position. Very clever. Unfortunately, it is against company policy to use non-consenting test subjects," GLaDOS said, her tone almost approving. "Although, perhaps we could consider your apparel as implied consent. Congratulations on your initiative."
I thought she might be misrepresenting the situation just a bit. She was perhaps a touch too accustomed to our Aperture personnel and had forgotten that it had taken almost a decade of careful psycho-social conditioning to reach that level of compliance. And, of course, she had no experience with any version of the Portal games—or with her own depiction in them.
Then again, I had no knowledge of this world's Portal either. For all I knew, their GLaDOS could be benevolent AI running tests full of puppies and rainbows.
But judging by Arnie's reaction, I rather doubted it.
"Paperwork," I reminded her, while at the same time trying to calm Arnie before he panicked himself into unconsciousness. I still needed that Roomba, and it would be easier for him to show me where it was than for me to rummage through the place. "You know—consent forms and pre-test surveys."
"I thought those weren't real!" Arnie almost screamed. "Just a gimmick that came with the job!"
I blinked. Once. Twice. Because this was completely and utterly unexpected.
I mean—he was probably right. It was probably just a gimmick. You get employees at a Portal-themed restaurant to fill out fake Aperture forms. Just a promotion.
Otherwise, it would be an overcomplicated plan with multiple points of failure: Aperture publishes a game about itself to justify a themed restaurant that lures low-wage employees into becoming test subjects.
And while I was lost in paranoid fantasies—and I blamed Arnold for them—it was Archer who came to the rescue.
"Even if he's an Aperture-approved test subject, he's not our Aperture-approved test subject."
Our Aperture Ethics Committee had debated the situation—what to do if portal technology ever drilled into a parallel universe and we encountered another Aperture. Using their test subjects was, of course, on the "don't" list. The ruling was presented as a firm moral principle, derived from simulation: how would we react if someone poached ours and ran tests without our safety protocols? The results were explosive.
"Of course I know that," GLaDOS replied. "He was hardly a qualified human test subject—barely worth the effort of setting up a test course. Especially when there's so much new science waiting to be explored. I was just being charitable."
The call of the five remaining Gates tugged constantly at the back of my mind, like an eager puppy begging for a walk in the park. Although now I had more time to feel the sensation, I was unsure whether the impatience I sensed came from the Gates themselves or whether I was merely anthropomorphizing the call. In truth, it could have been an almost natural process—like being thirsty, or holding one's breath for a moment. If I were to use a metaphor, it was as if, with a Gate opened but not yet passed through, Irem—and thus I—was caught in a half-step: a moment incomplete and unbalanced.
Or I could be completely wrong. Perhaps the Gates were not alive in any conventional sense, but complex enough to have feelings like impatience and purpose in need of fulfillment. Or perhaps they were manifestations of some stranger entities.
But that, too, was only a question without an answer, churning in the back of my mind. Why did it matter now?
Because such impatience should have spurred me to expedite matters with Arnie—to deal with the witness of the vampire attack quickly and efficiently, even if it meant cutting corners. Hypnotizing him swiftly, or simply rendering him unconscious and evacuating him to a secure location.
And yet, I was stalling.
"Other Aperture? Two Apertures? Multiple timelines?" Arnie muttered. But from the slight change in the timbre of his voice, the reduced tremors in his hands, and the adjustment in his breathing pattern, I could tell that shock was gradually being replaced by curiosity. Which meant he would soon be mentally competent enough to be presented with options. "Wait—are you saying the Perpetual Testing Initiative is real too?"
Revising my thought process, it was quite obvious why I was taking my time. While it was the ethical stance to take—especially since the Gates' call was more discomfort than actual threat—there was another reason. More elder vampires could appear.
Or rather, I had hoped that by spending more time here, I might encounter and slay more of them. Because while dealing with a fledgling was a chore, like exterminating cockroaches, permanently dealing with an elder vampire was an achievement. Not only were they more powerful, more dangerous, and harder to kill, but they were also much rarer—and far harder to replace. For a fledgling, all it took was one bite, one unfortunate victim. But it took centuries for a vampire to become an elder, and few managed to survive that long.
Tonight, more elder vampires had fallen to us than all the previous Tohsakas had managed in centuries of hunting. And yet I wanted more. Was that too greedy of me? Or was letting such a rare opportunity slip by the greater sin?
"Perpetual Testing Initiative?" GLaDOS asked, "I do love the sound of that. Could you tell me more about it?"
"If it's what I think it is, you won't find it that useful. From the context, you need to refer to our Countermeasure Contingency Sixteen-B," I interrupted.
"Wait—wasn't that the one about someone using an interdimensional portal to swap the test plan for an entire course with their own, and then stealing the results?" she asked. "And here I thought you were just showing a genetic predisposition for paranoia when you designed that security add-on."
What genetic predisposition? Cave's paranoia in the last stage of his life had been the result of chronic mercury poisoning, not genetics.
"When one is in a position of leadership, the question isn't am I paranoid—it's am I paranoid enough," I said dryly.
"Checking your teeth every morning for implanted surveillance devices is standard dental care for CEOs, I'm sure," Archer drawled, making Arnie chuckle a little.
Well, I could take a hit in good humor if it was for a good cause. It wasn't like I liked Archer picking on me. And it's not something I'd forget, either. Each transgression was duly noted—and would result in a proper spanking later.
"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better," I said to Arnie, arranging my features into a friendly expression with an inviting smile and open body language. "As they say, laughter is the best medicine. Now that you're more capable of it, you have some decisions to make. But before that, could you get the Roomba we talked about? There's a mess to clean up."
"Is now the time for that?" Arnie asked, frowning. "Don't we have more important things to talk about?"
"If it were normal dust, sure," I replied, still smiling faintly. "But this is vampire dust."
"Is it dangerous?" Arnie asked, stiffening as his breathing grew heavier. "What if I breathed some in?"
"It's not toxic," I was quick to reassure him, "but unfortunately, it has the potential to reform into a vampire when exposed to fresh human blood. So proper containment and disposal are something of a priority. So—Roomba. Quickly."
Arnie obeyed with admirable celerity, turning back and rushing into the depths of the restaurant, where I supposed the Roomba was kept. Or perhaps the young man was planning to flee through some back exit—if there was one.
With Arnie's back turned, I could see how much he'd sweated, making the material of the faux Aperture jumpsuit cling to him quite firmly. Firmly enough to show that he was either wearing a jockstrap or no underwear at all. Or perhaps very tight briefs.
"Pity we're too short on time to claim the traditional hero's reward," I idly mused.
Archer shot me a look sharp enough to cut.
"What? We did work together. Naturally, we share the spoils. I hardly think Arnie would be very hard to convince," I defended, raising my hand placatingly. "But I did say we're short on time."
"If you can contain your mating urges," GLaDOS interrupted, "there's a more important fact we need to focus on. If a vampire can be reconstituted from dust simply by adding human blood, that means not only have we not yet lost any test subjects—it also means we now have a renewable supply of them."
"I see," Archer said, and after a brief pause added, "Our new urgent priority is forming a new Ethics Committee."