After wrapping up the soul-collection deal with Yondu, William briefly considered going after the other two demons Fischer had mentioned—Jason and Freddy. But after a moment's thought, he scoffed.
Why the hell would I bother with that?
Jason, that hockey-masked brute, was just a glorified zombie haunting Crystal Lake, killing thrill-seeking idiots who essentially got themselves killed. Unless someone destroyed the magical array set up by his witch mother, he'd just keep coming back, no matter how many times he was "defeated."
As for Freddy—well, Freddy Krueger was America's problem. The U.S. made that dream-dwelling pervert themselves. Burned alive by enraged parents, he came back as a nightmare demon to torment teenagers.
Let the Yanks handle their own nightmares. He was British, thank you very much.
Besides, if he had time to spare, it would be better spent dealing with Victor—the elder vampire bastard who was apparently back from Hell and likely up to something nasty alongside the demon god Set.
"Sunday," William said, narrowing his eyes, "I'm authorizing access to the U.S. surveillance grid. Tap into every camera feed and find Victor."
"Understood, SIR."
With the full might of the U.S. surveillance infrastructure at his disposal, it took Sunday less than sixty seconds to report:
"SIR, approximately four and a half hours ago, a man matching Victor's appearance was spotted at a private airfield in Los Angeles. He boarded a private jet to Chicago, which landed one hour and twenty-three minutes ago. Victor was picked up by an individual identified as Deacon Frost and then disappeared in the Chicago suburbs."
A video clip appeared in the air. William instantly recognized the pale, aristocratic vampire as Victor. But it was the young man picking him up that made William pause.
Why does that guy look so familiar?
"Sunday, who's the young man?"
"Deacon Frost. Based on available records, he appears to be the leader of the Chicago vampire coven."
Deacon Frost… why does that name ring a bell?
"I want everything you can find on him."
With that, William shot into the sky and blasted across the country toward Chicago.
Just over 30 seconds later, he hovered above a high-rise building—the location Sunday had identified as Deacon's base.
On the rooftop, vampires and hanger-ons of the blood cult were partying. The moment William descended in full golden armor, crimson cape billowing, the music cut off.
"INTRUDER!"
One of the guards shouted, then fired his assault rifle.
William didn't even flinch. He didn't need to move a finger. With a mere thought, the air around him distorted, and the bullets froze in midair like they were trapped in syrup.
Another thought—and every bullet glowed red-hot, imbued with fire magic. Then they reversed course, flying back faster than they came, targeting every vampire and cultist on the rooftop.
In seconds, the place turned into a hellscape of screams, flames, and smoke. Burnt flesh and disintegrating corpses littered the floor.
William remained unfazed, calmly scanning for the vampire leader.
He reached out mentally to Fischer, now deep in Hell and closing in on Mephisto's domain.
"Master?" came the trembling voice in his mind.
"I thought you could use a snack to stay motivated."
"Safe! Very safe, Master!"
Before the words had even finished echoing, ten half-dead blood cultists—wounded but alive—vanished from the rooftop and reappeared before Fischer in Hell.
"HAHA!" The demon howled in glee, his shadowy form shuddering with excitement.
He wasted no time—terrorizing them with nightmarish illusions before swallowing their souls one by one, savoring each crunch and gulp like a gourmet delicacy.
William's voice echoed through his mind again, cold as a knife: "Enjoy it while it lasts. If you screw up again, I'll make you vomit every last bit of it back—with interest."
"Yes, Master! I promise! I'll find Set!"
William snorted.
Damn demons. The only reason this one's behaving is because I've got a leash wrapped around his soul.
He turned his gaze to the only vampire still alive—some small-time leader who was now cowering in a corner.
With a flick of the hand, William lifted him into the air and floated him to his feet.
"Where's Deacon Frost?"
"I-I don't know!"
William didn't even blink. With another flick, the vampire vanished—sent straight to Fischer's side.
"I want to know Deacon Frost's location," William said through the link.
If there was one thing demons excelled at besides lying and killing—it was torture.
Fischer let out a delighted cackle and grabbed the terrified vampire. "Don't worry, oh great Master! I'll have an answer in three minutes!"
Sure enough, before the three-minute mark, the intel came through.
And William finally understood why Victor had come to Chicago—he was after the Blood God transformation.
Of course. Just like in Blade, the bloodsuckers were trying to awaken an ancient power to become a living god of the undead.
William sneered. A so-called 'god' who got blown up by a vial of blood coagulant? Please.
Still, to enact the ritual, one needed the blood of a Daywalker—a vampire who could walk in sunlight.
Sunday hadn't sent him any alerts, which meant that Selene and Nyssa were fine.
That left just one other Daywalker: Blade.
"Sunday, see if you can contact Blade."
"No response, SIR. His phone is off and no one is at his base."
So Victor had been busy since his return from Hell. He'd used his time stalling with Dalton of the New York Sanctum to give Deacon and the others time to set the ritual in motion.
Not that it matters. Even if Victor did become a Blood God, William wasn't worried.
Set is a literal demon god. If I can fight him, what's one overgrown vampire?
Following the trail, William located the underground temple where the ritual was being prepared.
But curiously… Victor was nowhere to be found.
He scanned the entire complex. Nothing.
Damn it. He teleported to the air above the altar and looked down.
In the center of the ritual circle stood Deacon Frost, arms raised, basking in dark magic.
Before William could even speak, Deacon looked up and grinned.
"Do it! Now!"
Suddenly, black energy burst from the runes surrounding the altar, enclosing the entire chamber in darkness.
Deacon threw his head back and laughed.
"Welcome to the family… my lord Duke of the Blood!"
______
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