Deep within the Temple of Eternal Night, there was a vast cylindrical chamber stretching dozens of meters below ground—like some ancient ritual pit built for horror itself.
At the bottom stood a massive circular altar engraved with twisted, blood-red runes. Twelve stone pillars encircled it, each etched with identical sigils that pulsed faintly in the dim red light.
Bound tightly to the base of every pillar were twelve vampires—each one a pure-blood elder, the highest of their kind.
"Release us at once!" one snarled, his ancient voice trembling with rage.
"Frost! We are pure-bloods! You dare do this to us?!"
"Frost, you wretched half-breed! You'll regret this!"
The chamber was filled with furious shouting.
Moments ago, these elders had been sleeping comfortably in their coffins, enjoying their undead retirement. Then Frost had kicked open the doors, dragged them out, and now here they were—tied up like sacrificial livestock.
When they tried to resist, they were promptly flattened.
For all their centuries of experience, they'd made one fatal mistake: fighting like it was still the Dark Ages. While they lunged and bit like animals, Frost's younger, more "modernized" vampires pulled out firearms.
The elders didn't stand a chance. Especially when the bullets were silver-tipped.
Frost's only response to their outrage was a smirk. "Who says vampires can't use weapons made to kill vampires?"
Now, while the elders screamed and cursed, Frost stood calm and unmoving in the altar's center, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above.
There, blood was beginning to pool—dripping down in slow, rhythmic drops, glowing faintly with power.
A hungry gleam lit his face. "Finally… the moment has come."
According to the forbidden texts of the vampire archives, there existed a ritual known as the La Magra Ceremony.
By using the blood of a half-human, half-vampire hybrid as a conduit, and channeling the essence of twelve pure-blood elders, the ritual could create something far beyond any vampire—a being of godlike power.
Years ago, Frost had gone out of his way to infect a pregnant woman, ensuring her child would be born a hybrid.
That child—fate's cruel joke—was none other than Blade.
Frost had been preparing for this night ever since, laying every stone, every scheme, for this single purpose.
"With this power, I'll transcend them all," he whispered feverishly. "I'll become the god of vampires… and rule the world."
He spread his arms wide in ecstasy as the blood above gathered and dripped down, landing squarely on his forehead.
Outside, the sky darkened. Clouds began to twist and converge over the Temple of Eternal Night. Lightning flashed within their depths, the heavens growling like a beast roused from slumber.
BOOM!
A bolt of lightning crashed down, slamming into the temple.
The electricity surged through the runic pillars, tearing through the bound elders.
"AAAAHHHH!!"
Their screams were agonizing, shaking the chamber. Their bodies convulsed and burned, their flesh disintegrating into dust.
From those ashes burst twelve skeletal forms, gray and winged, screeching like banshees as they spiraled above the altar.
The vampire guards flinched, their courage vanishing. They were vampires, sure—but ghosts? Ghosts were another story.
The skeletal phantoms circled wildly before an unseen force drew them downward—straight into Frost.
He threw his head back, screaming as the energy consumed him. His eyes went crimson, the whites flooding with blood until nothing human remained.
"FEITH!"
A roar echoed like thunder.
Blade crashed down from above, landing on the edge of the altar with a heavy thud. His eyes burned with fury as he glared at the monster before him.
Frost had already been his mortal enemy. Now, with the delightful addition of "stepfather" to the equation, Blade's rage had reached divine levels.
Fully armed once again, he drew his silver sword and charged without a moment's hesitation.
"Kill him!"
Vampires rushed in to block his path, snarling as they attacked.
Meanwhile, on the upper platform, several gunmen took aim at Blade below.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Before they could even fire, silver bullets ripped through their skulls.
A split second later, several cylindrical grenades arced through the air, clattering across the platform.
PSSSSSSSH!
Thick yellow smoke erupted, spreading in seconds.
"Garlic gas!!" one vampire screamed.
Their cries turned into shrieks of agony as the vapor devoured them. Their skin bubbled, their bones hissed, and within moments they crumbled into black ash.
"He's up there!" another shouted, pointing toward the ceiling.
Every head turned—and froze.
There, upside down on the ceiling, stood Darren.
The vampires gawked.
What the hell were they looking at tonight? Flying skeletons, ghostly screams, and now a man casually walking on the ceiling like it was a Sunday stroll.
Compared to this human, they were the normal ones.
They raised their guns and opened fire.
Bullets screamed upward—but Darren was already moving. His Gravity Boots clung effortlessly to the surfaces as he darted across ceiling and wall, flipping, dodging, and returning fire with deadly precision.
One by one, the shooters fell, their heads popping like overripe fruit.
Within moments, the upper platform was silent.
Darren looked down at the chaos below. Blade was still hacking through a pack of vampires, his sword flashing in the dim light.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five shots later, the vampires in front of Blade exploded into ash.
"I've cleared my side," Darren called, landing smoothly beside him in a perfect superhero pose. "What's taking you so long?"
Blade swung his sword through another enemy and growled, "Give me five more seconds."
The remaining vampires backed away, panic twisting their faces. They stumbled onto the altar, pressing against one another in terror.
Then, a pale hand settled gently on one of their shoulders.
They turned—and froze.
Frost.
He looked… different now. His skin was corpse-white, his eyes twin pools of crimson light. Power radiated off him like a living storm.
"Boss, you did it?" one vampire stammered hopefully.
Frost smiled—a thin, chilling curve of his lips. "Yes. But now…" His voice dropped into a growl. "…I'm starving."
"I'll get you fresh blood right away!" the lackey said quickly.
"No need," Frost whispered, his blood-red eyes gleaming. "There's plenty… right here."
Before the vampire could react, Frost blurred forward, sinking his fangs deep into the man's neck.
The sound was wet and sickening. The lackey's body shriveled instantly, collapsing into a hollow husk in seconds.
Darren blinked. "Did he just… drink another vampire's blood?"
He remembered asking Blade once whether vampires could feed on other creatures. Blade's answer had been clear: vampires drank human blood—fresh or bottled, didn't matter. Animal blood? Disgusting. Other vampires? Like drinking sewage.
And yet here was Frost, happily chugging his own kind.