Darren was about to respond when a muffled grunt came through the communicator—a sound of pain, sharp and stifled.
Then, a new voice crackled to life, calm and venomous. "Hey there. You must be the famous vampire slayer. I've heard you and the Daywalker have been looking for me."
Darren's brow lifted. "Deacon Frost?"
"That's right."
Frost's tone oozed arrogance, smooth and confident. "I must say, you intrigue me. A mere human, and yet you've slaughtered so many of my kind. That's… impressive. Tell you what, I'll give you a chance—join us. Become part of the great vampire race."
Darren chuckled. "Tempting offer. Tell you what, why don't I come find you, and we can talk about it in person?"
Frost's reply came out as a cold snarl. "Hmph. I see you don't value the opportunity I'm offering. Fine, then. Wait and watch. The age of vampires is upon us. When dawn rises, every human will kneel as our slave."
And with that dramatic villain speech, the line went dead.
Darren looked at his HUD. Blade's green marker on the map was moving fast—too fast. He didn't hesitate.
He jumped into the elevator and hit the floor where the marker was headed.
Ding!
The doors slid open—and standing outside was a firing squad of vampires, weapons already raised.
The moment the doors parted, they unleashed a storm of bullets. Muzzle flashes lit the corridor as rounds tore into the elevator.
But when the smoke cleared—
Empty.
No one was inside.
"Hold fire!" the squad leader barked, gesturing sharply. He signaled to a nearby vampire to check inside.
The soldier nodded, creeping forward, rifle trembling slightly in his hands. He swept the empty elevator. Nothing.
"Captain, there's nobody he—"
"Behind you!"
The shout came too late.
The vampire spun around just in time to see Darren drop from the ceiling panel above, hanging upside down like a demon from a nightmare, grinning wickedly.
"Had dinner yet? No? Good. I brought garlic."
He shoved a primed garlic-extract grenade straight into the vampire's mouth and kicked him out of the elevator.
Pffffft!
A stream of burning yellow vapor burst from the vampire's throat as he ignited from within—a screaming torch wrapped in its own smoke.
For a split second, Darren thought it smelled… edible.
"Garlic gas! Run!"
The rest of the squad panicked, bolting in every direction as the yellow mist expanded through the hallway.
Darren moved fast.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
His golden Desert Eagle roared, silver bullets slicing through the haze. Each shot found its mark—one vampire head after another burst into ash.
When the smoke cleared, only the captain remained—nervous, shaking, but still standing.
Seeing Darren stride toward him, he dropped his rifle, squared his shoulders, and raised his fists. "Put down the gun. Face me like a man."
"No."
"…What?"
Before the vampire could process the blunt reply, bang bang!—two shots shattered his knees.
Darren walked up, pressed the muzzle against the vampire's forehead. "Where's Frost taking the Daywalker?"
"You think I'll tell you?" the vampire sneered.
Bang!
Darren shot his arm.
"Every time you don't answer," he said calmly, "I shoot something new."
The silver laced into the bullets burned his wounds, filling the air with the acrid scent of scorched flesh. The vampire howled.
"F—You—"
Bang!
"You—"
Bang!
"Okay, okay, I'll talk!"
Bang!
The vampire screamed, half out of pain, half out of existential confusion. "I said I'll talk! Why'd you shoot again?!"
"Force of habit," Darren said with a shrug.
"…"
Terrified he'd get shot again, the vampire blurted out, "They went to the Temple of Eternal Night! Frost needs the Daywalker alive—for some kind of ritual!"
So Blade wasn't dead yet.
Good.
Darren noticed the green dot on his map moving again—being transported, probably. He grabbed the vampire by the collar. "You got a car?"
"Y-Yes!"
"Keys."
The vampire's face twisted in despair as he handed over the keys—probably to a car he was still making payments on.
Was this… armed robbery?
...
The "Temple of Eternal Night" was located in a half-built industrial area on the outskirts of the city. Construction equipment littered the site, but not one of them was running.
A perfect cover.
Darren parked about two hundred meters out and raised a pair of binoculars.
A steel fence surrounded the compound, and armed vampire guards patrolled inside, weapons gleaming under floodlights. Whatever was going on in there—it mattered.
He checked his map again. Blade's signal pulsed deep underground.
"Of course it's underground," Darren muttered, pulling out his diamond pickaxe from the inventory.
Ten minutes of digging later, the soil fell away, and a vast underground hall opened before him—ancient, dark, and massive.
He followed the signal to a sealed chamber. Several vampires guarded a massive stone sarcophagus at its center.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots. Three ashes.
A piercing scream rang out from behind him. Darren turned—just in time to see a dark-skinned female vampire stepping out of the shadows.
"Oh, for—"
Bang!
Problem solved.
He approached the sarcophagus, fingers trailing along its edge until he found a hidden switch. With a grinding rumble, the lid slid open—revealing Blade inside.
He wasn't dead—but he was in bad shape.
Twin blades had been driven into his wrists, draining his blood in streams that flowed down carved channels beneath him. The moment the restraints released, he collapsed to the ground.
"Blade! Wake up."
Darren crouched beside him, tapping his face. No response. His skin was pale, his pulse weak.
Too much blood loss.
Blade had told him once that he'd never fed on human blood—not even a drop. His healing was limited, barely a fraction of what a full vampire could manage.
If he didn't get help soon, he'd bleed out.
Darren opened his inventory, fingers brushing the Coin of Fate.
He glanced at Blade's face. With his luck? Yeah, no.
He swapped it out for a red potion instead.
[Item: Health Potion (Restores HP over 15 seconds.)]
"Bottoms up."
He pried Blade's jaw open and poured the liquid down his throat.
The effect was instant. The wounds on Blade's wrists began to knit together, the color slowly returning to his face. Within moments, his eyelids fluttered open.
Darren sighed. "We agreed to catch Frost, not to get caught by him."
Blade grimaced, sitting up weakly. "Something went wrong. My mother—she's alive. Frost turned her long ago. She was with him… and they ambushed me together."
His voice trembled.
It was a bitter kind of heartbreak. A mother's return from the dead should've been joyous—even if she'd become a vampire.
But to find her serving his worst enemy? To realize the man who killed her had made her his own?
That was beyond cruel.
It meant Frost was, quite literally, his stepfather now.
Blade's eyes burned with barely contained fury. "I'll find her. I'll look her in the eyes and ask why she did this."
Darren gave him a sympathetic look.
Your mom siding with your enemy and trying to kill you—yeah, that's trauma no one wants.
He patted Blade's shoulder gently. "All right. Where is she now? I'll help you track her down."
Blade scanned the room, trying to recall. "Before I passed out… she was here. Standing beside me. Did you see a Black woman when you came in?"
Darren's eyes flicked to the corner, where a small, nondescript pile of ash lay smoldering faintly.
Without missing a beat, he shook his head. "Nope. Didn't see anyone. But I'm sure you'll meet again someday."
…