CHAPTER 1: THE DEVIL IN SAN LAZARO
San Lazaro never truly slept.
Even at midnight, the streets breathed—flickering streetlights, distant sirens, the murmurs of people who had nowhere else to go. It was a place where shadows felt alive, and tonight, those shadows trembled.
A body fell to the ground.
The vampire didn't even have time to scream.
Black flames wrapped around its chest as a blade pierced straight through its heart. The obsidian sword glowed faintly red, as if drinking what little life remained. The creature turned to ash, scattered by the cold night wind.
Hellion Critos stood silently as the remains faded.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Red skin faintly visible beneath his black suit. His horns curved backward, polished like obsidian, and his brushback hair remained untouched by the chaos around him. His glowing eyes scanned the alley with calm indifference.
"Three tonight," he muttered.
Hell Wraith sheathed his sword.
For centuries, he had walked this world—watching it change, rot, rebuild, and rot again. Vampires had always existed, hiding behind governments, syndicates, and promises of order. In this era, they no longer feared humans. Why would they? The government had learned to look away.
Especially here.
San Lazaro had become a feeding ground.
Hellion moved forward, boots crunching against broken glass. His footsteps were quiet, unnatural for someone his size. The air suddenly shifted—he felt it. A presence.
He vanished.
In a blink, he teleported to the rooftop above the alley. Below him, five figures emerged from the darkness, their eyes glowing crimson.
Ancient ones.
"Come out, demon," one hissed. "Our king will reward us."
Hellion sighed.
Teleportation flared again. He reappeared behind the speaker and grabbed its skull with one hand. The vampire barely realized what happened before black hellfire erupted, reducing it to nothing.
The others attacked at once.
Claws slashed through the air. Fangs snapped inches from his throat. Hellion moved with surgical precision—dodging, countering, striking. His tail whipped out, slicing clean through stone walls and bone alike. Chains burst from the ground, forged from infernal energy, wrapping around two vampires and dragging them screaming into the darkness below.
The last one tried to run.
Hellion appeared in front of it.
"Wrong direction."
One slash.
Silence returned to San Lazaro.
But this time, it didn't last.
Gunfire erupted from the far end of the street.
Hellion turned as police vehicles swarmed in—too fast, too organized. This wasn't coincidence.
A woman stepped out of the lead car, gun raised but hands steady.
Detective Valerie Mondragon.
Half-vampire. Full willpower.
"I was hoping the rumors were wrong," she said. "Looks like they weren't."
Hellion studied her. He could smell it—the controlled hunger, the restraint. Not like the others.
"You should leave," he said calmly. "More will come."
Valerie didn't lower her weapon. "So will we. Those things you killed were connected to disappearances. Homeless people. Kids."
A flicker of something passed through Hellion's eyes.
"Belzark," he said.
Valerie stiffened. "You know that name?"
"He's awake," Hellion replied. "And if he finishes rebuilding his court, this city will drown in blood."
Before she could respond, the ground shook.
A cathedral bell rang—once.
Then twice.
Hellion's expression darkened.
"He's calling them."
From the rooftops, the sewers, the abandoned buildings—vampires began to emerge. Dozens. Maybe more.
Valerie looked around, realization hitting her. "This is a trap."
"Yes," Hellion answered. "For them."
Black wings erupted from his back, forged of shadow and fire.
Valerie stared—but didn't run.
"Guess I'm in," she said, cocking her gun.
Hellion gave a faint smile.
The first wave charged.
Hellfire lit the streets of San Lazaro.
Chains lashed, claws tore, bullets fired, and the night echoed with screams as Hell Wraith stepped forward—an immortal hunter facing a kingdom reborn.
And somewhere beneath the city…
Belzark smiled.