Luke pulled up his System interface to check what had dropped from the fight. He'd heard the notification chime earlier.
[Congratulations! You have obtained: Ezio's Assassin Robes!]
Holy shit.
A pristine set of silver-white robes materialized in his hands. Riven glanced over, assessed it wasn't from Runeterra, and dismissed it as decorative. The captured vampires, however, stared with undisguised shock.
What the hell was that? Magic? Some kind of spatial technology?
Being vampires themselves, they defaulted to assuming magic.
"Good thing these aren't the ones Ezio actually wore," Luke muttered, examining the fabric. "Otherwise I'd have to wash five centuries of Italian assassin sweat out of them."
He ducked into the bathroom and emerged transformed. The robes fit perfectly—because of course they did, System drops always fit—and he'd added a black face wrap from an earlier drop, covering everything below his eyes. The overall effect was... actually pretty cool. Mysterious. Dangerous.
He had no idea how to repair these if they got damaged, but worst case, he could probably find a tailor to replicate the design.
Tonight wasn't about fighting anyway. Tonight was reconnaissance.
Charging into a vampire nest without preparation was suicide. This wasn't a Dynasty Warriors game where he could mow through thousands of enemies solo. He needed intel.
First location: an underground bar in Queens.
The entrance was a reinforced steel door with a vampire standing guard. Simple security—if you weren't a vampire or designated "food," you weren't getting through. Unless you were Blade and decided to murder your way inside.
Riven could absolutely do that. She could probably clear the entire bar in under a minute.
Problem was, her kills only generated drops if Luke stayed close. He'd tested this extensively. The effective range was about ten feet—any further and whatever she killed just... didn't count. No loot. No experience. Nothing.
That's why Luke, despite being the squishy summoner who should theoretically command from the back lines, had to follow Riven into every fight. Her kills were meaningless without him there to collect.
On the plus side, if she ever drops League items, I can equip them on her directly.
That raised an interesting question, actually. In League, champions could carry six items simultaneously. How would that work in reality? Would Riven just... strap everything to her back? What about the more delicate champions? Could you really picture Sona lugging around a Rabadon's Deathcap and a Lich Bane?
Luke filed that under "problems for future me" and refocused.
"Good thing we don't need to blow the door open," he said, eyeing the steel barrier. "Otherwise I'd have to break out the C4."
He had plenty of explosives. Counter-Strike and CrossFire alone had dropped enough C4 to level a city block. The charges even worked—you punched in the code and boom. Luke had tested one out of curiosity.
He'd almost died.
Turns out video game explosives were significantly more powerful in reality than their on-screen animations suggested. Lesson learned.
Second location: Hell's Kitchen. Another underground bar.
After that, parking garages. Bowling alleys. Scattered gathering points across the city.
Luke photographed everything—distinctive landmarks, entry points, guard rotations—and settled in for several days of observation.
The guide vampires? He killed them once they'd served their purpose.
He'd said he needed guides. He never said he'd let them live afterward.
"The Queens bar had one hundred thirty-five repeat visitors over the observation period," Riven reported, reviewing the footage they'd compiled. Her memory was superhuman—she could cross-reference faces across hours of video in minutes. "Two hundred additional unique individuals entered. Most never came out. A small number exited and didn't return."
"So about a hundred thirty-five to a hundred forty resident vampires," Luke concluded. "The ones who left are probably transients. Visitors from other territories."
Riven nodded.
While she'd handled surveillance, Luke had been preparing equipment. He'd dug through his accumulated drops and found a silver sword—probably from The Witcher, based on the design. More importantly, he'd commissioned a custom piece from one of those sketchy workshops that didn't ask questions.
A high-powered UV flashlight.
If you were hunting vampires, UV was essential. The Blade movies had proven that. Concentrated ultraviolet radiation was basically portable sunlight—instant death for anything with a weakness to solar exposure.
The night of the raid, Luke suited up for war.
Not in the Assassin robes. Those were for looking cool, and Luke didn't have the combat ability to back up that aesthetic yet. Survival came first.
He strapped on a heavy plate carrier with ceramic inserts—one of his drops, since body armor wasn't exactly easy to buy legally—and added a tactical helmet. The ensemble made him look like a SWAT operator. It also weighed a ton.
Moving was... difficult.
But that's what Riven was for. She could deflect bullets with her bare hands. With her handling offense and defense, Luke's mobility limitations didn't matter.
Queens. Night.
Riven set Luke down gently on the pavement, and he immediately bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
He'd overestimated himself.
The plan had been to walk here under his own power, carrying all his gear. Get some conditioning in. Build stamina.
He'd made it maybe three blocks before his legs gave out.
Riven had scooped him up without comment, carried him the rest of the way one-handed while casually running across rooftops, and hadn't even broken a sweat.
Luke felt like a useless pack mule that couldn't even carry itself.
I'm doubling my training when we get back.
"Do you need to rest?" Riven asked, not even slightly winded.
"No." Luke straightened up, forcing his breathing under control. "We've waited long enough. Let's finish this fast."
He wasn't at a hundred percent, but he'd recovered enough during the carry. Good enough to get through one vampire bar.
The guard at the door spotted them immediately.
His eyes swept over Luke's tactical gear with suspicion, then landed on Riven and stayed there. Something shifted in his expression. Hunger, maybe. Appreciation, definitely.
Pretty, the vampire was thinking. Prettier than that magazine cover model Tony Stark was photographed with this morning.
That moment of distraction cost him everything.
Luke raised the UV flashlight and clicked it on.
The guard's scream ripped through the night—a raw, agonized shriek that cut off almost as quickly as it started. Under the concentrated ultraviolet beam, his flesh blackened and cracked, peeling away to reveal bone beneath. The bone itself didn't last much longer, crumbling to ash in seconds.
What remained was a small pile of gray dust and the lingering smell of something burnt.
"Hell of an allergic reaction," Luke said dryly.
He stepped forward and grabbed the door handle, throwing his full weight into pulling it open.
It didn't budge.
He tried again, really committing this time. Bracing his feet. Engaging his core. Putting everything he had into it.
Nothing.
Riven reached past him, gripped the handle with one hand, and twisted. The lock mechanism shattered. The door swung open.
It's not that I'm weak, Luke told himself as they stepped inside. That lock was calibrated for vampire strength. No normal human could've opened it.
He almost believed it.
PLZ THROW POWERSONES.