The irony wasn't lost on Luke.
The vampires only knew about the "SWAT hunter" because of his first raid—the one where he hadn't brought a signal jammer. Someone had gotten a message out before dying, and now he was public enemy number one.
If he'd known, he would've felt genuinely wronged.
I've only hit you guys twice! Two locations! Why am I being treated like the FBI's Most Wanted?
Quinn, meanwhile, had thrown himself into the hunt with characteristic obsession.
When he couldn't find Luke, he took out his frustration on easier targets. Other vampire hunters—the small-time operators, the lone wolves, anyone who'd ever dusted a fang in New York—found themselves on the receiving end of Quinn's wrath. Bodies piled up. The hunting community went quiet.
But Quinn wasn't satisfied with collateral damage. He wanted the SWAT.
He mobilized every resource at his disposal: turned vampires, familiars, anyone who owed Deacon Frost a favor. They scoured the city for information.
The breakthrough came from an unexpected source.
"Boss, remember those four guys who said they were gonna grab some white-haired chick for you? The pretty one?"
Quinn's eyes narrowed. "The ones who never came back?"
"Yeah. We traced their last known location. Some no-ID apartment building in a bad neighborhood."
Quinn assembled a strike team immediately.
They kicked down the door with weapons drawn, expecting a fight—
And found an empty room.
Luke and Riven were long gone.
Of course they were gone. Luke was paranoid by nature. The moment those vampires had shown up at his door, he'd known the location was compromised. He and Riven had relocated within hours.
The building had no security cameras. No footage. No photos. Quinn couldn't even confirm what his targets looked like beyond "guy in tactical gear" and "hot woman with white hair."
He shot the landlord out of pure frustration.
What Quinn didn't know was that Luke had left a hidden camera in his old room. A tiny pinhole lens, recording everything.
"So the vampires came looking for us."
Luke watched the footage on his laptop. A swarm of armed figures flooding into his former apartment. Quinn—blonde, sunglasses, clearly in charge—executing the landlord when he didn't get the answers he wanted.
Riven stood behind him, watching over his shoulder.
"Good thing we moved fast," Luke said.
They'd relocated to another off-the-books apartment. Different neighborhood, same cash-only arrangement. They only went out at night now, minimizing their exposure.
The church raid had been productive beyond the vampire kills. Luke pulled up his inventory to review the drops.
[Volumen Hydrargyrum]
His breath caught.
The Mystic Code of Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald from Fate/Zero. A masterwork of magecraft completed when its creator was barely in his twenties—considered the crowning achievement of one of the Clock Tower's most prestigious families.
In practice, it was 140 kilograms of mercury imbued with magical properties. It could attack autonomously, forming whip-like tendrils that struck with lethal precision. It could defend, creating membrane barriers or solid pillars to block incoming attacks. It could even detect enemies by sensing air disturbances and heat signatures.
Automatic offense. Automatic defense. Automatic targeting.
The perfect weapon for someone with magical ability.
Which Luke didn't have.
No magic circuits. No mana. No way to operate the Volumen Hydrargyrum without burning through his own life force as fuel.
I can see it. I can hold it. I just can't use it.
The frustration was almost physical.
He set the mystic code aside and checked the next drop.
[Withered Leaf Blade]
A tachi from Dungeon Fighter Online. Blue-grade equipment—mid-tier by the game's standards, but genuinely supernatural by real-world metrics.
Equipment Quality: Rare
Physical Attack: +124
Intelligence: +7
Critical Rate: +3%
Accuracy: -3%
"Legend says the dead-leaf butterfly becomes indistinguishable from a withered leaf when it lands on a branch. So when the Withered Leaf Blade strikes an enemy, does it become...?" —A certain imaginative young man
Luke gripped the handle experimentally. Power flowed into him—not magic, but something. His mind sharpened. His reflexes felt crisper. The blade's enchantments were real.
"Let me try."
Riven took the sword and gave it a few experimental swings. Her assessment was immediate.
"It's too light. I can't get proper leverage."
Fair enough. Riven was used to swinging a broken greatsword that weighed over a hundred pounds. A standard tachi would feel like a toy to her.
The other drops were less exciting. Sanity potions from Arknights. Originite cubes. Useful in their original context, questionable here.
"You know," Luke mused, "if I ever summon characters from Dungeon Fighter, I've got options. The female Slayer classes alone..."
He'd always played female characters in that game too. Dark Knight. Sword Master. Vagabond. Demon Slayer.
Four waifus in one character class.
But that was future dreaming. Right now, he had vampires to deal with.
"These are the ones who've been searching the area."
Riven pulled up footage from various hidden cameras Luke had planted around the neighborhood. Vampires in civilian clothes, moving in pairs, checking buildings, asking questions.
Quinn's search parties.
Luke smiled and reached for his weapon case.
The AWP emerged—a bolt-action sniper rifle from Counter-Strike: Global Offensive. Chambered in .338 Lapua Magnum, ten-round magazine, effective range measured in hundreds of meters.
He'd practiced extensively. Over a thousand rounds fired at improvised targets, learning the weapon's weight, its kick, its quirks. He wasn't a professional marksman, but he was competent.
The plan was simple: use Riven's mobility to shoot and relocate. Take out search parties from rooftop positions, then vanish before anyone could triangulate their location.
Indoor fights favored vampires—close quarters, numbers advantage, risk of overpenetration reducing his firepower. Outdoor sniping flipped the script. Range was his friend. Silver bullets made every hit lethal.
"Ready?" Riven asked.
"Let's hunt."
She carried him to a rooftop overlooking the search zone. Luke set up his rifle, bipod extended, scope adjusted for distance.
Riven crouched beside him, scanning the streets below with superhuman perception.
"Left side. Ten o'clock. Two hundred meters. Two targets."
Luke swung the rifle, found the position, spotted two vampires walking down an alley. They were arguing about something—he couldn't hear the words, but their body language suggested frustration. Probably complaining about the fruitless search.
He centered his crosshairs on the first one's chest.
Deep breath. Hold. Squeeze.
CRACK.
The rifle bucked against his shoulder. Muzzle flash split the darkness. Two hundred meters away, a vampire exploded into ash mid-step, the silver round punching clean through.
"Fuck!"
The second vampire dove for cover, scrambling behind a dumpster. He had no idea where the shot came from—sound traveled slower than bullets. By the time the report reached him, his partner was already dead.
Sniper. There's a fucking sniper.
He fumbled for his phone.
"Quinn! We've got a sniper! JK is down!"
Luke watched through his scope as the vampire made the call. He didn't interfere. Let him report. Let him summon reinforcements.
That was the plan.
Tonight, Luke was going to clean house.
The vampire finished his call and peeked out from behind the dumpster, trying to spot the shooter.
Luke put a round through his skull.
"Riven. Relocate."
He collapsed the bipod and slung the rifle. Riven scooped him up without a word, one arm around his waist, and launched them across the rooftops.
The wind whipped past Luke's face as they moved. He pressed closer to Riven for stability, trying not to think about how high they were or how fast they were going.
He didn't notice the faint blush spreading across Riven's cheeks.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.
300 , 500 , 1000 for each milestone 1 Bonus Chapter.