"Dude, seriously, what's the play?"
Josh, lean and nervous, leaned over the workbench, the perpetual cigarette between his fingers casting a thin trail of smoke up into the bare work light. He was the essential human grease in Blade's machine, having taken over Whistler's crucial role of armorer and logistics expert during the old hunter's terrifying two-year disappearance.
Josh was a survivor—a former vehicle thief who understood that his skills were useless against the supernatural, leading him to volunteer for the only fight that mattered.
Blade, ignoring the punch of smoke, secured the last of the Silver Nitrate Charge racks onto his vest. He didn't look up as he spoke, his voice low and devoid of humor. "The play is survival. They offered a path to the R-variant. We take it."
"That's not what I mean, Eric!" Whistler interjected, limping heavily as he descended the makeshift metal staircase, his movements still stiff and uncertain. He carried the indelible signs of his recent torture: a man rescued from an ice-induced vampire transformation, whose very existence was now a biological tightrope walk.
"They are not men of honor. They are panicked animals. They will bite the hand that feeds them the instant they see an opportunity."
Blade finally stopped, his dark lenses reflecting the harsh light. He slipped his silver-plated Katana into its back harness and fastened the clasp with a sharp, decisive click.
"If the Grand Duke believed this R-variant was a manageable threat, we wouldn't be here. He is terrified of losing his position at the top of the food chain, and that terror is what we are leveraging," Blade affirmed, a flicker of his sharp, vampiric teeth visible.
"They will betray us. They will attempt to ambush us. And if given the slightest opening, they will try to turn us into novelties for their subterranean court. That is their nature."
Josh winced, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his worn boot. "So we aren't accepting this collaboration, then?" he asked, tapping his lower lip nervously—a strange habit he'd picked up under pressure.
"We accept the information and the access," Blade corrected, pulling on thick, custom-made leather combat gloves.
"We will use them to find the Chadnoma variant and his brood. We will let them think they are setting the traps. But once the immediate threat of the R-variants is neutralized, the truce is over. I will use the intelligence gained to dismantle the Grand Duke's entire infrastructure. They are future prey, Josh. Nothing more."
"That's the Eric I know!" Josh exclaimed, punching Blade lightly on the shoulder with genuine excitement. "Imagine the firepower we can bring to that party! My little darlings are itching for a high-level firefight."
Whistler shook his head, leaning heavily on the railing. "They are desperate. That desperation makes them cunning, Blade. Be careful of the collateral they offered—Nisha. A noble's favorite daughter is often the deadliest weapon in the armory."
Josh moved away, offering a whispered aside to Blade. "Look, man, I know he's your family. But I'm still worried about him. That reversal antidote only goes so far. He walks in the sun, sure, but no one just lets go of being turned, not completely. Keep an eye on the side effects."
Whistler, a seasoned hunter who'd been resurrected from his own personal hell, heard the comment and merely gave Josh a knowing, grim smile. The psychological toll of his transformation was immense; he knew the cost of fighting the monster within.
A sudden hiss of compressed air and a slight tremor in the factory floor announced the arrival of the Dawn Knight. Zhou Yi descended slowly from the high, open rafters of the abandoned terminal, his armored boots landing soundlessly near the workbench. He didn't need the door; he was a storm, and storms arrive where they wish.
"Your assistant is correct, Blade," Zhou Yi said, his voice calm, yet carrying an undertone of urgency. "They are no longer at the top of the food chain, and that shift has only made them more predictable—and therefore, more dangerous."
Blade, unruffled by the sudden intrusion, merely nodded. "Any leads from your late-night flight, Dawn Knight? Or was it just routine maintenance of your public image?"
"More than that," Zhou Yi confirmed, stepping closer. He used a gauntlet-mounted projector to throw a series of complex spectral overlays onto a nearby rusted wall—the data collected from his night flight.
"The R-variants are spreading rapidly, far beyond the Grand Duke's conservative estimates. But more disturbing is the pattern: I found no aimless feeding. I found only signs of attack—blood spray, immediate drop in temperature—and no survivors, no bodies, and no newly turned stragglers."
He gestured to the scan data. "This suggests two things: first, that Chadnoma is maintaining a high degree of control over her infected brood, compelling them to remove the evidence and retreat into specific, hidden locations. They are not merely beasts; they are a covert army."
"The second point?" Blade asked, his expression sharpening.
"The second is that if they are hiding the bodies, they are either consuming them entirely or they are building a reserve supply of newly converted hosts. Either way, the enemy is organized and deliberately evading search patterns."
Zhou Yi deactivated the display. "I wonder how our vampire 'allies' plan to track this kind of deliberate evasion."
Blade offered a dry, humorless chuckle. "Perhaps they have a secret formula for catching rats that hunt their own kind. It's comforting to know we're dealing with an intelligent plague, rather than just a mindless virus."
The tension in the dilapidated terminal was now thick and suffocating. The reality was sinking in: they were facing not just a fast-spreading disease, but a sentient, strategic threat, and their only source of potential intel was a desperate, treacherous cabal of ancient vampires. If they miscalculated, the consequence would be the utter devastation of the city.
The last, fading orange glow of sunset was devoured by the tall buildings, marking the absolute dominion of night. The air immediately grew colder, and a palpable shift occurred in the factory as the world of the Day Walker yielded to the world of the night-born.
Zhou Yi took up position on a high, precarious walkway overlooking the main floor—a strategic vantage point that allowed him to monitor the entrance without being immediately in the line of fire. He briefly tapped into the NYPD surveillance network, seeking any unusual traffic patterns near the terminal, but the area was characteristically dark.
Meanwhile, Blade had retired to his sealed office—a small, fortified room designed for his most critical vulnerability: the bloodlust. As a Day Walker, he was spared the sun's wrath, but he was still a vampire at heart, and the daily, crushing biological imperative to feed was a constant, terrifying battle.
It took a concoction of highly synthesized serum and a will forged in pure hatred to control the urge. To fail meant an instant relapse into the very beast he spent his life hunting. He emerged moments later, outwardly normal, but with the subtle, rigid control of a man holding a leash on a caged animal.
The massive, rusted cargo bay doors of the terminal groaned open, announcing the arrival of the Vampire Guard.
Nisha Maginos entered first, regal and icy, followed by a contingent of six individuals who perfectly embodied the Grand Duke's description of his elite force: they were powerful, pureblood, and utterly confident in their superiority.
Nisha immediately sought out the target of her current rage. Spotting Josh and Whistler first, she ignored Zhou Yi, who stood above them like an armored gargoyle.
"I have brought the Vampire Guard, as stipulated," Nisha declared, her voice ringing with the hard, uncompromising tone of a noble. "Where is the Day Walker?"
Whistler, busy adjusting the feed rate on a chemical dispenser, didn't even lift his head. Josh, however, offered a theatrical, welcoming grin, his hands casually in his pockets, affecting a practiced nonchalance that belied the tension in the room.
"Pretty lady, if you're looking for the man who signed the check, he's just behind that office door. Name's Josh, by the way, and I manage the toys around here. I—"
Nisha cut him off mid-sentence, striding past him as if he were a piece of furniture, her face a mask of contempt. The Vampire Guards behind her burst into sneering laughter, their dark chuckles echoing in the vast space, clearly enjoying the put-down of the human assistant.
Josh merely shrugged. "You're welcome," he muttered, maintaining his easygoing facade, the insult bouncing off his thick skin.
Nisha quickly returned, followed by Blade, who emerged from the office, his presence immediately dominating the room.
Nisha adopted a formal, almost military posture, pointing to the figures behind her one by one, their titles announcing their deadly specialties.
"Allow me to introduce the Vampire Guard," Nisha announced, the contempt in her voice still reserved for Blade.
She gestured first to a striking pair: a huge, bald man whose torso was bare and covered in strange, swirling black tattoos, holding a massive, double-bladed Axe. Clinging to his back, her arms wrapped around his massive chest, was a slender female vampire with a shock of bright red, short hair.
"The Light Axe—Villion," Nisha stated.
Villion and the woman—his partner, an apparent specialist in sensory disorientation—raised their heads simultaneously, their fangs bared in a cold, coordinated flash toward Blade, a perfect demonstration of their synchronized malice.
Next, Nisha pointed to a tall, slender male vampire with long, wavy hair, dressed in impeccable, century-old aristocratic attire.
"The Priest," she introduced. The Priest offered a deep, elaborate bow, his hand placed elegantly over his heart, a relic of an old-world politeness that only underscored his ancient brutality.
Then, to a compact, Asian-featured vampire whose face was an emotionless mask.
"Snowman." This man moved with startling speed. He drew his Katana from his waist scabbard in a flash of blinding steel, held the position for a fraction of a second, and then sheathed it with the quiet, authoritative snick of a martial artist who respected the blade above all else. He bowed to the sword, not to the hunters.
Finally, she gestured to the two remaining men: one a large, grumpy figure half-covered in heavy chainmail who looked like a bouncer from a medieval saloon (Chubba), and the last, a confident, powerfully built man with a crew cut.
"And Captain Reihart, commander of the Guard," Nisha finished.
Reihart, clearly the leader of this formidable unit, immediately detached himself from the group and approached Blade, his head held high, his disdain palpable. He stopped a foot short of the Daywalker, positioning his head so he looked down his nose at Blade.
"Day Walker," Reihart said, the title a sneer. "We are an elite tactical unit composed of the most valued purebloods in the European Court. My men and I have been ordered to follow your command structure."
He leaned closer, covering his mouth conspiratorially, yet speaking loud enough for the entire group to hear. "But tell me, Brooks… are you not deeply ashamed?"
The Vampire Guard erupted in a chorus of mocking cheers and derisive laughter. Reihart's challenge was clear: it wasn't about skin color, or even the fact that Blade was a vampire hunter. It was about lineage and authority.
Reihart was questioning Blade's right to lead purebloods—creatures of ancient blood and rank—when Blade was merely a half-breed, a mutation, an accident in their eyes. He was challenging the Duke's humiliating order and attempting to seize control of the mission before the first step was taken.
Blade smiled, a sharp, cold glint in his eyes that matched the edge of his Katana. He looked up at the platform where Zhou Yi stood—a brief, silent acknowledgment of the strategic need to eliminate political posturing before combat. Then, he turned back to Reihart.
"I see your point, Captain," Blade agreed calmly.
The next second was a whirlwind of violent, controlled motion.
Blade's left fist shot out—a devastating, silver-knuckled gut punch aimed squarely at Reihart's solar plexus. The Captain of the Guard, despite his pureblood resilience, gasped, the sudden, paralyzing blow forcing him to buckle forward, his superior posture instantly destroyed.
Before Reihart's armored body could fully fold, Blade simultaneously shifted his weight and launched a powerful side kick aimed at the Captain's exposed head. The kick was designed to be a blinding, decapitating blow.
Reihart, however, was not the captain of the Vampire Guard for nothing. Even in mid-gasp, his combat instincts took over. He dropped instantly to one knee, straightening his torso just enough for Blade's deadly whip-leg to scorch past his face, missing by a hair's breadth.
Using the momentum of the near-miss, Reihart instantly countered, raising both armored forearms to block a follow-up kick and using the resulting force of the impact to catapult himself backward and into a defensive crouch.
Crack! The sound of Blade's boot connecting with Reihart's reinforced gauntlet echoed sharply.
The Captain of the Guard had absorbed the blow and, despite the obvious sting of the impact and the lingering paralysis from the gut punch, had survived the initial, crushing assault. He launched himself into the air, driving a powerful knee strike toward Blade's chin.
The speed and precision of Reihart's recovery were terrifying; the man was an elite warrior who could absorb a crippling blow and instantly turn it into an effective counter-attack. The Vampire Guard cheered, their laughter now replaced by the excited, bloodthirsty calls of spectators at a duel.
But Blade was more than an elite warrior; he was a biological anomaly with strength, speed, and endurance that often surpassed the purest of purebloods.
He sidestepped the knee, caught Reihart's leg, and spun, preparing to slam the Captain of the Guard into the concrete floor—an immediate, brutal demonstration of unquestioned dominance. The truce had devolved into a necessary turf war, fought on the cold, hard floor of an abandoned factory.