He finally reached Jericho and pulled up in front of a small medical shop. The bike's engine rumbled to a stop, the sound fading into the quiet street. This was why he'd come—he needed syringes. Preferably a lot of them.
He pushed open the glass door, a small bell chiming overhead. Inside, the shop smelled faintly of antiseptic and old wood. Behind the counter, a bespectacled man glanced up from a newspaper.
"Morning," the man said. "You look a little young to be shopping for medicine."
"Don't worry," Ethan replied casually. "I'm not here for anything illegal. Just need some syringes."
The man blinked. "...Syringes?"
"Yeah. For personal research," Ethan added before the man could start imagining anything dramatic.
"Right…" The man studied him, then sighed and stepped away from the counter. "What size?"
"Five-milliliter. Disposable. A box."
The man returned with the box, still eyeing him like he expected Ethan to suddenly confess to being a runaway doctor.
"That'll be twenty-two dollars."
Ethan slid the cash across the counter.
"Kid," the man said as he bagged the purchase, "if you're doing drugs—"
"I'm not," Ethan cut in, deadpan. "Trust me. My blood's already weird enough."
The man decided not to question that.
Ethan left the shop, bag in hand, and walked back to his bike.
As he rested the bag in the compartment, his mind churned.
His system had a simple instruction: Recycle unique things to earn Blood Points.
Naturally, the first idea that came to him was the most accessible one—his own blood.
Vampire blood was rare, potent. If the system recognized it as "unique," he could farm Blood Points without risking anything… well, anything too dangerous.
If that worked, then he could experiment with other sources. Hyde blood—fresh and chaotic. Siren blood. Werewolf blood. The outcast world was practically a buffet of biological oddities.
And he was a vampire. Collecting blood wasn't strange for him—it was practically practical.
Ethan leaned on his bike, opening the box to check the syringes. "Alright," he muttered. "Let's see if the system likes gourmet vampire grade."
Before he could mount the bike, a voice called out:
"Hey! You there!"
Ethan turned. An older woman, carrying grocery bags, narrowed her eyes at him.
"Those red eyes of yours… and that uniform are you Nevermore student?"
"Yep," Ethan said, slipping the box deeper into the compartment. No point raising questions.
"Hmph. Just don't cause trouble in town. We've already got enough chaos with those kids running around."
"I'll try to be disappointingly boring," he replied.
The woman snorted and marched off with her groceries.
Ethan watched her go, then muttered under his breath, "Can't believe even in this world they have Karens."
He swung a leg over his bike, shaking his head. "Multiverse confirmed: Karens are a constant."
Ethan paused mid-motion, helmet halfway lifted.
Across the street, carrying a box of supplies—was Tyler Galpin.
A perfectly ordinary small-town boy to anyone else.
To Ethan? A walking reservoir of Hyde blood… packaged in a friendly smile and unresolved mommy issues.
A slow grin spread across Ethan's face.
"Tyler Galpin," he murmured. "Time for some… voluntary blood donation."
His eyes glowed faintly red—not enough to attract attention, but enough to show what mood he was in.
The timing couldn't have been better.
He'd been just about to test whether recycled vampire blood gave him points… and here fate rolled up with a Hyde, tied with a bow. Ethan wasn't sure if there was a god in this world, but if there was, the guy clearly took requests.
"Godsend opportunities," he said softly, "should never be wasted."
He slid off the bike, the syringe held casually between his fingers like it was nothing more than a pen.
Tyler hadn't noticed him yet, too focused on hauling boxes inside. Normal. Harmless. Sweet even.
If only people knew what snarled under that skin.
Before the thought had even fully settled, Ethan moved.
To any normal human eye, it was nothing more than a blurred shadow cutting across the street. A gust of displaced air. A flicker in peripheral vision. But to him, it was just walking—at 300 km/h.
One second he was standing 20 steps away from Tyler.
The next, he was behind him.
Two fingers struck the precise spot at the base of Tyler's neck—a pressure point that momentarily starved the brain of blood. Humans knew it as a martial arts trick. Vampires knew it as something older, faster, and infinitely more effective.
Tyler's breath hitched.
His knees buckled.
He collapsed without even getting a sound out.
Ethan caught him effortlessly, one arm slipping around his chest before the body could even tilt forward.
"Nighty-night, little Hyde," he murmured, amused.
Without hesitation, he vanished into the nearest alleyway—just a whisper of movement.
*****
A/N: If you enjoy my work, you might also like my other novel, "Wicked Grimoire". Feel free to check it out!