The Rustbucket pulled into the neon-lit streets of New York City. After weeks of dusty roads and desert camps, the luxury of a four-star hotel felt alien. While Max checked into the presidential suite, Ben was immediately distracted by a Sumo Slammers trial event in the lobby.
"Sorry, kid. Invitations only," the guard said, blocking the door.
Ben's face turned red, his hand drifting toward the Omnitrix. "Just because I'm not on the list doesn't mean I can't get in..."
"Ben," Tyler interrupted, leaning against a marble pillar. "If you use that watch every time you're slightly inconvenienced, you'll never actually master it. You want to surpass me? Stop taking shortcuts."
Ben froze, his competitive pride pricked. "I wasn't gonna! I was just... venting! You just wait, Tyler. I'm gonna be better than you one day!"
With Ben successfully distracted from a public transformation disaster, the group headed to their suite. However, the siren call of an arcade across the street was too much for Ben to resist. He dragged Tyler and Gwen out into the New York night.
The arcade was grand, loud, and filled with the smell of ozone and popcorn. But in the back corner, the atmosphere was different.
THUD. CRACK.
A group of punks in leather jackets and spiked hair were circling a black-haired boy. The kid was bruised and tattered, backed against a wall, but his eyes burned with a defiant, dangerous light.
"Kevin, you're not wiggling out of this one!"
"Stay away from the machines, freak!"
"What a coincidence," Tyler narrowed his eyes. "We actually found him."
He knew this boy. Kevin Levin. In another life, Ben would be the one to save him, but Tyler knew Kevin's power—the ability to absorb energy and DNA. If Kevin touched the Omnitrix, it was trouble. If he touched the Carnitrix... it was a catastrophe.
"I'm going in," Ben said, clenching his fists.
"Wait, Ben," Tyler caught his arm. "If you help him, it gets complicated. Let me handle the 'scary' part."
Tyler stepped into a dark alcove. Ben and Gwen instinctively stood guard, blocking the security cameras. Tyler dialed the newly unlocked Sludgepuppy DNA, but as the red light flared, he felt the "Killing Intent" of the watch shudder through his bones.
SLAM.
"Blood... so much blood!" Ben gasped, covering his mouth.
From the shadows emerged a tall, shimmering horror. Unlike the mud-like Lenopans they had fought before, this creature was composed of a viscous, deep-red fluid that smelled of a fresh battlefield. It didn't have a face—just a jagged maw of fangs that seemed to be made of the same material as the watch itself.
"In your hands, it was a mud monster," Tyler's voice gargled through the liquid. "In mine... it's The Blood Demon."
Tyler strode toward the punks. Every step left a wet, crimson footprint that vanished as the fluid crawled back to his body.
"AHHHH! MONSTER!"
"GOD SAVE ME!"
The arcade erupted in screams. People scrambled under air hockey tables, sobbing in terror. The punks, however, were so focused on bullying Kevin that they didn't look up until the air grew cold and metallic.
"Hahaha! Look at these cowards, Kevin! They're screaming just because we're being 'heroic'!" the punk leader laughed, oblivious.
Kevin, however, was staring past them. His lips trembled, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor in a state of shock.
"Kneeling now?" the leader sneered, placing a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "Too late for mercy!"
SPLAT.
A cold, wet, heavy hand landed on the leader's shoulder.
"Who the hell is touching me? Did you piss on your hands?" the leader growled, turning around.
He came face-to-face with a nightmare. A visage of swirling red gore, teeth bared, eyes glowing with a predatory red light. Around him, his lackeys had already fainted, their brains simply shutting down from the sheer visual trauma.
"Let. The boy. Go." Tyler enunciated, the blood on his face rippling.
The leader's eyes went vacant. Driven by pure survival instinct, he swung a haymaker at Tyler's chest. The punch didn't land—it sank. His arm plunged into the viscous red mass of Tyler's torso as if it were a quagmire.
With a casual flick, Tyler sent the leader flying ten meters across the arcade, crashing into a row of claw machines. The punk foamed at the mouth, out cold before he hit the ground.
"You had guts to swing," Tyler muttered, pulling his liquid form back together. "Stupid, but gutsy."
He turned his attention to Kevin. The boy was still on the floor, but as Tyler watched, Kevin didn't crawl away. He scrambled toward Tyler, his eyes filled with a terrifying, desperate hunger for the power he was seeing.