[WOULD YOU LIKE TO AWAKEN DEFEATED ENEMY AND CONVERT TO HOLLOW?]
[Y/N]
Kaine stared at the floating text, Soulrend still buried in Marcus's chest.
"What the fuck is a Hollow?"
He waited for an answer, but the system remained silent. The notification just hung there in the air, pulsing gently like it was waiting for a response.
"Hello? System? Care to explain what I'm supposed to be doing here?"
Still nothing.
Kaine sighed and pulled Soulrend free from Marcus's corpse. Black blood pooled around the body.
"Look, I don't know what game you think we're playing here, but—"
[TUTORIAL OVERRIDE INITIATED]
[USER REQUIRES IMMEDIATE EDUCATION]
[BEGINNING BASIC ORIENTATION...]
New text began scrolling across his vision in rapid succession:
[RACE: LICH]
[You are an undead being of immense power. Unlike common undead, you retain your intelligence, personality, and memories while gaining supernatural abilities. Liches are masters of death magic and command over lesser undead creatures.]
[CLASS: GRAVE KNIGHT]
[A warrior-necromancer hybrid specializing in close combat and undead leadership. Grave Knights excel at both personal combat and commanding armies of the risen dead. You combine martial prowess with necromantic mastery.]
[MORTAL ESSENCE (ME)]
[The life force released when living creatures die. You can absorb this energy to fuel your abilities, enhance your power, and create undead servants. Current: 75/100]
[HOLLOWS]
[Undead servants created from defeated enemies. Unlike mindless zombies, Hollows retain combat instincts and tactical awareness while remaining completely loyal to their creator. They come in various types depending on the source material and ME investment.]
[HOLLOW CREATION PROCESS]
[Select a corpse and invest Mortal Essence to begin the awakening ritual. More ME investment creates stronger, more intelligent servants. Minimum investment: 50 ME. Recommended investment: 60+ ME for optimal results.]
"Well, that's comprehensive," Kaine muttered, processing the information dump. "So I'm a Lich now. That's... not what I expected when I woke up this morning."
The implications were staggering. He wasn't just stronger and faster—he was functionally immortal and capable of raising armies from his enemies' corpses. Marcus had tried to create a servant but had somehow produced something far more dangerous.
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO AWAKEN DEFEATED ENEMY AND CONVERT TO HOLLOW?]
[COST: 50-80 ME (RECOMMENDED: 60 ME)]
[CURRENT ME: 75/100]
[Y/N]
Kaine looked down at Marcus's body, then at the floating essence still hovering above it. The vampire had been strong, experienced, and ruthless. If he could turn that strength to his own purposes...
"Sixty ME," he said aloud. "Do it."
[CONFIRMED: INVESTING 60 ME INTO HOLLOW CREATION]
[BEGINNING AWAKENING RITUAL...]
Dark energy began pouring from Kaine's body like smoke, flowing down his arms and pooling around Marcus's corpse. The shadows in the room deepened, and the temperature dropped noticeably as necromantic power filled the air.
[RITUAL PROGRESS: 10%]
[BINDING SOUL TO CORPSE...]
[RITUAL PROGRESS: 25%]
[INSTALLING LOYALTY PROTOCOLS...]
[RITUAL PROGRESS: 40%]
[ENHANCING PHYSICAL CAPABILITIES...]
Marcus's body began to change. His skin took on a grayish pallor, and dark veins became visible beneath the surface. His muscles seemed to swell slightly, becoming more defined and dense.
[RITUAL PROGRESS: 60%]
[AWAKENING MOTOR FUNCTIONS...]
[RITUAL PROGRESS: 80%]
[FINALIZING NEURAL PATHWAYS...]
[RITUAL PROGRESS: 95%]
[INTEGRATION COMPLETE]
The dark aura dissipated, leaving the chamber feeling normal again. Marcus's body lay still on the stone floor, looking like a corpse that had been dead for days rather than minutes.
[HOLLOW CREATION SUCCESSFUL]
[DETERMINING HOLLOW VARIANT...]
[ANALYZING SOURCE MATERIAL...]
[SUBJECT: Second Generation Vampire]
[COMBAT EXPERIENCE: Extensive]
[SUPERNATURAL ABILITIES: Moderate]
[LOADING...]
[...]
[...]
[VARIANT DETERMINED: GHOUL]
Marcus's eyes snapped open.
But they weren't the red orbs Kaine remembered. Instead, they glowed with a pale, cold light—like moonlight reflected off ice. The vampire's features were sharper now, more predatory, but there was something different in his expression. The arrogance was gone, replaced by an empty, waiting attention.
Marcus sat up smoothly, his movements fluid but somehow mechanical. When he looked at Kaine, there was recognition in those pale eyes—but also something else. Submission. Absolute, unquestioning loyalty.
"Master," Marcus said, his voice carrying the same cultured tones as before but with an underlying hollowness that made the word sound like wind through a cemetery.
Kaine stared at his first Hollow, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and unease. The thing that had killed him was now kneeling at his feet, waiting for orders.
"Well," he said, wiping black blood from Soulrend's blade, "this is going to be interesting."
----
Meanwhile, somewhere else in the city, life continued on.
The Shadowguard headquarters occupied the top three floors of a building that had seen better decades.
What used to be prime downtown real estate now sat in the shadow of newer skyscrapers, its art deco facade weathered by years of budget cuts and bureaucratic neglect.
Colonel Marcus Steele's office reflected the organization's declining fortunes. The carpet was worn thin in places, revealing patches of concrete underneath.
Water stains mapped territories across the ceiling tiles like countries on a forgotten continent.
The windows were bulletproof but hadn't been cleaned in months, giving the city view a perpetual haze of grime and disappointment.
But Steele had made the space his own in the ways that mattered. Military commendations covered one wall—Bronze Star, Silver Star, Purple Heart from his Army days before the Shadowguard existed.
A liquor cabinet sat in the corner, stocked with bourbon that cost more than most of his soldiers made in a month.
A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, sending thin streams of smoke toward the stained ceiling.
The afternoon reports spread across his desk painted the usual picture: vampire activity up fifteen percent from last month, recruitment down twenty percent, and funding requests denied for the fourth consecutive quarter.
The city council promised to "review allocation priorities" while bodies kept piling up in the morgue.
'Fucking politicians,' he thought, taking a long drag from his cigarette. 'They want the monsters gone but won't pay for the exterminators.'
"Sir?" The voice through the intercom belonged to his secretary, though it sounded tinny and distant through the ancient equipment.
He let the silence stretch long enough to make his displeasure clear. Another beep came in and this was more insistent this time.
"What?" Steele's voice came out as a growl around his cigarette.
"I need to speak with you, sir. It's urgent."
'Everything's always urgent around here. Fire emergency, vampire emergency, budget emergency.' He considered telling her to handle whatever crisis had emerged in the last ten minutes, but urgent usually meant bodies, and bodies meant paperwork he couldn't delegate.
"Fine. Come in."
The door opened with the squeak of hinges that probably hadn't seen oil since the Carter administration. Margaret Clover stepped into the office with the look of someone who'd learned to navigate around a superior's bad moods.
She was in her early thirties, impeccably dressed despite the organization's shoestring budget. Her navy blue suit was tailored perfectly, not a thread out of place despite the chaos that defined daily operations at Shadowguard.
And as usual, she had the first three buttons of her coat loose, displaying ample cleavages with her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that somehow managed to look professional rather than harsh.
Margaret had been Steele's secretary for three years, long enough to read his moods and short enough to still occasionally hope things might improve.
Her efficiency was legendary among the rank and file—she could coordinate tactical deployments, manage supply requests, and schedule meetings with equal skill.
Some of the younger recruits swore she was psychic, the way she always seemed to know what information they needed before they asked for it.
"Sir, we have simultaneous incidents," she said without preamble, setting a manila folder on his desk. "Two separate Bloodsucker attacks, both currently in progress."
Steele leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. 'Of course. Because one clusterfuck at a time would be too easy.'
"Where?"
"First incident is in the financial district. High-end restaurant, approximately fifteen civilians trapped inside with at least three confirmed hostiles." Margaret opened the folder and pulled out a photograph showing aerial view of the area. "Multiple emergency calls, local police have established a perimeter but are waiting for our response."
"And the second?"
"Warehouse district. Looks like a nest got disturbed, possibly four to six vampires loose in a three-block radius." Another photograph, this one showing industrial buildings and narrow alleys perfect for urban warfare. "First responders found bodies, but the hostiles are still active."
Steele studied both photographs while his cigarette burned down between his fingers. The financial district meant media attention, political pressure, and very angry rich people demanding answers.
The warehouse district meant dead-end streets, abandoned buildings, and the kind of environment where vampires thrived.
His mind worked through the tactical implications with the cold calculation of someone who'd been making life-and-death decisions for two decades.
The restaurant situation would be contained, visible, and over quickly one way or another. The warehouse situation could drag on for hours, maybe days if the bloodsuckers had established a proper stronghold.
"How many teams do we have available?" he asked.
"Seven full squads, plus three partial teams still recovering from last week's operations." Margaret consulted her tablet, fingers moving across the screen with practiced ease. "We also have twelve new recruits who finished basic training yesterday."
'Twelve kids who barely know which end of a stake to hold, versus experienced vampires who've been killing humans since before these recruits were born.'
The wheels in Steele's head turned with the smoothness of a machine built for one purpose: maximizing advantage from limited resources.
The financial district incident would generate headlines, congressional inquiries, and budget hearings if it went wrong. But it was also the kind of straightforward tactical situation his experienced teams could handle.
The warehouse district was different. Urban combat against multiple hostiles in their preferred environment, with plenty of places to hide and multiple escape routes. It was exactly the kind of situation that ate rookie teams alive.
"Send Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie squads to the financial district," he said, crushing his cigarette in an ashtray already overflowing with butts. "Full tactical support, heavy weapons authorization."
Margaret made notes on her tablet, nodding. "And the warehouse district?"
"Delta squad and the new recruits."
Her stylus stopped moving. Margaret looked up from her tablet with an expression of carefully controlled confusion.
"Sir? The new recruits haven't had any field experience. Delta squad is only four people after Jackson got hospitalized last month." Her voice remained professional, but there was a question underneath that she was too well-trained to ask directly.
'Good. She's thinking.' Steele appreciated staff who could spot potential problems, even if they couldn't always understand the bigger picture.
"That's correct."
"Sir, I want to make sure I understand the deployment correctly." Margaret's training kept her tone neutral, but her fingers gripped the tablet a little tighter. "You want to send our three most experienced teams to handle three vampires in a contained space, while sending one understrength squad and twelve untrained recruits against four to six hostiles in an urban warfare environment?"
The question hung in the air like smoke from his cigarette. Steele let it sit there while he lit another one, taking his time with the ritual of flame and tobacco.
Margaret waited with the patience of someone who'd learned not to interrupt her superior's thinking process.
"That's exactly what I said."
"Sir, may I ask—"
"Are you questioning my tactical assessment, Secretary Clover?"
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Margaret had heard that tone before, usually right before someone got transferred to overnight desk duty or found themselves assigned to guard duty at the city morgue. She straightened in her chair, training overriding her instincts.
"No sir. I'll issue the deployment orders immediately."
"See that you do."
Margaret gathered her papers and tablet, moving with the crisp efficiency of someone who knew when a conversation was over. She reached the door before pausing, hand on the handle.
"The orders will go out within five minutes, sir."
The door closed behind her with the same squeak it had opened with, leaving Steele alone with his thoughts and the city view through dirty windows.
'She's smart enough to see the problem, but not smart enough to see the solution.'
The truth was uglier than tactical considerations or resource allocation. For the past eighteen months, every budget request had been denied, every appeal for additional funding had been ignored, and every meeting with city officials had ended with promises that never materialized into actual support.
The Shadowguard was dying a slow death by financial starvation, and nobody in city hall gave a damn as long as the body count stayed manageable.
But manageable was a relative term. Fifteen dead civilians in a high-profile restaurant would generate media coverage that lasted weeks.
Congressional hearings, budget reviews, and very uncomfortable questions about why the city's premier supernatural response team couldn't handle three vampires in a contained space.
Twenty dead rookies in the warehouse district would generate a very different kind of coverage. Tragic loss of brave young soldiers, underequipped and outgunned by savage monsters.
The kind of story that made politicians reach for checkbooks and budget committees approve emergency funding.
'Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win a war.'
The warehouse district deployment would be a massacre. Steele knew it, Margaret suspected it, and anyone with two brain cells and basic tactical knowledge could see it coming.
But those twelve recruits were already dead the moment they signed up for a job that paid shit wages to fight impossible odds with obsolete equipment.
At least this way, their deaths would serve a purpose.
Another beep from the intercom interrupted his planning. Steele checked his watch—Margaret worked fast, but not that fast. This was someone else, someone who probably already knew about the deployment orders.
"What?"
"Sir, it's Major Gwen. I need to speak with you."
'Of course. The bleeding heart cavalry arrives right on schedule.'
Major Patricia Gwen was everything the Shadowguard was supposed to be: dedicated, competent, and stupid enough to care more about her soldiers than her career prospects.
She'd been with the organization for eight years, worked her way up from grunt infantry to squad leader to her current position through sheer talent and an annoying tendency to bring her people home alive.
She was also becoming a problem.
"Come in."
The door opened to admit a woman who looked like she'd been designed specifically to kill vampires. Five-foot-eight with the kind of lean muscle that came from years of combat training and fieldwork. Short auburn hair that never quite looked regulation but somehow worked on her. Green eyes that missed nothing and forgave less.
Major Gwen wore the standard Shadowguard combat uniform—black tactical pants, kevlar vest over a dark gray shirt, combat boots that had seen serious use. But it was the weapon strapped across her back that really defined her presence in any room.
The blade was almost as tall as she was, a six-foot length of folded steel that looked like it had been forged in hell and tempered in vampire blood.
Unlike the decorative scythe that hunter Cross carried around town, Nightfall was pure function over form. Every line of the blade was designed for one purpose: separating vampire heads from vampire shoulders as efficiently as possible.
"Sir." Gwen stopped three feet from his desk and snapped off a perfect salute. "I've received the deployment orders."
"Then you know what you need to know."
"Sir, I'm requesting clarification on the warehouse district assignment." Her voice carried the kind of carefully controlled tension that came from someone trying very hard not to say what they were really thinking.
Steele leaned back in his chair and studied Major Gwen with the expression of a man who'd had this conversation before.
She stood at attention, but he could see the argument building behind her eyes like storm clouds on the horizon.
"Are you questioning my tactical assessment, Major?"
"Sir, I'm questioning the wisdom of sending untrained personnel into a hostile environment without adequate support." Gwen's training kept her voice level, but there was steel underneath that matched her weapon. "Those recruits finished basic yesterday. They've never faced live hostiles."
"Everyone has a first time."
"Sir, with respect, this isn't a first-time situation. Intelligence reports suggest we're dealing with an established nest, possibly including higher-generation vampires." She pulled a tablet from her belt and consulted the screen. "The kind of hostiles that eat experienced teams for breakfast."
Steele lit another cigarette, letting the silence stretch while smoke curled toward the ceiling.
"The deployment stands."
"Sir, those recruits have potential, but they're not ready for this level of engagement. They need experienced leadership, proper backup, and—"
"They need field experience." Steele's voice carried the kind of finality that ended conversations. "Everyone who's ever survived their first vampire encounter was a rookie once."
"Not everyone survives their first vampire encounter, sir. That's exactly my point." Gwen stepped closer to the desk, her professional composure starting to crack. "We can't afford to lose twelve people in one operation. Recruitment is already down twenty percent from last year because word is getting out about our casualty rates."
The major was right about recruitment. Young people weren't stupid—they could do basic math on survival rates and starting salaries.
Why risk getting drained by a vampire when you could make more money working security at a shopping mall?
But that was exactly why the warehouse deployment had to happen.
"Major Gwen." Steele's voice dropped to the tone he'd used to motivate soldiers in three different war zones. "I just issued a direct order. Are you planning to follow it, or do we need to discuss the consequences of insubordination?"
The question hung between them like a blade balanced on its edge. Major Gwen's hand drifted unconsciously toward the grip of Nightfall, then stopped as she realized what she was doing.
Every soldier in the Shadowguard knew what happened to people who defied Colonel Steele's orders. Some got transferred to desk duty. Some got assigned to solo patrol shifts in the worst parts of the city. And some just disappeared from the duty roster entirely, with official explanations that satisfied nobody and convinced everyone.
"Sir." Gwen's salute was sharp enough to cut glass. "Orders understood and acknowledged."
"Dismissed."
She turned and walked toward the door with the controlled precision of someone who was working very hard not to slam it behind her. The weapon across her back caught the afternoon light, its polished steel surface reflecting the room like a dark mirror.
The door closed with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than a slam would have.
'Gwen's a problem. Too smart, too moral, and too popular with the rank and file.'
She reminded him of other officers he'd known over the years. Good soldiers who couldn't see the bigger picture, who worried more about individual casualties than strategic objectives. People who thought warfare was about saving lives instead of winning wars.
Most of them were dead now. Occupational hazard of the bleeding heart mentality.
If she wasn't one of his most effective field commanders, he'd have dealt with Major Patricia Gwen the same way he'd dealt with others who'd questioned his methods. The same way he'd dealt with people like—
Steele stopped that train of thought before it could reach its destination.
Some memories were better left buried, especially the ones that involved shallow graves and official reports that didn't quite match reality.
He smiled around his cigarette and took another long drag. The warehouse district operation would solve multiple problems at once.
Dead recruits meant increased funding, and increased funding meant more resources for the people who mattered.
As for Major Gwen and her inconvenient conscience, well. Everyone had accidents eventually in this line of work. Even the most experienced soldiers sometimes didn't come home from routine operations.
The cigarette burned down between his fingers while Colonel Marcus Steele sat in his office, planning futures that some people wouldn't live to see.