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The syringe was fully depressed, then withdrawn. Black Super stepped back a few paces to observe the vampire's overall condition.
The unfortunate subject, injected with erythropoietin, began convulsing uncontrollably. Through Black Super's X-ray vision, he could see the shattered cervical vertebrae rapidly reconstructing themselves—but the muscles in the lower body were shriveling, as if losing moisture.
The iron chains binding the vampire rattled violently, as if he were trying to break free. Blade and Abraham Whistler, standing on either side, tensed up and focused.
Suddenly—snap!—a crisp sound rang out as the chains binding the upper body broke!
With both hands pressing against the workbench, the vampire tried to rise, glaring viciously at the living.
His mouth was stuffed with a filthy sock, so the intense heat building inside his body could only escape through his nostrils—two streams of white vapor hissing out.
It looked like something straight out of a horror film—but the ones standing by weren't reckless college kids. They were seasoned vampire hunters.
Whistler racked his shotgun and fired repeatedly. At the same time, Blade drove his sword straight through the vampire's body. Before the creature could fully break free, they finished it off completely.
Silver bullets blasted through him. A silver blade pierced his core. Even a vampire that fierce couldn't survive such lethal damage.
High heat ignited from within, incinerating every inch of flesh and hair.
Black Super also noticed that the tissue samples he had previously taken from the vampire were burned away as well.
It was absolute death—nothing of the vampire remained in this world.
At that moment, Black Super asked a question he'd long been curious about:
"If you kill one like this, what happens to the bloodline he's turned? Do they die too?"
Whistler used his gun barrel to stir the ashes on the workbench and replied:
"I wish. Kill one vampire and wipe out an entire lineage in one go. Unfortunately… that's not how it works."
"What a pity," Black Super said.
"Now my turn," Whistler continued. "What the hell just happened to him?"
Shaking the test tube containing the remaining erythropoietin, Black Super explained:
"Erythropoietin increases red blood cell production, which boosts oxygen transport and indirectly enhances muscle endurance.
"That makes it a banned substance in sports competitions. And what I injected was a high-dose version—into something that isn't exactly human. So the result was… unexpected."
Whistler raised a brow. "So you're saying it's basically a performance enhancer?"
"You could put it that way."
"And it'd have the same effect on Blade?"
"Most likely."
Seeing the excitement light up their eyes, Black Super immediately poured cold water on them:
"Don't get any ideas about using it as some kind of enhancement drug. In my opinion, it has serious drawbacks."
"What drawbacks?" Whistler asked.
Black Super replied:
"Did you notice that he could move again only after his neck healed? That rapid regeneration required energy—and that energy came from his own body.
"If you paid attention, his pant legs had collapsed inward before he died. I suspect his legs had undergone severe atrophy.
"I don't know whether the rumors are true—that vampires can rapidly recover from injuries by drinking human blood.
"But clearly, this drug enabled rapid healing without supplying energy. So he consumed himself. That's the only explanation for how he went from paralysis to mobility so quickly."
The two hunters exchanged a glance. Blade spoke:
"That rumor is true. As long as they aren't burned to death, drinking blood can heal almost any injury."
Holding the remaining erythropoietin, Whistler sighed:
"Still, even if it's not a proper healing drug, a temporary life-saving stimulant like this is pretty damn useful."
Black Super could tell—they were already thinking about extra uses, not just treating Blade's bloodthirst.
But once he handed over the formula, how they used it wasn't his concern.
Even ordinary people rarely follow advice given "for their own good." Whether they misuse it and get themselves killed—that's on them.
Still, when it came to his field, Black Super maintained professional standards.
He rummaged through Whistler's pile of junk, finding usable parts to assemble makeshift delivery devices.
As he worked, he said:
"Anyway, I've developed what Blade needs—a suppressant for bloodthirst. As for how to use it—spray, injection, tablets, or powder—it probably doesn't matter much to you.
"So I made the reducing agent into an inhaler, like an asthma spray. The erythropoietin will use a needle-free injector. Both can be used quickly in emergencies.
"If you want improvements later, let me know. Standard liquid injections will also be available. As for dosage—that's for Blade to figure out himself.
"But don't assume more is better. The reducing agent works by restoring your blood to a normal state. Once that's done, taking more won't do anything.
"The same goes for erythropoietin. Bone marrow has a limit. Anything beyond that just gets flushed out in urine.
"I've calculated recommended dosages based on Blade's body size and weight. How you use it—that's up to you. I won't interfere."
By the time he finished speaking, he had assembled a simple spray system and a needle-free injector similar to those used by diabetic patients.
With everything done, he clapped his hands and stood up.
"That's it. The rest is up to you. I've left all samples and research data here. The production process is fully documented."
As for researching vampire immortality—Black Super dropped it entirely.
Under a yellow sun, Kryptonians didn't need it. And even if he couldn't live forever, he had no interest in dragging out existence for eternity.
"Thanks, man," Blade said—a rare expression of gratitude.
Black Super shrugged. "Kill more vampires. That's thanks enough."
He meant it.
Since the vampires had declared war in secret, disturbances from the dark world had actually decreased.
Clearly, "letting the hound loose" was an effective strategy.
And Blade—the hound he'd funded and supported—was doing exactly what he was meant to do.
"That, I'm good at," Blade grinned, flashing white teeth.
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