Episode 2: Crimson Dorms – "The First Crew Mission"
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Cold Open
The party from Jacob's initiation hadn't stopped—at Infinity College, it never did. Every corner of the dorms reeked of blood, sweat, and lust. Some students were still sprawled across couches, tangled in each other's limbs, glowing faintly from power exchanges that doubled as sex. Others sparred in hallways, blades and claws tearing open flesh, only for healing factors to stitch them back together within minutes.
Jacob sat alone on the cracked stone steps outside, letting the last threads of drunken adrenaline fade. His trench coat, still stained with his first kill's blood, clung to him like a second skin. His air blade flickered faintly, retracting and extending from his arm every time he thought about it.
He wasn't human anymore. And he hadn't decided if that terrified him—or thrilled him.
"Freshman."
Jacob turned. A tall figure leaned against the wall, cigarette glowing faintly in his lips. He wore a black duster coat with a fraternity crest stitched into the chest: A blood-red wolf's head devouring a crescent moon. His eyes burned bright gold.
"You belong to no crew yet. That's a problem. Nobody survives solo." He flicked the cigarette into the dirt. "Name's Kain. Captain of the Wolf Fangs. We've got a mission. You're coming."
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Act 1 – Recruitment
Jacob stood, cracking his neck. "And if I don't?"
Kain grinned, showing fangs. "Then you'll be hunted down as free prey. No crew, no protection. And trust me—some frat will rape your corpse for trophies before you hit Prestige Two."
The air grew cold. Jacob's blade slid halfway out without him thinking.
Kain didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, tapping Jacob's chest. "You're an assassin vampire. That makes you valuable. Cold, efficient killers are rare in the grind. And the way you handled that serpent girl last night? Brutal. Messy. You'll fit in fine."
Jacob exhaled slowly. He didn't like being cornered, but he hated being vulnerable even more. "Fine. What's the mission?"
Kain's grin widened.
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Act 2 – Mission Briefing
The Wolf Fangs' dorm wasn't a dorm at all. It looked like an abandoned cathedral, walls covered in graffiti sigils, stained glass glowing with runes. Inside, the "crew" lounged around wooden pews and sacrificial altars. Some were sharpening weapons. Others were entangled with succubi, bodies twitching from both pleasure and drained energy.
At the altar, a bulletin burned with a new slip:
Mission Slip:
Infiltrate rival fraternity "The Crimson Masks."
Objective: Assassinate Vice-Captain Elira.
Reward: 1,000 EXP.
Kain plucked the slip free and slapped it against Jacob's chest. "You'll handle the kill. We'll cover extraction."
Jacob scowled. "Another assassination? That's all I'm good for to you?"
"That's all you are," Kain shot back. "An assassin vampire with a demon blade for an arm. Stop pretending you're a student. You're a weapon. So kill like one."
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Act 3 – The Crimson Masks
The mission began at nightfall. The Wolf Fangs moved as a pack across the ruined city-campus. Infinity College was sprawling—each faction controlled whole blocks of dormitories, lecture halls, and nightclubs, turning the campus into a war zone disguised as academia.
The Crimson Masks' territory was unmistakable. Their frat house was a massive theater, velvet curtains shredded and dripping blood, masks nailed to the doors like trophies. Inside, the party thundered. Music. Screams. Seduction.
Kain whispered, "Masks always mix sex and death. Don't get distracted. Find Elira."
Jacob's eyes scanned the room. Everywhere he looked, bodies writhed in shadows. Couples disappeared behind curtains only to reappear drenched in blood. Dancers with porcelain masks dragged partners into orgiastic piles, moans overlapping with blades slicing flesh.
And then Jacob saw her.
Elira.
Tall, raven-haired, porcelain mask cracked across her cheek. She stood on the stage, commanding the room with her presence. Her dress clung to her curves like liquid shadow. She was laughing while holding a dagger to some lover's throat, kissing him hard enough to draw blood.
Jacob's blade itched.
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Act 4 – Assassin's Seduction
To reach her, Jacob had to move through the crowd. But the Masks didn't allow strangers to approach leaders easily. Hands grabbed at him—clawed, clawless, human, scaled—pulling him into dances, kisses, drinks. A succubus pressed her lips to his neck, whispering, "Stay. Forget the mission. Let me drain you until morning."
Jacob shoved her away, his fangs flashing. But the temptation burned. The air was thick with lust, designed to distract. He could feel his body responding against his will, fangs aching, senses blurring.
That's when he realized: this was part of the test. To kill here, he had to move through desire without drowning in it.
Jacob focused on the blade. The hum of air steadied him. Each step forward was a refusal—against temptation, against distraction. He reached the stage.
Elira turned her gaze to him. Her lips curved into a wicked smile.
"Well, well. A new face." Her voice was silk and poison. "Come closer. Dance with me."
Jacob stepped onto the stage. The crowd roared.
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Act 5 – The Kill
Elira pressed against him, mask scraping his cheek as her hands slid over his body. "You smell like blood. Like betrayal. Who sent you?"
Jacob didn't answer. Instead, his arm snapped forward, the blade erupting from his elbow straight into her ribs.
She gasped, eyes widening. For a heartbeat, silence. Then chaos.
Elira's blood sprayed across the stage as she collapsed, clawing at him. The crowd erupted into screams—half cheering, half attacking. Masked hunters surged forward, blades flashing.
Jacob yanked his blade free, spinning, cutting down the first attacker with a slash that split him from shoulder to hip. Blood painted the curtains. Another lunged—Jacob ducked, drove his blade up through the jaw, ripping skull from spine.
The Wolf Fangs charged in, tearing through the Masks with claws and fire. Kain grabbed Jacob's shoulder, snarling, "Move! We've got the kill. Extraction, now!"
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Act 6 – Extraction
They stormed out the back of the theater, bodies piling behind them. The Masks pursued, chanting, masks glowing with crimson light.
Kain barked, "Cover him!"
Jacob spun, raising his blade. Air pressure exploded outward, a shockwave blasting the first wave of pursuers back. Their masks shattered, blood streaming down their faces.
But more came. Always more.
Jacob felt it again—the whisper in his head. The same one from the night of his bite. "More. Kill more. Feed the blade."
His vision darkened at the edges. He charged back into the crowd, blade flashing, body moving faster than thought. He cut them down in brutal silence—slashes across throats, stabs through hearts, limbs severed mid-scream. Blood drenched him, dripping down his trench coat.
When the last fell, Jacob stood panting, the blade retracting with a hiss. The Wolf Fangs stared. Even Kain looked unsettled.
"You're not just an assassin," he muttered. "You're a monster."
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Act 7 – The Aftermath
Back at the cathedral dorm, the mission slip burned away. Jacob's HUD flickered:
Jacob – Level 5
EXP: 0 / 1000
Prestige: 0
The crew drank, fucked, and celebrated the success. But Jacob sat alone on a pew, staring at his blood-soaked hands. His fangs still ached. His blade still hummed.
He wasn't just killing anymore. He was enjoying it.
Kain approached, dropping a bottle of liquor into Jacob's lap. "You did good, freshman. Brutal. Efficient. The kind of killer we need." He leaned closer. "But watch yourself. This place feeds on lust and betrayal. The more you enjoy it, the more it'll consume you. And one day—someone will put a slip on that board with your name on it."
Jacob said nothing. He just drank, letting the burn slide down his throat. His reflection in the liquor bottle showed his storm-gray eyes swirling darker, hungrier.
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Closing Scene
Later that night, Jacob wandered alone through the cathedral's courtyard. Screams and laughter echoed inside, but he wanted silence. His blade flickered out of his arm, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
He whispered, "Level five. Still just the beginning."
In the shadows, a figure watched. Not Kain. Not a Mask. Someone else entirely—eyes glowing faint blue, smile sharp as razors.
"Fresh blood," the figure murmured. "Let's see how long you last before betrayal tears you apart."
The grind had only begun.