Mike witnessed Night Werewolf tearing a Vampire apart with his bare hands. The scene was beyond bloody.
There were dismembered limbs and colorful internal organs everywhere.
One thing was strange: these dead Vampires did not immediately turn to ash.
"He left someone alive," Mike observed. He noticed that while Night Werewolf was angry, his eyes were clear, indicating his reason hadn't been completely eroded by bestiality—which was quite remarkable.
The Vampire cornered in the corner was the sole survivor, and he was scared witless.
Literally.
A puddle of yellow Water flowed from his crotch.
It was the first time Mike realized that Vampires could also excrete.
Strange knowledge increased.
When you think of Vampires as mysterious, elegant, and noble, imagine Dracula constipated, grimacing on the toilet, and you probably won't feel any inexplicable reverence. This also applies to your male or female idols. Idols, as creatures, are best suited to exist in fantasy. If you still adore your idol even after realizing they eat, drink, and excrete, you've likely been beaten by society and matured.
Of course, Mike didn't know if Dracula ever got constipated, but he'd ask him directly if he got the chance.
Blade asked the terrified Vampire, "Where is Dracula?"
The Vampire shook his head frantically.
"You won't talk?!" Blade's gaze sharpened, and he was about to draw his Blade to send him on his way.
Mike silently pulled Blade back.
"How could a small fry like him know Dracula's whereabouts?" Mike then turned to the small-fry Vampire, "Right? Nod if it's right. Calm down, okay? Inhale~ Exhale~, feeling better?"
The Vampire nodded frantically, then took a deep breath.
Mike said, "As you can see, my friend here is a bit temperamental, so it's best to tell us everything you know, otherwise your comrades' fate..."
Mike stepped aside, revealing the bloody scene to the small fry again.
The small fry's legs twitched, almost scaring him into a prostate explosion. He bravely said, "Unless you let me go, I won't say a word."
"Alright. Does he know who he is?" Mike considered for a while, pointing at Blade.
"Yes, Blade."
"Knowing his reputation makes things easier. Swear on his credibility."
Only then did the small fry spill everything he knew.
It turned out that this warehouse was managed by a human Police detective named Martin and an Asian Vampire named Viag, a subordinate of Danica Carlos.
The small fry was often responsible for "delivering meals" to important figures and knew there was a high-security building in the city center where important figures frequently appeared.
"Oh, thank you," Mike smiled.
"Can I go now?" the small fry asked cautiously.
"I have no objection," Mike said.
The small fry was about to get up.
A black muzzle was pointed at his head.
Blade made his move.
"You said you wouldn't kill me!" the small fry shouted.
"That's right, I'm not killing you, and I have no objection if you want to leave," Mike smiled.
"I do object!" Blade grinned, revealing his White, stark teeth.
"He swore on your credibility," the small fry was still struggling.
"Heh heh, unfortunately, I never keep my word with Vampires. If there had to be a number, it would definitely be negative," Blade pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit the small fry between the eyebrows. His last thought was: "A bunch of liars!"
Heh heh, the tenth rule of the Rotten Country's elementary school students: "Bad people can be deceived."
Something even elementary school students know, does it still need to be highlighted?
Outside, Police sirens blared.
Blade asked Mike, "Did you call the Police?"
Mike shook his head, "How could I? I'm not crazy."
Morbius raised his hand, "I think I triggered an alarm when I opened the door."
Blade: "...You didn't say that earlier."
Mike clapped his hands, "The one coming must be that Ghoul Clan member named Martin. We can just deal with him now and save ourselves another trip later."
The small fry had revealed quite a few Ghoul Clan members: millionaires, Police detectives, lawyers, reporters, Professors, celebrities, politicians... all social elites. These people, when united, could easily manipulate the common people and cover up anything.
Blade said, "That's true, but Martin is Ghoul Clan. His subordinates might not be, so try to be merciful."
Mike liked the word "try." If a Holy Mother had been here, she would have used words like "must" or "definitely."
Damn it, the Police outside were also armed, alright.
Mike agreed.
Morbius and Night Werewolf also had no objections.
Blade suddenly remembered, "You thought about it for quite a while just now. You weren't really considering letting that Vampire go, were you?"
Mike laughed, "How could I? I'm an ADC. It's normal to be a bit cautious when giving away kills, alright."
Blade: "...Although I don't understand what you're saying, I'm sure you're talking nonsense. Alright, go!"
As soon as he finished speaking, Night Werewolf charged ahead, and Morbius stepped back, melting into the Darkness.
Outside, chaos quickly erupted.
Mike casually knocked out a rookie Police officer, only to find there were no more kills left to pick up.
Among Blade, Night Werewolf, and Morbius, Morbius was the most efficient. He was elusive in the Shadow and very knowledgeable about human anatomy—being a biochemist, it was normal. Every time he appeared, at least one person fell.
Night Werewolf, who was at the forefront, attracted most of the Firepower. However, ordinary bullets could not penetrate his thick fur and tough skin.
Blade pointed his gun at Martin.
Martin was a bald Black man, impeccably dressed and neat, looking like the kind of leader who sat in an office rather than charging into the front lines.
If the Vampire factory hadn't been related to whether he could join the noble Bloodline in the future, Martin would never have come in person. He hadn't expected to fail so spectacularly.
Martin forced himself to remain calm, "Who are you people? Assaulting a Police officer is a federal felony..."
Mike rolled up Martin's sleeve, revealing the Ghoul Clan tattoo, "Stop acting, okay? Your acting is too awkward, it has no soul."
Martin fell silent, "I won't say anything. If I do, I'll be dead. You simply cannot imagine how terrifying that existence is; no one can stop him."
"Pfft!" Mike couldn't help but laugh.
A captured frog in a well.
"Oh," Blade simply shot Martin in the stomach.
Mike asked, "...Why did you suddenly shoot?"
Blade: "He said he wouldn't say anything."
Mike: "That's just bravado. As villains, being stubborn is their style. It's just a dead duck with a hard beak. Also, if you're going to kill someone, can you at least hit a vital spot? The heart, the head... Finish him off, consider it a good deed."
Martin quickly raised his hands, indicating he would tell everything he knew. The shot hadn't hit any vital organs, so he could still be saved.
Mike: "Heh heh."
So afraid of death that he became a dog for Vampires, how stubborn could such a person's mouth be? Mike, at least, found it a huge joke.
Sure enough, with him and Blade playing off each other, they quickly got Martin to spill a lot.
Mike noted down over twenty names, all Ghoul Clan members Martin had confessed, all high-ranking officials in the New York Police Department.
"That many?" Blade's expression changed. The New York Police Department was practically run by Vampires.
Mike tapped the paper and said, "You can't trust these bureaucrats. Out of twenty-something, maybe ten are Ghoul Clan, and the rest are probably Martin's rivals or stumbling blocks on his path to promotion. Don't underestimate the shamelessness of bureaucrats and politicians; they've made eliminating opponents an instinct."
Martin's face changed.
Mike knew he had guessed correctly. He smiled coldly, "You're too clever for your own good, but what's the use? You're a dead man."