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Chapter 83: Adam The Menace II
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"Oh, and I threw in some of my own divine piss for good measure. A couple of viruses, too. Very nasty STDs. Consider it a gangbang… and you swallowed every last drop, Hahahahahaha."
[NO. HE. DIDN'T.]
[No way he fed him SUPER-STDs and Piss, must be trying to get on his nerves.]
[Actual mind terrorist, wtf.]
[I feel like Adam would do that, he's crazy like that.]
["Divine piss." I CAN'T BREATHE. Dracula's face is LITERALLY CRACKING.]
[Have you guys noticed that Dracula doesn't seem to be very smart?]
[Yeah, I would think he would be smarter. Everyone Adam faced so far felt relatively smart and annoying to deal with, but Dracula...]
[Is it not obvious? Adam must've cursed him the moment he laid eyes on him. Stupefy and Slow could dumb down even the smartest of men.]
[Oh, forgot about that. He's fucked.]
The words were more destructive than any artillery shell. Dracula, the Son of the Dragon, the Lord of Vampires, who had shaped empires and haunted millennia, had been tricked into consuming a mortal's blasphemous, filthy chemical-and-biological slurry.
The humiliation was an ice-cold dagger plunged into the heart of his pride, wounding far deeper than any physical blow.
His regal façade shattered completely. The crimson light in his eyes became a supernova of madness and hate.
"DIE!" The word was the bringer of the Cataclysm.
The battle was joined.
Dracula's poisoned army lurched forward in earnest. Though hobbled, their numbers were still terrifying.
Skeletons swarmed Blade, rusted swords swinging. He became a whirlwind of silver, his sword a blur that shattered bone with every impact.
He moved with preternatural speed, a step ahead, a sun-grenade flying from his left hand to explode amidst a pack of zombies, the burst of simulated daylight making them shriek and burst into flames.
But Adam's focus was the King. As the first blood-spear shot toward him, faster than a bullet, Adam's mind unleashed his arsenal of decay.
"Brittle. Misfortune. Recoil."
The curses left him in a torrent of focused malice. So many curses on top of the ones he had already cursed him with, Stupefy and Slow.
Indeed, Adam didn't want to allow Dracula too much room to think, as only then can things go south very quickly.
The regal lines of Dracula's body seemed to grow fragile, and the cruel luck of ages that clung to him soured.
A blood-spear meant for Adam's heart went wide, shattering a tree... Interesting, is that Misfortune acting? Adam was loving it.
Another, deflected by a mechanical arm, seemed to cause the wing of blood it was connected to to spasm awkwardly.
Simultaneously, Adam activated Fade, pulling his own presence into a void, becoming a ghost at the edge of perception.
He darted forward, his working mechanical arms; enhanced to blinding speeds and crushing force by Mechanical Force; lashing out like the limbs of a steel insect.
It wasn't enough.
Dracula, even poisoned, clouded, and cursed, was a force of nature. His mind, though deprived of much of its staggering intellect by the Curse, was still centuries sharp.
Moreover, his soul seemed to be able to suppress some of the curses, making them not as effective on him, but still effective enough to make a significant difference.
The confusion from curses lasted only a second before ancient battle instinct overrode it.
It seems that he noticed his weakness, or rather, the effect of the curses, and through that, he managed to sense them, yet was seemingly unable to do much against such a weird, unknown power.
Still, he felt the curses as irritants, not shackles.
"Parlor tricks!" He snarled and moved.
He vanished with such ludicrous velocity that he simply ceased to be in one spot and appeared in another.
It was as if he were rewriting his position in space. A blood-wing swept out, almost like a scythe of hardened gore.
Time slowed for Adam. He saw the attack coming, his brain working far beyond what his body can handle to decipher all the data around him, and basically predict his actions.
The process, or ability, is Information Vision; everyone and everything releases information, information he can understand, but his body could barely keep up.
He crossed two mechanical arms in a block.
The impact was thunderous. The enhanced alloy of the arm shattered. Servos, hydraulics, and tungsten-carbide plating exploded into shrapnel.
The force threw Adam back ten feet, skidding through the dirt.
Yet despite that, he left behind a grenade that exploded where he once was, bursting almost instantly, only to impact Dracula's blood wings, acting as a barrier.
Before Adam could rise, Dracula was above him, treating the explosion like nothing, a blood-spear forming in his hand for a downward stab.
A hail of repulsor fire; precise and powerful; slammed into the Vampire King from above.
Tony Stark, a speck in the high night sky, was playing his role. The suit's artillery chewed into the undead ranks, and his beams were a scalpel against Dracula.
The spears disintegrated, and Dracula was forced to twist away, the repulsor blast scorching his cape and drawing a hiss of pain.
Blade exploited the opening. He vaulted over a crumbling skeleton, launched a silver-chained stake that wrapped around Dracula's ankle, and yanked with all his dhampir strength.
Dracula stumbled, off-balance for a microsecond. Adam was already up, his remaining mechanical arms firing monomolecular carbon-fiber cables meant to entangle.
Dracula's free hand shot out, and the cables were severed mid-air by a whip of his own blood, only for them to be followed by beams that sought to evaporate him.
Dracula, however, was a blur.
The dance of death intensified. Dracula was a hurricane of crimson and shadow.
He'd blur, shatter another of Adam's mechanical arms with a contemptuous backhand strike.
He'd reform, catching Blade's dagger on a bracer of solidified blood, the shockwave cracking the earth beneath their feet.
Adam fired again and again, but Dracula's monstrous vitality and will burned through the debilitations.
The Recoil curse made every blow Dracula landed shudder back into his own frame, but he absorbed the feedback with gritted teeth, his fury fueling him.
He manipulated the very battlefield. Tendrils of blood erupted from the soil to snare Blade's legs.
A wave of solidified gore formed a shield to block another volley from Tony.
He snatched a swooping bat from the air and, with a flick of his wrist, hurled it like a living missile at Adam.
Adam's Information Vision allowed him to dodge, but the bat detonated in a shower of acidic blood that pitted his chestplate.
It was brutal, grinding, and costly. Adam's tech was being systematically dismantled.
A third arm was torn off at the root by a blood-lash. A fourth was crushed when he used it to block a kick that would have pulverized his ribs.
He was down to two primary arms and his own physical body, breathing heavily, sweat and blood mixing on his face.
Blade was a tapestry of cuts, his leather coat slashed to ribbons, but his eyes burned with the same relentless fire.
He'd managed to plant a UV flare on a Soulless guard, immolating it from within, and had severed the head of another with a flawless, desperate strike.
Tony's support was the only thing preventing a rout. His missiles cratered groups of zombies, his repulsors picked off swarming bats and wolves with inhuman accuracy.
But Dracula was adapting, using his blood to create reflective shields to scatter the energy beams, his preternatural senses evading the missile lock-ons.
Slowly, agonizingly, the tide of undead thinned. The poisoned air and dust did their work, reducing the legion to twitching heaps and dissolving smoke.
Finally, only the two hunters, the circling Iron Man, and Vlad Dracula remained in the clearing, now a scorched, corpse-littered wasteland.
Dracula stood panting, his fine clothes torn, pale skin marred by burns from repulsor blasts and shallow cuts from Blade's sword.
The poison was a fire in his veins, the curses a leaden weight on his soul. But he was far from defeated.
A wild, predatory gleam entered his eyes. They had thrown everything at him, but he still stood. He could see his victory, so why do they seem to ooze confidence?
The most problematic one, he assumed first, would be Blade because of his experience in the hunt, but it turned out that Adam was way more annoying.
He had tried again and again to finish him off, to end him, since the scent of his blood told him he was just a weak, puny human with tech.
However, it was as if Adam could read his mind and predict his actions, always managing to escape unscathed.
He always sacrifices something to escape death or fatal injuries, and it was getting on Dracula's nerves.
No more army. Just Blade, blood dripping from his dagger. Adam by the side with a strange smile, blood dripping down his shoulder. And Vlad.
Dracula's brain, although muddled, still felt with certainty that victory was near.
Of all the futures he sees, he loses in none of them, for he still stood strong, any injuries inflicted upon him already healing, and he could fight for days still, despite the poison.
Thus, his gaze fell on Adam, the architect of his humiliation. "Oh, I will start with you. I will keep your consciousness alive in a jar to witness the ruin I visit upon your world."
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