Chapter 37.1&37.2
"Why so sour?" was the first thing Blade asked, closing his matte-black Charger door with a light slam.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Is it that noticeable?" I was genuinely surprised. My self-control was supposedly better than Peter's.
Blade chuckled, pulling a cigarette from the pack.
"Nah, you hold the mask well. But I am, like, an empath, forgot? I feel when a person radiates like the entire shitty world just crashed on his shoulders, and he is trying to hold it alone and not wrinkle his nose from the stench."
"I thought you only felt lies."
"It is all sides of one coin, kid," he flicked the lighter, and the cigarette tip briefly illuminated his face in the gathering dusk. "The smell of lies, fear, despair... I have been hunting it all my life. So what happened? Uncle Blade can solve a little problem. For appropriate payment, of course."
He grinned, baring perfectly white fangs. All thirty-two, or however many he had.
"What is there to solve," I spread my hands, feeling the forced calm slip away. "Too much shit happened in the world, and I am not even talking about myself..."
Obviously, the huge ball of crap and chaos called "Eventfulness" had begun its inexorable descent from the mountain. It rolled, picking up everything in its path: coincidences, patterns, what I knew and what I could not even conceive. And with each meter it grew to such size that at some point this world might simply not withstand and collapse. And I did not want this. I actually lived here. Which meant I would have to intervene.
"You mean Hyperion or something?" Blade exhaled smoke. "Yeah... Interesting specimen. Guy is clearly not from this world."
"Him too," I nodded. During conversation we entered my garage. Since Blade's last visit it had become even more like a mad engineer's lair: heaps of tools, disassembled equipment and something I had not yet named. "But oddly enough, I am even glad about him. He can at least partially clean the world of filth. Only the filth will just increase from this, mark my words."
"Facts," Blade nodded, looking around with interest. "World has long needed rebooting. All these your orders and directives, power redistributions... nonsense that those who consider themselves elite dream of. Oh, and this is something new."
His gaze stopped on the mannequin in the corner, on which "Proteus" was stretched. All electronics were removed from it for now.
"Proteus," I explained under his interested gaze. "High-tech protective fabric. Practically no analogs exist. You can try hitting it. With full force."
Blade smirked, cracked his neck and, without hesitation, stepped forward. From his side this was not just a punch but a calibrated, honed-by-years movement. His knuckles slammed into the mannequin's sternum. A deafening crack of breaking plastic sounded, and the mannequin flew to the wall. But the fabric itself remained absolutely undamaged.
"Handles pistol bullets no problem," I continued calmly while he examined his knuckles. "With rifle rounds it is harder, too much kinetic energy, behind-armor effect is serious problem. But it is light and breathable."
"How much?" Blade's voice was level, but I saw he had taken the bait.
"Depends what you offer in return. You supposedly promised some surprise?"
"Yeah, right. One sec."
He left the garage and returned in a minute, carrying a small silver case. My heart beat faster in anticipation. Ultra-rare material? Spellbook? Artifact? One thing was clear, definitely not money.
"Check it out," Blade set the case on workbench. I clicked the locks and opened it.
"And what is this?" I asked with genuine interest. Inside, in neat nests of black velvet, rested six vials with liquid of different colors, from dark brown, almost black, to frighteningly bright scarlet. By consistency this most resembled... blood?
"Blood," Blade confirmed my guess. Noticing my bewilderment, he continued, pointing at each vial. "Six different types, reminder. Revenant is when they raise a corpse. Turned is ordinary street trash. Purebloods of third, second and first generations, that is already aristocracy. And the real treasure..." he poked his finger at the scarlet vial. "Blood of Descendant."
Something in my head began to emerge. Ideas, scraps of theories. Peter was genetics genius. Vampires, they had a virus, right? But why did I need their blood? Obviously, Blade sensed my confusion.
"You are supposedly smart," he said. "Study this goop. Maybe put it to some recipes. Or maybe find way to enhance yourself. In any case, valuable stuff. Especially Descendant blood. They have fewer weaknesses and unique abilities."
"For example?" this already sounded more interesting.
"Well, specifically this is blood of my late daddy, Haag. The freak was master of brainwashing. Rummaged in other people's skulls like in his own pocket. Raised me as ideal vessel for his rebirth. But no luck, daddy did not get lucky."
"Oh..." I drawled. "So, to generalize, this is blood of strong telepath, and it may contain key to his abilities?"
"Hell if I know how it works for you eggheads," Blade shrugged. "But yeah, vampirism is virus. Means it can be dissected. I will say right away: Brits already tried to reproduce effect without side effects. Did not work out."
"Because the secret is probably in your blood," I muttered thoughtfully, looking at him. "Speaking of which. Why is no dhampir blood in the deal?"
Blade grinned again, this time cunningly, businesslike.
"Well duh! I need to inflate my price. Clear as day that you will have to start from something in studying these goops and getting rid of side effects. And my blood is best option for this. Basic sample to compare everything with. So... go ahead, I am open to offers."
"Before we continue, I want to understand what I am dealing with," I crossed my arms on chest, switching to analyst mode. "What are you even capable of? Your specs. Strength, speed, regeneration. I need concrete numbers, not abstract 'I am cool.'"
Blade appreciated my approach. Corner of his mouth twitched in semblance of smile.
"Now, this is different conversation. Okay, egghead, listen. Speed... I am no Flash, by standards of some purebloods bloodsuckers, even slow. Can do under fifty miles per hour on sprint, but main trump card is endurance. I do not get tired. At all. Strength... well, about half-ton on bench press. If I get really mad, can flip a car. Accelerated regeneration, denser muscle structure. Pistol bullets rarely go deeper than centimeter, painful, unpleasant, but not lethal. There is also mental garbage from daddy, but it is defective, almost do not use it."
"Not bad," I nodded, quickly processing information. This was level significantly exceeding peak human capabilities. "And this is your limit? Without stimulants and such?"
"Nah," Blade grinned. "This is my base form. Walking-around mode."
"Now this is interesting," I leaned forward. "Where there is base, there must be..."
"Advanced, yeah. Boss phase 2," he smirked. "Enhanced by Chi, special mystical energy, I become dozens of times more dangerous. And if I pull out my beauty..." Blade with almost intimate tenderness stroked the katana handle at his hip.
Chi. Right. In this universe besides science and magic was this third force. Shang-Chi, Iron Fist... characters who on sheer willpower and internal energy reached cosmic level. I want it!
"Teach me," I blurted out. "Chi mastery. This will be way more useful than poking around in some blood."
Blade laughed. Loudly, from the heart.
"Nope. I would gladly, cap, but the catch is it does not work like that. To master Chi, need years. Meditations, concentration, finding harmony with life energy and other esoteric crap. And here your genius brain is not advantage. Rather, hindrance. Process cannot be accelerated. Unless you are, of course, mega-incredibly-talented Asian boy from lost monastery. And you, trust me, have zero talent for this. You are all about, like, wires, chemistry and calculations. And Chi is about spirit. We have different operating systems."
"Damn," I cursed in frustration. To close such obvious path to power was annoying. "And what about sword? How does it enhance you?"
"Oh, my 'Morning Star' is unique. Perfect weapon against vampires and other undead. Ignores their regeneration, absorbs essence, enhancing me for short period. It is created to burst into crowd of creatures. It will not suit you. Too willful. Need... resonance with such artifacts."
"Resonance?"
"Yeah. So you are on same wavelength, get it? So, you know Captain Britain, right?"
"Yes," I nodded, remembering leader of British team "Excalibur," about whom I read couple articles.
"Well, their name is not taken from ceiling. Excalibur is really existing sword. Artifact that gives its bearer flight, super strength, invulnerability and other goodies from superhero set. Captain Britain became who he is precisely thanks to this piece of iron."
"But? Obviously there is catch."
"Yeah. That same resonance. Powerful artifact like Excalibur will not choose just anyone. There criteria are huge. Conditionally: you must be descendant of King Arthur, righteous, kind, just, but at same time power-hungry and able to lead people. Such unique individuals are rare. So it turns out that Captain fit super-blade perfectly by character."
"But to know whether you fit artifact, need to first find it, right? Can I somehow..."
"Hold up," Blade interrupted me. "Such toys are very few, and each is registered with powers that be. You can spend whole life chasing them to ultimately find out that none will obey you. This is worse than lottery. And risks are higher, some artifacts can simply drive you insane."
"Yeah, unpleasant..." I rubbed bridge of nose. "So only working option is to research vampire blood. And yours, of course."
"Of course," satisfied Blade nodded. "Easy paths often lead to ass. So, decided what interesting you can offer for my precious blood?"
"Yeah," I took from pocket small white tablet and held it out to him. "Potion of Intellect officially became 'NZT-48.' Reproducible in laboratory, without any rare orchids. Effect weaker than original by 25-30 percent, there are minor side effects like headaches and withdrawal, but your physiology should handle this. And most important, mass production. Sounds interesting enough?"
Blade's eyes lit with predatory fire. He understood potential.
"Yeah, this is fucking crazy interesting!" he exclaimed. "Fifty such tablets, suit from your fabric, and full set of blood, including mine, will migrate to your genius hands!"
"Ten tablets, ten 'Predator' serums, ten muscle stimulators and suit," I began bargaining.
"Forty tablets, suit and twenty of each stimulator!"
"Fifteen tablets, ten serums, ten stimulators and suit."
"Damn, kid, give at least thirty tablets! The rest, hell with it!"
"Deal!" I agreed, internally rejoicing. NZT tablets were easiest to produce component. "Now I will take measurements for suit, sketch approximate design. Everything will be ready in couple days, you can pick up on weekend. But I would like to receive blood now."
"Yeah no problem," Blade easily agreed. "Deal is deal."
Next couple minutes passed in business hustle. I quickly took measurements of this big guy, who turned out surprisingly patient. About design he was brief: "Make it practical, functional and not embarrassing to walk on street, not only through vampire guts." Noted. Having drained several dozen milliliters of his anomalous blood into sterile syringe, Blade handed it to me. Deal was sealed.
"By the way," he began, standing already by car. His hand froze on door handle. "Been to Frank's?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "Excellent specialist. Real pro."
"Do not know what is with him? I have been calling him all day today, silence. Now, probably, will drive to him, check."
Inside me something unpleasantly lurched. Bad premonition began slowly rolling in like icy wave. Did I not make it in time? Did Fisk already...
"Um... no, do not know," I answered, trying not to let voice waver. "But for some reason I have shitty premonition. Mind if I come with you?"
Blade gave me long look and silently nodded.
"Jump in."
Throwing on light windbreaker, I climbed into front passenger seat. Charger engine roared, and we rushed into night, toward unknown. "I hope Frank is just training another weakling and does not hear phone," flashed through head, but I myself did not believe this.
Okay. Calm down. I have about twenty minutes of travel. Time to spin gacha.
I closed eyes, concentrating. Opening system window, I clicked on "Forge of Creation." 550 OP was deducted from balance. Before eyes appeared description...
[Received information package (Common) - Technology of Non-Mages: Primary Principles.] [Unlocking information package costs 400 OP.]
[This package provides access not just to knowledge but to fundamental understanding of physical universe laws up to Graduate level. This is complete "source code" of reality, from basic Newtonian mechanics to elegant complexity of string theory, from simplest chemical reactions to secrets of genetic engineering and materials science.]
[The package's value is not in passive data storage but in their active synergy. While working on project, your mind begins building conceptual bridges between seemingly unrelated areas. Principle of quantum entanglement may suggest solution for creating protected communications network. Knowledge of biochemical catalyst processes will push idea of new, more efficient regeneration potion. Creative process becomes intuitive, you begin not just assembling but "composing" technologies, finding elegant and non-trivial solutions based on deepest laws of nature.]
Worthy. More than. This was not just new knowledge, this was new way of thinking. Foundation that would make any of my creations order of magnitude more perfect. If I had not been set on two spins, would unlock without thinking. But excitement took over. Skill can wait. Second attempt!
[Received information package (Common) - Individual Armament: XCOM Philosophy.] [Unlocking information package costs 200 OP.]
[This package instills in you philosophy of ultimate efficiency through personalization. Its key principle is not a gram too much, not one second wasted, not one redundant component. This is art of creating things that are not just tools but extension of user's will and body.]
[You intuitively understand laws of ergonomics, creating weapons and gadgets that fit perfectly in hand without causing fatigue. You think in categories of minimalism, cutting off everything unnecessary that increases weight, reduces reliability or complicates use. Whether armor, weapon or scientific device, each curve, each material, each component will serve one purpose, maximum efficiency at minimum cost. Your creations become compact, deadly and intuitively clear, like scalpel in surgeon's hands.]
Also extremely useful, especially considering suit that would need to be sewn for Blade, but... again "common" items. Disappointment stirred inside, but I immediately crushed it. Nothing. Darkest night is before dawn. I was like that miner from meme who turned around centimeter from scattering of diamonds. Main thing, do not give up.
"Something is wrong here," Blade muttered when we stopped in front of Frank's gun shop.
His words pulled me from thoughts. I looked around. Street was unnaturally quiet. No cars, no passersby. Light from streetlamps seemed dim and sickly.
"Does not smell like blood," Blade continued, getting out of car, "but in air hangs stench of something shitty. Professional work."
Frank's shop should have been closed, but heavy front door was ajar. Inside, not a soul. Perfect order. And... emptiness. Counters, display cases, walls where formerly hung even if fake weapons, everything was virginally clean. We went to warehouse. Same picture. Empty shelves. Not one shell casing on floor, no traces of struggle. As if Frank and his entire arsenal simply evaporated.
"They robbed Frank?" Blade's voice rang with restrained fury and disbelief. "I fucking do not believe it! Robbing him is like stealing tank from military base alone!"
My bad premonition changed to icy certainty. Total, irreversible disaster had just happened.
"Okay, he does not like this, of course," Blade growled, turning around. "But let us go to his house. Right now."
Frank's house in Queens, two-story family townhouse, just couple miles from his shop, was no longer home. Now it was blackened corpse of building, cordoned off with fluttering yellow tape. Around, not a soul, just couple patrol officers lazily walking near barrier, and in air hung smell of cold ashes.
Picture was terrible. As if house was first blown up from inside, then what remained was crushed by giant press. This was not random fire or gas explosion. This was work. Angry, methodical, demonstrative. Work of meta-human. And judging by nature of destruction, I was almost certain this was Shocker's signature. And absence of crowd of onlookers and journalists said that everything happened long ago. Ten to twelve hours ago. Night from September 22 to 23. Again this cursed number.
"Officer friends," Blade lowered window, and his voice sounded deceptively friendly, almost ingratiating. "Be so kind, satisfy curiosity of law-abiding citizen. What happened here?"
From this voice goosebumps crawled on my skin. There was no threat in it, but there was... depth. Strange, insinuating resonance that seemed to bypass ears and penetrate directly into brain.
Face of one of cops smoothed, gaze became empty.
"Brutal murder of Castle family," he pronounced monotonously, as if reading report. "With subsequent house demolition to conceal evidence."
"Murder? They... all were killed?" I saw how Blade gripped steering wheel with such force that knuckles of his fingers turned white.
"Yes, sir," second one joined, his eyes also covered with film. "Wife, son, daughter, all dead. On bodies, besides burns, found multiple traces of torture. Father, Frank Castle, was delivered to hospital. Condition critical, doctors give no prognosis."
Blade was silent. Silence in car became heavy as lead.
"Thank you, gentlemen," his voice became even deeper, even more insistent. "Be so kind, tell where I can get ALL details of this case?"
Suggestion in his voice became almost tangible. I felt chill run down back of neck. And this he called "defective garbage"? While Blade extracted information from cops, I fell into swamp of self-flagellation.
Where did I screw up?
So far, everywhere. Gwen's father dead. Check. Otto Octavius became Octopus. Check. Frank Castle's family brutally tortured and killed by Kingpin's people, and he himself, miraculously surviving, guaranteed to become Punisher. Check. Incomprehensible moves with Osborns. Check. And these were only fires I was going to put out as soon as I became stronger. But I did not make it in time. Postponed. Found more important matters, more interesting projects than some drones for round-the-clock surveillance of Frank's house...
Only remained to screw up with Uncle Ben. So Peter would finally lose his mind, mix himself nuclear cocktail from Connors serum and my stimulators, wash it down with OZ serum synthesized from Gwen's blood from napkin he had not thrown away, and turn into monster. No. Enough. Tomorrow package from Lucas arrives. I go to Peter, we create "Elixir of Ash and Dawn," and immediately inject it into Uncle Ben. Just in case. And maybe grab portion for Frank? But... how then did he recover from severe injuries and set on his path independently? Maybe it just took months or even years, and now, curing him, I would only accelerate Punisher's appearance?
Thoughts were disgusting, cold, pragmatic.
"...at police department on 82nd Street, you want Officer Shelby, he leads this case," reached me lifeless voice of policeman.
"With this I take my leave," Blade nodded. "Consider this conversation never happened."
"What conversation, sir?" cop blinked innocently, seeing us off with empty gaze.
We drove away. Silence in car was broken only by engine rumble.
"So what, kid," Blade's voice was hoarse from restrained fury. "You with me or what?"
Or what. I desperately did not want to get into this. But I already got in. By my inaction. By my cowardice. Can at least for decency participate... in vengeance? Should I tell him about Fisk? About Kingpin? Cut path through all intermediaries and point directly at top of food chain? But how do I know this? And does Blade have enough strength to survive in fight with leviathan? Damn... Difficult.
I turned to him. Instead of answering his question, I looked him straight in eyes and quietly but distinctly said:
"Most likely, Shocker worked there, and first let us stop by my place."
Screw it, come what may. Throwing NZT tablet in mouth, I began building semblance of action plan for this night, fortunately Blade turned toward Brooklyn, but questions... Oh, how many of them in his eyes.