"All kills are mine tonight."
"Deal."
No more words needed. The two marched straight into the vampire nightclub.
The guards at the door snapped to attention. "Hold it—who the hell—"
"Your ride's here."
Daniel vanished mid-sentence, a blur of motion.
Swish-swish-swish!
Cold steel flashed. Before the vampires could blink, they were piles of ash.
Blade's eyebrow twitched. "Nice watermelon knife."
"It's a Nichirin Blade! It just looks like one!"
So it's still a watermelon knife.
Blade wisely shut up.
They pushed inside.
Two roaming bloodsuckers turned the corner—swish, swish—gone. No screams, just dust.
Blade melted into the shadows, Daywalker stealth on autopilot. One vampire never saw the fists that cratered him into the floor. Blade left the finishing blow for Daniel, as promised.
No plans, no chatter. A single glance and they moved like ghosts.
A dozen kills later, quest counter ticking like a slot machine, they stepped into the main hall.
The stench hit like a wall.
Ceiling sprinklers rained thick, crimson blood. On the dance floor, vampires writhed in ecstasy, soaked head to toe, grinning like it was Coachella.
Daniel grimaced. "Do they all have to be this nasty?"
Blood's food, sure, but nobody bathes in Coca-Cola. Degenerate.
One of the shower enthusiasts finally noticed them.
"Blade! The Daywalker!"
Every pale face locked on Blade like he was the grim reaper in sunglasses.
The Daywalker's reputation preceded him—urban legend with fangs.
Blade flashed a shark grin. "Heard you were throwing a party. Rude not to invite me."
A brave (or stupid) vamp charged, roaring.
Swish!
Silver sword drawn. Arms gone. Legs gone. Still crawling and screaming.
Blade just watched, pure psycho energy.
Panic spread. The herd bolted for the exit.
Only to find Daniel leaning against the door, casually spinning his "watermelon knife."
"Sorry, road's closed."
"He's the Vampire Slayer! The psycho who dusted hundreds this week!"
Front: hungry wolf.
Back: murder tiger.
Two guys, entire club panicking.
"Don't freak out! It's only two of them!"
"Rush 'em!"
Desperation turned some feral. They swarmed.
Blade snorted, spun his sword like a cheerleader baton, and dove in.
Half-vampire cheat codes activated: super strength, regen, zero weaknesses. Dude could sunbathe at noon if he felt like it.
Low-tier vamps lasted seconds. Limbs everywhere.
Daniel, meanwhile, was a human blender. No technique—just raw stats. Knife went brrr, vampires went poof.
A private-room door exploded outward. A dozen black-leather goons poured out, led by a scarred thug who took one look and lost it.
"Blade! You damn half-breed mutt!"
"Quinn. Thought I'd drop by. Miss me?"
"Eat shit!"
Quinn flipped him off. "Light them up!"
Guns came out—because America.
Ratatatatatatat!
Bullets turned the club into Swiss cheese. Both men ducked behind the bar.
Blade yanked a badass shotgun, racked it, and started blasting.
BOOM! BOOM!
Silver buckshot erased vampire legs like they owed it money.
Three shells later… he stopped.
Daniel blinked. "Why quit?"
Blade winced like he'd just seen the ammo price tag.
"Bullets are expensive, man."
Daniel: "…"