Deep beneath the Eternal Night Temple lay a colossal cylindrical chamber, fifty meters deep.
At its heart stood a circular altar etched with ancient runes. Twelve rune-carved stone pillars ringed the platform like silent sentinels.
Chained to each pillar was a pure-blood vampire elder—twelve furious, centuries-old aristocrats.
"Release us!"
"Deacon Frost, we are pure-bloods! You dare?!"
"You'll burn for this, you mongrel!"
They spat curses and threats.
They had been sleeping in their coffins when Frost and his goons ripped the lids off. Naturally, the elders attacked—old-school fangs and claws.
They lost. Badly.
While the elders were busy being "honorable," Frost's crew introduced them to the miracle of modern firearms. Silver bullets, to be exact.
Frost just laughed. "Who says we can't use the tools made to kill us?"
No matter how they raged, Frost stood unmoved at the altar's center, staring up at the crimson liquid pooling on the domed ceiling, eyes blazing with fanatic glee.
"At last… the moment has come!"
The forbidden rite: the Blood God Sacrifice.
Using the blood of a dhampir as catalyst, the essence of twelve pure-blood elders would be funneled into one vampire—granting power beyond anything the species had ever known.
Years ago, Frost had bitten a pregnant woman, turned her, and waited for her half-breed son to be born.
That son was Blade.
Tonight, decades of preparation would pay off.
"When this ends, I will be the Vampire God—and the world will kneel!"
Frost threw his arms wide like a mad prophet.
The blood on the ceiling finally condensed into a single fat drop. It fell, striking his forehead.
Outside, the sky convulsed. Black clouds swallowed the moon. Thunder growled like a living thing.
CRACK—!
A spear of lightning punched straight through the temple roof, splitting into twelve forks that slammed into the stone pillars.
The elders screamed as divine voltage coursed through them.
Their bodies disintegrated in seconds. From the ashes rose twelve skeletal bat-winged wraiths—howling, furious spirits that spiraled above the altar like damned souls.
Frost's lackeys at the edges recoiled in terror.
Ghosts? Actual ghosts? They were vampires, damn it—ghosts were supposed to be afraid of them!
The wraiths circled once, twice—then shot like missiles straight into Frost's open chest.
His eyes bled solid crimson.
"FROST!!!"
A roar of pure hatred detonated from above.
Blade dropped from the ceiling like a black meteor, landing hard on the altar's rim, sword already drawn, murder in his eyes.
Frost wasn't just his archenemy anymore—he was the bastard who'd engineered his entire cursed existence.
Blade charged without a word.
"Daywalker! Stop him!"
Vampire guards swarmed. Steel met flesh in a storm of blades and gunfire.
From the upper walkway, several more raised rifles.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Four headshots—perfectly placed silver rounds—dropped the snipers before they could fire.
A second later, garlic-essence grenades arced down, bursting into choking yellow fog.
Vampires inside the cloud shrieked as their flesh melted like wax.
"He's up there!"
A vampire pointed upward—at Daniel, casually strolling across the ceiling in magnetic boots like a damn spider.
First skeleton ghosts, now Spider-Man?
At this point the vampires were starting to feel embarrassingly normal.
They opened fire. Tracers stitched glowing lines across the dome.
Daniel danced between the beams, boots clanking, returning precise single taps—pop, pop, pop—vampires dusted mid-scream.
In ten seconds the upper platform was clean.
He glanced down. Blade was still busy carving his way through a dozen goons.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five more shots. Five more piles of ash.
Daniel dropped in a flawless three-point landing beside Blade.
"Upper level's clear. What's taking you so long?"
Blade bisected a leaping vampire and growled, "Give me thirty more seconds and I'll be done!"
The remaining vampires stumbled back in panic, clustering near the altar's center.
A pale hand settled gently on the nearest one's shoulder.
The minion turned.
Frost smiled—too wide, too many teeth, eyes glowing like twin coals.
"Boss! It worked?"
Frost's voice was velvet over broken glass. "Yes… but I'm starving."
"I'll fetch blood bags—"
"No need."
His gaze fixed on the subordinate. "Fresh blood… is right here."
He blurred.
Fangs punched through the vampire's throat before anyone could blink.
The body withered in half a heartbeat—skin shrinking, eyes sinking—until only a dry husk hit the floor.
Daniel stared.
"A vampire… drinking another vampire?"
Blade grimaced beside him. "I told you once—vamp blood tastes like spoiled garbage to them."
Frost licked crimson from his lips and smiled.
"Tonight, everything tastes divine."