Luke had Riven and Skadi on high alert.
The meeting with Coulson had gone about as well as he could have hoped, but that didn't mean they were safe. If anything, the opposite was true. He'd just painted a massive target on his back.
"How worried are you?" Riven asked, her hand never far from her sword hilt. She'd taken position by the window, watching the street below with predatory focus.
"On a scale of one to ten?" Luke considered the question. "About a seven."
HYDRA was embedded throughout SHIELD—he knew that from the movies. The organization had spent decades infiltrating every level of the intelligence community, planting agents in positions of power, building toward some grand plan that wouldn't be revealed until the Winter Soldier incident.
And HYDRA had people who were very interested in enhanced individuals.
Baron Strucker, for one. The man ran HYDRA's human experimentation programs from somewhere in Eastern Europe, searching for ways to create superhuman soldiers. If word got back to him about Luke's companions—two women with strength that defied physics, speed that made normal humans look like statues...
Then again, Alexander Pierce wasn't stupid.
The man ran HYDRA from within SHIELD itself, sitting on the World Security Council while secretly orchestrating global chaos. He'd probably prevent Strucker from doing anything that might attract Fury's attention.
Probably.
The uncertainty was what kept Luke awake.
"What about holes in your story?" Skadi asked from her position near the door. She'd been quiet during the Coulson meeting, watching with serene disinterest, but she'd clearly been paying attention. "If we represent an ancient organization, why are we living here?"
She gestured at the cramped apartment—the stained walls, the creaking floors, the furniture that had probably been old when the building was new.
Luke smiled slightly. "Human psychology is predictable. Once someone accepts a core premise, they'll rationalize away minor inconsistencies on their own."
He'd learned this from countless hours of reading about cognitive biases, persuasion techniques, the ways human minds constructed narratives. It was the kind of knowledge that seemed useless until suddenly it wasn't.
"Fury's already bought into the main idea—that we're part of some powerful shadow organization. Now his brain will fill in the gaps automatically." Luke tapped his temple. "He'll think: They're living modestly to stay hidden. To maintain their 'observation' without detection. It's tradecraft."
The logic was self-reinforcing. The more outlandish the core claim, the more the details seemed to support it. Why else would someone make such an incredible statement if they couldn't back it up?
Riven frowned slightly. "That seems fragile."
"All deception is fragile. The trick is making sure it doesn't have to last forever." Luke moved away from the window, stretching muscles that had grown tense. "We just need time. Time to build real resources, real power. Then it won't matter what they believe about us."
That evening, Luke negotiated with the landlord for a different unit.
The man had been reluctant at first—changing apartments mid-lease was a hassle, involved paperwork, raised questions. But cash had a way of making problems disappear.
The new unit had three separate bedrooms. Luke paid the premium without haggling.
The landlord's expression as he handed over the keys was priceless. Living with two gorgeous women, and he needed three beds? The look of confused pity was almost worth the extra rent.
Luke ignored the judgment. The truth was far stranger than anything the landlord could imagine.
They were just settling into the new space—arranging furniture, checking sight lines, establishing defensive positions out of habit—when gunfire erupted outside.
Multiple weapons. Automatic fire mixed with the sharper crack of single shots. The sounds of a running battle, getting closer.
"Just another night in America?"
Luke moved to the window, curiosity overriding caution.
The scene below was chaos.
A man in a long black coat was running through the streets, pursued by what looked like a small army. SUVs cut off his escape routes, screeching into position at intersections. Gunmen closed in from multiple angles, coordinating their movements with military precision.
The man fought back with brutal efficiency. Every movement was economical, lethal—the kind of combat style that only came from decades of practice. He wasn't just fighting; he was hunting, even as he fled.
But he was clearly outnumbered. Maybe thirty pursuers, converging from all directions.
Something about him looked familiar...
Luke squinted, trying to get a better look through the dirty window glass. Dark skin. Muscular build. Tactical gear designed for mobility rather than protection. And the way he moved—that wasn't human reflexes. That was something more.
"Blade."
The name clicked into place.
The Daywalker. Marvel's vampire hunter. A half-vampire hybrid born when his mother was bitten during pregnancy, inheriting all their strengths and none of their traditional weaknesses. He could walk in sunlight, resist their hypnotic powers, match them blow for blow in combat.
In terms of superhero popularity, Blade wasn't exactly A-list. He operated in the shadows, dealing with threats that most people didn't believe existed. More Punisher than Spider-Man—brutal, violent, uncompromising.
But in his own domain, he was legendary. The boogeyman that vampires told stories about. The reason they checked their safehouses twice before dawn.
"Looks like Deacon already decoded the Book of Erebus."
The pursuing vampires weren't trying to kill Blade—Luke could see that now. They were using tranquilizer guns, aiming for non-lethal takedowns. Trying to capture him alive.
That meant only one thing: Deacon Frost needed Blade for the Blood God ritual. The ceremony required the Daywalker's blood to complete. Deacon had finally cracked the ancient text.
The timeline's accelerating, Luke realized. The movie plot is already in motion.
But something else caught his attention.
Most of the pursuers weren't vampires at all. Human body language. Human speed. Human reactions when bullets flew past them.
Familiars. Human servants who served the vampire nation, hoping to eventually be turned themselves.
Deacon really is out of manpower.
The loss of Quinn and five hundred elite vampires had crippled his operation. He was scraping the bottom of the barrel now, relying on human servants to do what his vampire forces no longer could.
"Should we help him?"
Riven and Skadi had recognized the pursuers as vampires and their allies. The running battle was spilling toward their building.
Before Luke could decide, the choice was made for him.
Blade started climbing.
With his hybrid physiology, scaling walls was trivial. His fingers found purchase on brick and mortar. He moved up the side of the building with inhuman speed and grace, trying to escape the net closing around him.
His pursuers followed. Vampires swarmed up the walls after him, familiars taking the stairs.
And they were heading straight toward Luke's position.
"Guess I don't need to decide after all."
Luke grabbed his rifle from the weapons cache they'd established—semi-automatic sniper, silver rounds loaded.
He found a stable firing position by the window, took aim, and squeezed.
CRACK.
The first round took a familiar through the head. No ash—human. Luke noted it without concern. He'd killed plenty of people by now, all trying to kill him first.
CRACK.
A vampire this time. The silver bullet punched through its chest, and the target crumbled to dust mid-climb. Ashes scattered in the night wind.
Blade looked up, surprised. Someone was providing cover fire? In this neighborhood?
The vampires and familiars scattered, scrambling for whatever cover they could find on the building's facade. Not easy when you're clinging to a vertical surface.
Luke picked them off methodically. One shot, one kill. The rhythm was almost meditative—sight picture, trigger squeeze, follow-through, acquire new target. Ten kills before the survivors managed to find adequate shelter.
At that point, Blade went on the offensive.
The Daywalker was brutal. Efficient. He carved through the trapped enemies with cold precision. His sword flashed in the streetlight, leaving trails of ash wherever it struck. Those who emerged from cover found themselves in Luke's crosshairs. Those who stayed hidden died to Blade's blade.
Caught between two hunters, the survivors made the only sensible choice.
They retreated.
Within seconds, the street was empty except for bodies and drifting ash.
Blade remained on the wall for a moment, staring up at Luke's window. Even from this distance, Luke could see the calculation in his eyes—assessing the stranger who'd just saved his life.
Then he started climbing toward them.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.
300 , 500 , 1000 for each milestone 1 Bonus Chapter.