"So you're saying all of this… is some grand conspiracy by a so-called Blood Lord? The original vampire?"
Vasily let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to physically throw the idea away. To him, it sounded absurd, like something pulled from a late-night horror marathon rather than real life.
"Come on," he added, glancing between Locke and Gus with narrowed eyes. "You really expect me to buy that?"
Gus stepped forward immediately, irritation flashing across his face as he pointed back toward the street they'd just come from. His voice carried urgency now, no longer just frustration. "Did you not see what happened? Those pale freaks weren't sick. They were feeding. They're monsters, man."
Vasily didn't flinch.
"They looked infected," he said flatly, his tone steady and grounded. "Some kind of disease, maybe something new. But vampires? That's fantasy. That stuff doesn't exist."
He spoke with quiet certainty, already categorizing what he had seen into something explainable. In his mind, the fact that he had escaped intact was proof enough. Dangerous, yes. Supernatural, no.
Gus exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly running out of patience. He turned toward Locke, searching for backup. "Say something. He's not gonna listen to me."
Locke said nothing.
He stood there, calm and still, watching Vasily walk toward the entrance of the pest control building as if nothing unusual had happened. There was no urgency in his movements, no attempt to stop him outright, only a quiet observation in his eyes.
When Gus tried to follow, Locke reached out and stopped him with a firm grip on his shoulder.
Gus blinked, confused. "What are you doing?"
"Let him go," Locke said evenly.
There was no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty behind the words. His gaze remained fixed on Vasily's back as he continued toward the door.
"Some things have to be experienced," he added quietly, "before they're understood."
Gus frowned, clearly unconvinced, but Locke didn't elaborate.
He didn't need to.
He already knew what was waiting inside.
The people in that building weren't themselves anymore. The infection had already spread through the staff, twisting them into something else entirely. And among them was someone Vasily cared about, whether he admitted it or not.
Right on cue, a loud crash echoed from inside the building.
Something slammed against the floor.
Then came the unmistakable sounds of a struggle.
Gus tensed instantly, instincts kicking in as he tried to move, but Locke's grip tightened, holding him in place.
"Don't," Locke said.
"But—"
"He'll survive."
The certainty in his tone shut Gus down.
Vasily wasn't just another guy caught in the chaos. He was sharp, strong, and decisive in a fight, the kind of man who adapted fast under pressure. Locke had seen enough to know that Vasily wouldn't go down easily.
Even so, something felt off.
A shout rang out from inside, sharp and angry.
"Fuck!"
Locke's eyes narrowed.
That wasn't a controlled situation.
Without another word, he moved.
The door flew open as Locke rushed inside, his speed turning him into a blur for a split second. The scene snapped into focus immediately—Vasily was on the ground, trying to recover, while a pale figure lunged toward him.
Its mouth split open unnaturally.
A barbed, whip-like appendage shot forward.
Straight at Locke.
"Shit!" Gus's voice came from behind, but it was too late.
The attack connected.
The fleshy spike struck Locke's neck—
And stopped.
For a fraction of a second, everything froze.
Then the creature recoiled violently.
A sharp, pained screech tore from its throat as it snapped backward, the appendage retracting instantly as if it had touched something scorching hot. Its body trembled, instincts screaming at it to get away.
Locke didn't give it the chance.
He moved.
To Gus and Vasily, it looked like he vanished.
One moment he was standing still, the next he was already in front of the creature. The silver blade in his hand flashed, cutting through the air with clean precision.
The strike was effortless.
Final.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then the head slid free.
It dropped with a wet thud, the body collapsing after it in a twitching heap.
Silence swallowed the room.
Vasily and Gus stared, shock written across their faces as they tried to process what they had just seen.
Locke exhaled softly, as if the entire exchange had barely required effort. He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and wiped at the residue on his neck.
The mucus smeared away easily.
Beneath it, his skin was untouched.
Embedded in the residue were several tiny white worms.
Dead.
Completely motionless.
Locke's lips curved faintly.
So it worked.
He hadn't been entirely certain how his current body would handle those parasites. The idea of them burrowing into him had been enough to make his skin crawl. But the protective layer he'd applied had done its job perfectly.
Gus hurried over, concern overtaking his earlier shock.
"Locke!"
He grabbed his shoulder, eyes scanning his neck for any sign of damage.
"There's nothing," Gus said, relief flooding his voice.
Locke shrugged lightly. "Those things don't work on me."
His gaze shifted to the corpse.
The woman's face, twisted and pale, was still recognizable beneath the changes. In another version of events, she might have lingered longer, might have forced Vasily into a slower, more painful realization.
Not this time.
Locke had cut that thread clean.
"The timeline's shifting," he murmured under his breath.
Across the room, Vasily sat on the floor, his hands pressed to his forehead. His breathing was uneven, his composure shaken for the first time.
It wasn't fear in his eyes.
It was loss.
Gus approached slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey… man."
There was nothing else to say.
They both understood.
…
Night settled over the city, bringing with it a heavy, uneasy silence that seemed to press in from all sides.
Vasily stood outside his old home, staring at it as if committing every detail to memory. The dim light inside cast soft shadows across the windows, familiar yet distant.
He knocked.
After a moment, the door opened.
"Vasily?" his father said, surprise flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"
Vasily didn't hesitate.
"You need to leave," he said, voice firm. "Pack up and get out of the city. Tonight."
His father frowned, confusion giving way to irritation. "What are you talking about?"
"Just trust me," Vasily said, jaw tightening slightly. "Do it for me."
He didn't wait for a reply.
Turning away, he walked off, leaving the old man standing there, watching him go with a complicated expression.
There was disapproval.
Frustration.
But beneath it all—
Concern.
…
Back on the street, Gus leaned against a fence, a grin spreading across his face as he held out his fist.
"Come on, man, that was insane. You gotta admit—"
Vasily walked past him without even looking.
Gus lowered his hand with a sigh. "Wow. Tough crowd."
He glanced at Locke instead. "So what now?"
Vasily stopped a few steps ahead, turning back with a serious expression.
"Tell me," he said. "How do we stop this?"
There was no hesitation anymore.
No doubt.
Only urgency.
Locke smiled faintly.
With these two in play, things were accelerating exactly the way he wanted.
"First," he said, "we make people pay attention."
…
By morning, Vasily stood on a busy street corner, a stack of flyers in his hand.
Each one carried a simple warning—avoid anyone acting strange, stay away from the infected, do not engage.
He handed them out methodically, one after another, his expression serious.
Most people ignored him.
Some glanced at the paper and tossed it aside. Others laughed, shaking their heads as they walked away.
Across the city, Gus did the same.
Different street.
Same reactions.
It didn't matter.
Locke didn't need everyone to believe.
He just needed a reaction.
Fear, doubt, curiosity—any spark would do.
That was enough to start a chain.
…
Deep beneath the city, the sewers stretched endlessly into darkness.
Locke walked alone.
The faint sound of water echoed around him, mixed with something else—something alive.
From the shadows, eyes watched.
Red.
Hungry.
But none of the creatures moved.
They stayed hidden, pressed into the darkness, as if something about Locke made them hesitate.
Then a voice echoed through the tunnel.
Low.
Distorted.
"Why are you immune?"
It came from everywhere at once, bouncing off the walls, impossible to pinpoint.
Locke didn't stop.
"Because I stand above it," he said calmly. "If I'm the one judging, why would your tricks work on me?"
The words were deliberate.
A challenge.
He didn't know exactly where the Blood Lord was hiding, but he knew it was close. This wasn't about finding him yet—it was about forcing a response.
A low growl answered him.
"Impossible. Something like you… should not exist."
The darkness shifted.
Then it struck.
Dozens of barbed tendrils shot out from the shadows, slicing through the air toward him from every direction.
Locke moved.
The silver blade became a streak of light, each swing precise, efficient, cutting through the attacks before they could reach him. Every motion was controlled, every strike lethal.
The tunnel filled with screams.
One by one, the creatures fell, their bodies collapsing into the shallow water as the fight tore through the darkness.
....
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