The ground trembled before anything was seen.
A deep, guttural rumble rolled through the Eastern Seaboard, faint at first, like distant thunder, and then all-consuming. Roads cracked. Trees split. Concrete buckled beneath the weight of something unnatural.
Then they came.
Thousands.
Defectives, malformed by silver-poisoned blood and corrupted DNA, surged from the hidden caverns of Volton's final stronghold. Their howls split the sky. Not organized. Not tactical. Just unrelenting, violent hunger. Their bodies twisted in motion, limbs jerking, eyes alight with wild silver veins that pulsed with every shriek.
They weren't just attacking.
They were cleansing everything in their path.
Homes, buildings, bridges, flattened beneath claw and fang. Fires spread from the broken gas lines, choking the morning air with ash. The skyline darkened, not from smoke alone, but from the sheer number of them, flooding over everything like a plague.
But they were too late.
Because Demonfire had prepared.
And so had the hunters.
---
Perimeter units, led by Nicholson's finest and flanked by the global remnants of the Black Knights, had already evacuated the civilians. Weeks of silent planning and coded relocations had ensured that when Volton finally snapped, no innocent would be left in the crossfire.
The outer wards of the city were empty. Streets silent. Hospitals cleared. Schools shuttered.
All that remained now were steel barriers, reinforced blockades, and trap corridors laid with fail-safes only the inner circle knew.
Nicholson's voice echoed through the comms.
"Begin containment sequence."
Across rooftops and alley walls, embedded beacons flared to life. UV floods burst outward from hidden nodes. Serum-pumped tranquilizer arrays sprang from sewer covers, targeting defectives in streaks of fluorescent blue.
Hunter squads didn't engage head-on, they corralled. Funneled. Delayed.
Slowing the swarm's progress.
Because Demonfire wasn't here to waste time on the pawns.
They were coming for the throne.
---
From high above, on the Sky Fortress observation deck, Sofie watched the chaos unfold with narrowed eyes. The Ring pulsed once, subtle, steady, not from fear… but readiness.
"Volton made his move," Tyler said behind her, already stepping into his armor harness.
"Let him burn everything around him," Slacovich said coldly, joining him. "The more he destroys, the easier it is to corner him in the ruins."
"No distractions this time," Li added, checking the final mapping on the handhelds. "No split missions. We go for the head."
"And end it," Diego muttered, strapping on the last of the serum belts.
Harry handed them each a fresh dose, nodding once. "This won't stop the perfect Reapers. But it will give you a chance."
None of them asked how.
No one dared to speak it louder.
---
Below, the swarm raged. A wave of teeth, claws, and corrupted muscle, burning its way through the abandoned cities.
But beyond the smoke, beyond the fire---
The storm was moving.
Demonfire was coming.
And the real war hadn't even begun.
---
Slacovich stood at the edge of the Sky Fortress, the wind howling around him, his eyes fixed on the burning chaos below. As the Demonfire's leader, he bore the weight of command in his stance alone. With a single sharp signal, one that needed no words, the six of them launched from the high ledge, their black bat-like wings unfurling against the storm-gray sky.
Sofie, Tyler, Li, Diego, and Harry followed without hesitation.
They descended like a shadow born of vengeance, blades drawn, the wind screaming past them as the ground neared.
Below them, the sea of defectives churned, thousands of failed vampires, feral and mindless, tearing through buildings and trees, leaving only fire and ruin in their wake. But the six didn't flinch. They struck.
Slacovich hit the ground first, blade cleaving through the first wave with cold precision. Sofie was next, her twin sabers flashing silver, slicing through howling bodies in clean, deliberate arcs. Tyler landed like a storm, cutting down anything that surged toward them. Li moved in flashes, deadly and sharp, Diego spinning between strikes with brutal efficiency, and Harry, calm and focused, moved with surgical precision, eliminating threats with clean, controlled bursts of his weapon.
They were outnumbered, but not outmatched.
The defectives screeched and clawed, but their attacks were wild. Messy. Insane. For the Demonfire six, this wasn't a battle, it was a purge.
Sofie's ring gleamed, and with a flick of her fingers, the six Shadow Guards emerged from the veil. Silent. Ready. Regal in the way only ancient warriors could be.
They joined the fray without hesitation.
And the sweep turned brutal.
Bodies fell in waves. The battlefield was painted in silence and ash. If any defectives slipped past, the hunters and the Black Knights positioned at the outer perimeter would ensure none would breach the safety zone.
With every step forward, the group carved a path through the madness, closer, ever closer to Volton's final stronghold.
The real war was just beginning.
---
The battle dragged on, hour by hour, the sky darkening with smoke and ash as the thousands of defectives were cut down to mere hundreds. Blood soaked the earth, their howls growing fewer, weaker. The air reeked of burnt flesh and scorched rage.
The Shadow Guards took the lead then, blades flashing like shadows given steel, movements faster than breath. Regal, relentless, untouchable. They moved with the finality of executioners born for war.
Slacovich gave the nod.
The six Demonfires didn't look back.
They left the remaining defectives to the Guards and surged forward, wings beating once more as they soared over the cracked terrain, firelit ruins beneath them. The scent of war was thick in the wind, but they didn't flinch. They pushed forward.
But then---
The earth cracked.
A tremor ran through the battlefield.
From the dark perimeter of Volton's last stronghold, hundreds of Reapers emerged.
Not defectives.
Not half-broken monsters.
But the real ones.
Clad in living flesh, eyes pulsing silver, movements clean and coordinated. They poured out like a disciplined tide, encircling the path to Volton's lair. These were the same creations that had reduced their old estate to rubble. The same type that had left even Slacovich bloodied, even Tyler brought to one knee.
But that was before.
This was now.
Each Demonfire reached for the vials secured on their belts, Harry's serum, amber-clear and glowing faintly in the smoke.
One injection was all it took.
They didn't need to kill every Reaper fast.
They just needed to hit the right ones, at the right time.
The first of the Reapers lunged, and Slacovich met it mid-air. Their blades clashed, sparks exploding.
Another Reaper activated its silver form, but before the transformation could fully complete, Diego drove a serum-injector blade straight into its side. The change halted. The Reaper spasmed, silver leaking from its veins like boiling mercury, then collapsed in a convulsing heap.
The others saw.
And rushed in.
Reapers fought with calculated savagery, spinning, shifting, some already halfway to their enhanced forms. But every time one flickered silver, another Demonfire was there, vial ready, blade modified for injection.
Sofie moved like a phantom, striking clean, fast, then stepping aside as a Reaper's body purged itself from the inside out.
Tyler didn't stop moving, cutting through three at once, taking a hit to the ribs but twisting just in time to inject a Reaper behind him before it could strike.
Li ducked under a sweeping kick, rolled, slashed a leg, then flipped up to slam a vial straight into a Reaper's spine. The hiss of the serum, the silver screaming inside them, it became a new sound of war.
Harry stayed near the rear, monitoring, adjusting, calling out weak points, coordinating the targeting with terrifying clarity.
For every Reaper that fell, two more appeared.
But they weren't afraid.
Because this time…
They had the antidote to fear.
And they were going to make every dose count.