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*****
The Coulson Theorem: even without crossing paths with Mike, Coulson still manages to radiate his overwhelming passive ability.
This trip off-world—a little jaunt across the cosmos—was absolutely the right call.
If he hadn't run into Coulson, who knows what else might've happened.
With a silent sigh, Mike explained the situation to Raven in a few quick lines; then his figure flickered and vanished.
As the card's manifested motes of light faded from the air, Raven smiled, tucked herself deeper into the sofa, and went back to her show.
After using a long-range teleport card to leave home, Mike appeared above a city.
He pinpointed Coulson's location, restored his true face, and blinked into place right in front of him.
Coulson glanced at his phone—just dropped, not yet pocketed—then at Mike suddenly standing there. Surprise flashed across his face, followed by pure relief.
"Thank God. I knew you were the most reliable."
Mike's support had arrived far faster than he'd expected.
Mike looked him over, expression complicated, and sighed.
"Honestly… you're more reliable than I gave you credit for."
"I—I am?" Coulson froze, oddly flattered.
Mike clapped his shoulder, voice rich with meaning. "Fury's a lucky man."
Tough man to kill.
Coulson gave a sheepish smile, then straightened. "We need to move. Blade's probably already there."
"Fine."
Mike nodded, ready to depart—then paused. "You still haven't told me where."
"The Allen Tower. Downtown."
"Heh." Mike's smile tilted. "These vampires really do love their high-rises."
He seized Coulson, and the two winked out.
Allen Tower.
A man in a black trench coat—sunglasses on even at night—strode in with a katana on his back.
A vampire came up immediately, open hostility thinly veiled, but polite enough to usher him into the elevator.
Blade tossed the vampire a mocking grin, lifted a single middle finger, and rode the car to the top floor under an angry stare.
Ding.
Blade smoothed his coat and stepped out.
And into a wall of vampires.
Cold, predatory eyes measured him from every side.
"Hand over your weapons," one vampire said flatly, palm outstretched.
Blade tilted his head, glanced at him, and barked, "What, scared? Your boss is the vampire progenitor."
He let the sneer hang.
The vampire didn't budge, palm still up.
Blade shrugged.
Not completely stupid, then.
He began disarming.
The sword off his back. The pistols at his hips.
"There's more," the vampire said, pointing at Blade, voice slow and sure. "We know your kit."
Blade scowled and kept unloading.
Silvered blades. Silvered boomerangs. Vials of garlic extract…
The man was a walking armory.
The vampire's mouth twitched as the pile on the floor grew.
"Want me to strip too?"
Blade peeled off his jacket, power-corded muscles on display, face like stone.
The vampire finally stepped aside and let him through.
"Hmph."
Blade snorted and strode on. After running the gauntlet of a few dozen withering stares, he reached the vampire progenitor—Drake.
A powerfully built man.
Unlike the pallid kind, his skin was a healthy wheat-gold. Close-cropped hair like a blade's edge, a tailored suit worn open to show off clean, sculpted muscle.
Fierce, domineering, savage—yet coldly rational.
Blade's pupils tightened.
Trouble.
"Where's Whistler?"
His voice was mild.
The floor panels parted. A cage rose up from below.
Inside sat a weary, long-haired old man.
Blade exhaled quietly, ignored the reproach in Whistler's eyes, and looked to Drake.
"What do you want?"
Drake studied him with lofty amusement. "So you're why they woke me."
Because of Blade's relentless culling, their numbers kept dwindling—so they'd roused Drake, a day-walking ancestor, to protect their kind and end the hunter.
"You must be disappointed in them."
Blade's tone remained cool.
Drake nodded. "I am. So many of them—and none could handle just you?"
He stepped closer, leaned in, and drew a slow breath at Blade's throat.
"Your blood smells… special."
Blade frowned, cutting straight to it. "Say it. What gets Whistler out of here?"
Drake frowned back, puzzled—then said, suddenly disappointed, "You let me down."
"I thought someone like you would come with layers of contingencies. But you… came empty? Walked into your own execution?"
"I didn't prepare," Blade said evenly.
A beat—then a razor smile. "My friend did."
He pointed up. "He called in help. Someone strong. Putting you down shouldn't be hard."
Drake's eyes went glacial. His hand snapped to Blade's throat, fangs bared, eyes filling with rage and hunger.
"They woke me up—for you?"
He flung Blade.
Boom!
Blade smashed the wall; cracks spidered outward. Before he could drop, Drake flashed in again and clamped his neck once more.
Boom!
The fractures deepened with a second blow.
Blade felt his spine creak.
What power!
A flicker crossed his eyes—shock giving way to something else. He stared past Drake, startled.
Drake sneered. "That tired trick—"
"You really should look," Blade smirked.
Behind Drake, the chorus of sharp intakes rolled like a wave.
His foolish descendants?
Startled, Drake hurled Blade like a javelin.
Boom!
Blade shot through the air and hit the wall again.
"Hm?"
Drake's brow knit.
Nothing there?
"Looking for me?"
A stranger's voice. Drake whirled, fingers scything into talons aimed for Mike's throat.
Mike was faster.
A palm materialized on Drake's skull and slammed him down.
Boom!
The floor split like dry clay.
Drake blinked, dazed—then rage flooded in.
"ROAR!"
Blood-red armor seemed to slick across his body; barbed spurs thrust from his limbs; a crown of sharp horns erupted; his mouth blossomed into petaled fangs.
He roared and tried to rise—
Mike's boot came down again.
BOOM.
The entire floor shuddered.
Drake sprawled, a ribbon of blood at his lip, bones powdered to dust beneath the pressure.
Shocked senseless by the mountainous weight pinning him, he went very, very still.
Who was this?
How could such a person exist?
His mind fuzzed out.
Around them, the vampires' thoughts turned to static. Terror swallowed everything.
Mike stood with one foot on the progenitor's back, eyes sweeping the room with undisguised contempt.
"Ugh."
Blade rolled his neck and pushed upright. He shot Mike a look. "Couldn't catch me, huh?"
"Absolutely not," Mike arched a brow.
…So are we done bantering yet?
Blade, speechless, stalked to the nervous bloodsuckers and began scooping up his gear.
"See? I told you I had serious backup. You didn't believe me."
How could they know your backup was Mike Kent?
Mike. Kent.
Planet-owning. World-palming.
Blade gathered the last of his weapons, turned a dangerous smile on the vampire who'd made him unload.
"Guess which one I'll use on you."
"I—"
Shing!
Before the word finished, cold steel traced his throat.
The vampire clutched his neck; his body kindled like kindling and sifted to ash.
The others seethed—but with the progenitor under Mike's heel, none dared move.
Blade hesitated.
He hadn't expected Mike's mere presence to cow them this badly.
Not that he'd pity these monsters.
His gaze chilled.
A bored voice cut in.
"Step aside. You're taking too long with the trash."
Blade twitched, sheathed the blade. Vampires screamed and scattered—toward elevators, windows, stairs—
Pop, pop, pop…
Blinding light bloomed across the level, points of radiance merging like concentrated sunlight pouring from the ceiling.
Name: Luminous Singularity.
Skill: Create a light-magic zone that detonates, damaging all enemies within.
Note: Lighting it up—oh—sorry! I'll switch it off. Carry on!
Seconds later, the glare faded. Of all vampires, only Drake remained—beneath Mike's boot. Blade stood untouched.
"Hunh."
Blade whistled.
Fast. Enviably fast.
"Interesting. He doesn't fear light," Mike murmured, genuinely surprised.
Already, the wounds lacing the progenitor had knitted.
"As the original strain, a few quirks are normal," Blade said lightly.
"Heh." Mike's smile was thin. "Still a weak 'progenitor.' I'm not convinced he's the real deal."
Blade stared.
Do you have any sense of your own strength?
Mike's gaze dipped, a frown creasing his brow.
Something about Drake felt… familiar.
A few seconds later, Mike's expression soured.
"Again? That guy?"
Mephisto.
The cockroach got everywhere.
He stamped—just a touch—re-powdering the bones beneath his heel, then told Blade, "He's yours. Coulson and I are heading out."
Before Blade could answer, Mike vanished.
Blade scrubbed his hair.
Every time the man helps, he never leaves room for a thank-you.
Across the street, Mike reappeared on a rooftop and found Coulson, teeth chattering but posture stubbornly straight. "Come on. I'll get you home."
"D-did you take care of it?" Coulson's teeth clicked like castanets.
"Doubting me?"
"No—just impressed by your speed."
Mike's face darkened a shade.
"I need a word with Fury."
He grabbed Coulson and launched skyward.
In gratitude for the compliment, he decided not to open a portal—he'd let Coulson savor the world's magnificent vistas at Mach-whatever and the bracing sting of wind-tears.
"My vacation!"
The plaintive wail dopplered away as they vanished.
Moments later—just as Coulson seemed ready to turn into a human popsicle—Mike reached the hovering helicarrier.
He let Coulson go, smoothed his wind-wrecked hair, and patted his head.
"No need to thank me for saving you the airfare."
Eyes watering, nose running, Coulson sniffed and sneezed.
"Sigh. Go warm up before you catch a cold," Mike said, scanning for Nick Fury's quarters and heading out.
Coulson watched him go, face long.
Shouldn't have run his mouth.
Mike slipped into Nick Fury's room without a sound.
Fury was dead asleep, the occasional secret little smile flickering across his face.
That smile? I'll wake it—personally.
"The teddy cookies are gone!"
Fury snapped upright. The gun he always slept with swung to the door and fired.
Bang!
He came fully awake, saw the silhouette by the bed—the familiar outline—
"Mike?"
His face darkened.
"What are you doing here at this hour?"
"Coulson asked for help. I remembered something I wanted to discuss with you—so I bundled it."
Mike smiled.
Fury stared, speechless—then repeated Phil Coulson's name in his heart three times.
(End of Chapter)