The technique of the Human Path was ruthless in its simplicity—granting insight into another's soul and memories, at the cost of their life. Anyone subjected to it would have their existence snuffed out like a candle in a storm. Kurogai didn't hesitate. The vampire's life meant nothing to him.
A pale-blue glow rippled from his eyes as the spectral manifestation of the Human Path hovered behind him, hand extended toward the trembling creature. The vampire screamed, his mind laid bare. Memories poured into Kurogai's consciousness like a river of fractured glass—disjointed but vivid.
"Ha... blood, vampires... Quinn. What a coincidence," Kurogai muttered, a faint smirk touching his lips as the fragments aligned into a story.
The vampire had only recently been turned—cocky, reckless, and still unfamiliar with his newfound strength. Before his transformation, he'd been a petty criminal, running errands for elder vampires who used him for their darker deeds. His latest mission had been simple: meet with the Sandman and secure a deal. But arrogance had replaced caution, and the negotiation turned to violence.
Through the vampire's eyes, Kurogai saw the rest—how the vampire's masters had sought the Sandman's unique power to manipulate matter, hoping to exploit it for their own ends. In return, they promised him protection and wealth. But when the Sandman realized their "work" involved abducting women for blood experiments, he turned on them. That refusal led to tonight's chaos.
Kurogai's expression didn't shift. These details meant little to him. What caught his attention was a single name that burned bright among the memories—Quinn.
"Quinn…" Kurogai whispered thoughtfully. "So you're the one who turned this fool."
He recognized that name from another timeline—one connected to Blade, the Daywalker. If Quinn existed, then the vampire covens were alive and thriving in this universe. That meant numbers, and numbers meant opportunity.
A grin crept across Kurogai's face. "A vast, organized race… perfect. The blood of vampires—it seems the seventh ring will be easier to awaken than I thought."
The vampire beneath his feet gasped one final time before his life flickered out, his body collapsing into dust. Kurogai straightened, the faint glow in his eyes fading as the Human Path's phantom dissolved into the air.
He could feel it now—the pulse of the seventh pupil ring deep within his eyes, quivering as if sensing new potential. Not yet unlocked, but close.
A rough voice broke through his thoughts. "What… what the hell are you going to do?"
The Sandman's voice trembled from where he lay pinned beneath the crushing force of warped space. Every grain of sand in his body was compressed under Kurogai's power. His struggle was useless, his form bound by invisible pressure that even his molecular manipulation couldn't escape.
"You're wasting your breath," Kurogai said casually, stepping closer. "You should worry less about me and more about staying alive. Curiosity can be dangerous."
With a faint hum, the air shimmered, and the Sandman's body sank deeper into the cracked asphalt as Kurogai turned away. In the next instant, the space around him folded, and he vanished—teleporting across reality with the precision of the Space Stone.
The shimmering distortion opened again in the quiet halls of a sleek, modern estate—Rogue's Manor.
"Kurogai, you're smiling," Rogue called from across the room, her Southern accent laced with curiosity. She set aside a folder of reports and walked toward him, her white-streaked hair swaying gently. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Kurogai's grin deepened. "Not exactly. But I stumbled onto something… interesting."
He leaned against the marble counter, arms folded as he recounted the night's events—his encounter with the Sandman, the vampire, and what he had learned.
Rogue's eyes widened slightly. "Vampires? You're serious?"
"Completely. Your intel division wasn't wrong when they flagged those strange incidents in New York and Louisiana," Kurogai said. "They weren't mutants at all. They were feeding grounds."
Rogue frowned, recalling several unsolved reports from her network. "We thought it was mutant-on-human crime. Guess we were off by a century or two."
"Exactly," Kurogai said with a faint chuckle. "Now we know who's behind it."
He reached into his coat, retrieving a small holographic disk that projected the vampire's fragmented memories in the air—faces, lairs, sigils, and one name: Quinn.
"Get your team on this," he said, handing her the disk. "Track any mention of these names, symbols, or blood cult activity. Anything that connects to vampire movements in the last fifty years."
Rogue took the disk with a nod. "I'll get them on it."
Kurogai's gaze softened slightly. "Good. The young vampire I interrogated was too low-ranking to know much, but he gave me enough."
A few minutes later, Rogue returned with a thick digital file. "Here. This should help."
Kurogai opened it, scanning the data at blinding speed. Every line of text, every image, every location—absorbed, memorized. His pupils flickered with faint glow.
"Perfect," he murmured. "If I can locate their coven, the seventh ring will finally open."
Rogue crossed her arms. "You're chasing power again, huh?"
Kurogai looked up, meeting her eyes. "Power is the only constant in a world full of gods and monsters, Rogue. I'd rather hold it than be crushed by it."
There was a moment of silence between them.
Before she could reply, Kurogai's eyes narrowed. A ripple of divine energy brushed across his senses, faint but unmistakable. He turned sharply toward the window, gazing at the night sky.
"That energy…" he whispered. "I know that signature."
Rogue followed his gaze. "What is it?"
"Thor," Kurogai said simply. "He's back on Earth."
Rogue blinked. "Thor? The actual god of thunder?"
Kurogai nodded slowly, a faint edge of amusement in his tone. "His aura is impossible to mistake. The question is—what brings him here this time? The Space Stone… or something else?"
____
Advanced chapters are available on my patreon page
Read ahead of everyone 💙
Patreon.com/Zphyr