At that same moment, an arrow tore through the night sky and buried itself into a cluster of vampires. The shaft exploded midair, bursting into a cloud of shimmering silver dust that corroded everything it touched. Within seconds, every vampire nearby clutched their throats and disintegrated into ash.
Up on the hillside, Barton stood firm, longbow in hand. He drew another arrow from the quiver strapped across his back, nocked it smoothly, and released. Each shot struck true, followed by another silver blast that turned the battlefield into a glittering storm of death.
Beside him lay four or five black crates filled with sleek, silver-edged arrows—at least a hundred by the look of it.
Down below, Natasha led the charge, both pistols blazing. Silver-coated bullets poured out in relentless streams; every pull of the trigger claimed another vampire's life. The Black Widow lived up to her name—quick, deadly, and merciless.
"You guys really pulled out all the stops," Lucas called over the gunfire, his tone half teasing. "Looks like your one-eyed boss finally opened the budget, huh?"
Natasha smirked between bursts of gunfire. "Fury's wanted these bloodsuckers wiped out for years. The only thing stopping him was that ridiculous peace treaty. But since they broke it first—well, now we have every reason to burn them to the ground."
Silver bullets whined through the air, punching through the shrieking undead.
"Your timing's perfect," Frank said, picking up another rifle. "These vamps must be half of New York's damn population."
"Then we hold them here!" Whistler barked, pumping his shotgun. His face was tight with worry. "You three—get inside that tower and stop Deacon Frost! If we're too late, Blade's as good as dead!"
"Give me the serum," Lucas ordered, reaching out. Whistler handed over a small vial of blood-red liquid.
"I'll take Frank and Matt inside," Lucas continued. "Skye, you stay here and stick with Natasha."
Skye nodded reluctantly. She wanted to follow Lucas, but she knew she wasn't ready. Against vampires of this level, she'd only slow them down.
Frank checked his weapons one last time, stuffing silver-dust grenades into his coat and slinging an ammo belt across his chest. Matt snapped his twin batons together, forming a single long staff—perfect for both movement and echolocation.
"Onion! Clear the path!" Lucas shouted.
"Chiu-chiuuu!"
The birdlike creature screeched as it raced over, talons kicking up dust.
"That way!" Lucas pointed toward the tower.
"Chiu—!"
With another shrill cry, Onion's body shimmered, generating an invisible force field around itself. It slammed forward like a runaway freight train, plowing through the battlefield. Every vampire in its path was either shattered by impact or shredded by the pulsing energy that surrounded it.
"Stay close!" Lucas yelled, sprinting in Onion's wake. Frank and Matt followed without hesitation.
The creature tore through the manor grounds, leaving chaos in its wake. Vampires were flung aside like rag dolls, limbs torn, bodies pulverized. Within moments, Onion had carved a straight path all the way to the tower's base.
Lucas's team stopped at the foot of the structure, where the air buzzed with eerie energy. There weren't many guards here—most vampires allowed into the tower were high-ranking members already inside, waiting to witness the ritual.
"I'll draw Frost's attention," Lucas said, handing Matt the vial of serum and a small bottle filled with crimson liquid. "Find Blade and give him this."
Matt uncapped it slightly and sniffed. His senses told him immediately—it was blood. Not ordinary blood, either.
Blade might be a half-vampire, but blood was still the fastest way to restore his strength.
The three split up—Lucas climbed onto Onion's back again and launched himself toward the heart of the tower.
---
Midnight struck. The moon climbed high above the clouds, glowing a deep, unsettling crimson. A beam of red light burst from the heavens, piercing straight into the tower's summit.
"The time has come!" Deacon Frost raised his arms high, his voice thundering through the chamber. "My brothers! The age of vampires is reborn!"
Around him, vampires howled and roared, eyes blazing red in the moonlight.
The crimson beam crawled along the ancient sigils carved into the tower's walls, flowing like liquid blood. Each of the ten vampire elders had been chained precisely beneath those runic channels, forced into a position where their heads tilted upward, eyes wide with terror.
Hummmm—
The red glow surged through the patterns, converging at the elders' brows.
Then came the sound—sizzle, hiss!—like hot iron pressed against flesh. Screams of agony tore through the chamber as the ten elders convulsed violently.
They had become the offering.
Below, the black stone coffin began to bleed. Thick, dark blood flowed from its seams, trickling along grooves that snaked up the tower walls.
Moments later, a single drop of blood welled at each elder's brow. Those ten drops joined the glowing sigils, merging and spreading like veins of molten fire.
Their bodies began to melt—flesh dissolving, bones crumbling—until nothing remained but drifting ash.
The blood they released climbed upward, joining the flow from the coffin, swirling together at the tower's peak into a single, massive crimson droplet.
Deacon Frost lifted his face to it, spreading his arms in exultation.
This was the moment he had lived for—the culmination of every sacrifice. The deaths of his followers, the collapse of his coven—none of it mattered. Once he became the Blood God, he would rule the world. All vampires would kneel.
Drip—
The blood fell, striking him square between the brows. It sank into his flesh, forming a pulsing sigil before vanishing beneath his skin.
"ARRRRGHHHHHHHH!"
Frost's scream echoed like a thunderclap. His entire body turned scarlet, skin bubbling and peeling away as a layer of pale, flawless flesh emerged beneath it.
"ROAAAAARRR!!!"
With a monstrous bellow, his pupils split into vertical slits, glowing gold like a dragon's. A pair of enormous batlike wings tore through his back, unfurling in a spray of blood. His ears elongated to sharp points, and jagged bone spurs erupted from his elbows like twin blades.
The pale sheen of his new skin gleamed with a metallic blue tint—hard as steel.
The sheer pressure of his power filled the chamber, making the very walls tremble. His thirst, his rage, his hunger—all magnified a thousandfold. His golden eyes flared crimson.
"Power…" he rasped. "This… this is true power!"
He drove a fist downward into the stone platform beneath him.
BOOOOOOM!
The impact was like a bomb going off. The entire upper half of the tower disintegrated into rubble, collapsing toward the base—toward the black coffin below.
And standing directly beneath it were Frank and Matt.
They had searched the tower from top to bottom, only to find no trace of Blade. The coffin had been their last hope.
Now, with a mountain of debris raining down, they couldn't even get close—let alone see what lay within.
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