CHAPTER 18 – Blood That Defies Nature
Jeremy POV
Silence settled over the chamber like a held breath.
The chanting had stopped.
The air itself seemed to recoil, heavy with old magic and desperation.
Thirteen witches stood in a wide circle, candlelight flickering against stone walls etched with symbols older than the city above us. At the center of it all lay Davina Claire—small, pale, her chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths. Dark veins spiderwebbed beneath her skin, pulsing faintly, as though something inside her was fighting for dominance.
I stepped forward.
"Take what you need," I said calmly, extending my arm. "Let's get this over with."
The coven stirred.
Sabine's eyes locked onto my exposed forearm. There was hesitation there—fear, curiosity, calculation—but it vanished beneath necessity. She reached to her side and produced a ritual knife. The blade was narrow, etched with runes that glowed faintly blue.
She didn't ask permission.
She slashed.
The knife struck my skin—
—and stopped.
Metal screeched softly as the blade skidded uselessly against my arm. Not even a scratch.
Sabine froze.
She stared. Tried again, this time pressing harder, both hands tightening around the hilt.
Nothing.
Her breath hitched.
"That's… impossible," she whispered.
I glanced down at my arm, unimpressed.
"Knives won't work."
Sabine slowly withdrew the blade, her fingers tightening as though she expected resistance from reality itself.
"Then I'll draw it out," she said sharply.
"Magic can—"
"No," I interrupted. "It can't."
She looked up.
"Magic doesn't work on me," I said evenly.
"Don't bother."
The chamber erupted in murmurs.
Agnes, who had been standing behind the others, tilted her head thoughtfully.
"…That explains it."
Sabine turned. "Explains what?"
Agnes folded her arms. "The witches who tried to retrieve Davina earlier. They said whoever intervened was immune to their spells. They couldn't touch him. They didn't know who it was."
Her gaze slid back to me.
"You are the hunter," she said quietly.
I ignored them.
I reached inward—not for magic, not for strength, but for access.
The inventory opened silently.
Light warped for a fraction of a second, and then—
Steel.
A katana appeared in my hand, its crimson blade gleaming unnaturally under candlelight. The metal looked alive, veins of dark red running through it as if blood had been forged into steel.
The Red Blade.
Wolverine's Blade.
A weekly sign-in reward. One I hadn't expected to use like this.
Sabine stiffened. "Wait—"
I didn't.
I turned the blade inward and sliced cleanly across my forearm.
Pain flared—sharp, real.
Blood welled instantly, dark and vivid, spilling freely.
Sabine snapped into motion, sliding a ritual bowl beneath my arm. My blood dripped steadily into it, each drop hitting the surface with unnatural weight, ripples spreading as though the liquid itself carried pressure.
The witches fell silent.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then—nothing.
The bleeding stopped.
I frowned.
The wound hadn't closed fully—but it had already begun to scab over, skin knitting slowly, stubbornly.
I stared at it.
"That blade is supposed to negate regeneration," I muttered.
I lifted my gaze slightly.
System?
[Yes.]
Why am I healing this fast?
[The blade negates supernatural regenerative abilities. What you are observing is your natural healing rate.]
My eyes narrowed. That fast?
[Your vitality is extraordinarily high. Even without regenerative skills, your body heals at an accelerated natural pace. At this level, you would age significantly slower than a normal human.]
I looked back at the blade, then at my arm.
So this is just… me.
[Correct.]
I lifted the katana again, testing—
"Enough," Sabine snapped. "That's sufficient."
I paused, then let the blade dissolve back into inventory space.
Sabine and Agnes exchanged a glance but said nothing about the hunter revelation.
Smart.
They moved quickly now, positioning the bowl, adjusting runes, drawing symbols in chalk and ash. The other witches resumed chanting, voices weaving together into something ancient and heavy.
I leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving the altar.
As they worked, I leaned my head just enough to speak quietly.
"Alfred."
"Yes, sir."
"Make sure none of them leave."
"Okay sir."
He didn't move—but I knew he was watching everything. Vampiric hearing made distance meaningless.
The ritual intensified.
The witches poured my blood over Davina's chest, letting it seep into her skin, chanting faster now, voices strained. The air vibrated.
Then—
Sabine faltered.
"…It's not responding."
Agnes frowned, pressing her palms together, eyes glowing faintly. "The blood should be transferring vitality—strength—to overwhelm the venom."
Sabine shook her head slowly. "It's immune. Magic isn't guiding it."
The chanting wavered.
Agnes's voice sharpened. "The venom is absorbing it."
I straightened.
The blood was being pulled in two directions—Davina and the werewolf venom both feeding on it.
The witches panicked.
They moved closer, clasping hands, channeling their combined power into Davina directly. The chamber shook slightly as magic surged.
Davina screamed.
It tore out of her, raw and agonized, echoing off stone walls. Her body arched violently, veins flaring dark, then glowing faintly white.
Minutes stretched.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Sweat drenched the witches. Some collapsed to their knees. Sabine and Agnes staggered back at last, breathing hard.
They exchanged a look.
I saw it.
"It's too late," Sabine said hoarsely. "We have to end it."
Agnes swallowed. "We can't let her become—"
They stepped forward.
I lifted my hand.
The air locked.
Sabine and Agnes froze mid-step, eyes widening in shock as invisible pressure seized them, lifting them slightly off the ground.
Telekinesis.
I turned my head slowly.
System, I said calmly. What's happening to Davina?
[Your blood is acting as a perfect conduit.]
I frowned. For what?
[Both Davina Claire and the werewolf venom.]
My eyes sharpened.
[The two forces are integrating. Davina will survive.]
And?
[She will become a hybrid. Comparable to Klaus Mikaelson. However, she will be a mixture of a werewolf and a witch instead of a vampire and a werewolf.]
Silence.
A witch.
A werewolf.
A hybrid that shouldn't exist.
I looked at Sabine, who was struggling helplessly, mouth opening in panic.
"I'll let you speak," I said evenly. "Try to cast a spell and I snap your neck."
I released her voice.
Sabine gasped. "You can't do this! You're defying nature—she'll be an abomination!"
I smiled faintly.
I sealed her mouth shut.
"I knew I couldn't trust witches," I murmured. "Your moral compass always spins when power is involved."
Then—
A cracking sound split the chamber.
Davina screamed again—then fell silent.
Her body convulsed violently, bones shifting, muscles tearing and reforming. Fur burst from her skin in a blinding flash of white light.
Five minutes later—
A wolf stood where the girl had been.
Pure white.
Larger than any normal wolf, though not as massive as the one that had scratched her.
Powerful. Perfect. Eyes burning with awareness.
The wolf turned, growling low at the witches.
Then it faced me.
It lowered its head.
And bowed.
I exhaled slowly.
"…Interesting." I smiled "....a juvenile werewolf that is in control in its first transformation."