The sun was a pale smear over the skyline, barely penetrating the thick haze that clung to Seoul-Chicago's hybrid cityscape. Neon signs flickered over the crowded streets, their light bouncing off rain-slicked asphalt. The air smelled faintly of ozone and burning oil, a mix of advanced technology and old-world decay. Drones whirred above, scanning for anything out of place, their lenses bright like a thousand microscopic suns. Below them, the city was alive—alive in the way that only a place built on ambition, greed, and necessity could be.
The city had grown unevenly over the decades. The wealthiest sectors glittered like fortresses of glass and steel, apartment towers stretching into the clouds, their lights reflecting off perfectly cleaned streets. Here, citizens zipped around in autonomous vehicles, orders from hovering delivery drones arriving before they had even realized they wanted something. Luxury was the standard, but only for a fraction of the population.
Below the towers, the streets told a different story. Rusted signs in Korean and English advertised last-minute jobs and illegal enhancements. People huddled in alleyways beneath the buzzing holograms, and the smell of street food mingled with the stench of burning waste. Occasionally, a scream would slice through the chatter, dismissed by the locals as "just another fight in District 9." But whispers persisted—rumors of creatures stalking the night. Small incidents, easily covered up. But even the whispers were enough to create unease.
In the middle of the city, the skyscraper of Helix Dominion rose like a blade into the smog. Its mirrored surface reflected the chaos of the streets below while maintaining the illusion of order. Inside, the air smelled clean and sterile. The hum of air purifiers and cooling systems filled every corridor, masking the faint, underlying tension. This was the headquarters of Adrian Voss, CEO, and the mind behind the company's latest venture.
Adrian Voss, fifty-nine, with silver-streaked hair and eyes that could pierce through a lie like a scalpel through flesh, sat at the head of the boardroom table. Around him, the other executives shifted nervously. Charts and holographic projections hovered in the air, displaying the latest reports of supernatural disturbances across various nations.
"Profit," Voss said, his voice low and deliberate, "is the measure of everything. But appearances matter too. The world needs to believe we care about its safety." He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "The vampire and werewolf problem isn't going away. Nations are paying, and we can offer a solution that nobody else can. But we'll do more than just hunt. We'll make supersoldiers—hunters capable of dealing with both species simultaneously. Then we rent them. Governments pay. Cities are protected. We profit."
Dr. Kenji Watanabe, the lead scientist, adjusted his glasses nervously. He had been working on genetic enhancements for years, blending human, vampire, and werewolf DNA with experimental serums and power-enhancing vaccines. "It's possible, sir," he said cautiously. "But there are…risks. The interaction between the DNA sequences is volatile. Even a minor miscalculation—"
Voss waved a hand. "I didn't pay for maybes, Kenji. I pay for results. Make it work. And I want the first test subject today."
The room went silent. It wasn't just fear of failure that hung in the air—it was the knowledge of who Voss had in mind.
Keal.
Forty years old, a man whose name alone could silence a room, Keal was infamous in the underworld. Contract killer. Assassin. His hits had toppled governments and assassinated presidents. And yet, he had never been caught. He lived in a luxurious apartment on the 82nd floor of one of the city's wealthiest towers, a fortress of solitude furnished with the spoils of his work. No family. No attachments. Just him, and the shadows of the lives he had ended.
Keal had arrived at Helix Dominion three hours earlier, escorted by armed agents, expression unreadable. He didn't flinch when Adrian Voss outlined the project. He didn't hesitate when offered the contract: powers in exchange for serving the company. He had seen the world as one long game of blood and chaos; the serum was simply another weapon in his arsenal.
By the time he was led into the test chamber, Keal's mind had already begun to drift. Memories of assassinations, of chaos, of the thrill of ending a life in a single motion, swirled through his head. He didn't flinch at the sight of the laboratory. He didn't hesitate at the syringes filled with the glowing serum. For him, this was merely the next stage.
Outside the lab, the city continued.
In District 12, a mother held her child tightly as a low howl echoed through the streets. A young man ducked into the shadows, fleeing from a figure with eyes too red, fangs too long. For now, these incidents were small, isolated. But Dr. Watanabe knew the implications. He had spent nights calculating the probabilities. The serum was unstable. Too unstable for human testing. Yet here it was, live.
The test began at 0900 hours. Sensors recorded heart rate, neural activity, and cellular mutation in real-time. Keal's body responded quickly. Muscles grew denser. Reflexes sharpened. DNA strands that had never been meant to coexist began merging. The scientists took notes frantically. Every slight twitch, every minor mutation, was documented.
By day three, it was clear that Keal's body was extraordinary. His senses expanded beyond human capability. Strength increased exponentially. Reflexes allowed him to dodge microscopic projectiles. And yet, the volatility grew. The genetic fusion was unpredictable. Cells multiplied rapidly, almost violently.
Voss watched from the observation deck, expression calm. "Increase the dosage," he instructed, voice low but firm. "We need results, Kenji. I don't care about the…side effects."
Dr. Watanabe hesitated. "Sir, the instability is—"
"I said do it," Voss snapped, cutting him off.
By day five, the serum's instability reached critical levels. Keal's body expanded uncontrollably. Veins pulsed with unnatural energy. Bones snapped and reformed in minutes. Muscle tissue rippled and twisted. The test cell couldn't contain him. The containment field failed. Sirens blared. Scientists scrambled.
And then the blast came.
Metal twisted. Glass shattered. Alarms screamed. When the smoke cleared, Keal was gone. In his place stood something far beyond human comprehension. Bloodhollow. A 7-foot apex predator with the instincts of a wolf, intelligence of a vampire, and the cold calculation of an assassin. His eyes glowed crimson in the smoke-filled lab.
He looked at the humans around him, and they looked back… briefly. Then screams tore through the air as Bloodhollow attacked. Dr. Watanabe was the first to fall. Then Voss's security. Then everything went black.
Outside, the city had already begun to feel tremors of change. News drones captured smoke rising from the Helix Dominion tower. Citizens recorded fleeting glimpses of monstrous forms moving through the streets. Government hotlines were flooded. Social media exploded with speculation: terrorist attack? Experimental disaster? Or…something far worse.
In the chaos, Helix Dominion's executives tried to salvage control. Public relations statements were drafted: "Containment protocols successful. No public danger." The statement was laughable, but it had to exist. The city, unprepared for what was coming, continued unaware.
Keal—Bloodhollow—was free.
And the world had just begun to change.