Even as he issued the threat, the man's voice remained low and magnetic. His right hand, wreathed in flas, gripped Higgins's shoulder, while his left, shimring with silver bands of light, pressed against the man's head.
Higgins swallowed hard, sensing that the hand on his head was far more terrifying than the one on his shoulder.
“I can feel your power... What is it you wish to know?”
“This way.”
Jenkins dragged him from the middle of the street to the curb and asked in a low voice:
“How do I break this arcane lock?”
“With blood. All the traps in this lock must be disard with blood. The Master uses it to weaken his opponents while strengthening himself.”
He felt not a shred of guilt for betraying his superior, much like he felt nothing when killing innocents to ensure his own survival.
The pieces began to fall into place, a faint thread connecting the day's events. Jenkins thought he understood:
“So, tonight's eclipse was the vampires' doing? They revealed their presence intentionally, all to activate this arcane lock and absorb power?”
If that was the case, then everything that had happened tonight suddenly made sense.
“Who is this 'Master'?”
he asked.
“I assu you're familiar with pure-blood vampires. The Master is one of them. His full na is Baideweierte Linkesboge.”
“Does he carry a mirror?”
“Hmm?”
Higgins froze for a second, then realization dawned. This man was here for the mirror.
“Yes, I believe so. He often holds it and mutters to himself. But I'm not telling you what it does just yet. Once I've told you everything, I'm useless to you, aren't I?”
Such was the slyness of a small-ti rchant.
“A fair point.”
Jenkins nodded. Then, with a flick of his left hand, he sent a silver sliver of light burrowing into Higgins's mind.
The middle-aged man's eyes bulged, as if trying to leap from their sockets. He twitched a few tis, then went still.
Jenkins grunted, satisfied he was on the right track. He stood still and peered into the distance. The level-seven vampire was stationary now, lingering at the very edge of the arcane lock.
It didn't seem to be in any hurry to escape; it hadn't moved since the mont Jenkins had run into Higgins.
To the east, the Benefactors from the Orthodox Church had already dispatched the other two vampire thralls. Now, it seed, they were probing the arcane lock.
“I'd really like to know what you're up to.”
He bent down, took a deep breath, and hoisted the unconscious—but still living—middle-aged man onto his shoulder. A few steps forward brought him to the middle of the street, where a solitary porcelain bowl sat on the cobblestones.
Higgins had been stopped by this very object earlier. Jenkins had watched him drip his own blood into the bowl before it would let him pass.
The greatest difference between this and an ordinary bowl was its rim: a complete circle of yellowed teeth set in unnervingly pink, fleshy gums. It was utterly revolting.
Jenkins couldn't tell if it was a living creature or an artifact, but he had no desire to find out what its bite felt like.
He dangled the arm of the man on his shoulder over the bowl's opening, then made a cut with his knife. The bowl didn't vanish until it was filled to the brim with blood.
“This doesn't seem so difficult.”
Jenkins muttered under his breath.
And so he continued on, carrying the unfortunate man through the arcane lock, simultaneously healing him and using his blood as a key. Higgins had been right—the bloodletting drained one's power. Each new trap required more blood than the last, a clear sign that the potency within it was steadily weakening.
By the ti he neared the vampire's location, Jenkins had to drain the equivalent of twice the man's entire blood volu just to pass over a swarm of leeches writhing on the ground.
In the distance, he could make out the tallest building in the area, its roof tapering to a sharp spire. A black-robed figure was clinging to it, bathed in the light of the blood-red moon, their form stained crimson by the glow.
The tallic tang of blood hung faintly in the air, though Jenkins couldn't be sure if it was from his unwilling blood bag or sothing else.
Seeing he hadn't yet been spotted, he quickly ducked into a nearby alley. He dumped the man into a heap of rubbish, casually covering his face with a torn newspaper. Then, he crept a few steps forward and crouched at the corner of the building to survey the area again.
Enough ti had passed for the three combat squads to break through the arcane lock's defenses and converge on the area. Their target, clearly, was the man 'sunbathing' under the moon on the spire.
He held his breath for a few seconds, and sure enough, a group of people in matching overcoats rushed past the alley's entrance. They failed to notice the crouching figure in the gloom, and Jenkins had no intention of saying hello.
He'd taken one look at the figure on the spire and known that if lightning were to strike, they'd be in for a bad ti. And just as he thought it, the battle began with a deafening crack of thunder that split the heavens.
The fight erupted in an instant. Jenkins's view was restricted, but he could see points of light crisscrossing in the dark, punctuated by massive explosions and strange sonic booms.
The arcane lock demanded blood to traverse, and the vampire could draw strength from that very blood. With one side weakening as the other grew stronger, and with the vampire clearly prepared for this very scenario, it was perhaps no surprise that the Orthodox Church squads failed to gain the upper hand.
The scent of blood in the air grew richer, more cloying. Crimson moonlight washed over the silent streets. There were no residents within the arcane lock's boundaries; the entire district was eerily quiet, save for the distant clamor of the fight.
The moon seed to be descending, drawing closer to the earth—and it wasn't just his imagination. The once-shadowed, rubbish-strewn alley was now awash in crimson light. It fell first upon the half-covered body in the trash heap, then crept across the ground to touch Jenkins's boots.
“I have a bad feeling about this...”
he thought, feeling the pocket watch chain hidden beneath his coat begin to vibrate violently. He pressed a hand to his chest and, unfortunately, squashed his cat. Chocolate let out a muffled, angry growl from inside his jacket.
His mind raced, piecing together the chaotic events of recent days. He recalled his first encounter with the vampires.
“Last ti, they slaughtered an entire alley of people for their blood. This ti, they've enacted a massive ritual to drain power. What in the world are they trying to accomplish?”
For now, there was no concrete evidence linking the vampires' appearance to the advent of the Evil God's Scion, so Jenkins couldn't jump to conclusions. Still, after the last six months, he'd learned one thing for certain: sohow, eventually, all of this would end up being his problem.
As he mulled it over, the distant battle took a turn. Jenkins watched as a point of light—a level-six Benefactor—soared into the sky. It clashed with the vampire for a mont before being sent flying, hurtling in a perfect arc... directly toward him.
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