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New York, in an unremarkable auto repair shop.
A muscular Black man sat on a tal chair, his dark skin glistening with sweat. His hands and feet were tied, and an iron rod was clenched between his teeth. His face contorted in pain, and it looked like he might bite the rod in half. Sweat poured from him as he groaned in agony.
Nearby, an old man with white hair stood at a tal workbench, inspecting weapons, ammunition, and equipnt. He occasionally glanced over at the struggling man, unfazed by the sight—it was a scene he'd grown used to.
After what seed like an eternity, the pain subsided. The man's chest heaved as he took deep breaths, but his expression showed relief. The old man set down the shotgun he was inspecting, walked over, and began to untie the man.
"How do you feel?" the old man asked.
"Sa as always," Blade replied through gritted teeth.
Once freed, Blade stood up slowly, his expression indifferent. He walked to a nearby chair, grabbed his black leather trench coat, and slipped it on. Then, he put on his signature sunglasses, masking his emotions further.
"You seem to be in a hurry, Blade," the old man, Whistler, observed.
"I found an ancient text in the Book of Death," Blade said grimly. "It ntioned, 'The Blood God Cos,' and I've got a bad feeling about it."
Blade slung his sword across his back and returned to the workbench. Whistler nodded.
"From the information I've gathered, a lot of vampires in New York are planning sothing big," Whistler said. "But I don't know what exactly they're up to."
"It's probably fallout from Century Tower. Those bastards have already started to make their move," Blade responded sharply. "I need to act fast."
"You can't take them on directly," Whistler cautioned. "They're hidden deep, and we don't know enough about their operation yet."
"And besides, you alone aren't enough."
Blade didn't argue. As soone who had known him since he was young, Whistler understood Blade's strength well. A half-vampire with exceptional abilities, Blade had the strength, speed, and reflexes that matched those of high-level vampires. He'd trained himself since childhood to hunt and kill his own kind. And unlike other vampires, Blade could walk in the daylight, earning him the title of "Daywalker."
But even with all that power, Blade knew Whistler was right—this wasn't a fight he could take on alone.
No matter how powerful Blade is, he knows he can't take on an entire vampire faction alone. He nodded in acknowledgnt, glancing towards the factory door.
"So, I called for backup," Blade said.
"Backup?" Whistler raised an eyebrow. Just then, a series of beeps echoed through the shop—an alarm Whistler had set, signaling soone's approach. His face tightened in reaction, but before he could move, he noticed two figures standing in the sunlight outside the factory.
The light obscured their faces, and Whistler instinctively reached for the weapon under his arm. But Blade remained calm, stepping forward to greet them. Seeing Blade's reaction, Whistler relaxed slightly and followed close behind.
As the figures approached, Whistler could finally make out their features. They were both tall, strikingly handso, and carried themselves with undeniable confidence. The taller of the two had a presence that matched Blade's, clad in a stylish coat and shirt. Based on Whistler's decades of vampire-hunting experience, he could tell these two were far from ordinary.
The way they moved, the look in their eyes—everything about them scread power. Standing before Whistler, they felt like two volcanoes ready to erupt at any mont, capable of devastating anything in their path.
"Eric Brooks," Blade introduced himself.
"Pietro Maximoff," said the first visitor.
"Sergei," the second one added.
"Abraham Whistler," Whistler finally responded.
The newcors were none other than Pietro and Sergei. Pietro's gaze drifted around the shop, taking in the workbench cluttered with computers, weapons, and scattered tools. He glanced at Whistler, and his first impression of the old man and Blade was one of poverty—not in terms of resources but in terms of their rough, haphazard setup. It didn't an they were without weapons or equipnt; it just looked disorganized.
Pietro also sensed a strange mix of cold and hot energy from Blade, which intrigued him. Sergei locked eyes with Blade and comnted, "You're looking a little... tired."
"Uh-huh," Blade replied nonchalantly. "I need your help."
"The Blood God?" Sergei asked.
"Yes. I slaughtered a bunch of vampires and found the Book of Death, which details their history. I couldn't decipher the ancient vampire text, but from what I gathered from a few pure-bloods, they're planning to resurrect the Blood God."
"Do you want to strike first?" Sergei asked with keen interest.
"I don't know what this Blood God is, but it must be sothing important for the vampires to get so aggressive," Blade responded without hesitation. As soone who despised vampires, it didn't matter what they were planning—so long as they failed, it would be enough for him.
"I like your thinking," Sergei said, approvingly. Then, turning to Pietro, he added, "You in? Want to have so fun?"
"Why not? It's been boring lately," Pietro shrugged.
"Fun? Boring?" The short exchange made Whistler and Blade exchange glances. Blade's eye twitched; these two sounded overly confident. Were they really this nonchalant about vampires?
Whistler narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge the origins of these newcors. He suspected they were no ordinary n. But Blade wasn't concerned. For him, as long as Sergei and Pietro could help kill vampires, their true identities didn't matter. He trusted Sergei's power—Sergei had taken out the vampires in Century Tower single-handedly, sothing Blade knew he couldn't have done so quickly on his own.
"We'll start today," Blade said, always decisive. "I've got an informant. Maybe he can tell us where their lair is."
"Alright," Sergei nodded. "Do you need our help?"
"Got a car?" Blade asked in response.
"Of course."
"Then fill it up—we're in for a fast and furious night."
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