The first thing Marcus noticed when he stepped into the room was the smell—rich, coppery, unmistakable. Blood. Not fresh, but lingering. Woven into the velvet walls, soaked into the grain of the antique wood underfoot. It clashed oddly with the room's décor: a seamless blend of aristocratic elegance and club-lounge flair. Crystal sconces glowed soft amber, set against dark-paneled walls and sleek LED trim. The centerpiece was a pristine glass table, low and square, surrounded on three sides by expensive leather seating—two single chairs on either flank, and a wide couch at the far end.
On that couch lounged a man who looked to be in his mid-forties. He wore a long fur-lined coat draped over obnoxiously gaudy designer clothes—glittering chains, tailored silk, rings that clinked when he moved. His short, ashen-black hair was slicked back, and his piercing blue eyes glinted with amusement even as two women perched on his lap, draping themselves across him like accessories.
Four men in blood-red suits stood quietly around the room. Guards. Each one watching Marcus and Alexa like they were already sizing up where to strike.
The man on the couch raised his brows and spoke in a voice that was disarmingly high—not cartoonish, just a few notes higher than his imposing appearance would suggest.
"What's this?" he said, tilting his head. "I don't believe I invited either of you."
Marcus let out a quiet scoff and stepped further in, pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting it with a flick of his thumb. "You sure about that?" he asked through a plume of smoke. "Because after the little stunt you pulled—getting Eric to rip out his girlfriend's throat—I'd say we're plenty invited."
Alexa smirked, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall near the door. "And I invited myself," she said sweetly. "Hope you don't mind."
The man chuckled and gently patted the thighs of the two women still draped across him. "Eric… that's why you're here." He gestured for the women to rise, which they did without hesitation, slipping away into the shadows of the room.
Then he stood.
Up close, he was even more ridiculous. Too many layers, too much gold, too much bravado.
"My name," he said with a shallow bow, "is Felix Carver. And who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"Detective Marcus Veil," Marcus replied without missing a beat, smoke curling from the corner of his lips. "Last name's one I picked myself."
"Magician Alexa Silver," Alexa added, giving a playful little wave. "Ironic, considering who I'm traveling with."
Felix chuckled. "Well then… Marcus and Alexa—or do you prefer Mr. Veil and Ms. Silver?" He waved his hand dismissively before continuing. "I'm deeply sorry for the trouble my servant caused. I assure you, I value the veil as much as anyone. This was never meant to spiral the way it did."
Marcus narrowed his eyes, blowing smoke through his nose. "Bullshit. You're old enough to know exactly how a starving vampire like Eric would react when backed into a corner."
Felix's smile didn't falter, but it sharpened. "Tsk, tsk… Fine. No use pretending, I suppose." He swept an arm through the air theatrically. "But surely you understand—the role of a master is to teach. If I let one of my own break the rules without consequence, others might follow. And that would put the veil at far greater risk."
Marcus flicked ash to the floor. "Right. So to protect the veil… you broke it." He shook his head, took one last drag, then dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot. "Lucky for you, I'm not here to arrest you."
He cracked the knuckles of his organic hand slowly, deliberately.
"I'm here to teach you something. About respect."
Felix let out a slow, breathy laugh. "If you say so, Detective."
He raised one hand.
The four men in red suits stepped forward without a word.
Marcus moved with a speed that defied his size. One second he was standing still, the next—his hand clamped over a guard's mouth like a steel vice. The man didn't even have time to react before Marcus lifted him off the floor like he weighed nothing. With a twist of his hips and a sharp swing, he hurled the vampire across the room—straight into one of the others with enough force to lift both off their feet. They crashed into the far wall in a heap of limbs and splintered wood, the drywall cracking around them.
The third one got in a punch, but only because Marcus let him.
The blow landed square in Marcus's back with a sickening thud—like someone punching a solid slab of reinforced steel. The man recoiled instantly, eyes wide. "What the fu—"
He didn't finish.
Marcus spun and drove a kick into his midsection. The impact sounded like a tree snapping in half. The vampire folded in on himself and was launched backwards, crashing into a couch so hard it flipped over with him.
The last one hesitated. Took a single step back.
Marcus turned to face him.
That grin wasn't human. Lips parted, teeth bare—feral. Almost amused.
"N-Not... human..." gasped the broken vampire still conscious on the floor, blood pooling beneath him.
"Master! Please—help!" the last one shouted, staggering as he looked past Marcus, eyes locked on Felix.
But Felix didn't move.
He remained by the table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as Marcus advanced.
The final vampire raised his arms too late.
Marcus's fist slammed into the side of his head with a crack that echoed through the room. His skull caved, and his body hit the ground like a dropped doll.
Marcus exhaled. "Now," he said, eyes already turning back toward Felix. "Time to deal with you."
Behind him, Alexa walked with casual grace, pulling a set of small glass vials from her pockets. She crouched beside one of the twitching vampires, uncorked one, and began collecting the blood as if she were simply picking herbs.
"You're doing great, dear~" she sang, voice light and teasing.
Felix sighed loudly. "Incompetent. All of them. Only good for beating on nulls."
He vanished.
One blink—he was gone.
The next, he was in front of Marcus, appearing with a blur and a crack of displaced air. His fist was already in motion, and as it swung forward, the flesh along his knuckles thickened, warped, until jagged ridges of bone burst through—natural brass knuckles made from hardened vampiric growth. His punch landed dead center on Marcus's chest with a thud that echoed like a cannon.
Marcus slid back half a foot across the polished wood floor, his boots screeching softly to a halt.
He barely flinched.
"Not bad," he muttered, eyes sharp as ever.
Before Felix could retreat, Marcus grabbed him by the collar with his right hand and hoisted him overhead. "My turn."
He brought him down—hard—across his knee. Once to the ribs. A second strike into the spine. Felix howled.
Marcus didn't stop.
He flipped him mid-air like a ragdoll, seized his leg, then slammed him face-first into the floor. The wood cracked. A wet crunch followed. Felix lay there, twitching, blood pouring from his mouth, his limbs twisted wrong.
Marcus straightened, breathing just a tiny bit more heavier.
"I think I got the message across," he said as he rolled his shoulders, reaching for another cigarette. "Don't do it again, alright? Next time, I'll just destroy you."
He tapped the cigarette against the box.
Just as he brought it to his lips—
"What the hell is going on here!?"