Inside the quiet halls of the New York manor, Kurogai stepped through a shimmering golden portal. The air rippled behind him before sealing shut with a soft hum. His expression was calm, almost unreadable.
"Kurogai, is there a situation?" The voice came from Rogue, who hurried toward him. Concern marked her face; though she hadn't been at the battle, her powers had recently absorbed traces of perception from another mutant. Through that faint connection, she'd sensed his earlier confrontation — and it had unsettled her.
Kurogai smiled faintly. "It's nothing serious," he said, his tone reassuring. "Just a few pests. Hardly worth the worry."
Rogue let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. His calmness always had that effect. Around him, even chaos seemed manageable. "If you say so," she murmured, her shoulders relaxing.
After a few brief words with Rogue, Kurogai didn't linger. He turned and exited the manor gates, the night air cool against his skin. His focus was already elsewhere. The matter of the Pupil Ring — an artifact of immense and mysterious power — still demanded his attention. And to track it, he'd need to find the vampires that had surfaced in the city.
Far across town, hidden in the depths of New York's underbelly, stood a small, dimly lit bar. From the outside, it looked unremarkable — the kind of place you'd pass without a second glance. But inside, the atmosphere pulsed with dark energy. Flashing lights. Bass-heavy music. Bodies moving to the rhythm of the night. Yet beneath the illusion of life and laughter, there was hunger.
Some of the dancers had faint red glows flickering in their eyes, their gazes predatory as they scanned the crowd. To them, the humans swaying to the music weren't people. They were prey. Blood. Sustenance. The night's feast waiting to happen.
This bar wasn't just a place to party. It was a feeding ground — a hunting arena carefully disguised as nightlife.
At the bar counter sat a tall, broad-shouldered man whose presence commanded the room. His features were sharp, his expression both calm and cruel. He was Quinn, the vampire lord of this territory. His kind ruled the night in silence, taking what they wanted while the world above slept in ignorance.
A man in a dark suit and sunglasses approached him, bowing slightly. "Lord Quinn," he said with a hint of tension in his voice. "Klee — the one sent to handle the deal with the Sandman crew — hasn't reported back. It's been over a day. I think something's happened."
Quinn's crimson eyes flickered dangerously. "Hmph. Useless," he growled. "I thought turning him into one of us would make him valuable. Instead, he disappears the moment he's given power." A faint red light burned in his pupils as he leaned back. "Send some of the elders to deal with the Sandman. If he can't explain what happened, then the ones behind him will."
The man in sunglasses bowed again. "Understood."
As Quinn spoke, the heavy doors of the bar opened — light from the street spilling inside. The sudden brightness made several vampires hiss and turn their heads.
A lone figure stepped in.
Tall, lean, composed — his movements almost too smooth for a mortal. Beneath his dark coat, strands of hair framed a pair of heterochromatic eyes, one a calm Amethyst, the other faintly glowing Gold.
Kurogai Blackwood had arrived.
Conversation and music faltered for a heartbeat as heads turned toward him. The tension in the room thickened. To the vampires, this was unexpected. Strangers rarely entered their den uninvited. The scent of human blood — warm and alive — stirred their instincts.
Prey.
That was what they saw. A meal walking straight into the lion's den.
Quinn's lip curved in amusement. He leaned back against the counter, studying the newcomer. "Well, well," he murmured. "A bold one tonight."
To the vampires, caution was a survival instinct. They fed quietly, never drawing attention from hunters, sorcerers, or heroes who prowled the city's darker corners. So when someone waltzed straight through their door, curiosity and hunger quickly blended into one dangerous impulse.
Quinn gestured toward the man beside him. "Go see what he wants," he said smoothly. "If you handle it well, I'll see to it you're reborn as one of the noble bloodline."
The man in sunglasses stiffened with excitement. "Y-yes, Lord Quinn!" he stammered, before hurrying off. He was a half-blood, still human — someone desperate to earn immortality by serving the creatures he admired.
As the man moved away, Quinn's crimson eyes never left Kurogai. He could tell, even from this distance, that there was something unusual about the stranger. His aura was… wrong. Not quite human. Not vampire either. It was powerful — restrained, but ancient in its weight.
And then Kurogai reached the counter.
"What'll it be, stranger?" Quinn asked, his tone light but mocking. "We've got every kind of drink imaginable. Pick your poison."
Kurogai smiled faintly, resting one hand on the counter. "My tastes are… different," he replied. "I doubt you have what I'm looking for."
"Oh?" Quinn tilted his head, pretending amusement. "Try me."
Kurogai's eyes gleamed faintly beneath the dim lights. "I'm looking for a drink made from vampire blood," he said softly. "Do you serve that here?"
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Every dancer froze. The laughter, the music, even the hum of conversation died instantly. Dozens of red eyes turned toward him at once, glowing like embers in the dark.
They all knew what his words meant. He wasn't here for a drink. He was here to provoke. To challenge their domain.
Behind the counter, Quinn bared a sharp smile, his crimson eyes flashing with menace. "We don't serve that kind of drink," he said, his voice thick with mockery. "But I could make you something far better — a fine wine brewed from your blood."
Kurogai's lips curved slightly. "That's unlikely," he said evenly. "It's much easier to make wine from vampire blood, after all. You've got plenty of it here."
For a split second, the room held its breath.
Then, the music stuttered, and a low, almost imperceptible growl spread across the bar. The vampires tensed, claws flexing, fangs glinting under the dim lights. Every instinct screamed at them that this man was no ordinary hunter.
Kurogai's gaze swept across the room slowly, deliberately. "I didn't come to drink. I came to collect," he said, voice calm, cold, and deadly.
A ripple of murmurs and whispers ran through the bar, but none dared speak aloud. The hunter had arrived — and the hunt was about to begin.