Kiss of the Vampire: The Girl With The Sharp Sword (Part 2)
Mission 20: Good Life
The Manila sun was doing its best to melt the asphalt of Quezon City, but the officer in pursuit was a blur of calculated movement. He didn't run like the other cops; there was a strange, fluid grace to his stride—a phantom rhythm that suggested he was used to moving through much darker places than a suburban street.
His cap was pulled low, shadowing his face as he vaulted over a stray monoblock chair with the effortless flick of a seasoned athlete.
"Officer in pursuit!" he barked into his shoulder-mic, his voice calm, almost melodic. "We have Suspect A—the track star—and Suspect B... the immovable object."
He skidded around a corner, boots chirping against the pavement. A few meters ahead, a man who looked like he'd been carved out of pure lard was wobbling frantically, his arms swinging in a way that defied every law of physics.
"Stop," the officer commanded. His voice dropped into a low, authoritative vibration that made the suspect's knees wobble instinctively. "In the name of the law and common cardiovascular health."
The suspect whipped his head around, triple chin shaking. "I'M NOT AN OBJECT! I HAVE A GLANDULAR PROBLEM!"
"Your problem isn't glands, sir, it's gravity," the officer replied, still shrouded in the shadow of his cap as he closed the distance with terrifying ease. "You're resisting arrest and the urge to eat a salad."
The man tried to pull a sharp U-turn, but momentum won the argument. He tripped over his own shoelaces and performed a slow-motion face-plant into a patch of Carabao grass.
THWACK.
The officer slowed to a jog, stopping beside the wheezing man. He stood over him, the silhouette of his lean frame casting a long shadow. For a moment, the air around him felt heavy, almost cold, as if he were something more than a man in a blue uniform.
"YOU VERBALLY ASSAULTED ME!" the man roared into the dirt. "POLICE BRUTALITY!"
The officer reached up, slowly tilting his cap back. The sunlight hit his face, revealing a reckless, boyish grin and eyes that sparkled with a sudden, mischievous light.
"Sir, the only thing brutal here is your cholesterol," Deyviel Kieth Martin deadpanned, the mysterious aura vanishing instantly into a fit of laughter. He glanced over his shoulder. The first suspect—the athletic one—had stopped near a parked SUV, holding a child's hand and looking back with total confusion.
"Dispatch, Suspect A is back. Apparently, he realized his getaway driver was a potato."
Behind him, the 'beanbag' started wailing about the light and the smell of bacon. Deyviel sighed, leaning down with a wink. "That's not the light, sir. That's the Mang Inasal down the street. Now, look. If you turn around and put your hands behind your back... I might—just might—have a box of glazed donuts in the patrol car."
The man's wailing stopped instantly. "Donuts?"
"Aha! Look at this guy!" Deyviel barked a laugh, pointing a finger. "Look at the focus! You couldn't run five meters for freedom, but you'll rise from the dead for a Krispy Kreme!"
The man tried to reach his back, but his arms hovered six inches apart, blocked by his own stomach. "I CAN'T REACH!"
"I'm gonna need longer handcuffs," Deyviel muttered into his radio, grinning at the onlookers. "Or maybe industrial zip-ties and a winch."
From a rooftop overlooking the sunny street, Ben Rayleigh sat on the edge, his legs dangling. He wasn't wearing his commander's coat; just a simple t-shirt and jeans. He watched the young officer below—the boy who should have been erased—as he joked with the crowd.
Ben chuckled softly. "Good," he murmured. "Live like that, Deyviel. No swords. No blood. Just donuts and bad jokes. Just live."
But as Ben closed his eyes, he didn't see the flicker below. As Deyviel closed the police car door, he caught his reflection in the glass. For a fraction of a second, his brown eyes turned a piercing, celestial violet. His thumb moved instinctively to his pocket, searching for a gold coin that wasn't there.
Deep inside his soul, a voice whispered: "Witness."
Deyviel blinked, the violet vanishing. "Must be the heat," he muttered, stepping into the driver's seat. He pulled away from the curb, leaving the laughing crowd behind. He adjusted his rearview mirror, but as he did, he caught a glimpse of his eyes again. They looked... tired. Older than twenty.
"Seriously, Dey, get more sleep," he muttered, flicking on the radio to drown out the silence.
THE BUREAU HUB – MANILA BRANCH
Meanwhile, Denver, Ethan, and the rest of the squad stepped into the high-tech lobby of the Bureau. The air was cool, smelling of ozone and expensive floor wax. Hunters in sleek black-and-silver tactical gear moved with purpose, their heels clicking against the marble.
"Ethan! Denver! In the briefing room. Now," a voice commanded over the intercom.
They entered a room filled with floating holographic maps. Standing at the head of the table was Ben Rayleigh. In this timeline, he was the Regional Director, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that didn't quite hide the massive, mountain-moving power rolling off him.
"We have a situation," Ben said, his golden eyes flicking to Denver for a microsecond. "There's a localized 'Glitch' near the Binondo district. Local police tried to handle a burglary, but the suspects aren't... human. Or rather, they're bleeding violet."
Denver stiffened. Violet. The color of the Void.
"The police have cordoned off the area," Ben continued, tapping a drone feed. "One officer is currently trapped inside the perimeter. A rookie named Martin."
Denver's heart stopped. "Ethan, take the squad," he urged. "Denver, you're on point," Ben commanded. "Move out."
BINONDO – THE OLD WAREHOUSE
The streets of Binondo were a maze of narrow alleys and red lanterns. By the time the SUV screeched to a halt, the area was a ghost town. They breached the warehouse door, and the air inside was unnaturally cold.
Near the back of the crates, they saw him. Officer Deyviel Kieth Martin was backed against a wall. His police baton was out, glowing with a faint, flickering violet light. In front of him stood a suspect, but his skin was sloughing off like wet paper, revealing a jagged, obsidian form beneath.
"Stay back!" Deyviel shouted, his voice cracking. "I don't know what you are, but I've got a donut in the car and I'm not afraid to use it!"
Even in the face of death, the boy was cracking jokes. The creature lunged.
"DENVER, NOW!" Ethan yelled.
Denver didn't use a standard weapon. He moved with a speed that blurred reality, reaching into the air and pulling a shard of shadow into existence. He intercepted the creature mid-air, slamming it into the floor with a shockwave that shattered nearby crates.
CRACK.
His gauntlet connected with the obsidian jaw, sending the creature skidding across the floor, violet blood staining the dust. Denver didn't look back at the monster. He kept his eyes on the young cop—the messy hair, the familiar face.
"Oi, wazzup! Long time no see, Den!" Deyviel shouted, a relieved grin breaking across his face. He tucked his baton away. "Man, I knew you became a big-shot Hunter, but you really had to show off like that? You almost hit my cap!"
Denver felt a lump in his throat. In this timeline, they were just two kids from the same neighborhood who took different paths. "Deyviel..." Denver breathed. "You're... you're okay."
"Of course I'm okay! Just a little—"
SCREECH.
The Void-spawn didn't stay down. Its body elongated, "Glitch" energy knitting it back together. It lunged again, claws aimed at Deyviel's throat.
"DEYVIEL, DUCK!"
Deyviel didn't panic. Instincts from a forgotten life took over; he dropped to the floor with a fluid roll. As he hit the ground, Denver reached into the air. For a split second, the Yamato manifested in his grip as a ghost of black fire. He swung. The blade sliced through reality, and the Void-spawn vanished, erased as if it had never existed.
Deyviel stood up, dusting off his blue uniform. He looked at Denver's empty hand, then at the spot where the monster had been. "Whoa," he whispered. "Since when did the Bureau give you guys invisible lightsabers? And why does my head hurt every time you move like that?"
Ethan and the squad rushed in. "Area clear," Ethan signaled, looking at the cop. "Officer Martin, are you injured?"
"Just my pride, glasses," Deyviel joked, though he was looking at Denver with a strange intensity. "Hey, Den... seriously. Why do I feel like I've seen you do that a thousand times before? And why do I feel like I'm missing a gold coin?"
Denver stood frozen. As he reached out to pull Deyviel up, their hands met. The air fractured. A spark of violet static jumped between them—not just electricity, but a bridge.
"Whoa," Deyviel muttered, rubbing his palm. "Seriously, Den... for a second there, it felt like I remembered something I haven't actually done yet."
"It's just static from the anomaly, Deyviel," Denver forced his voice to stay neutral. "Don't think too much about it."
"Good," Ben's voice crackled through their comms. "Bring Officer Martin to the Hub for a medical sweep. We can't risk Void-contamination."
"Wait, the Hub?" Deyviel protested. "My Sergeant is gonna kill me if I just vanish."
"It's a King's order, Martin," Denver said, his voice dropping into a tone of ancient gravity.
Deyviel went quiet, searching for a weight—a coin—that his mind told him should be in his pocket. He followed them toward the SUV, leaving the warehouse behind.
THE POLICE PRECINCT – LOCKER ROOM
While the squad escorted Deyviel away, the quiet locker room at the precinct remained empty. Inside locker #402—Martin, D.—a faint, rhythmic sound began to pulse.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
On the metal floor, a single gold coin sat perfectly upright. It depicted a shattered clock on one side and a girl holding a sharp sword on the other. As the static between Denver and Deyviel intensified miles away, the coin toppled over.
The sound of it hitting the metal was deafening in the silence, vibrating with a frequency that bypassed the ears and went straight to the soul. A whisper echoed in the narrow locker:
"The Witness has found the Key. The loop begins to fray."
The drive to the Bureau Hub was spent in an uncomfortable silence, broken only by Deyviel trying to tune the SUV's high-tech radio. Every time he glanced at Denver, he felt a sharp, pulsing ache behind his eyes—like a shutter clicking on a camera that hadn't been loaded.
The Bureau Hub: Director's Office
The Hub was a fortress of glass and steel. As they stepped out of the vehicle, the guards—hunters Denver knew from a lifetime of war—snapped to attention. Deyviel just whistled, spinning his police cap on his finger.
"Nice place, Den. A bit 'villain's secret base' for my taste, but the air conditioning is top-tier."
They were led directly to the top floor. The doors to the Director's office slid open silently. Ben Rayleigh was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the Manila skyline. He didn't turn around immediately.
"You're dismissed, Ethan," Ben said calmly. "Denver, stay. Officer Martin, please, have a seat."
Deyviel didn't sit. He walked up to the desk, leaning over to look at a holographic display. "So, you're the Big Boss? Director Rayleigh? Den says you're the one who ordered my 'medical sweep.' I feel fine, sir. Just a little twitchy."
Ben turned around. His golden eyes locked onto Deyviel's. For a moment, the room felt like it was standing still—a King inspecting the soul of his greatest warrior.
"Tell me, Officer Martin," Ben said, his voice smooth but layered with hidden intent. "In that warehouse, when the creature lunged... why did you roll to the left instead of the right? Standard police training suggests a backward retreat."
Deyviel paused. His grin faltered for a fraction of a second. "I... I don't know. It felt faster. Like I'd done it a thousand times before. Why?"
Ben walked closer, his presence looming. "Because you aren't just a police officer, Deyviel. You're a man who has lived through a thousand ends of the world."
Deyviel winced, clutching his forehead as a sharp spike of pain lanced through his skull. "Look, I don't know what kind of sci-fi movies you guys watch here, but I'm just a guy from QC."
"Enough, Director," Denver interrupted, stepping between them. He could see Deyviel was pale. "He's not ready."
"He has to be," Ben whispered. "The coin has already landed, Denver."
The Return to the Precinct
Hours later, after a series of "medical tests" that were mostly Ben staring at him with an intensity that made his skin crawl, Deyviel was cleared to go. He needed air. He needed to be away from the high-tech walls of the Bureau.
"I forgot my locker keys," Deyviel muttered as he walked through the quiet halls of the local police station. It was late; the night shift was out on patrol, and the locker room was bathed in the hum of flickering fluorescent lights.
He reached Locker #402.
As he slid his spare key into the lock, he felt a sudden, freezing cold emanate from the metal door. He pulled it open.
Inside, sitting on the cold metal floor, was a Gold Coin.
Deyviel reached out, his hand trembling. The moment his skin touched the gold, the world around him shattered. He wasn't in the locker room anymore. He was standing in a vast, grey expanse of the Void, where time felt like it was flowing backward and forward at once.
Standing a few feet away from him was... himself.
But it wasn't the 20-year-old cop in the blue uniform. This version of Deyviel was wearing tattered, blood-stained clothes, his eyes glowing with an ancient, violet fire. He looked weary, powerful, and dangerously calm.
The "Other" Deyviel looked at the cop, a small, mocking smirk playing on his lips.
"Enjoying your life, eh?" the phantom asked, his voice echoing with the weight of a God.
Deyviel Kieth Martin felt his heart stop. "Who... what are you?"
The phantom took a step forward, the violet light in his eyes flaring. "I'm the one who paid the price for your 'good life.' I'm the one who remembers the girl you've forgotten. I'm the Savior you're trying to hide from."
The phantom reached out and tapped the cop's chest. "Wake up, Officer. The donuts are gone. The war is still here."
Deyviel's eyes snapped open. He was back in the locker room, collapsed on his knees, clutching the gold coin to his chest. The violet light in his eyes didn't just flicker this time—it ignited.
" Shit, what was that?.....man i have to stop watching those movies..." He murmurs to himself as he enter to his house....
To be continued.