Wednesday and Enid soon arrived infront of Academy. Enid's eyes widened in awe at the sleek machine.
Wednesday muttered under her breath, "I prefer old-fashioned cars."
The Koenigsegg Gemera sat low and aggressive, a four-seater mega-GT with a futuristic sports coupe profile stretched for passengers. Its large wraparound windshield gleamed under the sunlight.
Aleksander opened the pillarless doors, which swung forward and upward in a smooth, dramatic arc. "I know," he said, "but we won't get to St. Louis fast in one of those. Get in—we can't waste time."
Wednesday slid into the front passenger seat, Enid climbed into the back. Aleksander hit the accelerator, racing down the road while shifting gears with quick paddle pulls.
Enid leaned forward, grinning. "This car is so cool—and so fast."
Aleksander gripped the wheel tightly, the Koenigsegg Gemera surging forward as he mashed the accelerator. The engine roared to life, propelling them down the winding road at blistering speed, headlights slicing through the night.
He flicked the left paddle shifter to downshift smoothly into a tightening curve, the transmission snapping gears with precision. Tires gripped the asphalt as he powered out, then pulled the right paddle for an upshift, the car lunging ahead with relentless force.
Enid pressed back into her seat, wide-eyed. "Whoa, this thing flies." Wednesday stared ahead, unmoved, her hands folded in her lap as the world blurred past.
The speedometer needle climbed steadily—80, 120, 160 km/h.
He pulled the right paddle sharply.
Click.
The 9-speed Light Speed Tourbillon Transmission engaged instantly, the multi-clutch system delivering a seamless, lightning-fast shift.
The engine note jumped, high-pitched and aggressive.The speedometer surged—200, 250, 300 km/h.
Aleksander drove hard, the road blurring as the needle climbed—350, pushing past 380 km/h.
Entering a straight, Aleksander accelerated hard, the engine's roar thickened with unleashed power. He shifted again.
Click.
A crisp change in engine pitch, the speedometer surged—380, 390, 400 km/h.
After holding that brutal pace for a few seconds, Aleksander eased off the accelerator.
The roaring engine softened, the speedometer needle gradually dropping—380, 350, 320 km/h.
He pulled the left paddle once.
Click.
The transmission dropped a gear seamlessly, the shift practically silent thanks to the multi-clutch system. The speedometer adjusted—290, 260 km/h—as the car slowed deliberately, tires gripping the tarmac without a hint of slip.
Aleksander kept the Koenigsegg steady on the straightaway, voice cutting through the engine's hum. "Before we reach St. Louis, I'm giving you a rundown on shapeshifters."
Enid leaned forward. "Are they different types, like werewolves?"
He nodded. "Yes—demonic and non-demonic. Non-demonic ones are like Principal Weems. Demonic ones are more complicated."
Wednesday and Enid straightened, interest sharpening their focus as Aleksander paused. "Before I go deeper, Wednesday—explain faith-created gods and demons to her."
Wednesday sighed faintly, annoyance flickering in her eyes, then spoke evenly. "Gods and demons born from human belief and faith. The stronger the collective faith, the more real they become—manifesting power drawn from worship or fear."
Enid's face paled as details sank in. "So demonic shapeshifters come from some demonic god?"
Aleksander nodded. "Heard of Echidna from Greek myth or Tiamat from Babylonian? Both called 'Mother of Monsters.' This demonic entity is originator of these myths and has lingered for ages—my family traced her worldwide. She birthed many myth creatures, including shapeshifters. She vanished long ago, and demonic bloodlines dwindled after."
"Very intriguing," Wednesday muttered. "What sets demonic apart from non-demonic shapeshifters?"
Aleksander shifted gears smoothly. "Non-demonic ones shift well but struggle without full details on a target's features and behavior—especially if inexperienced. Prolonged mimicry risks identity crisis or disorder."
Enid and Wednesday absorbed the details in silence.
"Demonic shapeshifters shed skin, teeth, and nails to transform," Aleksander continued. "They tap the target's thoughts and memories while alive, perfecting the disguise. They're physically superior, with high regeneration too."
Enid spoke up from the back seat. "The shapeshifters at Nevermore are all non-demonic. I've seen them use their powers—no one sheds skin or nails."
Aleksander replied evenly, keeping his focus on the road. "You won't find demonic ones here—they were hunted to near extinction. They start as humans with urges and vices like greed or lust, making them the most human monsters. Unlike instinct-driven vampires or werewolves of there demonic brothers, they act by choice and always fall into their vices."
Wednesday muttered, "That's quite interesting."
Enid leaned forward, voice tinged with unease. "They were hunted down?"
Aleksander nodded, eyes steady on the road. "Demonic bloodlines are the most hated—uncontrollable, filled with bloodlust or insatiable hunger. Outcasts saw them as too dangerous and hunted them nearly to extinction. Only the legendary Dark ones survived."
Aleksander flicked the paddle shifter again, the Koenigsegg roaring as it surged forward. Wednesday's voice cut through the rush. "Legendary Dark Ones?"
Aleksander answered steadily, "Yeah. Powerful monster bloodlines—Count Vladislaus Dragulia from the vampire line and William Corvinus from the werewolf line. Both infamous for spreading terror in medieval times."
Enid's ears perked up sharply. "I know William Corvinus. His name is legendary among werewolf packs. He was the progenitor of the Lycan bloodline. I remember hearing that when he couldn't transform back, his rage was uncontrollable. He roamed the countryside in Hungary, killing everything, spreading lycanthropy across the land and turning hundreds into savage werewolves. Many werewolf packs and Vampires covens at the time were involved in keeping his infection to a limit."
Aleksander nodded in agreement. "Exactly."
Although many thought Corvinus bloodline are demonic, reality was different it was
Alexander Corvinus was a Hungarian warlord who ascended to power in the early seasons of the fifth century, just in time to watch his village be ravaged by an unknown plague, which caused the body's cell division to mutate past their genetic max. Alexander Corvinus was the only survivor of this plague. His body contained a genetic mutation that altered the virus, thereby halting his cellular deterioration altogether, making him the true Immortal, and thus the original carrier of the strain.
He knew Corvinus bloodline was extraordinary—when active, it grants immortality and superhuman strength. It could also trigger another mutation stage through gene-fusion. Both sons of Alexander Corvinus William and his brother Marcus carried unique DNA tied to that legacy. Which later mutated to form the Vampires of Corvinus Coven and Lycans of Williams bloodline.
Aleksander was curious about how much mutation can that bloodline carry, he wanted study it a bit.
Aleksander pushed the Koenigsegg Gemera hard, the engine roaring as the speedometer climbed past 300 km/h. The multi-clutch transmission shifted crisply with every paddle pull, keeping the car perfectly balanced on the asphalt.
Ahead, a roadside sign came into view: St. Louis. The letters flashed past in a blur as Aleksander eased the throttle slightly, the tires gripping tight through the curve approaching the city limits.