At the base where the werewolf and mummy lost contact, over two hundred vampire soldiers were regrouping.
Despite the sacrifice of dozens, the werewolf and mummy now lay as bloodstains and scattered bandages on the ground.
Their combat prowess was undeniable. Caught in an ambush with no intel, they still inflicted heavy losses.
Under cover of night, their ferocity dealt a significant blow to the heavily armed vampire army.
Vampire soldiers sprawled chaotically, gnawing at flesh and blood on the ground. The werewolf from the Roaring Assault Team was mostly devoured, not a single intact limb left.
The mummy, too, was torn to shreds, fragments strewn across the floor.
Per the original plan, the vampires were to join the main force and march on London.
But now, at the base's entrance, a doorless car and a motorcycle pulled up.
Steve dismounted, gripping the car door, his gaze heavy.
His veteran instincts screamed danger!
"Occult expert, what do you see?" Hawkeye asked Constantine, stepping out of the car.
Hawkeye's tone toward Constantine had been far from friendly.
Constantine, unfazed by the hostility, smirked slyly. "You really want to know?"
He sensed the thick residue of battle and soul fragments.
The intensity of it unnerved him.
Blood is the currency of souls. Vampires don't just feed on blood—they consume souls.
These vampire soldiers exuded a purity unlike common vampire scum, their origins chilling Constantine.
Those torn apart by these vampires couldn't even retain intact souls. The scene was steeped in the victim's terror, resentment, and a deep curse.
Knowing Steve's targets were a werewolf and a mummy, Constantine deduced their grim fates.
But he kept silent.
These agents wouldn't abandon their mission over his words.
"I smell blood," Steve growled, the stench in the base reminding him of battlefields past.
His instincts sensed imminent danger.
Coulson and Melinda raised their pistols, ready for combat.
Hawkeye, dropping his spat with Constantine, drew throwing knives.
"If you don't act in the last ten minutes of sunlight, you're done for," Constantine warned, stepping back to the car.
Sunlight was the vampires' only true enemy. Other methods could kill them, but not cleanly.
"I just want to finish this mission and meet your boss," John Wick said, gripping Coulson's loaned pistol, advancing toward the base.
Wick, driven by vengeance for his dog, was the most eager.
Nearby, Mephisto's son, Blackheart, reached the spot where Nick Fury's decoy died, sensing his father's lingering presence.
A sinister grin spread across Blackheart's face, black flames flickering in his hand.
Finding Mephisto's clone here convinced him the San Venganza Contract was near—why else would the clone leave traces?
Human mages were never easy foes, especially with a powerful leader.
Blackheart knew Mephisto's clone was powerless now, exploiting the Hell Lords' distraction to invade Earth.
That clone couldn't interfere. If Blackheart secured the Contract, he'd forge his own demonic dominion on Earth.
He strode forward, unaware a garbage truck was tailing him at breakneck speed.
Matt Murdock was still some distance away, but the road had no forks.
Elsewhere, a fiery skull on a blazing motorcycle—Johnny Blaze, Mephisto's knight—raced toward the base.
Mephisto's long-dormant pawn was activated to reclaim the Contract and teach Constantine a lesson.
Multiple forces converged on the base as Steve, wielding the car door, stepped inside.
Wick, the Night Devil, used Steve's frame and shield to slip into a blind spot, showcasing his lethal skill.
Coulson and Melinda flanked with pistols, ready to fire.
Constantine, hands in pockets, followed silently.
Hawkeye, knives in hand, brought up the rear.
Constantine wasn't arrogant. He stayed quiet in the corridor, avoiding smoke that might betray his presence.
But unease grew.
The mummy's cursed aura made him want to sneeze, its despair-born power overwhelming.
Beast claw marks scarred the corridor floor, evidence of the werewolf's unique strength.
Yet it changed nothing.
As they entered, the resting vampire soldiers snapped up, bloodstained fangs and glowing red eyes menacing.
"More guests! Let's feast on war before we regroup!" a commander-like vampire roared, waving a mangled, furry limb.
The torn flesh was grotesque.
"Hey!" the vampires shouted in unison, forming a battle line.
Submachine guns at the ready, they fixed on the only entrance.
These engineered vampires needed no breath, no normal food. Black tech curbed their bloodlust to a controllable range.
Once darkness fell, they'd be unleashed.
(Chapter End)
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