Music thumped.
Lights flashed.
Just a second ago the dance floor was jam-packed; now it was empty—no people, not even corpses.
Already weak and leaning on George for support, Ben Urich parted his lips, then instinctively looked at George.
The next second—
His eyes rolled back and he collapsed.
"Ben!"
"Big Ben!"
George froze, then snapped back the moment he saw Ben pass out.
Hawk had just returned to Gwen's side. Watching George cradle Ben Urich and shout, he blinked.
Gwen also reacted, holding out her hand to Hawk.
"Car keys."
"Here."
Hawk fished out the keys and passed them over.
Gwen ran to George, glanced at pale-faced Ben Urich. "Dad, hospital."
George, trying to rouse Ben, heard that and immediately nodded. "Right. The hospital—hurry!"
Saying that, he scooped Ben up in a princess carry and rushed back the way they'd come.
Gwen followed right behind, not bothering with Hawk left standing there.
Because—
Hawk had other business.
Two months of "uniform privilege" wasn't going to be earned the easy way.
Gwen had just laid it out: the public face leading the Crimson Apocalypse, the shadow leader behind them—Deacon Frost—and even the council of vampire elders behind Frost… if any of them were tied to what happened to her dad tonight—
One line.
They all die.
She hadn't wanted Hawk to get his hands dirty because she didn't want things to blow up; she wanted to follow proper procedure with her dad.
But you bloodsuckers just had to push it.
Not only ungrateful—trying to hand her dad a "new wife," and give her a stepmother?
Where did you get the nerve—was it a loan from God?
If you're that brave, don't blame me for unleashing Hawk.
You don't want rule-of-law? Fine—enjoy Hawk's presumption of guilt.
Bottom line:
Gwen was furious. Hawk took that very seriously.
So—
Watching Gwen sprint after George, Hawk's mouth curled. He turned—and vanished.
He planned to make it quick.
First, wipe out the Crimson Apocalypse. Then, butcher Deacon Frost. Then clock out and, tomorrow morning, drag Gwen through a uniform shop.
Sixty completely different outfits.
Delightful.
Once Hawk left, George burst out of the building with his old friend Big Ben in his arms.
The next second—
A sound overhead drew his eyes.
George looked up on instinct—and his pupils shrank.
What he saw:
The mustached vampire from the private room hung in midair, voice hoarse and sobbing.
"I was wrong!"
"Please—spare me, I was wrong."
"Can anyone hear me? I don't want to die!"
"…"
The mustached man sobbed in a ragged, mechanical way, then noticed George's gaze. His eyes lit up, survival instinct spiking.
"Captain Stacy—I was wrong. Please, let me go."
"…Dad."
Gwen ran out as well, saw George stop, wondered why for a beat, then heard the voice from above. She looked up at the vampire hanging in the air—
And quickly looked away.
"Dad, let's go."
"This…"
"He insulted Mom."
Gwen's tone was calm. "So I asked Hawk to hang him there to greet the sunrise, let him feel how warm it is."
With that—
She ran across the street, started Hawk's Audi A8, and pulled up in front of George.
George glanced at Gwen in the car, waving him in. His eyes went a little distant, but he recovered quickly. He stopped looking at the man in the sky, ignored the switch from pleading to frenzied cursing, opened the rear door, and climbed in with Ben Urich.
Gwen ignored the airborne vampire too. One stomp on the gas, and they were gone.
Why waste attention on a dead man walking?
The mustached vampire, now screaming that George and Gwen were bigots and oppressors, watched the Audi A8 shrink into the distance. His voice dwindled. The madness in his eyes slid toward dead despair.
He knew his fate was sealed.
The moment the sun rose was the hour of his death.
But…
He whispered hoarsely:
"Why."
"This isn't my fault."
"I was just following orders."
"Why kill me?"
Elsewhere, a core member of the Crimson Apocalypse jolted awake at a noise. Sensing something off, he threw on clothes, dashed into his basement, opened a panic room whose security rivaled a bank vault—and dove inside.
Useless.
Boom!
With a thunderclap, the Crimson Apocalypse core member stared, disbelieving, at his panic-room door—punched through like tofu. Pressed flat to the wall, clutching a baseball bat and shaking, he watched Hawk step out of the dust and, in the same hoarse panic as the mustached man, asked:
"Why are you killing me!"
"Heh."
Hawk stepped through the dust, flicked a few specks off his shoulder, and shoved his hands back into his pockets, wearing an exasperated half-smile at the man Catherine had identified as a Crimson Apocalypse core member.
"Why am I killing you?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Killing you—what's it to you?"
Hawk said it like that.
The next second—
Whump!
Pinned to the wall, the would-be resister with the bat lit up—vaporized on the spot.
Hawk lowered his hand, Phoenix fire fading at his fingertips. He drew his right hand from his pocket and kindled a clot of Phoenix flame, then tossed it to the floor without expression.
Fwoom!
The Phoenix fire hit, surged out from the panic room, and swept outward in all directions.
Just before the flames reached him, Hawk turned—and was gone.
The next second—
He repeated the method, following the list of names and home addresses Catherine had compiled for him over the past week, and appeared in a house in Brooklyn.
Five seconds later—
Hawk left again. Behind him, another house burned.
But it burned… strangely.
Put it this way:
The blaze roared, yet left the homes on either side utterly untouched—not even a soot smudge on the close-set walls.
The inferno didn't even wake either neighbor; they snored on.
Hawk was already at the last name on Catherine's list.
The public figurehead of the Crimson Apocalypse—Elani.
Calling it a "home" wasn't right.
Elani had no home. In his words, the Crimson Apocalypse was his home; the believers his family.
What decent "family man" feeds his "family" to vampires—and funnels gullible, big-haired blondes to serve as… offerings?
Elani and his cult operated out of a run-down church in a shabby Queens neighborhood.
When Hawk arrived, Elani wasn't sleeping. To be precise, under the Jesus statue he was busy "laying on hands" with two freshly duped, big-haired blondes.
Elani looked up.
Hawk politely said hello.
"'Sup."
"…"
Elani's eyes narrowed. He had no idea when Hawk had taken a seat in the front pew.
The two blondes noticed Hawk too, shrieked, and scrambled for sheets to cover themselves.
Hawk snorted.
His eyes turned crimson.
Fssst!
Fssst!
The two blondes flanking Elani vaporized in an instant. Elani, caught in the middle, jolted. The anger that had just crept onto his face vanished at supersonic speed.
The next second—
He lifted his gaze to Hawk, still seated. His thoughts raced—Hawk had only killed the women, not him. A shiver ran through him. He stood, opened his mouth—
Boom!
The Phoenix beam hit him without warning, without preamble. Elani vaporized on the spot.
Hawk curled his lip.
He'd been planning to trade a few lines with Elani.
But—
The guy had zero shame. Didn't even try to cover himself—just stood up in all his glory. Nearly burned Hawk's eyes.
Thankfully—
Hawk reacted fast. The instant Elani started to rise, he turned the cult leader to steam.
Even so, the thought of that eye-searing moment annoyed him enough that he grabbed Elani's soul and hurled it into the Infernal Pyre.
Dropped straight into a hellscape of living flame and magma, Elani didn't even have time to process it before the heat swallowed him. Then he resurrected on a stone slab above the lava.
This time he seemed to grasp what was happening—but he still couldn't escape the surge of magma that devoured him again.
Didn't you like things hot?
Let's make it scorching.
Hawk spared a glance at Elani, screaming as the lava ate him over and over, then rose from the pew. He met the stone eyes of the church's Jesus, flicked out another clot of Phoenix fire, and turned away.
Next stop—
Deacon Frost.
…
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/euridome]
[Thank You For Your Support!]