When Hawk appeared again, he was already at the front entrance of the vampire tower.
Inside, the building was pitch-black.
But—
Countless green-glinting eyes shone in the dark like stars, all locked on the figure at the door.
Hoarse, rasping warning calls echoed.
The sound was… peculiar.
Just hearing it made you uncomfortable.
As everyone knows—
In Hollywood, vampires are blood-bats; a bat's voice is itself a weapon.
As the tower filled with those rasping howls, the resonance made listeners feel sick—dizzy, nauseated, ready to vomit.
That was why S.H.I.E.L.D. had encircled the tower without launching an assault.
Hawk was the exception.
Expression blank, he stepped forward, ignoring the massed warnings, and crossed the threshold.
The next second—
"Hss!"
"Ha!"
Two vampires crouched above the doorway bared their fangs and dove for the man below.
Hawk looked up. His eyes went crimson.
Boom!
Just as their claws neared his hair, a Phoenix beam cut through—both vaporized on the spot, not a trace left.
But—
Though the first two were dead, Hawk did not stop.
In an instant—
Crimson light flooded the tower's interior.
Outside, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stared slack-jawed as the red glow strobed inside like a nightclub's lights.
Then—
Sharon's voice crackled in every agent's earpiece.
"Strike teams, withdraw first."
"Command and logistics, pull back in sequence."
"Masking-field unit—hold position!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Copy."
"Roger!"
Curiosity gnawed at them, but the agents snapped out of it and followed orders—piling into trucks and clearing the scene.
Sharon dragged over a backed folding chair, sat, leaned into it, and—like she was at the movies—watched the tower still pulsing with red.
At first, she'd been tense, worried Deacon Frost might actually pull off a disaster.
Now…
Tense?
Not anymore.
Before Hawk, sure.
But if Hawk was here and she was still tense—what was the point of him coming?
She arched a brow as she spotted, inside the distant tower, a vampire sprinting for the doors with terror and despair all over his face.
The next instant—
A Phoenix beam hit the runner's back as his foot crossed the threshold.
Fssst!
The vampire vaporized instantly.
Hovering midair inside the tower, Hawk slowly lowered his hand. The heat faded from his eyes as he swept the lobby and every corner in one last pass.
Soon—
Satisfied there was nothing left moving on the ground floor, he lowered his gaze to the levels below.
His six senses surged downward like a tide.
He saw a hidden complex beneath the tower—an underground castle blending Gothic gloom, industrial chill, and near-future tech.
He saw the slaughterhouse.
Humans hung upside down on a moving conveyor like livestock, unconscious or half-awake.
He saw a "dance floor" like the one in the vampire nightclubs—
Only it wasn't for dancing at all. It was a pool, filled to the brim with thick, dark red blood.
Vampires mingled there, relaxed there—and fed there.
He saw bedrooms, too.
Correction:
Thirteen bedrooms—each palatial, each decadent—each with a sleek, high-tech cryo-pod.
No need to guess: quarters reserved for the thirteen pureblood elders.
But the rooms were empty.
Clearly—
Deacon Frost had already butchered the thirteen purebloods to sacrifice to the Blood God.
That wasn't a guess.
He could see it.
Right now—
In the ritual hall at the heart of the underground castle, twelve pureblood elders were clamped into place. On the central dais, a shirtless Deacon Frost chanted a harsh, hurried incantation.
As the words poured out, the faces of the bound elders twisted; their blood rose, and with a wet pop, each became a screaming blood-soul, flesh exploding as they hurled themselves toward Deacon on the altar.
One by one, the purebloods slammed into him—absorbed like offerings.
Each impact rocked Frost's body, like he'd really been struck.
And with every jolt, the madness on his face grew more manic.
Of course he knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had the tower surrounded.
But—
So what?
He had the method to summon the Blood God's power. Once it filled him, S.H.I.E.L.D. would be gnats and dust.
As a new-breed vampire, Deacon Frost dreamed big.
Please.
They were vampires—supernatural beings. The world should be theirs. Why cede it to weak, pitiful, useless humans?
Vampires should rule.
The elders disagreed. Old purebloods from another age, they had long lost their hunger to advance—content to hide and stagnate.
Frost despised them for it.
But contempt aside, he didn't dare defy their decrees—
Not until he found the vampire bible, the Book of Erebus.
Turned personally by Dracula, the purebloods wore their "noble lineage" not just in their blood, but in terrifying strength.
Any pureblood could crush a half-blood.
So Frost had to move in shadow: amassing his own forces while showering the elders with gifts—thirteen cryo-pods for their private suites.
It worked.
Delighted with the presents, they spent most of their time soaking in stasis—and entrusted outward authority to their dutiful Deacon.
From there, Frost set his plan in motion.
Frost would call La Magra, seize that power, and rule the world.
Now—
Arms spread wide, bare chest heaving, Deacon stared into the Blood God's realm as it flickered into view. He saw the surging shape within that dimension; his eyes went rapt.
"I've finally done it!"
"Well now—nice trick."
"…"
Riding the high of imminent triumph, Deacon's grin froze. His eyes snapped to the man leaning against a doorway pillar, politely applauding.
"Guards!"
"Don't bother. They're gone. You're the last one."
Hawk watched Frost arch his brows and smiled. "One hundred and fifty-two in total, right? I didn't miss any?"
Deacon's heart lurched.
But he didn't panic.
Because—
He could feel it. The Blood God's power was already pouring into him, flooding his body.
Just a little time. A few seconds.
Still standing on the altar, he kept his voice level, face unreadable. "Who are you—S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"No."
Hawk chuckled. "George Stacy is my future father-in-law. You didn't even ask before turning him. That's… bold. So I came to see what gives you the courage to be that bold."
Deacon held his gaze.
Then—
"Who is George Stacy?"
"Hah."
Hawk laughed out loud at that.
Deacon's face darkened.
Since S.H.I.E.L.D.'s downsizing, he'd felt their New York presence shrink and heard of their internal turmoil—perfect timing to complete the summoning.
He'd been buried in final preparations for La Magra, not watching street-level news.
Now—
It seemed his underlings had provoked a powerhouse—and the powerhouse had come knocking.
But!
None of that mattered anymore. The Blood God's power was his.
On the altar, Deacon lowered his arms and drew a long breath. His eyes went bottomless blood-red, like rivers of fresh gore flowing within, and he met Hawk's stare.
Swelled with La Magra's might—feeling ready to unmake heaven and earth—Deacon snorted.
"So? What do you want?"
"To kill you."
Hawk smiled. His eyes went crimson.
…
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/euridome]
[Thank You For Your Support!]