Dracula was dead.
The Dracula of today belonged to Heaven.
Hawk turned that over as he watched La Magra's expression, thoughts racing.
The next second—
He remembered what the cloning expert, Dr. Merrick, had said before dying.
Hawk's eyes narrowed. He met the gaze of the Blood God shaped entirely from blood.
"Heaven took over his body?"
"They prefer the word 'conversion,' but yes—possession."
"Bloodkin are Bloodkin. Vampires are vampires. My Dracula was a Bloodkin who believed in me. But he and his wife died in that fire long ago. The Dracula you know now is no longer mine—Heaven controls him, using him as a tool to finish me off."
La Magra's tone was quiet as he laid out what really happened back then.
The story mostly matched what Mephisto had told Hawk—save for one crucial slant.
In Mephisto's version, he admitted he wasn't a nice guy—but he styled himself a "sustainable" villain. Yahweh, flunky of the Celestials, was the real scourge—burning the world to the ground.
La Magra didn't dispute Yahweh's ruthlessness. He corrected the relationship: Mephisto and Yahweh were never true enemies. They ran in the same circle—"allies," competing under a shared order.
Behind each stood an equal and opposite prime:
Creation's cosmic powers—
Eternity and Death.
In La Magra's telling, when Earth fell from the World Tree, Yahweh wasn't the only one who set his sights on it. Many dimensions and civilizations did.
Sorcerers, witches, druids, and hypertech civilizations.
That's why Earth teems with so many supernaturals and with remnants of lost technologies.
Once, Earth truly blossomed.
But—
"Yahweh struck in the open—he raised the Great Flood."
"After the Flood, Mephisto pretended to be Yahweh's mortal foe. In their so-called war, the ones who suffered most were the dimensions like mine that tried to stay neutral."
"When first and second fight, it's the thirds who get crushed."
"But my realm was different."
"As long as the Blood Sea doesn't dry, I cannot die."
"So long as someone remembers me, the Blood Sea will not dry."
"To erase me for good, Yahweh tore apart my 'Book of Erebus,' bound Dracula with Heaven's soul, overwrote Bloodkin with 'vampire,' and tried to end me forever."
"I am dying."
As he spoke, La Magra projected the current state of his realm without disguise.
What Hawk had glimpsed through the blood clot earlier was the tip of the iceberg.
Beyond that scrap, the rest of the blood realm had shriveled to near nothing—only a ribbon's worth of blood, the size of a river, still clung to existence.
Even that river was visibly drying. When it vanished, La Magra would meet his end, and the blood realm would truly become unclaimed.
Hawk saw and, on instinct, pulled back the Phoenix fire circling La Magra.
But—
"No need."
"Just now, my only believers on another world were wiped out. And Deacon Frost—the last one left on Earth who remembered my name—has died."
"My end is irreversible."
La Magra glanced at the receding flames and smiled, then looked at Hawk. "Know why Yahweh insists I must die?"
Hawk's brow rose.
"Because you're the one being who knows they aren't enemies but allies—and you got away from them?"
"No."
La Magra's mouth tugged into a smile that looked almost cheerful. "Because I nearly converted Yahweh once. That's why he lost Earth. That's why he burns to kill me."
Hawk recalled that night in the Hell tavern, Mephisto bragging about "defeating Heaven" and skimming the details. Hearing La Magra now, it clicked.
Once again—
Mephisto was the old liar you couldn't trust with even a punctuation mark.
Luckily, Hawk hadn't planned on trusting him anyway.
He looked at the Blood God, whose aura was fading fast, and asked the last question on his mind.
"Why tell me?"
"Because…"
La Magra's gaze drifted to Hawk's underworld, then back to him.
"The scent of your life-and-death law—it reeks of Mephisto."
"Mephisto gave it to me."
"Heh—hahahaha!"
La Magra laughed like he'd heard the joke of the age. He stared at Hawk, saying nothing—just laughing.
Hawk watched him, and after a moment the laughter proved contagious. He chuckled too.
After a while—
La Magra sobered and said, "That old devil is a one-way vault. If you'd said Yahweh gave it to you, I might believe it. But Mephisto? He never surrenders a shard of his authority unless he has no choice."
Hawk let the smile fade and shrugged. "I took it after killing his son, Blackheart."
La Magra was nearly at the end anyway.
When the time came, he would die—a clean, absolute death.
Dimensional gods are gods—but not truly.
Unlike planetary gods: if killed, their souls return to Death's domain, and if they please Death, they may be exempted and return.
Dimensional gods? Dead means dead.
In the old eastern phrasing: soul scattered; spirit sundered.
So—
At the end, a god speaks plain.
Hawk didn't play coy. He sketched how Mephisto first tried to use Blackheart as bait to cheat him out of his authority—how Hawk flipped the table, stole a portion of Hell's law of life and death, then fused the Primal Four to forge his own underworld.
La Magra listened. Shock creased his already-aged face, then understanding relaxed it.
"So that's why Yahweh is making a comeback."
"Hm?"
"Yahweh and Mephisto have an accord. On worlds they co-manage, if a strong challenger rises on either side, the other may intervene as a 'third party,' eliminate the challenger first, then resume fighting over the world."
He shook his head. "I learned that while trying to convert Yahweh. Too late for me."
Hawk nodded slowly, the pieces fitting.
"So…"
"Mephisto says Yahweh is returning—trying to slip his souls into Hell, to create a new Angel of Death to replace him—"
"Half truth, half lie."
La Magra chuckled. "And the Angel of Death of Earth—what's that got to do with Hell's Mephisto? You don't think Earth is the only world under his thumb, do you?"
Hawk shook his head, then looked back at La Magra.
By now, the body shaped from blood was trembling on the edge of collapse.
He asked nothing more.
He knew what he needed.
He spoke only once, at the end.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Almost down to just the contour of a face, La Magra smiled with unforced ease. "Before I die, it's rare to meet another 'little one' singled out by Yahweh and Mephisto. Don't fall into their trap like I did."
Hawk smiled. "Relax. I'll avenge you."
La Magra said nothing more. Under Hawk's gaze, he closed his eyes.
The next second—
Even the blood of his face dried up. Only a single, crimson drop remained, floating where La Magra had vanished.
This was the blood realm's seed.
Whoever took that drop would claim the blood realm—and become its new master.
But—
Hawk didn't look at it. His mind rose and snapped back into the real world.
Though it had felt like a long exchange, in reality it had passed in the blink of an eye.
When he opened his eyes again, he still stood in front of Blade.
Blade's expression was still the same—trying to dodge the blood mass a moment ago.
The next second—
Thunk!
Blade's body finally caught up with his brain. He dove aside and hit the floor.
Hawk glanced over and couldn't help a small laugh.
He didn't speak to Blade. He took one step—and vanished.
When he appeared again, he was back on the street.
Sharon, waiting outside, brightened at the sight of him.
"Hawk—"
"All done."
Hands back in his pockets, he gave her a small smile. "Blade and the lady doctor are alive."
Sharon exhaled in relief.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Hawk smiled. "Nothing else here for me. I'm heading out."
Sharon nodded.
"Alright. Take care."
"Mm."
…
(End of Chapter)
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