The scrawny vagrant, having found an engaged listener, immediately launched into a rambling monologue.
"They pay strictly in cash, you know." He punctuated his sentence by pulling out a bottle of dark red liquid from his tattered cloth pouch. "It doesn't matter how many times you've been tapped, they'll take it as long as you're willing to sell. They even pay for the bottled stuff, like this."
The tall, pale guy, who called himself Victor (or was currently identified as Chadnomah), merely gave a slight, sardonic twitch at the corner of his mouth. He offered a curt nod, prompting the vagrant to continue.
"I can't figure out what these suits are doing, but they take it deadly serious. Some small-time gangs in Manhattan tried muscling in on the operation, but I heard there were a few messy shootouts, and the gangs just vanished. The old-timers down here swear it was the people behind these guys who dealt with them."
The vagrant paused for a dramatic swig from his bottle. "They say it's not for regular hospital use, you know? It's for some wicked, demonic ritual. Who cares, right? Long as the cash flows."
Victor maintained his silent attention, occasionally nodding—a gesture that convinced the vagrant he was a decent fellow.
Just as the scrawny man was drifting into a detailed evaluation of the best-tasting dumpster contents in the surrounding blocks, a woman in a sharp suit appeared. She consulted her clipboard and addressed the tall vagrant.
"Chadnomah? Your turn. Follow me."
Victor rose, offered a theatrical cough, gave the scrawny man a slight wave, and followed the woman deeper into the gloom. The vagrant continued his mumbled musings about the quality of restaurant waste.
The path ahead led deep into the abandoned tunnels, now crudely but effectively fortified. Cameras monitored every corner, and armed guard posts confirmed this was far from a philanthropic endeavor. Victor coughed again as the woman began her screening questions.
"Have you had any piercings, tattoos, or other skin alterations in the last year?"
"No."
The woman tapped her pen against her chin. "What about the scar on your chin?"
Victor, who had been keenly observing the surveillance system, instinctively covered the healed laceration on his jaw. "Just an accident when I was a kid." He punctuated the lie with another dry cough, discouraging further inquiry.
The two continued to walk, the tunnel narrowing. The air grew still, and the presence of other vagrants vanished, underscoring the purposeful isolation of this facility.
"You stated you have no close relatives?" the woman asked, seemingly unconcerned by the surroundings.
Victor replied in a flat, cold tone, "I haven't contacted any immediate family, no."
The woman gave a thin, almost imperceptible smile. "So, in the event of an emergency, there's absolutely no one to reach out to?"
"Not a single person." Victor's gaze was fixed on a room where cleaners were meticulously scrubbing a viscous liquid from the floor—evidence of previous, messy procedures.
"No family at all?" she pressed.
Victor's patience snapped. "I told you, no! Why are you drilling me? Does this mean I can't donate blood?"
The woman dropped the topic, leading him directly toward a final, heavily guarded gate, while reviewing her documents. "I'm not sure. Your recent blood test results show a highly irregular condition."
"What?" Victor feigned surprise, hand over his mouth. "How abnormal?"
The woman paused at the gate, typing a series of inexplicable symbols into a keypad before speaking. "Allow me to explain. Your blood contains a rare phenotype; we've never encountered this exact type of blood sample before."
As she finished speaking, the heavy door slammed shut behind them. Victor turned, feigning alarm. "What? What is going on?"
Before he could react further, several security personnel, large men exhibiting unnatural strength, swiftly grabbed him, forcing him toward a metallic operating table.
"Who are you people?" he stammered, projecting genuine terror.
The woman in the suit remained utterly composed. She watched as the security men and a burly figure dressed like a butcher strapped Victor onto the table, eyeing him with predatory interest.
"What's happening?" Victor weakly asked, scanning the room.
"This is a curious case, Chad," the 'butcher' smiled, revealing distinctly sharp canines and pupils that were entirely black. He glanced back at the woman, whose strange smile widened. "It's just... this is quite beneficial for us."
"Beneficial for you..." The butcher pulled a horrifying glove from a tray; it was tipped with an enormous needle, designed to instill profound dread. "And quite terrible for you."
Victor began to tremble, letting out a sound that started as a choked sob and plea. But as it escalated, the sound became something else entirely: an uncontrolled, manic laugh—the joyous sound of a successful ambush.
Victor's mouth stretched into a feral grin, revealing much sharper teeth than any ordinary human's. The scar on his jawbone began to twitch and visibly tear apart.
The hunters, initially smug, froze. Their playful smiles dissolved into bewildered shock. They hadn't registered Victor's transformation, assuming the 'vagrant' was merely terrified into hysterics.
Victor was through playing. He surged upright, ripping free of his restraints, his hand shooting out to grasp the neck of the woman in the suit. His teeth—not just the canines, but a row of elongated, ragged points—crashed down onto her jugular. Blood erupted from the severed artery, instantly painting the walls crimson.
The two remaining men were paralyzed. The security guard fumbled for his pistol and wildly emptied the clip into Victor's back as he enjoyed his grisly meal. The bullets merely interrupted him. Victor abandoned the corpse and turned, stalking toward the guard.
"W-what do you want, you beast? Get away from me!" The guard's sanity crumbled. In a desperate, primal surge, he charged. But his impressive, inhuman strength was useless against an opponent who was even less human.
Victor slammed his hand down on the guard's skull. With a sickening, grinding sound of fracturing bone, the guard instantly went limp, collapsing into a twitching, boneless mass on the floor.
Victor spared only a glance for the third man, the butcher, who was scrambling for the door. Victor casually swung the dying guard's body—the dead weight striking the butcher and sending him sprawling against the wall. The impact was sickening, like a giant tomato exploding. Dark red pulp splattered across the ruined wall in a shocking display of abstract violence.
The surviving butcher, now the sole escapee, managed to reach the heavily sealed door. In his panic, his hands, trained for surgical precision, trembled uncontrollably, stabbing uselessly at the keypad. As he tried desperately for a final, correct password attempt, his chance evaporated.
Victor seized him by the neck, lifting him clear off the floor. Instead of eating him immediately, Victor held the man up, locking his eyes onto the surveillance camera embedded in the corner of the room. He bared his fangs, dripping with fresh, dark blood.
"You are nothing but a pack of Vampires!" He snarled in the ancient tongue of the creatures he was currently slaughtering. "And I hate Vampires the most!"
With that declaration, Victor opened his mouth wider, and the scar on his jaw split completely, creating a secondary, monstrous orifice. He began to feed.
"What in the hell is that thing?" A defiant, bald, burly middle-aged man stared intently at the surveillance screen, questioning the creature's monstrous final transformation.
An entire night had passed since Victor's attack. When the subway staff finally discovered the massacre, Victor had already vanished. Only the clear surveillance footage remained, which was quickly rushed up the chain of command—a chain that led to the city's ruling Vampire faction, a group that had been openly buying blood under the guise of a blood bank.
The footage eventually reached the leader of the New York Vampires: Vampire Grand Duke Elida Makinos. The Grand Duke immediately called a meeting of his most elite warriors and began formulating a detailed plan.
"Your Grace, the Grand Duke, you didn't call me here at this ridiculous hour just to handle one crazy mutant?" The bald man, identified as Rehart, spat, clearly unimpressed by the creature on the screen.
"Watch your conduct, Rehart!" A polite, tall Black man standing nearby immediately frowned and issued a sharp reprimand. "You are in the presence of the Supreme Grand Duke. Show some respect."
Grand Duke Makinos, who was sitting on a high, ornate throne, one hand resting on his supported head, subtly raised the other, stopping the reprimand. "It is fine, Giant. Do not fret over such trivialities. Our top priority now is to deal with this creature that poses a clear threat to the survival of our clan."
The Grand Duke then rose, supported by the woman beside him. This woman was Nysha, whom Zhou Yi had previously encountered. She held the prominent status of the future Vampire Grand Duchess, the Grand Duke's only daughter, and the successor to the ruling party. Nysha's beauty sharply contrasted with the Grand Duke's own appearance, which, as he stood, was revealed to be aged, gaunt, and unsettling.
"This is not just some isolated madman, Rehart," the Grand Duke continued, his voice a dry, rasping sound. "This is a Lycanthrope—a creature of pure, unrestrained rage, an enemy we believed had been eradicated from this continent centuries ago. This type of raw power could unravel all the careful stability we have cultivated in this city. It cannot be allowed to roam."
Rehart scoffed, folding his massive arms. "Lycanthrope? So what? They're beasts. We are organized. We are disciplined. I could tear that thing in half myself before it finishes shifting."
"Do not underestimate your foe, Rehart," Nysha interjected, her voice smooth and cold. "The Lycanthropes possess a savage strength and a healing factor that rivals our own, but their primary threat is infectious frenzy. Their presence alone can draw the attention of other ancient houses, disrupting our operations."
"The Lycanthrope is a direct challenge to the Treaty of the Damned," the Grand Duke added, tapping a long, spindly finger on the armrest of the throne. "Its presence here will attract the Blade—the one who hunts all of us—and worse, it will attract the one who created it. We must eliminate this Sabretooth before the full consequences of its appearance fall upon us."
The Grand Duke then looked at the silent, tall Black man, Giant. "Giant, you are the most familiar with the current city politics. Rehart, you command our strongest forces. Nysha, you will coordinate intelligence. Find this creature. Use whatever force is necessary, but ensure the human authorities remain blind. We must move before the shadows of the past rise again."
The meeting concluded, the Vampire hierarchy mobilized to hunt the creature known as Sabretooth, unaware that they were merely pawns being moved by higher powers—and unaware that their desperate hunt would soon lead them directly into the path of a man named Zhou Yi, who was currently relaxing on a multi-million dollar yacht, blissfully unaware of the ancient conflict boiling beneath his feet.