The Dawn Knight descended from the sky, a figure of obsidian and light, stopping a rapidly speeding armored car on Manhattan's Ninth Avenue.
The driver of the armored car, intent on escaping the two police cruisers in hot pursuit—consequences for his recent bank robbery would be severe—didn't slow down. He stomped on the accelerator, communicating his obstinate refusal to stop to the figure in his path.
Faced with such a determined lawbreaker, the Dawn Knight, ever the model citizen, elected to use the most direct method to enforce traffic regulations and discourage grand larceny. Just as the armored vehicle was about to crash into him, he casually extended a hand and pressed it against the heavy vehicle's front bumper.
Time seemed to freeze. The armored car, hurtling at 80 miles per hour, instantly ceased its forward motion. Its tires spun wildly, grinding asphalt into thick smoke, but the vehicle was utterly paralyzed.
A bald man, the driver, poked his head out of the passenger-side window, gun drawn, aiming at the immovable pal who had just ruined his escape. He hesitated to fire, his expression a complicated mix of rage, fear, and utter bafflement.
Zhou Yi grinned beneath his visor. His free left hand shaped itself into a mock gun, pointing at the car door's rearview mirror. An invisible psychokinetic field instantly compressed the mirror—glass, plastic, and metal—into a baseball-sized, dense lump of debris.
The driver swallowed hard, his attempt at calming himself failing miserably, especially as the 'Death finger' was now pointed directly at him.
Relief washed over him when the Dawn Knight merely raised the hand and pointed at the gun he held, gently wiggling the index finger. The bald driver understood the implicit command immediately, nodding and tossing the weapon onto the street.
The police, who had been struggling to keep up for two blocks, finally arrived, surrounding the immobilized vehicle. They looked at the Dawn Knight, who held the vehicle in place with one hand, then gleefully converged on the driver's door. The bald driver seemed happier now; facing the police was preferable to facing a rogue Superhero known for delivering fatal justice, like The Punisher.
The driver raised his hands obediently, was cuffed, and escorted into the police car.
A strong, smiling police officer walked up to Zhou Yi. "Thank you, Dawn Knight. We've been chasing this pal for ages." He extended his hand, his face radiating genuine admiration. "My son is your greatest admirer. Could I possibly get an autograph? He would be thrilled."
"Of course," Zhou Yi accepted the handshake and the offered autograph book. "What is your name, and his?"
"My name is John, and my son's name is Billy; he just turned nine. He especially loves the video where you lifted the school bus, he even made a poster for his wall."
Zhou Yi listened, writing quickly: "To Billy! You have a loving father." He signed it 'Dawn Knight' and drew the Sun emblem with impossible speed.
"Thanks, pal. My son is going to lose his mind," John beamed, clutching the book.
"So, John, could you do me a favor?"
"It would be my honor," John straightened his cap earnestly.
"Could you check for any strange incidents recently? People disappearing without a trace? I mean the ones you usually don't pay much mind to—drug dealers, vagrants, the kind of folks who slip through the cracks."
"Oh, I see what you mean. Let me think..." John paused thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, I remember hearing the red-light district has been quiet lately. The usual pimps and low-lifes haven't been causing much trouble." He looked up, suddenly excited. "Say, pal, is something big about to happen? Do you need our help?"
Zhou Yi shook his head, took two steps back, and slowly levitated. "John, this matter is far too dangerous. If possible, warn your colleagues to be extremely careful of those pals hiding in the shadows. Do not go into dark places, especially at night."
"What? A serial killer? Extreme terrorists?" John looked baffled, convinced the hero was being melodramatic.
"Believe me, it's far worse than that." With that cryptic warning, Zhou Yi shot into the sky, disappearing into the city's darkness.
John rubbed the back of his head, still trying to decipher the warning. He eventually activated his shoulder walkie-talkie. "Guys, this is John. Has anyone patrolled the red-light district? Tell them to be careful, and stay out of any strange places."
"Where did I get the news? I'm telling you, I was just chatting with the Dawn Knight, and he told me; it seems like something big is about to happen..." John grinned. "After work, we're hitting Old Allen's bar; drinks are on me. Tonight is truly a good day."
While John enjoyed his mortal happiness, Zhou Yi fulfilled his duties. The transition from a playful mindset to genuinely embracing the responsibility of protecting the weak had not been difficult. When one possesses godlike power, the instinct to use it—whether for good or evil—is overwhelming. For Zhou Yi, becoming the Dawn Knight, receiving the public's admiration and worship, was entirely worth the extraordinary responsibility. He was born to be revered, like the sun.
Soaring through the dark night, Zhou Yi searched and searched. The situation was worse than he'd feared. He found numerous suspicious traces: fresh bloodstains, signs of sudden, violent attacks. But he found no survivors, and no bodies.
The attackers had taken them. This indicated that the Vampire Alien Species, Chadnomah, was not expanding randomly, but acting with a deliberate plan. He was controlling his new variants, ensuring they either took their victims with them or retreated to concealment. They hid their existence almost perfectly, making them nearly impossible to distinguish from ordinary people, even with his super vision.
As the sky began to lighten, Zhou Yi abandoned the search. He needed to coordinate with Blade and the Vampires. He flew out to the sea off Long Island for a brief rest, steeling himself for the inevitable coming storm.
Time always accelerates before a major crisis. The sun seemed to rush to set, hinting that the era of night creatures was quickly approaching.
The abandoned tram terminal in Brooklyn was a dilapidated, factory-like structure—an unlikely stronghold for Blade. This was a testament to his origins. Blade, a former street kid raised by the old Vampire hunter John Whistler, had struggled to integrate into normal life due to his half-Vampire blood. When the bloodlust hit, he had been hunting vagrants and animals for sustenance.
Whistler adopted him and trained him to hunt. The problem was money: Whistler, a lone hunter who had lost his family, had little in the way of savings. Blade couldn't hold a normal job. Consequently, they lived and operated out of this terrible, forgotten environment.
Over the years, they had transformed the terminal into a functional—though barely qualified—stronghold for Vampire hunting. If the Dawn Knight's laboratory was a five-star fortress, Blade's stronghold earned a cautious one-star rating. It had been compromised and attacked multiple times, nearly costing Whistler his life.
Blade was currently checking his gear with his two assistants. A large part of his effectiveness came from his specialized equipment: silver nitrate bullets and explosives for area damage, and silver darts and stakes for pure-blood Vampires, whose regenerative powers often shrugged off less potent weapons.
His favorite weapon, a silver-plated Dao (a curved, single-edged sword), was his namesake. It had cut down countless powerful Vampires, forging his terrifying reputation. Blade meticulously checked every piece of equipment. A single, low-level mistake in this line of work was immediately fatal, and Blade did not intend to make one.