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Chapter 81: The Yandere Strikes Again
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In the profound, suffocating darkness of the Carpathian woods, a single point of light moved; a defiant, rolling ember in a sea of ink.
It was Adam's truck, driving itself along a forgotten path with relentless, algorithmic purpose.
Its headlights cut a solitary cone through the night, illuminating nothing but the skeletal trees and the rutted track leading to a dilapidated wooden hunting lodge, its windows like blind eyes.
But the truck was not alone in its journey. Behind it, a phenomenon both grotesque and mesmerizing unfolded.
The earth itself seemed to weep black blood. The residue of the slaughtered vampire legion; the ichor, the dust, the dissipating essence of centuries of undeath; coalesced.
Drawn by a terrible, gravitational pull, it flowed in rivulets, then streams, then a surging, silent wave of clotting filth, chasing the truck with unnatural speed, seeking to engulf it.
The truck did not slow. It aimed directly for the heart of the dilapidated lodge.
Just as the tidal wave of vampiric residue was about to swallow it whole, Adam's final command executed.
The truck detonated.
It was a blinding release of energy. It was the violent release of every stored energy cell, every ounce of chemical incendiary Adam had packed into its frame.
A sun bloomed in the Transylvanian night. The shockwave atomized the lodge, reducing it to splinters and flying debris in an instant.
The fireball that followed was a ravenous, green-tinged inferno, hungrily consuming wood and the very air, meant to cleanse with extreme heat.
Yet, the wave of blood and dust did not vaporize. It recoiled from the blast, then surged forward into the heart of the conflagration, as if diving into a pool.
The flames, impossibly, began to die, snuffed out not by anything, but by an overwhelming, soul-chilling cold that radiated from the epicenter.
The crackling of fire was replaced by another sound; a deep, rhythmic crack-crack-crack, like ancient ice settling, or old bones being forced to move for the first time in an age.
From the settling dust and the coagulating lake of black blood, a figure rose.
He was tall, imperially straight, and clad in regal finery that had seen epochs pass.
A deep crimson tunic under a black, fur-lined cape that seemed woven from shadow itself.
His face was pale as alabaster, framed by white hair and a sharp, neatly trimmed beard and mustache.
His features were aristocratic, handsome in a severe, cruel way, but it was his eyes that commanded absolute attention.
They burned with a hellish, intelligent crimson light, holding depths of malice, boredom, and ancient, terrible pride.
This was Vlad Dracula, the Lord of Vampires, the Son of the Dragon.
The blood and dust of his fallen children swirled around him, a macabre baptism.
And he devoured it all with glee. The foul essence flowed into his cape, his skin, vanishing into him, a dark sacrament that rejuvenated him.
He was like a hungry beast, seemingly having not eaten for ages.
His pale cheeks gained a hint of vile vitality. He stretched, his neck twisting with those unsettling cracks, and his burning gaze snapped unerringly to a specific point in the tree line.
From the shadows, Adam and Blade emerged. Tony Stark was conspicuously absent.
The plan was sound; Dracula's power of mesmerizing gaze was no mystery to Blade. He knew he could hypnotize through mere eye contact alone.
Blade's Dhampir nature granted him resistance. Adam's Hollow curse, turned inward, created a psychic void where such influences could find no purchase.
Tony had no such defense. His role was overwatch, a sniper in the sky, far beyond the reach of the vampire king's hypnotic glare.
Dracula's voice, when it came, was a cultured baritone that resonated with the weight of centuries, laced with a chilling amusement.
"So. The whispering devil spoke true. The hunt is called, and my sanctuary is profaned."
His eyes lingered on Adam, a new, intriguing curiosity in their crimson depths. "A fresh face, drawn into the old game."
His gaze shifted to Blade, and the amusement turned to condescending familiarity.
"And the perpetual thorn returns. Tell me, Daywalker… Does the memory of your fallen comrades still ache?"
"Does the warmth of their blood as it cooled on your hands? It is the natural consequence of defying an eternal truth such as myself."
"And yet, you make the same error in judgment. Persistence in the face of inevitability is not bravery. It is pathology."
Blade's knuckles whitened around the hilt of his silver sword. A low growl emanated from his chest, but his voice was ice.
"The hunt ends when you do. It may take a hundred more years, a thousand more attempts. All things end, Dracula. Even you."
[Dracula looks so fucking majestic! I knew I won't be disappointed!]
[Damn, now I want to be like him, do all that body transformation shit, and be a vampire, sounds so cool!]
[Please don't!]
[Man, I've seen some sicko body transformation cases. I wish I hadn't.]
[Did you see the man who wanted to become satan? Crazy shit.]
[...] [I wish I hadn't.]
[Ignorance is bliss. Type Diablo Prado. Suffer with me!!]
[Fuck you!] [God save me.]
[Why the fuck did I listen? Curiosity got the better of me.]
Before Dracula could offer another elegant dismissal, a sharp, incongruous ringing tone cut the frigid air.
It was a generic phone chime.
Adam, standing across the blood-soaked clearing from the vampire king, had called someone amidst the conversation.
He raised a hand in a 'one moment' gesture as his call was answered. His expression was that of wonder, for he saw something with his technopathy that forced him to make the call.
"Anna," He said, his voice calm but direct. "What are you doing now, and why?"
From the other end, Rogue's voice, trying and failing to sound casual, filtered through.
"Sugah? What do ya mean? I'm just… Hanging around."
Adam took a breath, his cybernetic eye whirring softly as he stared at Dracula, who watched this bizarre human interruption with detached, predatory interest.
"Anna, I can see you. What the city lacks least is cameras, and they're all my eyes. So answer me. I'm not mad. Merely curious. Speak, please."
A long pause. A struggle was audible over the line. Then, the pretense collapsed into a rush of whispered, fervent confession.
"Ah'm… I'm sorry. It's just… They don't deserve your care, Adam. They keep betrayin' you. I saw it all. Your parents… on the news… sayin' you forsake 'em, callin' you a terrorist."
"They're breakin' your heart on purpose! They're tryin' to bring you down, just like the others! I'm sorry, but I can't just watch! I have to… clean the path for you. Make it easier, so please don't be mad."
The words were the unhinged logic of absolute obsession. A yandere's manifesto.
Adam felt a genuine flicker of surprise amidst the battlefield tension.
Gentle, burdened Anna, who feared her own touch, contemplating using it to put his estranged, manipulated parents into a coma?
The world continued to be a jukebox of unexpected, extreme personalities.
He chuckled.
The sound, light, and genuine, clearly startled her. "Anna, my dear," He said, his tone softening. "You're right. They don't deserve my care."
He let the statement hang, letting the 'but' hang unspoken before delivering it. "But you do."
Silence from her end, heavy with wonder.
He continued, weaving truth and manipulation into a protective net. "I have annoying enemies. Hydra is one. More annoying is a demon named Mephisto. And as you'd expect, he's a master of trickery."
"So I need you to stop. Go back. Get within range of Jean. Not for their sake, but for yours. I don't want to lose you."
His voice dropped, layered with convincing concern. "I don't know if this impulse, this anger, is somehow one of his ploys. It likely is. My parents are pawns."
"They're not the source of the hassle. Hydra and Mephisto are. It's because of Mephisto that I'm currently standing in front of a vampire lord. It's fun, but it can be annoying."
He let the surreal statement sink in. Vampire lords. Demons. "What you're doing is, at best, useless. At worst, it could be catastrophic for me. So Anna, be a dear. Be careful. And go back."
Another long silence. Then, a small, shaky voice. "Do… do you need my help?" She had many questions, but she felt they're best left for later.
Adam smiled, though she couldn't see it. "Soon. I will." He could almost feel her confusion through the phone; the whiplash from homicidal intent to being asked to stand down because of demons and vampires.
"I… I won't act without tellin' you again," She finally vowed.
Adam chuckled again, shaking his head at the surrealism of the moment. "You're mistaken, Anna. Your actions… they made my day. I'm very happy right now."
He infused his voice with warm gentleness. "Thank you. But consulting me is never a bad idea." He ended the call with a final, "I still have a vampire to take care of."
He slipped the communicator away, the smile still on his face. He let out a short, bright laugh, the sheer, twisted devotion of it all genuinely bringing him a spark of joy in this grim place.
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