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In a hidden base set up within a warehouse district, Blade's ntor and weapons supplier—Abraham Whistler, a veteran vampire hunter with a crippled leg—watched as his apprentice, whom he treated like a son, carried in an unfamiliar man and dumped him onto the workbench.
"What the hell is this?" the old hunter asked.
"He's worth a hundred grand," Blade replied. "Give him a shot of garlic extract, Whistler."
Whistler stared in disbelief. "This guy is worth a hundred thousand dollars? I don't buy it."
"That amount includes saving him—plus the location of your base and your treatnt thod," Black Superman's voice suddenly echoed.
Instantly, a gun and a crossbow were aid at him.
Blade lowered his gun first. "How did you find this place? Is there a tracker on him?"
"I have my own thods." Black Superman didn't elaborate. He simply took off the backpack slung over his shoulder, unzipped it to reveal stacks of cash, and tossed it over.
Blade caught it, checked inside carefully—no explosives, nothing suspicious.
"Hundred thousand?" he asked.
"I don't mind if you count it," Black Superman said calmly. "But will he still be alive by the ti you're done?"
Beside them, Whistler kept his crossbow raised, shouting, "What the hell is going on? Who is this darker-than-dark bastard? And what's with that voice?"
Black Superman's voice, transmitted through a bone-conduction mic and modulated speaker, sounded flat and chanical—emotionless, unnatural.
Blade didn't answer. He didn't know either.
Black Superman sighed. "Clearly, I don't want my identity exposed. That's all you need to know. I'm not a vampire—and I've got my own issues with them."
"How do you prove that?" Whistler demanded.
With mild annoyance, Black Superman removed his left glove, revealing a pale hand. With his right hand—still gloved—he picked up the silver spike Blade had thrown earlier and drove it hard into his own palm.
The result—
The spike bent.
His skin remained untouched.
Like a bullet flattening against steel.
He casually tossed the warped spike back. "Can vampires do that?"
Whistler, still cautious, retrieved the spike and examined it. Confirming it was genuine—not so fake prop—he finally lowered his crossbow.
"You a mutant?"
"I could be. Does it matter?"
Whistler snorted and set the crossbow aside. "Not really."
In Marvel lore, vampires could shrug off most conventional damage—bullets could pierce them, but wounds healed quickly. However, they couldn't deform silver weapons without injury.
That alone proved this man wasn't one of them.
anwhile, Blade dumped the contents of the bag onto the table—bundled stacks, loose rolls. A substantial sum.
Whistler stopped arguing. He turned to a nearby dical kit, pulling out a syringe and a test tube filled with thick, cloudy liquid.
The pungent sll of garlic filled the air.
At least it definitely wasn't… anything else.
Drawing the extract into the syringe, Whistler spoke before injecting:
"Normally, once bitten, full transformation takes about twenty-four hours.
"Garlic extract might kill the vampire virus—or just delay it. If he turns, I'll still put him down. Clear?"
"Wait."
Black Superman stopped him.
He grabbed an empty syringe, sterilized the needle with a lighter, and drew a vial of blood from Jasper's unconscious body.
The motion was so smooth that by the ti Whistler reacted, it was already done.
"Where do I inject?" Black Superman asked.
"Neck. Opposite side of the bite—best effect."
After sterilizing the needle again, Black Superman injected the garlic extract without hesitation.
The reaction was imdiate—
Violent.
Jasper's body convulsed under the intense pain, even in unconsciousness.
Black Superman held him firmly, preventing the needle from snapping mid-injection, while simultaneously activating his full super-sensory perception to monitor internal changes.
The garlic extract worked more aggressively than expected.
It didn't just attack the vampire virus in the bloodstream—it also destroyed already-altered cells: bi-concave red blood cells, binucleated infected cells.
That destruction—
Was the source of the pain.
Fortunately, Jasper hadn't been fully converted yet. Enough of his cells remained normal to allow recovery.
That explained why garlic extract outright killed fully turned vampires.
As for why it didn't always cure—
The extract circulated with the blood, but might not eliminate every infected cell or virus particle before being depleted—or filtered out by the kidneys.
Any remnants would replicate again.
And eventually—
Full transformation.
So garlic extract wasn't a perfect solution.
But during observation, Black Superman noticed sothing remarkable:
The vampire virus was extraordinarily stable.
Take influenza, for example—
It mutates constantly. New strains erge rapidly, changing symptoms and transmission rates. That's why there's no universal cure.
But the vampire virus?
No variation.
Every replicated strain was virtually identical to the original.
No mutation. No drift.
Perfect consistency.
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