Natasha relayed Nick Fury's words to Lucas, who only gave a dismissive snort. In his eyes, Fury was the type who judged everything by convenience—helpful when it suited him, two-faced when it didn't.
With S.H.I.E.L.D. cutting off the vibranium lead, Lucas was forced back to the drawing board. Skye had improved her control over her powers, but her shockwaves still lacked output strength. Without vibranium to stabilize and amplify her resonance, her abilities couldn't reach full potential.
Since the S.H.I.E.L.D. route was closed, Lucas decided to bide his ti. Maybe Tony Stark would have so connections… and if not, he could always wait until another opportunity surfaced.
Three days passed quickly—and tonight was the day he'd arranged to et Blade.
---
Night fell. Blade once again arrived at the nightclub. According to their agreent, the decoding of the Book of Truth fragnt should have been completed by now.
Everything went smoothly—too smoothly. Not a single obstacle stood in his path as he reached the obese hacker's private office. The massive woman was hunched over her monitors, fingers moving rapidly across her keyboards.
"Got results?" Blade asked, keeping his distance.
"I've cracked it," the woman said with a smirk, her voice oily with mockery. "But soone doesn't want to tell you, Daywalker~~ so… my hands are tied."
Blade's brows furrowed. He knew the mont he walked in that sothing was off. Too quiet. Too easy.
Without a word, his eyes flicked around the room—corners, shadows, ceiling vents. Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled his pistols and opened fire.
The instant the first shot rang out, eight vampires appeared from the darkness. Their movents were unnaturally fast; each one dodged the bullets with ease.
Blade dropped his guns and drew his silver-edged sword, steel flashing under the strobing club lights. The cramped space exploded into chaos.
Eight vampires against one Daywalker.
The room was too small—Blade's speed was stifled, his swings restricted. Even with his skill, he was gradually being pushed into a corner, steel clashing and sparks flying.
His body was already marked by cuts, but his opponents fared no better—charred wounds from silver burns that refused to heal.
Then, Blade struck. His sword flashed in a blur of light—one vampire didn't even have ti to scream before turning to ash.
But before Blade could react, another figure lunged from behind—the sa one he'd seen earlier writhing on the dance floor.
A chain tipped with hooks wrapped around him, yanking tight with brutal force. The next instant, he was slamd to the ground.
The remaining vampires sward, pinning him down.
Blade struggled, his fingers brushing against the grenade clipped to his chest—specially made silver dust inside. One pull, and the explosion would vaporize every vampire in range.
He was just about to pull the pin when a sharp sting pierced his neck. His world spun. His strength drained in seconds. He barely registered the sensation of falling before darkness claid him.
---
Upstairs, the obese woman watched the scene unfold through her monitors. A satisfied smile spread across her greasy face.
"Daywalker's been captured. The last sacrifice for the ritual is ready," she said, dialing a number. "It's all yours now, Deacon Frost."
Below, seven vampires hauled Blade's unconscious body onto the back of a pickup truck and drove away. None of them noticed the faint red light blinking beneath his jacket.
---
"Signal's live," Whistler said in a low voice, staring at his computer screen. "Looks like Blade pulled it off."
In their hidden safehouse, Lucas, Skye, Matt, and Frank were already assembled, while the female doctor worked feverishly at a lab bench, mixing the final batch of serum.
Things had played out differently from the movie Lucas rembered. In this tiline, the vampires hadn't attacked Whistler or kidnapped the doctor—instead, they'd gone straight for Blade.
Lucas adjusted his gear. "Let's move."
They grabbed their weapons and vials of serum, preparing for battle.
Blade's "capture" was no accident—it was their plan all along. Lucas had known that obese hacker worked for Deacon Frost; Blade would never have gotten real intel from her. The only way forward was to bait the enemy.
If she cooperated, perfect. If not—and Frost's n were waiting—then Blade would pretend to be taken, letting them track him to Frost's lair.
And now, their Plan B had worked perfectly.
Whistler and Frank took the lead in one car while the others followed the tracker signal. The doctor stayed behind—combat wasn't her field, and against vampires, she'd be more liability than help.
After a long drive, they arrived at an isolated estate on the outskirts of the city. The property sprawled across acres, with a gothic tower rising ominously from its rear.
Lucas studied it through his binoculars. "That's the place."
They parked a few hundred ters away and moved in on foot. Skye carried a portable computer, scanning for surveillance feeds—but the area was technologically barren.
"Figures," she muttered. "Bloodsuckers and their antique aesthetics."
Still, the estate was heavily guarded. Dozens of vampires patrolled the periter, their heightened alert showing how crucial the coming ritual was to Frost.
Frank attached a silencer to his rifle, scanning the terrain. After a mont, he pointed toward a small ridge near the forest. A perfect sniper nest.
He and Whistler took position there, rifles ready—cover fire for the infiltration team.
Lucas, Skye, and Matt crept up to the periter wall. On the other side lay the estate grounds—crawling with vampires.
Once Frank gave the ready signal, the three vaulted the wall—only to land face-to-face with a patrol of three vampires.
"Ah, hell—whose genius idea was this?!" Lucas swore as the vampires' eyes flared red.
"Damn it!"
With a snarl, he swung his sword in a silver arc—
Bang!
A silenced shot rang out from the ridge. One vampire's head exploded like an overripe waterlon.
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