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Deacon Frost rose to power.
Deacon Frost died.
Just like that.
In the blink of an eye, the mont Hawk's Phoenix Beams struck the altar—striking Deacon Frost as he bared his fangs, ready to realize his vampire supremacist dreams and grand ambitions—
Deacon Frost vaporized on the spot.
No different from anyone else.
Well... there was one difference.
The blazing crimson in Hawk's eyes slowly cooled. His gaze fell upon what Deacon Frost had left behind after being vaporized.
A mass of blood.
It seed to be blood with a life of its own.
The blood hovered above the altar—twisting, writhing, pulsing with unnatural movent.
Hawk's expression turned contemplative. His Sixth Sense pierced through the squirming mass of blood and sensed sothing beyond it—what appeared to be an entire dinsion made of blood.
Just then.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Hawk snapped back to attention and glanced over his shoulder.
What he saw:
A shirtless Black man with needle marks still visible on both arms, looking severely weakened, with notably thick lips—stepping into view.
Blade—who had broken free of his restraints with the female doctor's help and rushed here to stop Deacon Frost's evil plan—spotted Hawk and froze in his tracks.
Blade gripped his sword, eyeing Hawk warily.
"Who are you??"
"...S.H.I.E.L.D.'s people are waiting for you outside. You can go."
Hawk glanced at Blade, completely uninterested in conversation. He gave a dismissive response, then looked away. One step forward, and he was already standing on the altar where the blood mass hovered.
Once again.
He had zero interest in superheroes.
Especially ones who insisted on wearing sunglasses at night.
The only reason he hadn't vaporized Blade and that female doctor while clearing out this underground castle was because of Sharon.
If Sharon hadn't ntioned them earlier, he would have swept them up along with everything else during his cleaning spree.
Just tidying up. Nothing personal.
But since Sharon had spoken up, he'd give her that courtesy as a friend.
So—
Compared to Blade, this blood mass hovering in mid-air was far more interesting.
He could feel it. This seemingly living blood appeared to be connected to a dinsional space.
And as energy continued seeping from that dinsion, the blood mass was growing larger and more agitated by the second.
The next second, Hawk sidestepped.
WHOOSH!
The blood mass—now swollen to the size of a water balloon—shot past him, hurtling toward Blade, who hadn't left and had instead followed Hawk inside.
At full strength, Blade's speed rivaled a pureblood vampire's. Dodging would have been effortless.
But right now, drained of most of his blood, Blade watched the mass rocket toward him in the blink of an eye. His brain registered the threat, but his body couldn't keep up. All he could do was watch, pupils contracting, as it closed in—
But that wasn't going to happen.
WHOOOM!
Hawk flickered and appeared directly in front of Blade. This ti, it was the blood mass that couldn't course-correct in ti. It slamd into Hawk's body and was absorbed entirely.
But it wasn't out of kindness.
Hawk had only one reason for blocking.
This thing was his spoils of war.
His spoils belonged to him. And even if he didn't want it, he'd give it to anyone before he'd give it to this sunglasses-wearing clown.
What was he thinking?
GLUB GLUB GLUB!
Inside Hawk's Cosmo, the blood mass—which had been targeting Blade but crashed into Hawk due to his superior speed—made gurgling sounds as it materialized within the inner universe.
The instant the blood appeared in the Cosmo, this seemingly sentient liquid seed to freeze montarily. Then its agitation intensified as it tried to spread outward in all directions.
But the mont the blood began its assault—
The Phoenix struck.
The Phoenix silhouette that encompassed the entire universe began to manifest. And as it appeared, crimson flas erupted around the writhing blood mass.
Instantly, The blood began to boil.
Just then, an ancient, weakened voice erged from the seething liquid.
"Stop!"
SCREEEEE—!
Accompanied by the Phoenix's cry, Hawk's consciousness projected into the Cosmo. His lips curved slightly as he looked at the blood mass now trapped by his Phoenix Fire. "I was wondering when you'd speak up."
As Hawk's words fell.
The blood began to shift. A humanoid outline ford from pure liquid, the blood solidifying, the figure gradually taking shape.
The next second.
A man appeared before Hawk—unremarkable features, aged face, looking like he might drop dead at any mont.
Hawk studied the figure composed entirely of blood and raised an eyebrow.
"The Blood God La Magra?"
"Yes."
The man—La Magra—didn't deny his identity.
"Damn."
"It really is him."
"The true source of Dracula's vampire bloodline."
Hawk's eyebrow arched higher. He studied La Magra's blood-constructed form with a contemplative look. "Who did this to you? You look like you're about to kick the bucket, La Magra."
It was true.
Even though La Magra's current form was made of blood—
Aura couldn't be faked. Especially dinsional aura.
If phisto's Hell dinsion felt repulsive yet overwhelmingly powerful, then the Blood God La Magra's blood dinsion felt... decayed. Rotting.
Even La Magra himself gave off that impression.
To Hawk, he felt like soone who could die at any second.
At first, Hawk had assud the aura was a disguise.
That was precisely why he hadn't touched the blood on the altar imdiately.
He couldn't confirm whether the seemingly ownerless dinsion connected to that blood was genuine or a trap.
Rushing in blindly could have backfired spectacularly.
But the mont the blood shot toward Blade—Hawk confird sothing.
The aura wasn't fake.
This Blood God dinsion was genuinely on the verge of becoming ownerless. And its forr master—La Magra—was approaching the end of his existence.
And now, Sure enough.
"Yahweh."
"..."
Hawk heard the na La Magra spoke and raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
"Yahweh wounded ."
La Magra glanced at Hawk, voice heavy. "During the war between Yahweh and phisto, I was accidentally caught in the crossfire. Yahweh struck with his Archangel Sword. Since then, I've been in slumber, trying to recover."
Unfortunately, it hadn't worked.
phisto had the Cosmic Entity "Death" backing him.
Yahweh had the "Celestials," created by another Cosmic Entity, "Eternity."
And La Magra?
He had nothing.
It was like watching two titans fight—and the bystander being the one who got hurt.
In this scenario, La Magra was that bystander.
Back then, phisto and Yahweh had been fighting over Earth, using every trick in the book. Yahweh had even launched sothing called the Holy Inquisition.
Countless demons and witches hiding among humans were hunted down and burned at the stake by the Paladins. And the vampires hiding among humanity beca collateral damage.
Everyone knew.
Dracula's legend was among the oldest in human history.
So La Magra's losses had been catastrophic.
And so, When he learned his followers had been swept up in this war between Heaven and Hell, an enraged La Magra had appeared, demanding an explanation from Yahweh.
The result—
Hawk had already guessed what ca next. He chuckled. "And then Yahweh stabbed you?"
La Magra stared at Hawk, expression flat.
"phisto was the one who stabbed ."
"...Wait."
Hawk raised an eyebrow.
"phisto?"
"Yes. Yahweh restrained my limbs so I couldn't transform into blood. phisto seized the opportunity, grabbed Yahweh's Archangel Sword, and drove it through my heart."
"Holy shit."
Hawk sucked in a sharp breath.
"Aren't Yahweh and phisto mortal enemies?"
"Hah!"
La Magra's gaze drifted to the Underworld at the edge of Hawk's Cosmo. Then he looked at Hawk with a knowing expression. "phisto told you that, didn't he? Did he also tell you he was the one who defeated Heaven?"
Hawk t La Magra's half-mocking expression, his mind racing.
"You—"
"Because he told the sa thing back then."
La Magra let out a cold snort. "phisto and Yahweh are close enough to share underwear. I fell for phisto's lies, and look where it got ."
Hawk fell silent.
"phisto and Yahweh are... friends?"
"They're more than friends... Every life-bearing planet where both of them are present eventually ets the sa fate—total destruction."
La Magra's voice dripped with cold contempt. Then he looked at Hawk.
"Want to know why they conspired to eliminate ?"
"..."
Hawk frowned. "Because vampires are immortal?"
La Magra shook his head. "I am the Blood God. My people are the Blood Clan—that's their true na. 'Vampire' is just what Yahweh and phisto started calling them after I escaped. It was a sche to dilute my existence and eventually kill for good."
He paused, A bitter, ugly smile crept across La Magra's blood-ford face.
"They've almost succeeded."
"If no one rembers who I am anymore, it won't be long before I truly die."
"After all, my blood descendants have already been—"
"Hold on."
Hawk heard this and raised an eyebrow, looking at La Magra. "Dracula. He's one of your followers, isn't he?"
La Magra glanced at him.
"My Dracula is dead. The current Dracula... he belongs to Heaven."
"..."
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