Ethan rolled up Tyler's sleeve and tapped the underside of his arm. The veins rose instantly—vampire eyesight made them glow like thin blue cords under the skin. Easy.
He slid the needle in with surprising precision for soone who had never done this before.
Dark, volatile Hyde blood filled the syringe in seconds.
He pulled it free, capped it, and tucked it into his jacket.
"…Honestly, not bad for my first ti," he muttered. "I'd make a decent nurse. A terrifying one, but still."
He glanced down at Tyler's unconscious face.
The boy who would go on to kill people.
The boy who would terrorize half the woods.
The boy who nearly murdered Wednesday Addams.
And by season two? He'd beco sothing far worse.
If anyone deserved to die early, it was him.
Ethan crouched, studying Tyler like soone evaluating a broken machine.
"Should I kill you?" he mused aloud.
The thought didn't disturb him. He'd adapted fast. This world was anything but peaceful. Monsters didn't receive redemption arcs—they got hunted, used, or wiped out.
He'd just have to accept that rhythm.
Killing Tyler would prevent a dozen future headaches. Maybe a hundred.
But another thought surfaced.
Joseph Crackstone—resurrected lunatic with glowing magical weaponry and enough hatred for outcasts to sterilize a continent.
That thing would be worth a fortune in Blood Points if recycled properly.
"If I start killing now," Ethan murmured, "I should at least start with soone profitable."
He slid the syringe into his inner pocket and glanced down at Tyler's limp form—dangerous, unstable, and now inconveniently alive.
"Lucky you," Ethan said dryly. "I still need you."
If he killed Tyler now, Crackstone would never be resurrected—and he would lose a mountain of potential profit. As much as Tyler deserved an early death, keeping him alive was simply better business.
He turned to leave, boots scraping softly against the alley's concrete.
"But," he added over his shoulder, "now that you've caught my eye… living won't be easy for you from now on."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Tyler didn't hear it.
But if he had, he would've known a new predator had officially entered his life.
Ethan stepped out of the alley, brushing dust from his jacket like he'd rely finished a casual errand. Tyler's unconscious form remained hidden in the shadows behind him—Jericho's problem, not his.
He returned to his bike.
He pulled the syringe from his pocket and held it up, watching the dark Hyde blood swirl inside like a living storm.
"Hmmm… how do I recycle this thing?" he muttered. "Do I just… feed it to the system? Tap it? Throw it at the ground?"
He sighed. "Why can't systems co with manuals?"
He pulled up the system panel instead. The translucent interface shimred in the air like digital smoke.
[RECYCLE]
The tab blinked, waiting.
He tapped it, and imdiately a long list appeared—everything he owned, everything he touched, even his clothes, his helt, his bike—
"Yeah, let's not accidentally recycle my entire wardrobe," Ethan murmured, scrolling past.
Finally, the item he wanted:
[Hyde Blood: Unique Variant]
[Would you like to recycle?]
Ethan didn't hesitate. "Yes."
The syringe dissolved into particles of light—gone, as if it never existed.
A soft chi followed.
[1000 Blood Points Earned]
Ethan blinked. "One… thousand?"
A slow grin spread across his face.
"As expected of a top predator in the outcast world," he said, pocketing his hands. "Hyde blood is basically premium currency."
The number glowed in the corner of the system screen—1000 BP. More than he expected. A lot more.
If Hyde blood gave him this much… what would Crackstone give? A resurrected, magical, genocidal war criminal would have to be worth a small fortune.
The idea lit a spark of excitent behind his crimson eyes.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
He swung onto his bike, settling into the seat. The growl of the engine ca alive beneath him—a deep, hungry sound that matched his mood perfectly.
He twisted the throttle.
The bike roared like a beast unleashed.
With a single kick of speed, Ethan shot forward, tearing down Jericho's road with vampiric ease, wind whipping past him.
Behind him, Jericho continued its quiet, unsuspecting evening.
Ahead, Nevermore Academy waited—storm clouds gathering above its gothic towers.
*****
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