Saguenay City Police Precinct
2:10 A.M.
The howling wind whistled past alleys and between buildings.
Streetlights creaked, and the suspensions of half-buried car groaned.
Clouds of snowy mist rolled through the streets, sweeping away mounds of snow and leaving behind slick patches of icy road.
It was a miserable winter night. Wind and snow swept through the region as though Mother Nature herself sought to scour away everything manmade beneath swells of powdery ice. Within this supernatural snowstorm stood a modern structure that distinctly stood out against the surrounding city, even covered in snow—the Saguenay police precinct.
The precinct’s was made of stacked concrete blocks, reminiscent of the rustic bases of early police stations from the city’s history. It was probably a nice, relatively modern-looking place in the daytime. But now, beneath the dim yellow glow of streetlights and starlight, the precinct loomed up from the snow banks like a monolithic crypt. No movement could be seen through the windows, and mounds of powder and ice accumulating on the window ledges and against the walls and alcoves. The trees and shrubbery bordering the precinct, once vibrant and aesthetically pleasing, now resembled decrepit, hollow shadows of their former glory— leafless and stiff, as they stood trapped in a frosty stasis.
A floodlight set into the concrete overhang of the public entrance generated enough contrast between the lobby’s interior and the outside to reveal a motionless, shadowy silhouette behind the glass double doors. The right double door silently opened—the weather completely drowned out any noise that could have been associated with the movement.
A haggard young man stood at the entrance’s threshold. His street clothes were bloody and torn, practically shredded, exposing large sections of his sickly pale skin. His stare was frighteningly emotionless, and at odds with his grim appearance. Showing no reaction to the raging storm, the young man slowly and steadily strode into the world of washed-out darkness and biting cold.
The door silently swung closed behind him on a mechanical hinge.
The wind immediately sought to rip away what little clothing remained attached to his form, sending his tattered clothes and hair whipping in the wind. Yet, he remained unaffected, walking through the ankle-deep powder. He stopped at the top of a broad, shallow incline with an ice-crusted railing down the middle leading to the sidewalk and road.
As he stood there, the wind lashed against him, but he didn't flinch. His shoulders remained squared, despite the biting cold that tried to force him to hunch. His fingers, raw and blue, curled tightly, nails digging into his palms. His chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths, each exhale forming clouds of vapor that were quickly swept away by the gusts. His eyes, hollow yet unyielding, stared straight ahead, reflecting the distant streetlights like cold steel.
The snow gathered around his ankles, but he didn't move. He stood firm, his body a stark contrast to the raging elements. The cold seeped into his bones, yet he stood as though he were part of the landscape, a statue amidst the swirling snow. His muscles tensed, fighting against the urge to shiver. The cold air stung his exposed skin, but he barely blinked, his face set in a mask of grim determination.
Every step he took left a deep imprint in the snow. The wind howled in his ears, but he focused on the distant glow of the streetlights. His movements were slow, deliberate, each one a struggle against the encroaching numbness. The pain was a distant echo, drowned out by an iron will.
Reaching the bottom of the incline, he paused. His body trembled slightly, but he forced it to stillness, gripping the railing for support. He glanced back at the precinct, its imposing structure looming behind him. His breath hitched for a moment, his eyes narrowing as a complex light flashed in his eyes.
He cocked his head to the side.
Wind. Snow. An all-encompassing absence.
Suddenly, his head snapped to the left- eyes intently staring down the street.
Wind. Snow... a car engine, tires crunching snow!
He angled his body to face the direction of the sound.
Twin yellowish-white orbs of light, their intensity growing with every passing moment.
Hidden behind the approaching orbs of light was a dark, rectangular silhouette. And by the time the outline was visible, the rays finally pierced through the distant snow cover- revealing the bulk of a heavy police vehicle barreling down the street.
The inert crimson flecks within the young man’s irises intently shone.
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Massive rectangular floodlights flush against a rockface ceiling shone down brightly on the interior of a vast, intricate laboratory. The seemingly subteranean chamber was filled with dozens of plastic laminate caseworks and high-density matte-black fiberboard workbenches. The workbenches were positively overflowing with miscellaneous lab equipment, heaps of journals, and shining glassware.
Hundreds of narrow-mouthed glass funnels and bottles cluttered the space, accompanied by broad-mouthed, flat-bottomed beakers. Some were sealed within glass cabinets, while others sat out, filled to varying degrees with diverse substances. Rubber-stopped conical flasks containing unknown liquids rested atop thick, leather-bound books with faded titles. Clear, twisting tubing connected these flasks to neighboring beakers, forming a complex distillation process that spanned the entire laboratory.
Lab stands, equipped with rings and clamps, held beakers and flasks aloft over lit propane burners. Their colorful contents bubbled and swirled under small magnetic stirrers. Transparent glass test tubes and cylindrical plastic containers, holding liquids, sparkling metals, organic samples, and powders, were everywhere. And full burettes hung over tape-labeled beakers, their contents suspended with stopcocks.
The room’s essence was one of intellectually organized chaos. Or at least, it would have been, if not for the atmosphere suddenly shattering due to a blood-curdling scream of agony that echoed throughout the complex
“Hush now,” a woman’s voice mock-pouted, dripping with infinite charisma and maddeningly seductive undertones.
The screams intensified, a blend of terror and pain, before tapering into muffled whimpers and finally an eerie silence.
A gorgeous woman in a red, skintight dress stood beside a stainless-steel worktable, her arms crossed, accentuating her gravity-defying breasts. Her straight, raven-black hair cascaded down to the small of her back, just above the curve of her shapely butt. Her skin was stunning, a tanned porcelain radiating ageless vibrancy, and her eyes, deep pools of solid onyx, scrutinized a nude, middle-aged man lying on the worktable.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he silently sobbed, his mouth missing. The woman's brows furrowed at the distraction, noticing his terrified gaze. She frowned, her inhumanly beautiful face contorting with irritation.
“Enough of that,” she snapped, tapping his forehead with lightning speed.
A thick vein stood out on the man's neck as he soundlessly screamed and thrashed against the restraints. Another quick tap on his chest paralyzed him.
The woman preferred to avoid this method of experimentation as it contaminated her subjects with her essence, but sometimes it was necessary.
Suddenly, the man’s eyelids began to wriggle and shift as though alive. Pure fear flashed in his eyes as he realized what was happening, utterly helpless to stop it. His eyelids grew, merging together in a union of flesh that sealed his eyes away in total darkness. Once the process was complete, the man lay utterly motionless, unable to shed any more tears. And perhaps unconscious as his mind could no longer bear the sheer horror of his present existence. It'd happened before to many of her experiments.
The woman for her part returned to examining her test subject's forearm with clinical detachment. The subject would still serve his purpose, but the data she received would be altered. She cupped her chin in thought.
“Mm- maybe...?” she mumbled, tapping the man’s right shoulder with an index finger.
The muscles beneath the spot wriggled and twisted like a colony of worms. A thin red line appeared on the subject’s upper bicep, bulging outward until a bead of blood formed. Suddenly, the skin tore open, and a sharp chunk of bone emerged like a monolith rising from bloody waters. The bone fragment wavered, morphing into a quasi-liquid/solid state, stopping the blood flow and sucking it back in, almost as if time were reversing. Once the strange liquid bone was outside and the subject’s skin was clean of blood, the liquid spread out, coating the right shoulder in a thin, opaque film. The coating rippled like disturbed water, shifting and crawling across the skin. Then, the liquid fluctuated fiercely, rising over three inches above the skin, defying physics with ease.
The woman held a hand over the liquid, palm down.
A flash of red light bathed the liquid, which instantly responded, morphing into an opaque, segmented spaulder before calcifying into a hardened, rock-like bone composite.
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“Excellent!” the woman smiled, preparing to repeat the process with the subject’s other shoulder when a fragment of her consciousness alerted her to danger.
Her smile faded into a frown, just as beautiful, but now laced with unbridled fury. Her eyes flashed with pure murder, and her raven black hair billowed out, lashing at the air like snapping snakes.
“They. Dare?!” Her voice shook the chamber, and her eyes turned into pure crimson orbs as she connected with her fragmented consciousness and commanded that her will be done. The fledgling was hers.
Her eyes slowly cleared to their original pools of onyx. Unclenching her fists, she gazed at the still subject, then across the laboratory to the row of cages filled with dozens of naked, cowering humans. None had mouths, as she had grown tired of their pleading and crying.
Looking back at the subject’s incomplete transformation, she came to a decision. Events were moving faster than anticipated—she needed to stall the opposition.
And she had just the man for the job.
A smile curled her lips—yes, things were turning out perfectly.
“Now then...” she said, walking to the subject’s other side and tapping the opposite shoulder.
“Practice... makes perfect.”
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The young man watched as the large vehicle slid to a stop in the middle of the street.
The back passenger door facing the precinct opened, releasing a figure who slammed it closed. As if triggered by a starting pistol, the moment the door shut, the vehicle's engine roared, all four tires pulverizing the packed snow and tossing streams of powder into the air as it sped away.
A lone figure remained in the middle of the road, staring directly at Emerson's stationary silhouette at the top of the ramp through the swirling snow.
They silently regarded each other, unmoving, as the snowstorm raged and the wind howled around them.
“Destroy him,” a furious woman’s voice commanded, resonating through Emerson’s mind, body, and soul. His eyes flashed crimson, and then—Thump!
Ye Bao, who suddenly lost sight of his target, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his finely honed instincts screamed at him to move!
He reacted instantly, ducking hard enough to cause whiplash as he tucked the rifle in close and threw himself sideways. It was the only thing that kept his head on his shoulders as he felt something soar over the spot where he'd just stood. Relying on his training, he leaned into the tumble, performing a shoulder roll through the ankle-deep powder and fluidly coming up in a one-knee firing stance.
His snow-covered rifle naturally rose in the direction he’d just been standing, and as soon as the barrel leveled, he fired three quick rounds. The intense weather muffled the already suppressed gunfire, but he knew he’d missed. Hitting a building at this stage didn’t matter.
The PR team could attribute it to rising crime rates in this part of the city—he had bigger concerns.
Though if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t worried. He was excited. He was having fun! Ye Bao’s blood was boiling, singing and surging with adrenaline and power. He embraced the feeling, letting it course wildly through his pulsing veins. A devilish smile lit up his face as he leaned forward with eager, glowing eyes, pushing his perceptions to their limits.
The howling wind crescendoed into a single roaring note; the snow fell slower, the streetlights grew into points of flaring yellow light, and—there!
Ye Bao spun to the right and fired two rounds at a darker spot in the snowstorm.
The spot moved, almost phasing in and out of reality as it shifted to obscure its approach.
Ye Bao rose from his kneeling stance, legs spread wide and posture strong. His eyes gleamed as he relentlessly tracked his target’s darting shadow, the suppressed gunfire mingling with the wind.
“Come on!” he taunted against the storm, rapidly shifting into different, impossible firing angles as he effortlessly moved and fired the rifle.
Something in his voice must have done the trick because the next second, the shadow barreled straight toward him.
‘Gotcha,’ he thought with a smug smile, sighting the approaching shadow and pulling the trigger until it staggered and vanished from view. His eyes widened a split second before he dropped the rifle and spun around with supernatural speed, catching the vampire’s fist a foot from his face.
Ye Bao hissed as the impact fractured the bones in his hand, causing a small shockwave that scattered nearby snow.
He stared incredulously into the vampire’s blank gray eyes, forced to take a step back as the pain in his arm grew. That’s when he noticed half a dozen bullet holes in the vampire’s chest. It didn’t seem fazed by the injuries. His surprise gave way to indignation, then eager competition as the flames of rivalry ignited his blood.
With a bellow, blackened veins crawled up Ye Bao’s neck, his eyes' sclera darkened, and his arm's muscles bulged against his armored clothing. His grip tightened around the vampire’s fist hard enough to crush stone.
The vampire cocked its head at the sound of grinding bones coming from its fist. Its irises flashed crimson.
Then, everything happened so quickly that even Ye Bao’s enhanced senses couldn’t catch it all. The next thing he knew, he was coughing up blood, saliva, and snow as he picked himself up from a powdery embankment beside the road. A fierce, burning pulse of pain ran through his dislocated jaw, momentarily causing him to fumble as the world spun around him.
And then, without hesitation, it was on him again.
Despite the dizziness clouding his vision, Ye Bao’s instincts saved him as he heard its nearly silent approach, the wind breaking against its clothes. He twisted aside as the vampire charged past, its nails dragging down the back of his vest and gouging finger-sized divots through the fibers. Grabbing the rifle still hanging from his chest strap, he swiftly aimed and fired in the direction his ears told him to, stopping only when he heard shattering glass and a distant car alarm.
Using the car’s location as a marker, he cautiously pivoted in a tight circle, rifle at the ready and senses straining. His vertigo lifted, the world snapping back to clarity just in time for him to catch a fleeting shadow in his peripherals.
‘Slippery bastard,’ Ye Bao thought, his confidence shaken by their last encounter. The boiling rage in his chest simmered, his desire to fight now tempered by self-preservation. He’d lost the previous exchange in both speed and strength. The fact that he wasn’t dead meant the vampire couldn’t maintain its blood state for long. But it was enough to rattle him, possibly kill or maim him if he wasn’t careful. This bastard was strong—too strong to have been turned recently.
Ye Bao sneered as he continued gauging the area. It just went to show how lousy intel in this business could get you killed.
When this was over, he was going to personally—he ducked, pivoting on his heels, and shoved the rifle’s suppressor into the vampire’s stomach as its fist tore through the air above him.
Ye Bao pulled the trigger three times before letting the rifle drop and pressing forward with a hard one-two jab into the vampire’s exposed abdomen. It felt like punching a wall, his knuckles aching immediately, but he didn’t stop. He delivered a rising right-handed uppercut to the vampire’s chin, snapping its head back and sending it staggering.
“That’s right, motherfucker—come on!” Ye Bao shouted, staying close and keeping the pressure up. He threw a series of vicious hooks that grazed its body or connected with its shoulders before seeing an opening and following through with a snap kick to the solar plexus, sending the vampire crashing across the snow.
Ye Bao snorted and spat out a gob of blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he kept his eyes on the downed vampire. It wasn’t moving yet. His success stoked the flames of war in his blood, the fervent singing growing louder in his ears as though he could taste victory.
“That all you got?” he mocked, grasping the rifle and ejecting the nearly empty magazine. As he reached for a fresh mag, the hair on the back of his neck rose.
‘How?!’ He hadn’t taken his eyes off the thing—the shadow was exactly where he’d downed the vampire, but somehow, it was already behind him. He dropped the new magazine and rifle, throwing out his right arm as he spun.
The vampire was faster, batting away his forearm and slamming its forehead into Ye Bao’s face.
Stars exploded across his vision as his nose broke, sending him reeling backward in a spray of hot blood. The world went blurry, forcing him to go on the defensive.
He raised his hands to guard his face, barely regaining his balance as he avoided the vampire’s wild swings and charges, placing some distance between them. He reached for his rifle but swore under his breath as he dodged another strike and swerved away. Ye Bao would’ve preferred to use the rifle, but he’d dropped the magazine and didn’t have time to reload. The vampire's prodigious strength could easily snap the weapon in half if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t want to risk it.
It must have been severely injured by now—he’d hit it with at least seven or eight rounds. None were headshots, but even if this bastard wasn’t born yesterday, it should be weakened enough for him to try and go toe-to-toe. Rather than focusing on whittling it down from a distance, he played a game of cat and mouse, using the white-out snow conditions to analyze its tactics and find a fatal opening. He kept himself safe enough to act when the opportunity arose.
He’d learned the hard way that exploiting an opponent’s attack pattern with two broken arms was no easy feat.
His plan, however, was doomed from the start. If there was one thing vampires could track with nearly zero impediments, it was blood. And Ye Bao had plenty steadily streaming from his broken nose. Realizing how the vampire was easily tracking him, he gave up and fought back in earnest.
The fight quickly turned into a no-holds-barred slugfest as they relentlessly pursued each other, raining bone-shattering strikes.
Ye Bao fought aggressively but with a focus on defense, ferociously exploiting his opponent’s mistakes and counterattacking weak points like joints and the head with brutal efficiency.
The vampire, however, relied on brief bursts of overwhelming speed and strength to overpower Ye Bao, breaking bones and puncturing organs.
The snow around them grew increasingly stained with dark blood, despite the snowstorm’s best efforts to erase their presence.
Soon, their figures became indistinct, shadowy smears against the wintery night backdrop, their movements crisscrossing the street. A thick cloud of disturbed snow hung over the road as they churned up massive piles of powder, almost like a smoke grenade had been tossed into their fight.
Around this time, Ye Bao began to notice a pattern—or rather, the lack of one—in the vampire’s attacks. It didn’t mask its presence during sneak attacks and fought like someone who had never fought before. There was no stance, timing, or variation in its tactics. It seemed... mindless?
He kept his guard up, wary of underestimating it.
‘How's it killed so many people if it’s this stupid?’ he wondered.
Ye Bao was quickly reminded of ‘how’ when he slipped on a patch of ice and blocked a strike that fractured his forearm. The white-hot pain caused him to hesitate, and he couldn’t avoid the follow-up fist that slammed into his abdomen. He cursed as the armor plate protecting his torso bent and dug into his vest, feeling like he’d caught the edge of a shotgun blast.
Gritting his bloodied teeth, Ye Bao roared defiantly, grabbed the vampire’s wrist, and twisted it—snap! The sound was music to his ears. He lashed out with his fractured arm, catching the vampire across the jaw and sending its head whipping to the side. Then, he grabbed both sides of the vampire’s head, gouged his thumbs into its eyes, and returned the earlier favor with a brutal headbutt that broke the vampire’s nose. Searing pain exploded behind his eyes as his own nose broke, but he didn’t care. Spitting in the vampire's face, he released its head, and, with a roar, sent it flying into another snowdrift with a devastating snap-kick to the torso.
Ye Bao hocked another mouthful of blood and huffed, squeezing his eyes shut and grabbing his nose. The pain was indescribable, lances of fire spearing his brain and eyes as he set it in place.
He exhaled roughly, shook his head, and blinked away the tears. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, he limped to where he thought he’d dropped the magazine. His supernatural regenerative abilities mended his gait until he was striding normally.
His senses, however, were still reorienting after the head trauma, making it difficult to focus. He spotted a small dark shape against the colorless canvas of snow in the middle of the road—probably the magazine.
He walked over and crouched beside it, reaching out—
Crunching snow!
Ye Bao looked up just in time for the front bumper of a police cruiser to slam into his face.