"Was that really… holy water?"
Lorna stared, slack-jawed, at the ashes drifting in the alley where the vampire had just disintegrated. The sight of him bursting into flames after drinking the whiskey was still burned into her mind.
Robert pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and grinned. "Absolutely. Best batch I've ever made. Exorcism grade—top shelf."
Technically, he wasn't lying. He had poured a little mana into the whiskey flask earlier just to see what would happen. Apparently, it was extremely effective. Three vampires down, and Robert could already feel the difference. His magical reserves were definitely growing.
He glanced back at the bar, then suddenly had an idea.
"Hey, Green Elf." Robert pulled out the bundle of hundred-dollar bills he'd taken from the last vampire and waved it in front of Lorna. "You like money, right?"
She narrowed her eyes at the nickname. "My name is Lorna. LORNA. Not Green Elf."
"Close enough," he said with a shrug, waving the cash again. "You can control metal, right? How about we team up? Split the take fifty-fifty."
Lorna looked away, a little uncertain. She had been bracing herself for rejection or fear the moment Robert learned she was a mutant. But he hadn't flinched—not once. He didn't even seem to care. It made her wonder whether he was really a priest or just completely unhinged.
"What's the catch?" she asked, arms crossed. "I'm not doing anything illegal."
Robert held up a hand with mock offense. "Me? Illegal? I'm a priest. I wouldn't even jaywalk."
Lorna raised a skeptical brow. "Sure."
"It's simple," he said. "You help me clean up the bloodsuckers in this bar. I do the preaching, you do the mopping. Easy work, good pay."
Inside the bar, the music thumped with low bass as colored lights flashed overhead. Robert adjusted his collar, squared his shoulders, and walked up to the next unsuspecting vampire.
"Gentleman!" he called out to a guy loitering near the dance floor. "Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior?"
The man blinked, confused by the sight of a priest wearing sunglasses, grooving to the beat with a whiskey flask in hand. Still, he didn't seem offended. Just… puzzled.
"Sure," the man said slowly. "In fact, I've been curious about God for a while. Maybe we can discuss in private?"
"Absolutely, brother," Robert said cheerfully, motioning for him to follow. "Come with me to salvation."
They slipped toward a quieter corner of the bar. The man glanced around, checking to see if anyone was watching.
But Robert was faster. He suddenly spun around, raised a hand, and snapped his fingers.
In an instant, several strands of metal—forks, bottle openers, a bent pipe—sprang to life, wrapping around the man's limbs and pinning him against the wall. Lorna, crouched in the shadows nearby, guided the metal with practiced ease.
"Whoa! Father, what's the meaning of this?"
Robert stepped forward, pulled the man's wallet out of his jacket, and casually began counting the bills. "Relax," he said. "This is part of your spiritual cleansing. We're removing the root of all evil: cash."
"My wallet?!"
"Original sin is a serious thing, my child," Robert said solemnly. "And greed? That's practically blasphemy."
The man trembled. He looked past Robert—and saw a suspicious pile of ash in the corner.
Immediately, he forced a smile. "I—I get it! Thank you, Father! You're so wise. So generous. So... terrifying."
Robert smiled politely. "You want to meet God?"
"Wait, no, I—"
Before he could finish, Robert slid a mana-infused blade into his skull. His body crumbled to dust before he could even scream.
"Lorna!" Robert called over his shoulder. "Cleanup!"
Lorna stepped out, annoyed. "I told you, it's LORNA!"
"Right, right. Almost had it."
She summoned a broom with a metal handle from behind the bar and swept the ash into a quiet corner. As she worked, Robert handed her half of the money.
"Fifty-fifty," he reminded her. "Just like we said."
Lorna grumbled, but took the bills. She didn't trust him to be fair if she didn't count it herself, so she turned her back and started counting.
"Not that I care," she muttered, "but we're just robbing bloodsuckers at this point. Are you sure you're a priest?"
Robert didn't answer. He was too busy tallying the night's profits.
"This makes thirteen," he said to himself, mentally counting the vampires they'd taken out so far. "Mana's up about ten percent. Pretty decent drop rate. Should farm this place all night."
He looked at Lorna. "Let's go. Dungeon's not cleared yet. Next wave of mobs should be spawning soon."
Lorna sighed. "Ugh, fine. But I'm not pulling an all-nighter for this nonsense."
Back in the bar, Robert approached his next target. "Sir, if you have a moment, I'd love to talk about God—"
In a high-rise villa on the edge of town, a pale young man lounged beside a pool. His blond hair shimmered under the moonlight. He swirled a glass of deep red liquid, savoring the slow rotation as two vampiresses curled against him, their eyes glowing faintly red and their lips stained with blood.
A servant approached, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
"Lord Firth, we have a situation."
Firth didn't react at first. He took another sip of blood-wine and tilted his head lazily.
"What is it this time? One of my 'employees' mess up again? Spill too much blood? Get spotted mid-bite?"
"No," the servant replied, voice low. "It's... disappearances. Multiple of our people, all gone without a trace. And all from the same bar."
Now Firth sat up. His red eyes narrowed.
"You're saying someone's targeting us?"
"We suspect so. All the surveillance in the bar has been mysteriously wiped. No data. No visuals. But… there are rumors."
Firth raised a brow. "Go on."
"Some witnesses reported seeing a broom moving on its own. Others mentioned a glowing green figure. Some claim it's a witch—long nose, green skin, robes and all—hunting our kind like sport."
Firth stared at him.
"A witch?" he repeated.
The servant nodded seriously. "They say she sweeps the ashes of the dead. Cleans up the damned. Some vampires are refusing to enter the bar. They're calling it cursed."
Firth pinched the bridge of his nose. "I built that bar. It was supposed to be a buffet, not a haunted house."
The servant hesitated. "Actually… the human crowd has doubled."
"What?"
"They love it," the servant said. "They think it's part of the theme. Internet celebrities are flooding the place, hoping to livestream the 'Green Witch.' Traffic is up. Tips are up. Profits are… record-breaking."
Firth blinked.
"The vampires are scared... but the humans are tipping more?"
"Yes, sir. Some are already trying to book interviews with the 'witch' for their channels."
Firth stared into the distance.
"…Damn it," he muttered. "Am I running a nightclub or a horror attraction?"
The servant cleared his throat. "The council suggests turning the bar into a tourist hotspot. We can hire actors, add some spooky lighting. Sell holy water shots."
Firth glared at him.
"Do I look like I want my people serving drinks to humans in cosplay?"
Silence.
Then, reluctantly, he sighed.
"…But damn it, the profit margin makes sense."
----
Visit our Patreon for more:
patreon.com/Samurai492