John's life had settled into a simpler rhythm.
Black and white owls perched on the second floor of the manor, their necks tucked in as they dozed in the study, looking like fluffy, feathered spheres from behind. Riddle, the more adventurous of the two, often flew out, sometimes perching on a high point in the city to survey the urban landscape like a silent guardian. Basil, on the other hand, was simple and direct. He taught a stern lesson to any other owls that trespassed on his territory. Occasionally, some unfortunate strolling dogs would also suffer the wrath of his 'poisonous claws'.
Tom, the hellhound, now had an interesting new job. He followed diligently behind Martha, a fact that made the dog-fearing young woman wish she had been born with two extra legs.
Martha's abilities were not as weak as one might think. Her unique control over blood allowed her to accelerate her circulation, dramatically improving her physical fitness. In an instant, she could make the blood in her body more resistant to blows, turning her skin as tough as leather.
She was currently practicing. Slicing her palm, she used her own blood to form a shimmering spider web in front of her, a desperate attempt to stop the tongue-lolling Tom. The condensed, crimson web was incredibly tough, capable of supporting the weight of three adult men.
But Tom just opened his massive maw, and his sharp teeth tore through the blood web as if it were marshmallow.
"Why are your teeth so sharp!" Martha wailed and continued to flee for her life.
After a few more attempts, she collapsed from excessive blood loss.
John glanced at his watch and raised an eyebrow. "A little better than last time. You lasted sixteen minutes."
Martha, with her head being affectionately licked by Tom's massive tongue, weakly gave a thumbs up. Vines emerged from the ground, gently rolling her up and carrying her back toward the manor.
His phone vibrated. John glanced at it; it was a message from Natasha. More than three months had passed since the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D. Some of its personnel had left for good, while others had been reassigned to different units. Of course, the Avengers still had a super-rich benefactor. Tony had directly funded the construction of the Avengers Tower. John seriously suspected that Fury's initial goal in recruiting Tony had always been to get his hands on the wealth of the world's richest man.
Natasha didn't mention Steve in her message, likely knowing that John and the Captain had fallen out. During this time, she had been conducting her own in-depth investigations into HYDRA. Although Alexander Pierce was dead, the mysteries he left behind were still difficult to explain.
For example, Zola knowing about John's existence. Even John himself was confused about it. When he was in school, there was basically no internet. Later, the magical world became a closed society with little communication with the mundane world. Yet Zola had accurately mentioned John's existence and claimed he would be eliminated.
"Could it be Grindelwald?" John fell into deep thought.
Grindelwald, a name that once struck terror into the heart of the magical world. His appearance had represented the beginning of chaos. But even Grindelwald's timeline didn't align with Zola's. After his defeat in 1945, Grindelwald became the sole resident of Nurmengard prison. The date of Zola's supposed death didn't match at all.
The current Grindelwald had been exiled by John to a cage in the Wizard City that no one else could enter. There was no way to communicate with the outside world from there. More importantly, as the leader of HYDRA, Alexander Pierce didn't even seem to know his own memories had been altered. John had used Legilimency to probe his mind, and a significant part of Alexander's memory had been cleanly erased.
These matters were riddled with doubts. And the Skrulls, who had specifically led John to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, were all controlled by the same shadowy figure.
Looking at the message from Natasha, John muttered to himself, "Ivan is finally going to war with Stark."
Just yesterday, an arrogant individual had sent Tony a message through a computer, challenging him to a fight. Ivan Vanko's War Machine Mark III was eager to make its debut. Tony was also self-aware; this was his battle, and he wouldn't stoop to bringing a group of Avengers to gang up on him without any sense of honor. A peak showdown between two masters of armored combat. It didn't have much to do with John.
Martha now loved Chinese food, especially a spicy blood-based stew. It probably had something to do with some lingering vampiric traits. Every time John saw the Western-faced girl holding two chopsticks and feasting on a bowl of the crimson dish, he always felt a strange sense of incongruity. Martha was now a regular at the manor. Sometimes you could see her staring at gory dissection videos on a tablet while enjoyably eating the equally red and gory stew.
John wanted to say something but always held back. Were all medical students this tough?
The Vampire Council had gotten lucky and wasn't completely wiped out, but they weren't having an easy time either. If one Cooper was gone, another would simply take his place. The vampires were now like frightened birds, and even the number of missing persons in London had decreased significantly. The Ministry of Magic's workload had also lessened as a result.
John had searched all of London, but the uninvited guest from another world was no longer in this city. In a Nordic country, there were new reports of vampires being killed. The method was consistent, with silver stakes and signs of brutal slaughter found at the scene. It seemed that group had already left Britain. The people who couldn't be detected by magic had also vanished from the internet. Either his adversaries had a super AI assistant of their own, or they could move through means like portals. Either way, it was proving difficult to find them.
Since they were coming for him, he would simply deal with whatever came his way.
In a small Nordic country, a vampire viscount's head was shattered by a gunshot.
Ciri pulled out the sword that had pierced the viscount's body, watching with detached curiosity as the body turned to ash. Blade finished off the viscount's personal guards, flicking the blood from his own sword with a practiced motion.
"These vampires are truly pathetic," he commented, watching a human servant die without a change in expression. Eternal life never lacked for pursuers, even an alternative, cursed form of it was sought after by some.
Another John, reloading his gun, checked that the bullets were not jammed. Pushing open the viscount's treasure room door, they began to take what was inside.
Blade said, "Should we give our little team a name?"
Before Ciri could speak, the other John had already answered. "Let's just call it the Traitors."
He pulled the bolt of his gun back, not even looking as he raised the weapon and fired through a wall, smashing a hidden vampire's head. Strangely, even though he used normal bullets, the vampire still died instantly.
"Why?" Ciri asked, her arms crossed.
"Because we are going to do something outrageous." The white smoke from the gun's muzzle gradually dispersed. He said, "We are the enemies of magic."
A mysterious force had gathered them. It had given them only one purpose. To kill the king of the magical world.
Martha was very talented, probably because of her familiarity with the human body's structure. She could now skillfully use her blood to create sharp weapons and blood threads that could extend over twenty meters. A swing of her crimson thread could slice through a tree as thick as a dinner plate. In addition to its original toughness, it now possessed considerable sharpness.
As she became more proficient with her abilities, Martha had to buy blood-replenishing potions to take regularly. Her hands were covered in a dense network of tiny wounds. Every time blood passed through a fresh cut, it would cause Martha sharp, stinging pain.
From being chased by Tom at the beginning, to now being able to hold him off for a short while, Martha's progress was significant.
One day, Martha carefully handed John a small bottle. John took it; it was a delicate glass vial, just the right size to be used as a pendant. Inside was a swirling red liquid, perfectly preserved.
John asked, "What is this?"
Martha lowered her head shyly. "My blood."
"Do you know what happens when you casually hand over your blood to a wizard?" John chuckled. "If I wanted, this little bit of blood is enough for me to cast a curse that would make you suffer for the rest of your life."
"Ah?" Martha hadn't thought of this. Hearing John say so, her face turned three shades paler.
"Well?" John said mockingly. "Want to take it back?"
"No!" Martha said firmly. "You saved me. If you want to curse me, I accept it."
Such a fearless attitude made John look at Martha in a new light. Her giving him her blood was naturally not to curse him, but because she could provide a certain level of protection through her own blood. Martha was truly grateful to John.
Her sincere eyes made John's mocking expression gradually disappear.
"Let's introduce ourselves again," John extended his hand and said formally, "John Wick."
Martha was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly grasped his hand with both of hers. "My name is Martha Latti."
No matter how many times he heard it, he always felt that this name had a certain expensive, coffee-like feeling to it.
Perhaps this was a friend worth acknowledging.