WebNovels

Chapter 112 - Chapter 111 - Get Michael Corvinus Blood

As the elevator slowly descended, loud banging echoed from outside—the sound of metal being struck over and over, rough and brutal. The Lycans were clearly trying to break through the elevator door. Low growls accompanied each impact, layering an ever-thickening psychological pressure within the cramped space.

Inside the stuffy cabin, Michael paced nervously. His breathing was erratic, eyes wild, searching for an exit—that didn't exist.

Meanwhile, Reuel only glanced briefly, calm, nearly apathetic. He opened his system interface and summoned a case from his internal storage. It was a high-tech container, housing fifty vials, each capable of holding 50 milliliters of human blood, complete with automated internal cooling.

With a steady motion, Reuel retrieved a specialized syringe—an advanced medical device engineered by Archmagos Brawalius Cawl from Terra Aeterna. It was designed for biological sampling of rare specimens across multiple realities. A standard piece of equipment in every multiversal expedition he undertook.

Without saying a word, Reuel pressed the device against Michael's shoulder and injected it.

Michael jerked. "What the hell are you—ARGHH! Stop! That... hurts!"

He thrashed with all his might. His muscles tensed, his body fought reflexively. But Reuel swiftly brought him down, pinning Michael's chest with a knee. The weight wasn't human—it was like being crushed by a war machine. Michael's breath caught, his face flushed, chest rising and falling in strained gasps.

This thing… isn't human, Michael thought in terror.

Expressionless, Reuel began extracting other biological samples: hair, nails, skin flakes—all with cold medical efficiency. Michael could only whimper in pain, trapped in a body that couldn't resist the overwhelming pressure.

Selene stood a few steps away, her face tense. An inner conflict gripped her—torn between the urge to stop Reuel and the growing awareness that the banging from outside was getting closer.

Michael was still writhing in pain as Reuel began drawing blood. He worked fast, with precision, as if his hands had performed this procedure thousands of times. One vial done. Then the second, third, fourth… until he reached fifty. One hand continued to restrain Michael's body with calculated force.

It was all done with clinical, inhuman efficiency.

Reuel himself was briefly confused—how was he this skilled? Perhaps, he thought, it was due to the inherited memories of the Emperor of Mankind embedded within him. Without realizing it, his body and mind moved with the instincts of a medical expert, not a soldier.

Suddenly, a hard slap landed on his shoulder. Selene.

Reuel turned sharply. "What is it?"

"ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM? Look at his face! He could pass out—or worse!" Selene snapped, her tone sharp and full of worry.

Reuel frowned and looked down. Michael was now deathly pale, sweat dripping from his temples and forehead, his breath ragged and weak.

But it wasn't Michael's physical condition that caught Reuel's attention—it was his gaze. Despite the pain, Michael's eyes remained locked on Selene, as if silently pleading for protection.

Is she… important to him? Reuel wondered. Narrative effect? A protagonist bond? That typical male-female protagonist dynamic from the original Underworld universe?

"Relax," Reuel finally said. His voice remained flat, almost emotionless. "He won't die. I only need his blood, not his life."

Though his tone was cold, his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation. He finished collecting the final sample and withdrew the syringe.

Several minutes passed. The elevator finally arrived at the ground floor of Michael's apartment building.

Ding.

The familiar chime sounded—the doors were about to open.

Reuel slowly stood up, as if nothing had happened. He calmly arranged the case, storing all the blood vials into the sterile, internally cooled compartment. On the floor, Michael was still sprawled out, gasping for breath, his face pale, one hand clutching his shoulder where the pain still throbbed.

As the doors slid open, Reuel gave a thin smile.

Just as he expected—exactly like in the Underworld film he once watched—someone stood at the threshold. A tall, hulking figure cloaked in tattered black robes. His body was battered and scarred, but he stood upright like a war-beast. His yellow eyes glowed, burning with hatred and fury—Lucian, leader of the Lycans.

Selene reacted faster than a shadow. Both her pistols rose in unison, and the thunder of gunfire echoed through the narrow hallway. Silver bullets rained down on Lucian mercilessly, striking his chest and abdomen with vampiric precision.

But Lucian was unstoppable.

No scream. No cry. He kept walking, even as his body was riddled with bullet holes. His movement never faltered. His gaze was sharp, focused—as if pain was just a minor inconvenience to be shrugged off.

Selene instinctively backed away, but the corridor was too narrow. Her back hit the cold wall of the elevator. No room to move. No way out.

Then—

BUGH!

A brutal impact shattered the tension. In a blink, Lucian's body was lifted off the floor and hurled across the hallway like a ragdoll. Concrete cracked. Dust filled the air.

Selene turned—Reuel stood in front of her, one foot just now settling back on the floor. He lowered his leg from a high kick that had been nearly invisible. One kick. That was all it took.

Lucian coughed up blood.

Without a word, Reuel bent down and hoisted Michael's body off the ground like lifting an overly light backpack. A sly grin tugged at his lips as he looked over at Selene.

"Enjoying the show? You looked like you were having a great time," Reuel said, his tone cold but laced with irony. "If you don't mind, let's get going. Or would you prefer to keep staring into space until the next batch of Lycans show up?"

Selene froze. She couldn't utter a single word.

No vampire—not even her—had ever knocked Lucian down with a single blow. But Reuel had done it. Easily. Almost insultingly.

She wanted to ask... wanted to know what this creature truly was. But her tongue was numb. The question only trembled in her mind, never reaching her lips.

Without another word, Reuel carried Michael to the waiting car: a Bugatti Veyron 16, heavily modified by the hands of Mechanicus magos. The rear hatch opened automatically with the signature servo-whine of Adeptus Mechanicus tech, and Michael was tossed in like a heavy cargo load into a military logistics transport.

The engine roared—not like a car's engine, but like a beast resurrected from the grave.

Selene climbed into the passenger seat without a word. Reuel took the driver's side, and in seconds, the gas pedal hit the floor. The car shot forward, piercing the night and the city shadows that devoured light like an endless abyss.

---

Behind them, Lucian slowly rose from the pile of rubble. Fresh blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was heavy, ragged. The bones in his chest were broken, pain spreading through his body like a wave of poison. But it wasn't the pain that bothered him—it was a single question echoing loudly in his mind:

"Who was that man?"

"And... why am I afraid?"

That alien feeling tore at his pride. He, Lucian—leader of the Lycans, eternal hunter of the Death Dealers—had never known fear, not even when facing the vampire Elders. But this time...

For the first time in his life, Lucian did not pursue.

---

Inside the car speeding through the night, tension hung in the air like fog that refused to lift. The engine hummed low, but inside, the noise was far greater—each person's thoughts clashing against one another.

Selene stole a glance at Reuel. Not out of interest... more accurately—because she didn't know what to feel. A mix of suspicion, vigilance, and—for some reason—a faint admiration she refused to acknowledge.

Reuel noticed. He turned to her with a casual grin.

"Why're you staring at me like that? Don't tell me... you're falling for me? Or... just mesmerized by my good looks?"

Selene stared back coldly.

"Staring at you? I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you are."

Reuel chuckled, his voice light—almost sarcastic.

"Me? Just an ordinary human. Unemployed. And... hmm, I happen to enjoy torturing Lycans."

Selene frowned.

"If you're just a human... then what does that make us?"

Reuel's smile widened—not out of amusement, but because he knew his answer would only make things more uncomfortable.

"Monsters. Clearly. But that doesn't mean humans can't be far more dangerous than all of you—vampires, Lycans, even abomination hybrids like Michael."

The tone was casual. But his gaze was sharp as a blade. Too deep. Too old. Too silent.

Selene exhaled through her nose and looked away.

"Shut up. And stop talking."

Reuel glanced at her with a sly smile.

"Alright... my wife Selene."

Selene's eyes shifted instantly—hot, sharp, nearly murderous. But before she could respond, Reuel spoke again in an entirely different tone—flat, yet heavy.

"But like I said before... your enemy isn't the Lycans. It's not Lucian. It's Viktor."

He stared directly at Selene, unblinking.

"He's the one who killed your family. No one else."

The sentence lingered in the air, and suddenly, the atmosphere inside the car turned colder than before. Like a sheet of frost blanketing the cabin.

Reuel stared ahead, his gaze empty. No dramatics. No emotional weight. And that was exactly what made his words hit like a sledgehammer in Selene's mind.

Reuel's face—calm, beautiful, untouched—looked like it had been carved from ageless marble. There was no life behind his eyes, and that's what made him feel so alien... and terrifying.

Selene turned, her gaze as sharp as a silver dagger.

"I'll make sure your words are true," she said coldly.

"If you're lying... I'll kill you."

She wasn't bluffing. Her words were flat. Final. Full of conviction.

Her hand clenched tightly on her thigh—as if it was the only thing keeping her anger from erupting on the spot. Six centuries of life had taught her how to hold a grudge... and when to unleash it.

"And one more thing," she muttered, her voice low, cutting.

"I'm not your wife. We literally just met, you idiot."

Reuel only smiled faintly—not offended, but because he knew full well...

This meant Selene was starting to be intrigued by him.

As the saying goes, the way to make a woman fall in love is through anger. From anger comes curiosity, and from curiosity, love will slowly begin to grow on its own.

Reuel didn't respond. He merely curved his lips into a faint smile—like morning mist hanging low above the Danube, barely visible yet impossible to ignore. He brought the car to a halt at a major intersection in Budapest. Outside, the world was cloaked in a dull gray, as if the city had long forgotten the warmth of the sun.

Then—

BRAKK!

A harsh bang shattered the silence. The trunk burst open—its automatic mechanism flung backward. Michael stumbled out, his eyes half-open, his body trembling. The wound on his arm still gushed blood. His face was pale—too pale—like someone walking the edge of death.

With what little strength he had left, he jumped down and staggered into the road, vanishing into the night fog and dim streetlights.

Selene instinctively turned, her eyes following Michael's retreating form. But she didn't move. Didn't pursue.

She took a deep breath and muttered bitterly:

"Let him go. He'll return… if he survives."

Silence. A few seconds passed with no sound but the car's soft engine hum. Then she turned again, eyeing Reuel with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Michael escaped… and you're not going after him?"

Reuel kept his eyes on the road ahead. The traffic light was still red. He simply shrugged, casual.

"Why bother? Let him run. Live or die… doesn't mean much to me."

But his gaze did flick toward Michael—a quick glance, like a clinical assessment of a failed experiment.

"But his blood... it could make you stronger. Maybe even... immune to sunlight."

Selene stiffened. Instantly.

Her once-cold expression shifted. A blend of anger, doubt, and… something darker. Longing. Hope. A possibility that, for centuries, had remained nothing more than a myth.

"What you're saying... is it true?" she asked quietly.

Her breath caught. Eyes unblinking. She hardly noticed her fingers clutching the seatbelt too tightly.

Meanwhile, far behind them, Michael still limped on. His silhouette grew fainter, but he looked back once—a glance filled with a confusing mix of plea and blame. Blood continued to drip along the asphalt… a faint trail from an experiment unfinished.

Reuel watched all of it without expression.

"The original Underworld protagonist was a pain in the ass," he thought. "Pumped full with 2.5 liters of blood, and still manages to run. Good thing he hasn't latched back onto Selene—if he did, even the kissing scenes might transfer to someone else."

He turned back to Selene. Beautiful. Mysterious. Deadly. The perfect blend of danger and allure.

"If you chase him now, you can still catch him," he offered lightly.

Selene exhaled sharply, her voice cutting and resolute:

"Spare me your nonsense. I'm a vampire. We are forbidden to drink from the living."

But her tone didn't sound as firm as she'd hoped. Her gaze stayed fixed on Reuel—not out of trust, but because... she wanted to believe.

"You really dare keep provoking me," she muttered darkly. "Should I just drink your blood right now?"

Reuel's eyes glinted with amusement. He chuckled softly—light, almost mocking.

"You could never drink my blood… and you know it."

Then, with a tone softer, laced with invisible poison and honey, he added:

"Besides… you're my wife. What kind of wife bites her own husband?"

He turned slowly, smirking.

"Is this what you vampires call domestic violence, my fierce little wife?"

Selene opened her mouth to reply, but the words caught in her throat.

Before logic could catch up with emotion, Reuel leaned in—

—and kissed her.

Calm. Gentle. Flowing like something that shouldn't exist in this dark world. Not forceful, not crude—as if this wasn't the world of vampires, not the world of hunters and immortals. But the world of humans. A world where time could stop… for one kiss.

Selene froze.

Her body resisted, her mind revolted. But her heart—or whatever warmth remained after six centuries buried—moved the other way.

Her vampire blood surged. But not from rage.

Her heart—yes, she still had one—pounded violently. No. This isn't right. This isn't possible.

What's happening to me?

With a sudden motion, she shoved Reuel with full force. The seat jolted slightly. She drew her pistol—fast, precise, without hesitation. The cold barrel now pressed directly to Reuel's temple.

Her hand didn't tremble.

"Bastard," she hissed, eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you kiss me…"

"Aren't you afraid I'll destroy you right here, right now?"

Reuel remained calm, almost smiling.

"I already called you my wife. There's no way you'd kill your own husband… right, my dear wife? We sealed our marriage vows with a kiss—forever," he said lightly, as if fear didn't exist in his vocabulary.

"You bastard… shameless man. Don't ever call me your wife again," Selene growled. Her jaw tightened. Her voice was cold, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion she couldn't quite hide. Her body stayed perfectly still, not a single wasted movement.

"A good wife," Reuel replied with a crooked grin. "Now I'm even more convinced… you really are mine."

His tone was teasing, casual. As if the world could burn, and he wouldn't care.

"Like the old saying goes: if a woman doesn't love herself… let her stay cold."

"You truly have no shame!" Selene snapped, sharp as a whip.

She turned her face away, refusing to look at the infuriating man—yet strangely, she didn't leave.

"Thanks for the compliment, darling~" Reuel replied playfully.

Silence fell. The air inside the car suddenly felt heavier.

Then, without warning, Selene spun around—fast and sharp. Her gaze pierced like silver blades.

"Get out of the car. Now."

Reuel raised an eyebrow, unshaken.

"You're kicking me out, my beautiful wife? But I have no destination… except by your side."

"Get out! I don't want to see you again!" Selene screamed, her voice exploding.

Reuel chuckled softly. He knew her patience was about to snap.

"Alright, alright… I'm going," he said, raising both hands in mock surrender.

He leapt out of the car with a relaxed motion. Selene slammed the door shut with a loud thud and drove off—without another word.

The vehicle sped away around the corner, leaving Reuel alone by the roadside. The night wind swept through his messy hair, carrying the chill of a deserted city.

"Well… getting kicked out isn't the worst outcome," Reuel muttered with a small smirk.

In truth, he had provoked Selene on purpose. There was something… he couldn't do while she was still by his side.

Reuel looked up at the night sky for a moment, then glanced at his wristwatch. With a light tap, a holographic projection appeared—a little red-haired girl in a doll-like dress, with brilliantly glowing artificial eyes.

"Red Queen, has Alexander Corvinus been located?" he asked calmly.

"Target found. By the way, Brother… did a woman just dump you?" Red Queen replied cheerfully.

Reuel nodded slightly. His gaze sharpened—strategy and calculation filled his mind.

"Then let's go meet him first. Let's see… if he's wise enough to cooperate."

He gave a faint smile.

"And no, I wasn't dumped. That's what we call… the art of teasing a beautiful woman."

"Is that so? Humans… such incomprehensible creatures," Red Queen said, puzzled, but recording the data anyway.

"Anyway, Red Queen, issue the order. Deploy the Terran Marines and Marauders via Medivac from orbit. Have them surround Alexander Corvinus' location… on his ship."

"Command received. Contacting the captain of the Behemoth-class battlecruiser… now."

Without further instruction, Red Queen accessed the orbital command network. Above the atmosphere, the Terran strike fleet began to move. The Behemoth-class battlecruiser launched dozens of Medivacs and heavily armed Marine units, descending in a silent encirclement formation toward Alexander Corvinus' ship.

Within minutes, the area surrounding Alexander's residence was locked down. All external communications were cut. No signals in… or out.

Reuel knew: to meet someone of Alexander Corvinus' caliber—an immortal so ancient he was considered a myth even among other immortals—would require more than goodwill or polite words.

What it required… was strength.

Without it, even approaching would be deemed a threat.

Reuel walked forward with certainty. His gaze was sharp, calm, and full of authority. Tonight… he didn't come in peace.

He came to speak…

…with the immortal king, Alexander Corvinus—progenitor of vampires and lycans alike.

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