Author's Note: In the original story, Alexander Corvinus is protected by the Cleaners—elite, fully armed agents dressed in black, tasked with erasing all traces of supernatural activity such as vampires and lycans. Their appearance resembles a modern-day SWAT team—no supernatural powers, but equipped with advanced military training and high-tech weaponry. They operate from a massive private cruiser, constantly changing location to keep Alexander hidden. The ship is heavily fortified with both cutting-edge security systems and elite human personnel.
In the films, government and nation-state involvement is never directly mentioned. However, considering the timeline has entered the 2000s/2005, it's highly implausible that major world powers would remain unaware of such phenomena given the real-world level of surveillance and intelligence technology. This is purely my analysis.)
---
Meanwhile, somewhere in the silent, nameless ocean...
A high-tech naval frigate, Sancta Helena, moved slowly over calm waters. This ship was not marked on any map—a shadow drifting across the sea, coated in gleaming black steel and designed to evade every satellite and military sonar in existence. It was guarded by the most secretive unit humanity had ever created: the Cleaners. An elite armed force with one mission only—to ensure the supernatural world stayed hidden from the eyes of ordinary humans.
But tonight, beneath the calm surface of the sea, a foreign force had begun to stir.
From Earth's low orbit, five Terran Medivac units launched in silent formation. Among them, a Banshee scout hovered in stealth mode, nearly invisible. Flanking the formation, two Viking aircraft in air-to-air configuration held position on the right and left, slicing through the atmosphere like shadows from the future, undetected by any radar system known to the modern world.
Upon reaching the target zone, they locked position, forming a tight perimeter around Sancta Helena. One of the Medivacs opened its drop hatch—and one by one, forty Terran Marines descended from the sky. Their power armor glowed dimly with cooling systems and micro-thrust stabilizers. They landed on the ship's deck with high-level military precision.
No gunfire.
No alarms.
Only the echo of heavy boots and the soft hum of activated sensor systems.
---
Inside the Sancta Helena...
A Cleaners soldier moved quickly through a narrow corridor built from blast-resistant alloy. His breathing was calm, but his eyes were sharp. He stopped at a magnetically sealed steel door and knocked in a specific rhythmic pattern.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Enter."
The voice behind the door was flat and calm—yet heavy, like an echo from a forgotten age.
The door slid open, and the soldier stepped inside. He stood straight, facing the man seated in the room with a respectful, but unwavering gaze.
"Sir, we're surrounded," he reported bluntly.
Alexander Corvinus lifted his head from the ancient leather-bound manuscript he'd been reading. His face was unchanged by time: regal, almost divine. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his cold blue eyes—the eyes of an ancient predator—looked directly at the soldier before him.
"Who are they?" he asked, his voice deep and soft, yet full of command.
"We've yet to identify them, Sir. They appear to be an elite military unit. But their gear and tactics… are far beyond anything known in today's world."
Alexander narrowed his eyes, then asked in a tone bordering on the philosophical, "Have you contacted our network? Governments, international contacts?"
"All communication lines have been cut, Sir. Digital and analog. Satellites, radio frequencies, even underwater channels. They've completely isolated us."
The immortal let out a quiet breath, but his gaze sharpened—calculating.
"Their numbers?" he asked again.
"Forty ground personnel. They dropped from one of five large aircraft now hovering above the ship. Two of the others… resemble fighter jets, but their engine design is unfamiliar. Their function remains unclear, but they've assumed offensive formation."
Alexander went quiet for a moment. His face remained impassive, but his mind raced. He knew the difference between a threat and a message. And this—was clearly a message.
"They haven't attacked," he murmured. "Which means they're... waiting."
He rose slowly, with the grace of an ancient ruler. Though his body carried the weight of thousands of years, there was no weakness in his movements. He walked to a narrow, armored window, staring out at the pitch-black sea stretching beyond.
"Bring them to me if they approach. I want to know who dares—or is foolish enough—to stand before me like this," he commanded coolly.
"With respect, Sir."
The soldier saluted briskly and left at once, his fingers already touching the earpiece to relay orders directly to the other units.
Alexander slowly sat again. His gaze was blank—not from doubt, but from calculation. He was assessing... weighing... and foreseeing.
"This... is troublesome," he muttered as he rubbed his temple.
His eyes stared straight ahead, as if he could see through the hull of the ship, beyond the atmosphere, directly into the eyes of the one commanding this entire operation.
"I've worked so hard to keep everything hidden. Vampires... Lycans... And now someone's trying to rip off the veil I've kept so tightly drawn for centuries."
He paused for a moment. A whisper slipped from his lips—almost a prayer… or a curse.
"Marcus... William... What would you do if you saw this? Would you go to war... or greet them with blood?"
His hand brushed across his face—not from fear.
But for the first time in a very, very long while...
Alexander Corvinus felt like a pawn in someone else's game.
---
A silent shadow descended from orbit—a stealth Medivac ship.
Its destination was singular: Budapest.
The aircraft had come to retrieve Reuel.
Without a sound, the massive transport soared through the night sky, heading for the Sancta Helena, which floated calmly in the middle of the ocean—Alexander Corvinus's ship.
With the precision of neurosurgery, the Medivac hovered low alongside the vessel's hull, slowly decreasing altitude.
The cargo door hissed open softly. Fifty fully armed Terran Marines deployed in formation, joining the forty troops that had already secured the deck. They swept through the area in fast, coordinated maneuvers, establishing a wide perimeter.
The atmosphere was tense, yet controlled.
In accordance with Alexander's direct orders, not a single shot was fired. Both sides observed one another in silence—alert, calculating, ready to act at any moment.
The Cleaners—Corvinus's elite guards—appeared restless. They knew that if combat broke out, the odds of victory were nearly zero. The Terran Marines carried heavy-class weapons, their armor reinforced with shoulder-mounted energy shields. Behind the front line stood troops clad in pristine white armor—silhouettes revealing them as female. Red crosses marked the heavy shields they carried: elite combat medics.
From inside the ship, Reuel disembarked.
His steps were calm, composed. His eyes scanned the forces around him. Well-trained, yes—but compared to Terran military strength, their technology lagged decades, even centuries behind.
The Marines silently parted, forming an honor corridor.
"Sir, are you the commander of this force?" asked the Cleaner Commander, slightly uncertain.
"Yes, soldier. I've come to meet Lord Alexander Corvinus. Announce my arrival," Reuel answered—flat, but firm.
"Lord Corvinus has issued instructions. You will be taken to him shortly," replied the Cleaner Commander with a slight bow.
"You stay here," Reuel said without turning, issuing the order to the Terran officer beside him.
"Your Majesty, are you safe?" the officer whispered, his voice laced with concern. Every Marine knew—if anything happened to the Master of Mankind, the Inquisitors and Adepta Sororitas would erase them from history without mercy.
"I'm fine," Reuel replied, short but steady. He stepped forward, leaving his elite guards at the ship's threshold.
He followed the Cleaners through the interior of the grand vessel. Inside, it resembled a luxury hotel: elegant, aristocratic, adorned with symbols of old-world glory. The walls were lined with classical oil paintings, glittering crystal chandeliers, and priceless ornaments from countless eras.
Understandable—Alexander Corvinus had lived for thousands of years. His collection was beyond valuation.
But Reuel? He had conquered reality after reality. Wealth and rare artifacts no longer held his attention.
At last, they arrived at an opulent drawing room. There stood a broad-shouldered old man, his hair silver-white, his gaze sharp and full of authority.
Alexander Corvinus.
Reuel gave a slight bow, displaying the distinct etiquette of ancient Anatolian nobility—too authentic to be mere formal posturing.
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Reuel. It's an honor to finally meet you in person, Alexander Corvinus," he said calmly.
His gaze was firm, unshaken—not cold, but fully aware. He knew exactly who stood before him. Alexander was no mere immortal vampire. He was the progenitor of the cursed bloodline, the silent overlord of the underworld.
And for that reason, Reuel addressed him not as an enemy... but as a fellow noble.
Alexander responded with the refined courtesy of Eastern European aristocracy.
"Respectful greetings, Lord Reuel. Please, have a seat," he said.
His voice was deep, composed, yet carried an invisible weight—the kind of pressure only those who had seen empires rise and fall over millennia could exert. Even he, who had once spoken with Roman emperors and Ottoman sultans, couldn't fully conceal his curiosity.
He observed Reuel like a scientist examining a specimen from a time unknown. The young man's manner of speaking... was too authentic. Too alive. As if he hadn't merely studied ancient Anatolia—but had lived it.
"Thank you, Lord Corvinus," Reuel replied, sitting down calmly.
Upright, controlled, and entirely without fear.
"So, Lord Reuel... I don't yet fully understand. What is the purpose of your visit today?" Alexander asked—slowly, but cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
"Lord Corvinus, I came… to talk about vampires and lycans," Reuel said.
The sentence hung in the air like a heavy mist blanketing the room. One line—yet enough to say everything: I know exactly who you are.
Alexander narrowed his eyes, his body still calm, but the look in his gaze shifted.
"Do you come as an emissary of some ancient European nation? Or… from a secret order, perhaps?" he asked, his voice soft but carrying the weight of thousands of years of history.
(A brief silence.)
"…And the etiquette you used… I recognize it. In my youth, I once read a manuscript from ancient Anatolia. These days, only a handful even know of its existence."
Reuel answered without flinching.
"No, Lord Corvinus. I represent no nation. I speak only on behalf of myself."
Alexander raised an eyebrow.
"So… no country backs you? No empire? That armed force… it's entirely your own? Then what is your purpose here, Lord Reuel?"
His voice remained composed, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. The idea rattled him—because if true, it meant Reuel was an entity beyond any geopolitical system the world had ever known.
Reuel rose slowly. His gaze sharpened, piercing straight into Alexander's eyes.
"I came with only one purpose…"
He stepped closer, and then—without a word—spat on the floor, right beside Corvinus's chair. Not as an insult, but as an ancient gesture. A primal symbol of courage from an age before diplomacy existed.
"…Your blood. I want a sample of your blood, Alexander."
Alexander Corvinus let out a low chuckle.
His voice was deep, like a boulder slowly rolling down an old mountain slope.
"Hah… Lord Reuel, you must be joking. I'm just an old man… my blood is nothing but frozen history. What use could it possibly be to you?"
But his laugh stopped the moment Reuel narrowed his eyes and replied coldly:
"You are the progenitor of vampires and lycans… and you think your blood is useless?"
Alexander abruptly stood. His voice changed—not human anymore, but something older, more primal.
"How do you know that?!"
For the first time, the ancient one lost his composure. The deep, calm tone turned into a feral growl. His hand gripped the arm of the antique chair, and the hard wood creaked loudly under the pressure of his strength. His gaze—the eyes of an immortal—bored into Reuel… but the young man did not flinch.
Yes, the old man was powerful.
In public, Alexander Corvinus appeared passive. But Reuel knew the truth: Marcus was his son. If not for that blood bond, Marcus would've been erased centuries ago.
But even such power was not enough to shake Reuel.
Even carrying only 50% of the Emperor of Mankind's power, it was more than enough to make gods and demons alike think twice. He was the heir to a power that transcended the limits of reality. With instincts for war inherited directly from the Emperor himself, Reuel wasn't someone to be intimidated by a single immortal—whoever they were.
Reuel's voice remained flat, but firm.
"I have my own information channels. But don't worry—only I know. For now."
Alexander narrowed his eyes.
"So you don't intend to kill me? You're not afraid of me?"
Reuel tilted his head slightly, almost smiling.
"If I had the courage to come here, then I'm already prepared for every possibility. So… tell me—why should I be afraid?"
Alexander stared deep into him, almost as if trying to flay his soul.
He's not afraid. He knows who I am… and still, he came.
For a moment, Alexander glanced toward the glass window. He knew the armed guards were already in position. Hidden snipers, magnetic rifles aimed straight at the heart of any target upon command.
But…
Alexander Corvinus finally spoke again. His voice was low, but this time it carried a subtle threat—like a dagger tucked beneath a banquet table.
"The troops outside won't be able to save you if I decide to strike."
Reuel gave a lazy, almost arrogant smile.
"Then let me ask you this… Are you afraid of nuclear bombs?" he said, casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.
Lately, Reuel had taken a certain pleasure in throwing nukes at people's heads—literally. Just like he did in the Highschool of the Dead universe.
Alexander Corvinus paused, raising one eyebrow. His gaze sharpened, but he didn't respond just yet.
Reuel continued, his tone still calm but laced with danger.
"I've already deployed several. And since you could sense my presence, I'm sure you've realized one thing: you won't be able to defeat me."
Alexander let out a short laugh, his deep voice echoing lightly through the room.
"Mr. Reuel, your sense of humor is truly… eccentric. Nuclear bombs? In Europe? Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?" he said, still smiling—but his eyes were sharp, calculating.
Corvinus' instincts were almost never wrong. And the man standing before him… was clearly no ordinary human.
Reuel grinned. "It seems you still don't believe me, Lord Corvinus. Red Queen, display the satellite feed."
Red Queen's voice came through Reuel's personal communicator, soft and smooth.
"Ready, big brother."
In an instant, holographic light projected from the watch on Reuel's wrist. A massive virtual screen formed in midair, displaying an image that was beyond dispute.
The satellite footage showed ten colossal warships floating just beyond Earth's orbit. Their shapes resembled space-bound fortresses—silent, yet menacing—surrounded by squadrons of fighter jets, thousands of armed drones, and elite troops clad in high-tech powered armor.
Alexander Corvinus stared at the screen without blinking. For the first time, his expression shifted.
He watched calmly, but a trace of tension began to show in his face. The force Reuel displayed wasn't just a military show of strength—it was a demonstration of technological dominance that human civilization had never witnessed.
The ships' designs were clearly not of Earth—brutal, alien, and mercilessly efficient. Thermal sensors and energy scans revealed their destructive potential: strategic nuclear warheads, automated combat drones, and high-speed fighters that no defense system on the planet could identify.
At last, Alexander spoke, his voice low but firm.
"…Mr. Reuel, your power is… impressive."
He drew a slow breath before continuing, his tone more serious now.
"But if I give you my blood… what guarantee do you offer? What do I gain in return?"
Reuel looked straight at him.
"Lord Corvinus, I don't even know what you truly desire anymore. You already have everything—wealth, influence, and time."
He leaned in slightly, his voice now colder.
"But your children… no matter how carefully you've hidden them, they've been found. Governments and international forces are watching them now."
(a brief silence)
"Nothing has happened—yet. But the real question is, how much longer can you keep it that way?"
Alexander hissed quietly. "I can protect my family myself, Mr. Reuel."
Reuel stared at him, this time without the hint of a smile.
"No, you can't. Just like your son—Marcus."
His voice was flat, but it carried a crystal-clear threat.
"If he wakes up now… tell me, what do you think he'll do?"
For a moment, Alexander's eyes sharpened, and the atmosphere in the room grew heavier.
Tension coiled like a blade slowly being drawn from its sheath.
But a few seconds later, Corvinus' face returned to calm. His authority and composure, as always, took control once more.