Then Luke stood up and slowly made his way over to Michael. Selene's situation was finally handled—at least for now—so it was time to deal with the other reason he was here.
Michael was still lying there, motionless on the cold floor, looking pale under the dim light.
Now that Selene was out of immediate danger, Luke's attention shifted back to his original goal. This guy's blood. That was the whole reason he'd gone through all this trouble in the first place. Saving Michael wasn't about kindness—it was about necessity.
He wondered how long this guy was going to keep sleeping through all the chaos around him. Seriously, the guy had missed quite a show—a fight, gunfire, werewolves crashing through the ceilings. Luke shook his head. Some people just slept through the apocalypse.
"Man, you've got some nerve," Luke muttered studying him. "Sleeping like a baby while the apocalypse was happening ten feet away."
"Hey, Michael!" Luke called, nudging him sharply with his boot. "Wake up, man. Don't just lie there like you're dead. I need something from you."
Michael's eyes fluttered open, blurry at first. The first thing he saw was Luke's face—an intruder, someone who had just barged into his place uninvited. His eyes snapped wide, and panic flared.
"Oh, you're awake," Luke said casually, as if he'd just been waiting for the right moment to start a friendly chat.
But before Luke could say more, Michael let out a loud, terrified scream. It was raw and desperate, a scream that seemed to come from deep inside him—a cry of pure fear.
"Arghhhhh!"
Luke barely even blinked. After everything he'd been through in the last few minutes, this scream was just noise. It didn't pierce his ears like it might have once. He'd heard far worse.
"Alright, alright, calm down," Luke said, holding up his hands slowly, like he was defusing a bomb. "I'm a good guy. I'm not here to hurt you."
Michael scrambled to his feet, moving backward toward the door as if it was the only safe spot left in the world. His eyes darted around like a trapped mouse, wild and desperate.
"Really?" Michael asked, his voice shaking and full of suspicion.
"Yeah, really," Luke replied—then ruined the reassuring tone by pulling a small knife from his belt and giving a crooked smile. "Now, give me some blood."
Michael froze in place. His expression said everything: Oh great. I wake up to find a serial killer who collects blood like it's baseball cards.
"No—no! Don't come near me!" Michael stammered, scanning the room for anything he could use as a weapon. No luck—nothing within reach but empty air.
Luke groaned and rolled his eyes. "Why are you acting like I just asked for your kidneys? It's just a bit of blood—100, maybe 200 milliliters tops. You'll be fine."
Of course, that was easy for Luke to say. He wasn't the one waking up to some stranger looming over him with a knife. From Michael's perspective, this guy might as well have been a serial killer with a very niche hobby.
The dim lighting, the casual attitude, the request for blood—it all looked way too suspicious.
Michael's breathing picked up, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts, and he edged just slightly to the side, like maybe he could dart past Luke if he found an opening.
Then, quiet, almost like he was talking to himself, Luke muttered, "Seriously… this guy's supposed to be the movie's main hero? What a wimp."
As Michael made a move to bolt for the door, Luke didn't even give him a chance. He spotted some rough rope lying nearby—probably something the building's owner had left behind for fixing furniture or hanging laundry—and grabbed it without hesitation. In a few quick motions, he had Michael shoved back into a rickety wooden chair.
"Sit," Luke said plainly, as if he were telling a dog to stay.
Michael twisted, pulled, and even tried to rock the chair backwards, but it was pointless. He wasn't nearly as strong as Selene, who had earlier manhandled Luke like he was made of paper.
This guy? Just a terrified, ordinary human. Luke made sure the knots were tight enough that Michael wouldn't even think about slipping free.
Stepping back, Luke tilted his head, looking at Michael like an artist trying to decide where to start a painting. Where exactly do you cut when you need a bit of blood? He had no clue—he wasn't a vampire or some medieval torturer.
He could have used a syringe if he knew how, but he didn't—and besides, he wasn't about to go searching around for one. The old-fashioned way would have to do. It was a little uncivilized, sure, but for now, it would have to do.
Selene stood nearby, calmly loading her gun while watching the whole thing without saying much.
"Why do you need his blood?" she asked. Her voice steady but curious.
Luke answered before thinking, "Didn't I say? For my god."
The second the words left his mouth, he winced inwardly. Great. He'd already dropped that line once, and she hadn't taken it seriously then either. Sure enough, Selene gave him a look—half "Really?" and half "You're ridiculous."
Luke sighed. People these days never take divine quests seriously. Maybe it was all the movies and memes—if you weren't wearing a robe and holding a glowing staff, no one believed you.
Turning back to Michael, Luke raised the knife with an exaggerated flourish, the kind you see in cheesy B-movies. "Alright, Michael, be a good sport and tell me which part I should cut."
Michael's muffled growl came out from behind the cloth gag, low and frustrated, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and anger.
"Don't worry," Luke said casually, "I'll make it painless… well, mostly."
He leaned in and made a small, careful slice on Michael's right arm—just enough to get a slow stream going, nothing that would cause real damage. The moment the first drop appeared, Luke slid a glass jar underneath like he was catching rainwater from a leaky roof.
The deep red drops began to collect, slow and steady, each one tapping softly against the glass. Luke glanced up, almost conversationally. "You know, in some games, this would be the part where I get an achievement for collecting a rare crafting material," he said. "In others, it's the start of some cursed side quest where everything goes downhill. Guess we'll see which one this is."
Michael, on the other hand, wasn't thinking about game achievements. In his mind, he was trapped in a nightmare—one where the people in the room were just… wrong. On one side, a strange man with questionable morals and a disturbingly casual attitude toward bloodletting.
On the other, a woman armed to the teeth, standing there like this was just another Tuesday. The more Michael thought about it, the more hopeless it felt. If this was his movie, he wasn't sure he'd survive the first act.
Luke kept talking, his tone almost light, like he was explaining a tutorial to a stubborn NPC.
"You didn't believe me when I said vampires and werewolves were real, right? Well, guess what—they are. And those Lycans? They're after your blood."
Michael's eyes went wide behind the gag, his expression somewhere between disbelief and a silent "Are you serious right now?" It was clear he thought Luke was still spouting nonsense.
Luke smirked slightly, reading the doubt like an open status window.
"And see that woman over there? Yeah, she's a vampire. And me? I'm a mage," he added, raising his arm. A small, flickering fireball appeared above his glove, the warm orange glow casting long shadows on the walls.
The faint heat tickled Michael's face before Luke casually closed his fingers, snuffing the flame out.
Michael's disbelief cracked, replaced by the kind of awe that hits when the impossible suddenly shows up right in front of you.
His mind raced, searching for a logical explanation, but then he saw it—Luke summoning fire with his hand, a small flickering flame dancing just above his glove. That glowing orb was undeniable proof. Suddenly, all those wild stories didn't sound so ridiculous anymore.
Luke's attention went back to the jar. The blood level was rising nicely—thick, dark, and rich. About 100 milliliters was all he needed for whatever plan he had in mind.
With a bit of care, he wrapped Michael's arm in a strip of cloth, making sure it was snug enough to stop the bleeding but not tight enough to hurt.
"See? Not so bad," Luke said with a small smirk, as if he'd just finished fixing a paper cut instead of drawing blood from a man bound to a chair.
Michael, still tied up, glared at him—caught somewhere between fear, anger, and the uneasy realization that his captor might actually be telling the truth.
Luke picked up the jar filled with the rarest and most powerful blood in this world—the blood of the Corvinus
His mind flicked to the sacrifice function from the game embedded in his head. He didn't hesitate.
On the inside of his vision, the familiar glowing text appeared:
[Unawakened Blood of Corvinus Strain]
[Do you wish to sacrifice this?]
Without blinking, Luke's answer was clear.
Yes.
The jar vanished instantly, sucked into the unseen depths.
Michael, who had been watching closely, felt his disbelief deepen into awe. How had the jar disappeared just like that? It confirmed Luke's claim that he was some kind of mage. Selene's sharp eyes caught the same thing—she looked at Luke with a new kind of doubt, wondering silently if the "god thing" he mentioned might actually be true.
Suddenly, a rush of energy surged through him. The screen flashed bright again.
[You have received 10,000 EXP for the sacrifice].
[Level up]
[Level up]
[Level up]
[You are now Level 8]