Michael let out a light, melodious laugh, raising his mug to take another slow sip of his black espresso.
He hadn't added a single grain of sugar—which was unusual for him, considering he typically preferred excessively sweet drinks.
But this early in the morning, the bitter, unadulterated caffeine hit was necessary to sharpen his undead senses and clear the lingering haze of dawn.
"You'll like it eventually," Michael teased, leaning back against the booth's red vinyl seat with an amused glint in his eyes.
James crossed his arms, leaning over his empty plate. "I'm personally not a fan of the idea of giving people hickeys just to get a drink."
It was a fair point, but Michael was never one to let a golden opportunity for teasing slide.
"Ah, I completely forgot," Michael purred, resting his chin in his hand. "Mister Super Virgin here hasn't even kissed anyone yet, much less reached the neck-biting stage."
James winced, shooting him a defensive glare. He hated how easily everyone seemed to read his complete lack of a romantic history. "In my defense, I was busy with other stuff."
And it was true. Looking back on it, James realized he had literally never dated anyone in his entire life.
It wasn't for a total lack of effort—he had made a few awkward attempts back in high school—but between school, sports, and life in general, he had just never been successful.
Michael offered a smooth, quiet smile, though his gaze subtly drifted down toward the center of James's chest, focusing on the simple pendant hanging from his neck.
That necklace, Michael thought to himself.
The single time James had taken it off recently, Michael had finally been able to sense the raw, chaotic magic swirling inside the boy.
The heavy charm seemed to act as an absolute dampener, suffocating James's overwhelming hybrid aura down to a faint whisper.
If Michael didn't already know the truth, James could easily pass for an entirely ordinary human—a remarkably fit, broad-shouldered human, sure, but completely normal nonetheless.
"Can you, like... stop staring at my neck?" James asked, breaking the silence.
Michael blinked, brought back to reality. He realized he had been unconsciously fixating on James's throat.
Having flared his Predator's Eye just moments earlier, a sudden, sharp pang of hunger had flared up in his chest.
James's blood possessed a uniquely sweet, intoxicating aroma—a side effect of his rare blood nature that was almost impossible for a vampire to ignore.
Michael's brow furrowed as he caught another whiff of the ambient air between them. "Your scent is entirely too strong today."
James raised an eyebrow, looking down at his jacket.
"Thank... you... I guess?" He couldn't tell if that was a bizarre, backhanded compliment or if Michael was genuinely trying to say he smelled pleasant.
"I am definitely not complimenting you," Michael corrected flatly, taking another sip of his bitter coffee.
"Hey, I don't stink," James snapped, looking offended. He was meticulous about his hygiene, especially after spending weeks out in the wild.
"That's not what I mean. Your natural body odor is..." Michael trailed off, his eyes widening slightly as a sudden realization clicked into place.
James had spent the entire past month living at the werewolf pack's sanctuary—which meant he had been using their traditional, supernatural amenities to wash up.
"James," Michael asked slowly, setting his mug down with a soft click. "While you were staying at the pack territory, did you happen to use one of their cleaning slimes to bathe?"
James shrugged casually. "I mean, yeah. It felt a little tingly, but it got rid of all the dirt. What about it?"
A look of complete, horrified understanding washed over Michael's face. He buried his face in his hand for a second, letting out a heavy, exasperated sigh.
"What is it?" James pressed, leaning forward. "Is something wrong with the slime?"
Michael looked back up, forcing a sweet, entirely fake smile onto his pale face.
"When you get back to your apartment today, I need you to take a long shower and use an absurd amount of normal body spray."
Seeing James's brow furrow in deep confusion, Michael leaned across the table and lowered his voice to an intense whisper.
"To make a long story short... that particular slime stripped away your natural protective oils and amplified your underlying blood signature. Right now, your scent profile is going to make every single hungry vampire within a six-foot radius want to drag you into an alley and drain you dry."
James stared at him in complete silence as the words sank in.
It was becoming painfully obvious that almost every single thing he did was somehow sending out a massive, glowing beacon to the supernatural underworld—inviting every creature of the night to come mess with him. And he did not like that at all.
"Great, another thing to worry about," James muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the sheer, exhausting volume of hidden supernatural rules continued to pile up.
"Oh, my good friend, there is far more than that," Michael replied smoothly, a faint, lingering smirk touching his lips.
James did not like the sound of that one bit.
It felt entirely tedious to put in all that raw physical effort just to get slightly stronger, only to discover thirty brand-new threats waiting in the wings to mess with him.
At this point, it almost felt like being pulled into the supernatural world wasn't even worth the headache.
...Who was he kidding? He was a werewolf hybrid now. This life was undeniably cool, and getting to use actual, functional magic was something he wouldn't trade for anything in the world.
Still, the ever-growing list of supernatural entities that might want to drain his blood or turn him into monster food was getting ridiculous.
"Don't let yourself be overwhelmed just yet," Michael teased, watching James's expression darken.
James looked up at his companion, taking a slow sip of his Pepsi.
"Unlike you, I've been in the loop for about five minutes. I barely know anything, so it's kind of expected that I'd act a little stressed."
Michael let out a light, melodious chuckle. "Touché."
Behind his stoic expression, James's mind was racing, formulating dozens of mental strategies.
He needed to optimize his training schedule down to the minute.
With so many hidden threats seemingly lining up to end his existence, he refused to sit back and remain helpless.
The thought of being powerless in the face of fate made something deep within his chest roar—a primal, stubborn refusal to stay weak.
"How do you guys even manage to survive all this stuff if there are so many threats out there?" James asked, a genuinely curious edge in his voice.
"It's quite simple, really," Michael explained. He reached toward the small fruit bowl on the table, delicately picking up a single dark red grape with two fingers.
James watched in utter disbelief as Michael began to meticulously peel the skin off the tiny fruit using his long, perfectly manicured fingernails.
It was a grape. Just swallow the damn thing.
But James quickly remembered that Michael had grown up in an old-money aristocratic family back in the 1800s—the guy had probably spent his entire immortal existence acting extraordinarily fancy.
"Everything in our world revolves around risk versus benefit," Michael continued, taking a remarkably tiny, elegant bite of the peeled grape.
"So what you're saying is... I need to make attacking me more trouble than it's worth?"
Michael's smile widened slightly. "Precisely. You have the right idea." He took another agonizingly slow bite.
"There are multiple ways to achieve that outcome. For instance, you could simply cultivate enough raw power that targeting you becomes a foolish endeavor."
"I doubt I'm anywhere near that level," James shot back dryly. He recalled how effortlessly Luna and the higher-ranking members of the pack had handled him during spar sessions.
If Talia or Mira ever decided to fight him with actual lethal intent, even with his superior raw strength, their centuries of refined combat experience would leave him utterly dismantled.
Building absolute, untouchable power was a long-term goal, not an immediate fix.
Before Michael could offer another aristocratic piece of advice, James's sharp ears twitched, picking up a distinct rustle of heavy footsteps entering the cafeteria.
Even over the heavy smells of greasy pizza and stale coffee, a very familiar combination of scents hit his enhanced nostrils: heavy sweat, synthetic athletic fabric, and high-end deodorant.
"Man, that game was an absolute grind," a familiar, boisterous voice called out across the dining hall.
"Tell me about it. 115 to 112—we almost threw that last quarter," another voice chimed in.
James knew those numbers anywhere. That was definitely the score of a high-intensity college basketball scrimmage, not a soccer match.
"It was so much fun, though. George, man, you coming to the post-game party tonight?"
James turned back to Michael, shaking his head. "I'm just being realistic about my strength right now."
"Fair enough," Michael conceded, shrugging his slender shoulders as he slowly peeled a second grape.
"The second method—which happens to be the path you're currently on—is to align yourself with a established faction. Ideally one with immense political and martial influence."
"Like joining a pack," James noted, taking a bite of his pizza and washing it down with a long gulp of cold soda.
"Correct." Michael was still only halfway through his second grape. It was almost impressive how slowly a vampire could eat when he wanted to make a point.
"And the established influence serves as a deterrent. It tells rival factions that retaliating against you means picking a fight with someone far more dangerous."
"A clever system," James muttered, leaning back against the booth seat.
"I'm simply applying basic logic," James shot back smoothly.
"If you say so~" Michael purred, his tone dripping with playful amusement that made James feel thoroughly mocked.
"However," Michael added, his expression turning slightly more serious as he finished peeling the fruit,
"while a large faction offers protection, if there isn't anyone truly terrifying at the top, a rival power will simply use coercion. They will pressure your group to hand you over voluntarily."
James winced. He could easily see that happening.
"And if your group refuses to give you up?" Michael's eyes glinted with a cold, ancient detachment. "Then it simply becomes a matter of eliminating the group entirely."
He popped the tiny piece of grape into his mouth, taking a full thirty seconds to chew it before swallowing.
It was a new world record for the slowest consumption of fruit in human history.
James stared at his friend, a wry, uncomfortable expression settling on his face.
The casual way both Michael and Caius talked about large-scale violence and bloodline warfare was surreal.
They spoke of total eradication as if it were a minor inconvenience, completely desensitized by centuries of brutal supernatural history.
"Yo! James!"
Before James could respond to Michael, he felt a sudden, heavy presence manifest directly behind his chair.
His hybrid instincts flared for a split second, forcing him to actively suppress his reflexes as a large, heavy arm draped over his neck, pulling him into a rough headlock.
"Buddy! Long time no see!"
It was Tyler.
Standing tall with deep bronze skin, a wide, dazzling smile, and messy curly dark hair, Tyler was the quintessential college athlete—the kind of guy who effortlessly melted hearts across campus.
Right now, though, all James could smell was the sharp tang of sweat radiating off his gym clothes, confirming he had just walked straight off the court.
"I am not a kid, man. Let go," James grunted, struggling slightly against the grip.
He was on friendly terms with Tyler, but he wasn't about to let the guy mess up his hair.
Tyler was already aggressively ruffling James's dark locks with his free hand, acting like he owned the place.
"Ooh, cheese pizza. Don't mind if I do," Tyler grinned, reaching down with shocking speed and tearing off a massive bite from James's remaining slice before James could even react.
"You absolute asshole, I was literally about to eat that!" James snapped, shoving Tyler's arm off his shoulder.
"My bad, bro! I owe you one!" Tyler laughed, holding his hands up defensively while showing zero actual remorse.
"You still owe me fifty bucks from last month," James reminded him with a flat, deadpan stare.
"So, where have you two been all morning?"
Tyler made a feeble attempt to pivot away from his financial debt, but before he could spin a story, a second figure stepped up beside the table.
It was George, wiping his forehead with a gym towel.
He looked between James and Michael with a mild, curious frown. "What were you two talking about just a second ago? Sounded like some intense strategy stuff."
James froze for a fraction of a second, his stomach dropping.
Shit.
He had been so engrossed in the discussion about packs and supernatural warfare that he'd forgotten they were sitting in a wide-open college cafeteria where anyone could overhear them.
"We were discussing a game," Michael interjected smoothly, offering George a picture-perfect, innocent smile.
George raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. "A game?"
"Didn't take you for the gaming type, Michael," Tyler chimed in, taking a cautious step back out of James's immediate punching range while chewing the stolen pizza.
"What can I say? I enjoy a refined hobby from time to time," Michael replied with an elegant shrug.
"So what's the game the great, mysterious Michael plays in his spare time?" Tyler asked teasingly.
"Remove his dick from your mouth when you're done," James muttered under his breath, shooting Tyler a snide glance.
Tyler completely ignored the comment, leaning in closer. "Seriously, what kind of game is it?"
"It's an MMORPG," Michael explained casually. "Exceptionally well constructed, with deep lore and intricate faction mechanics."
Tyler's ears practically perked up. "Yo, that actually sounds sick. Send me the launcher link!"
Tapping the side of his left temple near his eye, a faint blue light shimmered beneath Tyler's skin.
A small, translucent holographic display projected into the air in front of him, displaying his system user profile:
[ User Tag: Basketball_Prodigy ]
[ Action: Requesting Media Share Link... ]
Before the transfer could initiate, George reached out and delivered a sharp, casual jab directly into Tyler's ribs.
Tyler recoiled, clutching his side and glaring at his friend. "Dude! What was that for?!"
George simply tilted his head toward Michael—more specifically, pointing a subtle finger at the heavy silver ring on Michael's hand and his distinct lack of any neural glow.
Tyler's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. "Oh! Crap, my bad man." Tapping his temple again, he quickly shut down the holographic projection, hiding his embarrassment.
"There is no need to apologize," Michael said graciously. He didn't possess a neural cybernetic implant, a fact he usually explained to outsiders as a result of his family's traditional, old-fashioned values.
"Though, even if you did request the file," Michael added, a faint smirk playing on his lips, "I doubt you could run a digital copy."
Tyler raised a thoroughly confused eyebrow.
Their neural chips were hardwired directly into the high-speed campus network.
They could download massive datasets instantly—just last week, some guy in their dorm had been booted from a lecture because his implant publicly glitched while displaying adult content.
"To access this particular title," Michael explained smoothly, "you require a physical medium. Specifically, an optical disk drive."
Tyler stared at him as if Michael were speaking ancient Greek. "The hell is a disk?" He stood there, visibly searching his brain for the definition.
George let out a quiet sigh, rubbing his temples. "You know those flat, shiny circles people used to insert into legacy computers to watch movies back in the day?"
"Precisely," Michael approved with a nod.
Tyler turned to George in utter disbelief. "How in the world do you even know what that is?!"
"Abby made me study late 19th and early 20th-century physical media storage for our history elective," George groaned, looking thoroughly defeated.
"Right, I forgot. That girl has you completely whipped," Tyler joked, grinning.
"She does not!" George shot back defensively. "She's just... very thorough with her study schedules!"
Tyler stretched his arms over his head, letting out a satisfied breath after his game. "Man, that must be an extraordinarily ancient game if it requires hardware that obsolete."
Michael maintained his polite, unbothered smile. "It is actually quite new, in point of fact."
James shot Michael a skeptical sideways glance. Considering Michael was nearly two centuries old, his personal definition of "quite new" was wildly unreliable.
"A brand-new game released exclusively on physical media?" George asked, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
"That doesn't sound very profitable from a distribution standpoint. Everyone moved to full neural streaming years ago, outside of high-end collectors."
"Even I know that's bad business," Tyler agreed, stretching his back. "So what's the actual premise of the game anyway?"
Since George seemed genuinely intrigued, Michael leaned forward, ready to indulge them.
"The core loop is fairly straightforward," Michael began.
"Upon character creation, you must select your primary bloodline—choosing between the Werewolf wild-pack faction or the Vampire aristocratic lineage. James here selected the furry path."
James shot Michael a lethal glare. "You forgot to mention you can also start as a normal
human."
"Ah, yes," Michael conceded effortlessly. "Though as a human, your base physical attributes are thoroughly lacking.
You must either dedicate yourself to arcane spellcasting to become a sorcerer, or seek out an encounter to be turned by one of the apex factions."
George nodded, looking surprisingly impressed. "That actually sounds like a pretty deep system. What's the title?"
Michael picked up his coffee cup, taking a tiny, deliberate sip before answering.
"It is called Genesis of Nightbound."
A/N Like 3k words,vote with powerstones