Chapter 74: The Ongoing Rescue of Gotham
The five women qualified to dine on blood in the second-floor private room were considered small-time leaders within the vampire nest.
Seated upright on the sofa, they gazed at Blade with undisguised fear.
In S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agent list, Eric's codename was Blade, but among vampires, he was known as the Daywalker—a name symbolizing his ability to walk under sunlight, unlike ordinary vampires.
Of course, Eric suppressed his bloodthirst with sheer willpower. Unlike other vampires, he lacked their weaknesses, possessed their strengths, and retained human potential for growth.
Vampires, once turned, were frozen in time at the moment of transformation.
But Eric had trained rigorously since childhood, developing not only exceptional combat skills but also pushing his physical abilities to their absolute limits.
He preferred the title "Daywalker" over "Blade" because it embodied the fear vampires had of him.
"Who led you to Gotham?" Eric held a vial of garlic extract in his hand, his voice icy. "Don't make me force-feed it to you drop by drop."
Instantly, the five women's pupils shrank in terror.
They knew all too well how excruciatingly painful death by garlic extract was—it felt like drinking molten iron, burning from the inside out.
"I have a question."
Allen, staring at the thick, milky-white garlic extract in the test tube, suddenly mused, "What happens if you inject it from the back?"
…
Eric, behind his sunglasses, was momentarily stunned. That was a tough one. He was a vampire hunter, not some sadistic torturer.
"Why not try it? Batman wants to see."
Allen turned to Bruce with a bright grin. "Right, Bats?"
I don't. I never said that. Stop making things up.
Bruce shot him a disdainful look before turning away, refusing to engage.
"Don't do that! Our leader, Deacon Frost, summoned us to Gotham."
One of the women immediately confessed under pressure.
Though vampires were creatures of darkness, they still possessed intelligence and an instinctive fear of death.
"So it was him."
Eric nodded in realization. "No wonder he's been so quiet lately."
"Who is he?"
Bruce primarily focused on human criminals and rarely dealt with non-human threats—those were best left to specialists. There was no need to make unnecessary enemies.
"Frost is a rising leader among the hybrid vampires. Countless hybrids see him as their messiah. I've been tracking him for some time and suspect he's planning something big," Eric explained.
"Hybrids?" Bruce asked, puzzled. "Does that mean there are purebloods?"
"That's right. The first vampires turned by Lilith, the progenitor of our kind, are considered purebloods. Any vampires they create are hybrids, and those turned by hybrids are the lowest tier—vermin."
Eric spoke with undisguised contempt. He had never accepted the vampire bloodline, nor would he ever hold it in any regard.
"What about Dracula and Drake?"
Allen's mind wandered back to the time he had secretly browsed Western movie sites at Arkham Asylum, stumbling upon a high-rated action film featuring Dracula and his three brides.
The costumes, the action, the performances—it had almost made Allen reach for his pants. Luckily, his doctor had returned just in time to stop him from doing anything foolish.
As for Drake, he was the villain in the Blade movie series and also possessed the ability to walk in daylight.
"Never heard of Drake."
Eric's expression grew serious. "But Dracula—I've heard of him. He's an atavistic anomaly among vampires. No method can kill him; he can only be sealed away."
Eric had no desire to provoke Dracula. Even the thirteen pureblood princes kept their distance from the thousand-year-old vampire king.
However, vampire folklore spoke of a fated rivalry—the Van Helsing family had hunted Dracula for generations as their sacred mission.
There was also a somewhat more believable rumor: the Van Helsings were Dracula's human descendants.
Because of lingering familial sentiment, Dracula had never wiped them out completely, which was why they had managed to defeat him time and time again.
"Tell us where the hostages are."
Bruce's voice was low and commanding.
Faced with the looming specter of death, the women revealed that the captives were being held on the eleventh floor of Starlight Tower.
Having obtained the necessary intel, Eric swung his sword.
In an instant, four of the five women were beheaded, their bodies turning to ash under the blade's silver edge.
"One survivor is enough to verify the information."
Eric explained coldly, "When hunting vampires, watch their eyes. Newly turned ones have an uncontrollable bloodlust and lingering traces of their lost humanity. But those who have been vampires for a long time… their eyes are empty, indifferent—like looking at a steak. Never show them mercy."
"What if I develop feelings for a steak?" Allen countered stubbornly.
"That just means you're full and considering it as a snack for later," Eric smirked, then warned, "Don't believe in those ridiculous human-vampire love stories. That's just vampire propaganda to lure in idiots."
That made sense.
It explained why there were so many so-called "ghoul fanatics"—humans willingly serving vampires in hopes of being turned for immortality.
Greedy capitalists funded vampire romance films, glamorizing these monsters as attractive, superpowered lovers.
Fools watched them, got sucked in, and fell for the fantasy.
"Who said I liked vampires?"
Allen scoffed, then suddenly smirked mischievously. "I like succubi."
"Batman, let me tell you—there are Western succubi and Japanese succubi. Only the Japanese ones are the real deal. Ah… I still remember hiding my 'research materials' in the C drive of my doctor's computer, buried deep in the system files. To prevent my collection from being mistaken for a virus and deleted, I even whitelisted the folder."
While Allen boasted about his past escapades, Blade and Batman had already taken the surviving vampire and rushed toward Starlight Tower.
Allen wasn't in a hurry. He sat back on the sofa, processing the information in his mind, casually chewing on ice cubes from a bucket like they were candy.
"Deacon Frost, huh? He wasn't in the comics, but he was the villain in the first Blade movie. That means he's definitely trying to complete the Blood God ritual."
Allen strained to recall the film's plot and suddenly remembered the existence of the counter-serum.
"If that Black scientist could make it, then so can I."
"Now, I just need a helper."
…
Arkham Asylum
Poison Ivy was sleeping soundly when a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth.
Under the moonlight, she saw a bat-shaped silhouette standing by the window, causing her to panic.
"Shh… Don't scream. I'm Batman. I'm saving Gotham. I need your help."
"Allen, I know it's you."
Lillian, recognizing the voice, broke free from his grip.
Allen turned his head stubbornly, refusing to admit it. "Nonsense. I'm not Batman."
"Batman is elusive and mysterious. You're just sneaky and suspicious. You're not even good at pretending."
Lillian bluntly exposed him.
"Ah—what are you doing?!"
Before she could react, Allen hoisted her onto his shoulder and leaped out the window.
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