The Incomplete Blacklight Virus gleamed with a deceptive crystalline clarity, purer than its predecessor. Lu Qiu had almost mistaken it for a finished product—until the System snapped, "Appearance is irrelevant. Judge by results, not aesthetics."
"Fine." He rolled the vial between his fingers, its contents a tenth the volume of standard Blacklight. Two doses, no more. Perfect for precision.
With a flick of his wrist, the vial vanished, replaced by two unassuming wasps—Nether Stingers, birthed from despair points, their abdomens throbbing with stolen virus. "Injection's too crude," he'd reasoned, "let the prey come to the trap."
The wasps buzzed into the safehouse, drawn to warmth, to weakness. Lu Qiu trailed behind, feigning concern as they dive-bombed the group. One struck Mark, the USA-born civilian, while the other veered for Yuri—finally, compliance. Both collapsed after delivering their payload, tiny corpses twitching on the floor.
"Strange for bees in winter," Lu Qiu murmured, pressing a bandage to Yuri's neck, his smile warm as sunlight. The boy flushed, unused to such kindness—or was it?
Yuri's wound had already begun to heal, a faint purple tinge fading into his skin. The virus was home, nesting in his marrow, feeding on doubt.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Danna fussed over her brother, camera forgotten. Lu Qiu ignored them, eyes on Stein, who lingered by the balcony, sword tapping his thigh in restless rhythm.
The exorcist's smile never reached his eyes—predatory, like a wolf in priest's clothing. When he turned, that smile sharpened, locking onto Yuri.
"Yuri." Stein's voice was honeyed poison, "Join me on the balcony. We need to discuss your… performance."
The boy stiffened, following obediently. Lu Qiu leaned against the wall, tuning into their whispers—no need for ears; the tension was tangible.
"Pathetic." Stein's slap echoed through the room, sending Yuri sprawling, blood trickling from his lip, "Clerics don't cower with civilians. You're a liability, Yuri. A joke."
Yuri curled into himself, but Lu Qiu saw it—a flicker in his eyes, scarlet, gone as quickly as it came. The virus was awake, feeding on shame, on the desire to be seen.
"Stan 因大人 (Lord Stein)," Yuri choked, rising unsteadily, "I found the vampire's trail. Nearby. We can—"
"Finally useful." Stein clapped him on the shoulder, too hard, "Gather your things. And try not to embarrass us, hm?"
As the squad prepared to leave, Yuri lingered, staring at Lu Qiu with a fragile hope. But Lu Qiu had already turned away, joining the civilians in trailing Stein—the perfect betrayal.
Alone in the empty room, Yuri sank to the floor, tears spilling. The virus hummed in his veins, whispering of power, of respect, of making Stein suffer.
"Want strength?" The memory of Lu Qiu's voice clung like a curse, "It's yours… for a price."
He touched his neck, where the wasp had stung, where the bandage still smelled of lavender—Lu Qiu's scent, gentle, deceptive.
Downstairs, Stein barked orders, the captain's ice magic crackling as she sealed the exits. Yuri stood, wiping his face, resolve hardening.
He would follow. He would obey.
But in his chest, something grew—a root of bitterness, watered by pain, nurtured by the virus. And when it bloomed…
Well. Even the weakest seed could split stone, given enough time.
Lu Qiu knew this. He'd planted it himself, watching from the doorway as Yuri joined the group, head down, shoulders hunched.
The catalyst was set. Now, only patience remained—let the virus feast on despair, let Yuri's hatred ripen.
After all, the sweetest fruits grew from the darkest soil.
And Lu Qiu was nothing if not a patient gardener.