Thomas Polo was bad news. Everyone who had ever heard his name, or even whispered it, knew this much without needing an explanation.
He wasn't the type of guy you'd want to cross paths with. Not because he was some hulking brute or a shadowy assassin, but because Thomas Polo's danger was wrapped in something far more unpredictable: his mind.
Fortunately for the world at large, very few people actually knew his name. And even fewer had seen his face. That was by design. Thomas had a knack for staying in the shadows, pulling strings from behind the scenes, leaving chaos and broken pawns in his wake. Legends were whispered, rumors spun about the infamous Tom Polo, but concrete details were scarce. Partly because those who got too close tended to disappear, or worse, become unwilling players in his intricate games.
But who exactly was Tom Polo? What was behind the myth?
Let's start from the beginning.
Tom was the only son of Dracula, the legendary father of all vampires. But unlike the tales of old where the offspring of immortals were born to power, Tom's birth was anything but certain to carry the bloodline's gifts. His mother was human, which meant that the chances of Tom inheriting vampire powers were exactly fifty-fifty. And as fate cruelly decided, when Tom came into the world, he was completely powerless. No fangs, no supernatural strength, no shadow manipulation, nothing. Just a normal, human baby.
You might think this would make him an outcast, or at least doomed to obscurity. But what Tom lacked in powers, he made up for in one thing: his brain. His intelligence wasn't just high, it was extraordinary, so high that many whispered it rivaled or even surpassed the likes of Einstein and Newton. From an early age, Tom showed an uncanny ability to process information, think several steps ahead, and strategize with precision.
It was this razor-sharp intellect that fueled his rise. He became a mastermind of plots, a chess player in a world of pawns, always contriving schemes that worked flawlessly. That was how the legend of Thomas Polo was born, the boy without powers who beat the system every single time.
Right now, Tom found himself in an unlikely place for a man of his stature: a dim, damp cave somewhere deep in an uncharted mountain range. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and stone, the only light coming from the dull glow of a lantern swinging on its chain. Beside him was Gregor, his loyal bodyguard and valet, an imposing man whose broad shoulders barely fit inside the cramped space. Gregor wielded a shovel like a weapon, hacking at the dirt with a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
"Honestly, Tom," Gregor muttered, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow, "when you told me you were heading to some remote location, I didn't exactly picture myself doing manual labor. Shoveling dirt in a cave. This isn't what I signed up for."
Tom, brushing back his signature purple hair with his forearm, flashed a small smirk. "I didn't tell you all the details for a reason, Gregor. Figured if you knew how much of a pain this would be, you might've backed out."
Gregor grumbled something unintelligible but kept digging. Tom watched him for a moment, then bent down, wiping dust from the front of his black leather jacket. "Relax. It'll be worth it. What we're about to find will change everything."
Gregor looked doubtful but said nothing. They had been digging for what felt like hours, following vague coordinates Tom had uncovered through a series of secret contacts and forbidden archives. Now, finally, Gregor's shovel hit something solid.
"Tom! I think I've got something," Gregor said, voice low but excited.
"Careful," Tom replied sharply, moving closer. "Don't damage it."
They both knelt down and began carefully brushing the dirt away, revealing a large, ancient book buried beneath the earth. The cover was made of some heavy, dark material, cracked and worn by time, with strange runes etched along the spine.
The surface was adorned with intricate hieroglyphics, figures of naked men and women frozen in various poses, almost as if telling a story without words.
Tom's eyes gleamed as he reached out and touched the book's cover gently. "This is it."
Gregor's eyebrows raised. "What is it exactly?"
"A grimoire. Not just any book, but a key to a power system long thought lost, the Perverse Vampire System."
Gregor blinked. "Perverse?"
Tom smiled, a mix of amusement and something darker. "The name doesn't do it justice. It's called that because the power you gain through it isn't just raw strength. It's twisted, corrupt, and challenges everything you think you know about vampiric power."
Gregor shifted uneasily, but Tom was already digging through his coat pockets and pulling out a small, metal case. Inside were three gems, glowing faintly with a cold, unnatural light. Each one a different color: blood red, obsidian black, and deep violet.
Tom carefully fitted each gem into matching grooves on the book's cover. The moment the last gem clicked into place, the book emitted a dull glow, the runes flaring to life with a bright, blue light.
Suddenly, the light intensified, forcing Tom to shield his eyes. The book snapped open with a thunderous crack, and in that instant, the blue glow exploded outward like a wave, knocking Tom off his feet.
Gregor lunged forward to help him up. "Tom! Are you okay?"
Tom lay on the ground for a moment, breathing hard. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the afterimage of the light. His gaze shifted upward to a strange glowing screen that now hovered in front of him, flickering with symbols and text.
Welcome to the Perverse Vampire System.
Tom's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "It worked. Just as I expected."