Vampire Progenitor System

An hour earlier...

The monitors flickered inside the cold steel walls of the Hunter’s Association HQ, screens stretched from floor to ceiling. Each one showed different parts of the world—on fire, torn open, crawling with things not meant to exist.

Dera stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed, jaw tight. Her eyes were fixed on one feed. The one that mattered.

Her father.

Fowler.

He was locked in combat alongside Vladimir, Greta, Boris—their silhouettes moving like war gods through a battlefield soaked in ruin. Near them was Ken, her boyfriend, fighting like a savage blur against Remu. She saw Angel there too, and Ella, Mob, and Francisca. All of them standing in the fire while she stood in this damned room.

Safe.

She hated it.

A screen near the center zoomed in as Remu blasted a crater in the dirt, barely missing Ken’s back. Dera’s breath caught.

”I can’t just watch this,” she whispered.

She turned, scanning the hunters stationed around the room. Five of them. Fully armed. Her father’s orders. ”She stays put until we call it.”

One of them leaned against the wall, chewing on a toothpick. ”You should sit down. They’ve got it.”

Dera stared at him. Then at the exit behind him. Then back to the screen.

”No. They don’t.”

The hunter closest to her stepped forward. ”Miss Fowler, your father said—”

”I don’t care,” Dera snapped, her voice quiet but sharp. ”He’s out there bleeding. They all are. And I’m in here watching it like it’s a movie. I’m not built for this.”

”You’re built for surviving.”

”I’m built for fighting,” she shot back. ”Same as him.”

The room went tense. A second passed. Then two.

The hunter with the toothpick sighed. ”We can’t let you walk out.”

Dera didn’t blink. ”Then I’ll find another way.”

They shifted.

She turned around and walked calmly to the strategy table in the center of the room, her fingers running along the glowing holographic map. There. A supply route outside the south gate—least guarded, since the monsters had swarmed the north and east.

She tapped her chin. ”Okay...”

Then looked up with a smirk.

”I’m going to the bathroom.”

The hunters squinted.

”Alone.”

”You serious?”

”I just had three cups of coffee.”

The one on the left groaned. ”She’s bluffing.”

Dera walked into the side hall before they could decide.

She didn’t go to the bathroom.

She slipped through the maintenance corridor, hopped down a service hatch, and sprinted through a dim tunnel that led beneath the eastern wing of HQ. She knew the place like her own hand—grew up in it, trained in it, broke rules in every hallway.

She emerged into the armory a minute later.

Dim lights hummed above racks of weapons. Pistols, blades, enchanted gauntlets, reinforced gear. She moved like someone on instinct, grabbing what she needed fast and clean.

Combat harness. Reinforced jacket. Her father’s old sidearm—.45 with lightning runes etched into the barrel. She strapped it to her thigh.

Then, the sniper.

She ran her fingers over the sleek black frame of the rifle hanging on the far wall. Custom scope. Stabilizers. Long barrel.

She ran her fingers over the sleek black frame of the rifle hanging on the far wall. Custom scope. Stabilizers. Long barrel.

One bullet sat in a velvet case beneath it. The casing gleamed with runes—etched by Greta herself.

A killing spell woven into the shot.

No restraint. No seal. Just pure, irreversible destruction—designed to end anything it touched.

She loaded it slow, careful.

This one wasn’t for a beast or a brute.

It was for Remu.

Dera stepped into the mirror.

Her reflection stared back—hard eyes, tied-back hair, blood-red jacket. One fang just barely visible from her half-smile.

”Sorry, Dad,” she muttered.

She left through the emergency ramp.

The bike was parked on the south pad.

Matte black, rune-etched along the chassis, built for combat and speed. No keys needed—just her palmprint.

She hopped on.

The engine flared, silent and powerful, humming like a dragon ready to run.

The gates creaked open behind her. A single hunter stood at the top of the ramp, shaking his head.

He saluted.

”Tell ’em the cavalry’s coming,” he said.

She grinned.

”Hell yeah.”

The tires screamed against the concrete as she shot forward.

The wind hit her face like a punch. Night air thick with smoke. Skies already glowing red in the distance.

Dera leaned into the speed, the lights blurring past her, the sniper strapped across her back.

She was done waiting.

She was done watching.

The world was burning.

And she was done being left behind.

Dera veered off the main road, her bike cutting through a broken alley lined with the charred skeletons of cars and fractured neon signs. Ash drifted down like snow. The city had become a graveyard.

She tapped her earpiece again, one hand still steady on the throttle.

”Lucifer. Come on. Pick up.”

Only static.

She changed frequencies. ”Lucifer, it’s Dera. I’ve left HQ. I’m heading straight to the field. If you’re out there, I need your voice right now.”

Silence.

Her jaw clenched.

She switched again. ”Lucifer. Please.”

Nothing.

No response. No ping. Not even the trace echo of a blocked signal. Just a cold, absolute dead zone.

That wasn’t just strange.

It was impossible.

Lucifer didn’t miss things. He didn’t go dark. He had eyes everywhere—especially when someone like Remu was involved. If anything, he’d be the first one on the battlefield, blades drawn, smile sharp, hell in his back pocket.

And yet...

She hadn’t seen him on the feeds.

Not in the north where the gates broke.

Not beside the leaders holding the line.

Not even in the sky.

Nowhere.

And that...

That scared her.

She kept her bike moving, engine humming low as she approached the edge of the city. Her fingers hovered over the sniper’s case strapped behind her.

One bullet.

Runes pulsing like a heartbeat.

A killing spell strong enough to unmake anything.

The plan had been simple—get to high ground, find a vantage, wait for her shot. One clean line. One end to this.

But if Lucifer was missing... If he wasn’t even on the field...

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

She hit a cracked slope and flew over a pile of broken rubble, the bike landing with a crunch and grinding skid.

Her eyes burned from the smoke. Her heart beat faster now, not from adrenaline—but dread.

Not just for Remu.

But for him.

She tapped her earpiece again, voice low this time.

”Where the hell are you, Lucifer?”

Still nothing.

Still empty.

She slammed her palm against the handlebar and pushed the bike harder. The runes on the frame flared a shade brighter, mana injecting into the wheels.

Faster.

She needed answers.

She needed a signal.

She needed—

Boom.

A distant shockwave lit the skyline to the west—violet energy twisting upward like a dragon’s spine through the clouds.

That wasn’t just magic.

That was Remu’s magic.

Dera’s eyes narrowed.

She shifted her grip.

No more waiting.

No more calls.

Just steel. Focus. And one bullet for the girl who’d lost her way.

She gunned the throttle again, racing straight toward the battlefield, straight into the fire, while the silence in her ear buzzed like a warning.

And Lucifer?

If he didn’t show soon...

She’d do what he should’ve.

She’d finish this herself.