"What the—what the—what the hell are those things?!" Kensington L. Orland had himself strapped into the seat with the seatbelt, holding on for dear life. Thank goodness these belts were still barely functional. All four doors of the Mercedes had gone AWOL, and both windshields were long gone. December's freezing wind blasted through the car from every direction, turning every breath into icicles at the tip of his nose. Yet, despite shivering like mad, Orland was sweating buckets.
Behind them, to the sides—everywhere—shadows were racing wildly!
Those shadows were sprinting down the street, tearing up the sidewalks, leaping over obstacles like it was a parkour championship, and—if you can believe it—some were even running straight up the walls like ghosts. Crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the bloody, murderous vibe was enough to make Orland's scalp tingle.
"Step on it, step on it! Get us out of here, why are you driving so slow?!"
"If you think it's slow, you drive! It's explosions and crashes everywhere—it's a miracle we're moving at all." Jill Young shot Orland a look that said, 'Why am I even talking to you?' "When you get old, act your age, okay? Don't be like those little punks—always sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."
"Me? I'm the nosy one?" Orland gasped for breath, feeling like he needed his heart meds ASAP. He clutched a handful of nitro pills and pointed at the fastest shadow on the side, yelling, "That guy's about to charge us—look, look, turn your head and check him out—he—oh crap, he's really coming!!"
The shadow Orland pointed at suddenly sprang off the wall—whoosh!—lunging straight at them. In a flash, Orland's mind went blank; all he saw were those blazing red eyes and a mouth stretched way past anything human. What he missed, though, was Jill's eyes lighting up, her right hand flicking out, and—out of nowhere—a metal card flicked between her fingers. With a snap, she sent it flying, and the shard buried itself in the shadow's chest...
Meanwhile, just a bit ahead, on the Iron Juggernaut rumbling and grinding the pavement in hot pursuit, a bald guy covered in mysterious tattoos was looking more confused and agitated than ever.
"What's going on—why isn't anything blowing up?" He paced back and forth, then suddenly shoved open the hatch and climbed onto the roof. The cold wind slapped him in the face as he stared at the Mercedes ahead, his eyes turning bloodshot, his face twisted and trembling, and those creepy tattoos seemed to come alive, writhing all over him. "Where's the explosion? Where's my explosion? Where's my art?!"
The gloomy middle-aged man at the front snorted, "Art?"
The bald guy's face instantly turned beet red with rage. He snarled through gritted teeth, "You mocking me? Want me to end you right now?!"
"Ha! Empty threats—just show how weak and scared you really are. A true boss doesn't have to argue; the facts speak for themselves. You've tried a bunch of times, but they're still getting away. Me? I only need one shot to stop them!" The gloomy middle-aged man swept his robe dramatically, the black cloak billowing out with a snap. The huge cape—black outside, red inside—flared open like a river of blood suddenly bursting into the real world from hell.
"Lowly bloodlines, bow down! You'll never catch up to the power of us Night Nobles!" With a burst of supernatural energy, his black cloak whipped out like bat wings. The man's mouth stretched into something no human should have, and he cackled madly as he shot off, his robe swirling behind him.
The black shadow zipped forward at insane speed, covering hundreds of meters in the blink of an eye. The wind howled, black mist churned, and with a chorus of shrill squeaks, the gloomy middle-aged man was suddenly flying above the Mercedes, surrounded by a cloud of bats.
Looking down at the Mercedes, the gloomy guy couldn't help but twitch at the sight of that flailing 'braid' on the roof. His face twisted with a touch of toothache-level embarrassment. Sure, that braid wasn't one of his blood kin—dead or alive, didn't matter much. But as a Night Noble, being made to look this ridiculous still stung a little.
Fuming, the gloomy man let out a piercing shriek, and all the blood descendants racing around immediately howled and lunged at the shaky car frame.
These Blood Thralls, juiced up with his secret magic, had gotten way stronger—forget a regular old professor, even a Chosen One with some fancy moves would be in serious trouble. The gloomy guy didn't expect them to wipe out everyone in the car, but hey, at least he'd learn a thing or two from the attempt.
In a flash, the first Blood Thrall lunged from the roadside, jaws wide open, going straight for Orland in the back seat.
Suddenly, a blast of fire shot from the Blood Thrall's chest. Boom!—the explosion was as loud as a military grenade, sending the thrall flying, smoking, and slamming into a building wall with a thud. It didn't move again.
"Huh?!" The gloomy guy's eyes flared red, his brow furrowing hard. Even with his night vision, he couldn't see what just happened. What exploded? What kind of attack was that? Most importantly—who made the move? Why didn't he see a thing?!
Before he could think any further, a dozen Blood Thralls had already piled in, fearless and eager. In these spell-pumped cannon fodder, the concept of fear just didn’t exist.
But Jill Young just twisted her wrist and—shoom!—pulled out a whole stack of metal shards from the storage compartment. Each shard shimmered with explosive power, like it could blow the whole car to scrap metal in a heartbeat. But in Jill's hands, that energy was locked down tight, like a snake gripped right at its weak spot—totally harmless.
"Good thing I stashed these sneaky little cards away," Jill muttered. While the Mercedes was spinning out, nobody noticed her quietly scooping up the incoming metal shards. With a flick of her wrist, the cards fanned out like a deck. Not even glancing at the shadows coming from every direction, Jill swung her right hand: "All in!"
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! More than ten streaks of dark-gold light shot out of the car in a blink. Blending ancient martial arts and the secret stone-tossing technique of Master Tang, the shards zipped through the air like a swarm of bees, each tracing its own wild curve toward its target.
With brutal speed and crazy mid-air curveballs, the shards nailed the shadows in the chest, by the kidneys, in their mouths, necks, armpits—even right in the crotch.
Jill snapped her fingers. "Boom!"
And just like that—kaboom!—the whole street lit up. To Orland, who was just a regular guy, it looked like Jill had waved her hand, and all those chasing shadows got hit with a self-destruct button, exploding into blazing fireballs and flying sparks.
"No way!!" Not just Orland—even the gloomy guy in the cloud of black mist was stunned, because he couldn’t see what happened either. After the shock came the fear; he almost broke out in a cold sweat. So close, so many times, but he still couldn't figure out how they were attacked—or even who did it!
What does that mean?
It means the folks in that car aren’t just some random nobodies!
Right then, the gloomy guy suddenly felt like there was some ancient beast hiding under that battered car roof, ready to lunge at him with jaws wide open.
Nope. Something’s off. I gotta bail!
Whoosh—without a second thought for his dignity, the gloomy guy turned into black mist and bolted full speed.
"Nice explosions, great power, but that was the last of those cards—oh, wait, not quite." Jill reached out, and—poof!—pulled out a suitcase. Not just any suitcase, but Orland’s. It was about to blow earlier, but she’d stashed it away in the storage space and quietly kept it out of trouble.
"If one little card can pack the punch of a military grenade, this suitcase is even more loaded. On the battlefield, it’s a real treasure." Jill waved the suitcase in Orland's face. "Want it back? If you do, I'll give it to you."
"No way!" Orland recoiled, sliding back. "That thing’s way too dangerous—just get rid of it!"
"Well, if the owner says so—here goes!"
Whoosh! Jill hurled the suitcase into the night sky, where it shot off like a cannonball, fast as a phantom, and dead-on like a hunting hawk.
The gloomy guy, now a cloud of black mist, zipped upward, dodging through London’s old buildings. But in a blink, something slammed into his chest with brutal force, bones cracking all over. With a massive thud, he lost control of his body, head spinning, and found himself blasted hundreds of meters into the air.
"That was close—if I didn’t have immortality, and my precious Blood River Cloak, I’d be toast!" The cloak behind him rippled red, pumping energy as his broken bones healed up quick. Still shaken, the gloomy guy glanced down at the street, eyes wide and full of venom.
Looks like there’s a real powerhouse in that car. But whatever—so long as I’m alive, one day I’ll suck that guy’s blood dry and get even stronger—wait, why’s there a suitcase stuck in my chest?
BOOOOOOM!!