Almost a whole day had passed.
A whole day of humiliating inaction and deafening silence.
No information on the thief had come in.
With each passing hour, Likkus Haskiel’s rage grew colder, harder, and sharper.
For someone who had lived on this planet for over two hundred years, this annoying setback wasn’t just a failed operation — it was a personal blow to his reputation, to his very essence.
Unlike most of his kin, who reveled in eternity and slid into the abyss of vice, Likkus valued time.
He was a predator, and his main trait was focus.
The moment a problem arose in his life — a threat to his power, his ambitions, his impeccable order — he mobilized all resources for its immediate and irrevocable elimination.
Usually it was quick.
Almost always — bloody.
And invariably — effective.
It was this ruthless efficiency that had allowed him, the seventh son of the clan patriarch, to take the post of governor of New York.
This city was too valuable a prize to give it away through nepotism rather than for real merit.
“Lord Likkus, the target has been found!”
The office door swung open without a knock.
When Likkus was on the hunt, all ephemeral rituals were cast aside in favor of speed.
“More than that…
the brat is at Bowling Green.
Cruising around the district in his Honda, making absolutely no attempt to hide.”
Likkus froze.
Even his surprised subordinate couldn’t match the astonishment that flickered for a moment across the vampire’s face.
What the hell?
This petty thief was treating them with utter contempt?
Was he mocking them?
Surprise gave way to cold anger, followed by a primal desire to tear this bastard apart with his own hands.
Steal a sacred flower, and now throw down an open challenge?!
“Get ready,” Likkus rumbled, rising from his chair.
His eyes burned with an otherworldly fire.
“I’m coming with you.
Personally.”
Preparations didn’t take long.
The night was their time.
Ten minutes later, several unmarked black sedans were racing through the streets of the financial district.
Likkus sat in the back seat, receiving reports over the radio.
Each message only heightened his anticipation.
And then, finally: the brat had been cornered in a dead end, all exits blocked.
He was trapped.
A bloodthirsty grin twisted Likkus’s lips.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, instincts honed by centuries of intrigue whispered that this was all…
too easy.
“Wait for my signal.
I’ll personally get acquainted with this vermin,” he ordered as his car stopped at the beginning of the alley.
Why was his intuition screaming danger?
He pushed the thoughts away.
Unnecessary reflection.
He stepped out of the car.
The alley was bathed in the headlights of his men’s cars.
In the center, like a cornered animal, stood an old, cheap Honda.
Likkus walked slowly, savoring the moment of triumph.
Two loyal bodyguards followed him.
He stared at the bastard’s face through the windshield.
The brat was looking away, not daring to meet his eyes.
But…
there was no fear in him.
No panic.
And now…
now he was actually…
smiling.
A trap!
The thought seared through Likkus’s mind a split second before the Honda’s rear door opened smoothly.
What stepped out of the car wasn’t just a man.
The very darkness inside the cabin seemed to coalesce, take form, and step out.
A figure that struck fear into newly-turned vampires.
A name that was synonymous with genocide in their community.
A man in full combat gear: form-fitting plate armor, a long leather coat billowing in the night wind.
And a katana on his left hip.
The very katana that inspired more terror in vampires than any holy artifact.
A blade that, according to rumor, destroyed any undead with a single touch.
In that moment, Likkus understood everything.
The brat’s smile.
His bravado.
The ease with which they had been lured here.
They weren’t the hunters.
They were the bait.
And the Daywalker had answered their call.
The silence in the alley was thick and heavy.
It was broken only by the quiet hum of the engines of the black sedans surrounding the old Honda.
“So, Haskiel, huh,” Blade drawled lazily, breaking the silence.
He leaned casually against the car roof, as if he were surrounded not by deadly predators, but by friends at a picnic.
“Hey, why’d you all go so pale when you saw me?
Oh, wait…
you’re already pale!”
He let out a hoarse laugh.
The laugh, devoid of humor, echoed off the walls, making the vampires shift nervously from foot to foot.
“Blade…” Likkus hissed, struggling to contain his rage.
Fear warred within him with wounded pride.
He was instantly restructuring the plan.
There could be no question of harming the brat anymore.
Now the goal was to get out of here alive and save face.
“You know our clan.
You know how we do business.
We honor order.”
“It’s one thing to know, another to see your whole pack hunting my friend,” Blade jabbed a thumb toward the car.
“He’s just a regular guy, you see.
Not as tough as me.
Can’t fight back.
Why do you pick on the weak and helpless, huh?
Not very aristocratic of you.”
“He’s a thief!” There was steel in Likkus’s voice.
“He stole what belongs to our clan by right of blood!
What an ordinary mortal shouldn’t even know exists!
So your talk of him being a ‘regular guy’ is bullshit!”
“To steal something, you have to know it belongs to someone!” the ‘regular guy’ himself broke into their conversation.
He got out of the car and stood next to Blade, feeling surprisingly calm under his protection.
“Your Ghost Orchid didn’t have a sign saying ‘Property of Clan Haskiel.
Picking carries a death sentence!'”
“Ignorance is no excuse from responsibility!” Likkus snarled.
“Alright, both of you shut up and listen to me!” Blade barked, his voice instantly cutting off the argument.
The casualness vanished, replaced by icy menace.
“It’s simple.
Either I carve out all of you pale-faces right here and now, and send you to your forefathers.
Or you swear you leave my buddy alone.
Forever.
Forget he exists.”
“And what about compensation for the damage?” Likkus couldn’t lose face completely.
Even in front of Blade, he had to uphold the clan’s dignity.
“Your life is the best compensation,” Blade cut him off.
“Hask…
Likkus…” the vampire’s voice trembled for a split second, but rage overpowered the tremor.
“Blade, you might be the Daywalker, but you’re just one man.
Are you sure you can take down all of us and survive?
These aren’t common street thugs…”
“Common, uncommon…
it still smells like sulfur when they burn,” Blade muttered, examining his fingernails.
“I’ve had tougher scraps before breakfast, bloodsucker.
Your choice.
Live today and tell your brothers about what happens when you mess with my people, or die here and be the latest topic of gossip in your vampire salons.”
Likkus looked around.
Fear was palpable in the air.
And the brat…
the brat was looking at him with open contempt.
No, they wouldn’t fight now.
Not here.
Not against the Daywalker, who was standing at ease in the middle of a trap they had set themselves.
“Fine,” Likkus ground out through clenched teeth.
“You have my word.
The clan forgets about the brat and the flower.
But know this, Blade: you made an enemy today.”
“Add it to the collection,” Blade chuckled.
“I’ve got a lot of them.
Now get lost before I change my mind and decide I want that coat of yours.”
Without another word, Likkus turned on his heel and strode toward his car.
The rest of the vampires, visibly relieved, scrambled after him.
A minute later, the alley was empty, leaving only the old Honda, me, and Blade.
I exhaled.
I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath.
“Thanks,” I said, looking at him.
“I thought it would be…
more complicated.”
“Complications are what you make them,” he shrugged, slapping me on the shoulder.
“You did good, kid.
The bait was perfect.
And the loot’s nice too.”
He raised the vial I’d given him.
“So, business, right?
I’m listening.
What else can you make?”
Silence fell on the street again.
Blade, as if from nowhere, drew a silver kunai and began to toss it idly in his hand.
The whistle of the air cut by the blade acted on the vampires’ nerves better than any torture.
“If you kill us…
the Patriarch won’t let this go!” Likkus made one last attempt.
“Pfft, I’ve already danced with old Alexander,” Blade grinned predatorily, showing his dhampir fangs.
“I’ve grown much stronger in my skills since then, so I’m ready for a new encounter.”
“The other clans won’t stand for this!”
“You think I came to America to relax?” he grinned again.
“It’ll be best for me if all you bastards come to me.
It’ll save me time searching.”
Likkus wasn’t laughing.
He was trapped.
Blade was right.
Either humiliation and life, or death and dishonor.
Young by pureblood standards, he was too weak to stand against this killing machine.
“Fine,” he ground out through his teeth.
“I agree.
We’ll leave the boy alone.
I swear by the name of House Haskiel…”
“Hey, hey, hold on!” Blade interrupted him, stopping his play with the kunai.
“No empty words.
On blood.”
“Fuck!” Likkus cursed mentally.
“Blood Oath.
An ancient, unbreakable ritual.
It wouldn’t just bind his will, it would exhaust him, making him vulnerable for weeks.
And breaking the oath would lead to the degradation of his blood, the loss of purity, and a fall in the clan hierarchy.
It was worse than death.
But he had no choice.”
He extended his hand forward and, concentrating, spoke the words that echoed with pain in every cell of his body:
“I, Likkus Haskiel, a pureblood vampire of the second generation, swear by my blood to leave the human known as John Thompson and his associates in peace.
I swear by my blood that I will not plot any evil against him, either personally or through third parties.
I swear by my blood that if I become aware of a direct threat to his life, I will warn him of it.”
At the last word, he doubled over, and a clot of dark, almost black blood erupted from his mouth.
He fell onto the asphalt, which hissed as if from acid, leaving a smoldering symbol for a moment.
Likkus grew even paler and seemed to age several years.
“Now that’s more like it!” Blade grinned.
“I always knew you could negotiate with the Haskiels.
Well, see ya.”
“Wait.
My men…” Likkus asked in a weakened voice.
“The ones who were watching him yesterday.
Did you kill them?”
“First, not ‘men’,” Blade tossed.
“Second, none of your damn business.” Walking around the car, he got into the front passenger seat.
Before getting behind the wheel, the kid turned to the vampire.
“I wouldn’t mind establishing cooperation with you in the future, Lord Likkus.”
“Go to hell!” he hissed, looking at him with hatred, and turned back to his car.
The youth shrugged, got into the Honda, and, unhindered, drove out of the alley.
In his car, Likkus leaned back in his seat, trying to regain his breath.
He analyzed what had happened and concluded that they had gotten off lightly.
They had lost one bloom, a couple of years of his life energy, and three rank-and-file resurrected ones.
In return, they had gained…
a peculiar immunity.
As long as the boy was alive and under Blade’s protection, their clan, bound by the oath, would be out of the Day Wanderer’s sight.
“Lord, are we really…
leaving him?” asked the assistant, turning onto the night street.
“It’s the best we can do,” Likkus replied, looking out the window.
“Blade isn’t here for nothing.
Purges are coming.
And for the next few months, maybe even years…
we’d better lie low.”
* * *
We drove in silence for several minutes.
I drove, still feeling the aftertaste of adrenaline and victory.
Blade silently watched the lights of night New York flashing by, and I could only guess what he was thinking.
He was probably analyzing the past encounter, me, my words.
Despite his apparent carelessness, he was clearly a professional to the bone.
“‘Just disappeared from surveillance,’ you say?” he suddenly broke the silence, not turning his head.
“Well, yeah…
Inventory, System, meta-knowledge.
Secrets that are worth more than life in this world.” I remained silent, and Blade, after thinking for a couple more seconds, suddenly sharply, but not hard, slapped his forehead.
“Fuck.
How did you even find out about the existence of vampires?
And about me?
That’s the first thing I should have asked.
Your damn watch threw me off track.”
“Those are…
secrets I’d rather keep to myself,” I replied cautiously.
To my relief, that answer satisfied him.
He grunted, turning to me.
“Keep them to yourself then.
Everyone has their skeletons in the closet.
Don’t worry, I’m a cool nigga.
If you keep supplying me with your brews periodically, we’ll become best friends.
Besides, I plan to stick around here for a while.
It’s time to thin out the local population of creatures a bit.”
“And what about the Haskiels?” “Will you leave them alone?”
“What about them?
I only kill overreaching bastards and complete scumbags.
These guys, you saw yourself, they’re capable of negotiation.
They’re part of the ecosystem, and not the worst part.
They run businesses, provide protection, pay taxes…
Well, their own, vampire, taxes.
As long as they keep quiet, I don’t care about them.”
“Understood.
The main thing is that I can breathe easy now.
And I can indeed supply you with useful things.
But not for free, of course.”
You wound me,” Blade grinned.
“Uncle Blade always pays his debts.”
“So, we have a deal,” I nodded.
The tension had subsided, and I allowed myself to change the subject to what truly interested me.
“By the way, when Likkus swore…
what does ‘pureblood vampire of the second generation’ mean?”
Blade looked at me with genuine surprise.
“You know how to find me, but don’t know their inner workings?
Funny.
Alright, listen to a mini-lecture on vampirology.
Maybe it’ll save your ass one day.
In short.
It all started with Varnae.
The first vampire.
Created by who the hell knows, when the hell knows.
Among the ghouls, he’s called the Progenitor.
He’s definitely an unbelievably strong bastard who could twist me into a pretzel with one pinky.
Luckily, we haven’t met personally.”
“Maybe he died long ago?”
“Nah,” Blade shook his head.
“Scum like that doesn’t die.
Just doesn’t show itself.
So.
The Progenitor of ages went into hiding five centuries ago and passed power to his direct Descendants.
There were six of them in total.
I personally killed one of them, by the way.
Of the remaining five, the most famous is Dracula.
Now he rules the entire vampire coven and is considered the strongest among them.”
“And he lives somewhere in a castle in Romania?”
“Ha, you’re close.
In Chernobyl,” Blade’s answer left me speechless for a second.
“He likes the atmosphere.
Very post-apocalyptic.
From the Descendants came the first-generation purebloods, from them—the second, like our acquaintance Likkus, from them—the third.
Further on, the blood gets heavily diluted, resulting in ordinary vampires.
That’s why fourth-generation purebloods don’t exist in nature.”
“And how do they…
reproduce?
By biting?”
“Varnae and his Descendants can do it the classic way.
You know,” Blade chuckled lewdly.
“First and second-generation purebloods—too.
But with the third, it’s rare for anything to be born.
So, yes, most new vampires appear through a bite.”
“So, some of them are…
alive to some extent?” This question concerned me particularly.
“To some extent—yes.
Especially those who are born, not turned.
For those turned by a bite, it’s like a genetic disease, a virus.
But there are exceptions.
Just like our case.
Clans like the Haskiels prefer not to turn the living, but to reanimate dead bodies and put them into their service.
Such puppets are definitely not alive.
They have no soul, no thoughts of their own.
Only fragments of the personality they had in life.
Will-less dolls.”
A cold wave ran down my spine.
That was it.
The explanation.
Reanimated corpses.
The System had unhesitatingly marked them as “non-living objects,” allowing me to put them in my inventory.
But Likkus…
a pureblood, born vampire…
I suddenly understood with absolute certainty that my touch wouldn’t have worked on him.
My main trump card, my seemingly ultimate ability, had a blind spot.
And I almost bet everything on it, without even knowing the rules of the game.
And this world has, or soon will have, other forms of life that might not seem so at first glance.
The boundaries of the definition of “living” here are blurred beyond recognition.
My brain began to frantically cycle through options, and a chill ran down my spine with each new example.
Take Vision, for example.
A synthetic vibranium body, an AI-based computer mind…
and a soul or its semblance, granted by the Infinity Stone.
Is he alive?
From the perspective of human ethics—absolutely.
But for a soulless System?
He wasn’t born, he has no DNA.
And his “soul” is artificial in a way.
Could I put him in my inventory?
The very thought was monstrous.
Or even simpler—Sandman.
Flint Marko.
His consciousness, his personality, his soul—undoubtedly human and alive.
But his body is just silicon dioxide, living sand.
What is the criterion for the System?
A biological shell or the presence of a sentient soul?
Could I “collect” him into my inventory like a pile of sand, or would his will make him a “living” object?
And what about Ben Grimm, the Thing from the Fantastic Four?
His body is living stone, an organic silicate rock.
He breathes, eats, thinks.
He is definitely “alive,” even if he’s not made of familiar protein.
So, it’s not about chemical composition.
What about exotic alien races?
Beings of pure energy, collective minds, crystalloid life forms…
My inventory, once an ultimate “press-and-defeat-any-undead” weapon, had transformed before my eyes into a high-precision surgical instrument with an incomprehensible manual.
Using it blindly was equivalent to attempting brain surgery with a jackhammer.
From this moment on, every new opponent would be considered “living” by default.
Every threat requires deep analysis.
Relying on the inventory as a panacea is a deadly mistake, one that I, fortunately, realized before it killed me.
“We’re here,” I said, shutting off the engine at my house.
The realization of my own luck and simultaneous vulnerability and foolishness left a bitter aftertaste.
Blade glanced at my modest one-story house.
“Well, come on, show me your Resident Evil.”
* * *
Summary of Chapters 1-20
Protagonist Status
1.
Core Characteristics:
Physique: Normal (no modifications).
Intellect: Medium-High (due to Master Clockmaker).
Loaded Knowledge: Recipes for Intellect Potion, Muscle Stimulant, Protective Field Generator (from the “Arcanum” set), Master Clockmaker Information Package (also Arcanum).
2.
Temporal and Spatial Coordinates:
Current Date: Saturday, night, September 19, 2015.
Time since arrival: 10 days (since Wednesday, September 9, 2015).
Location: USA, New York, Brooklyn, Bay Ridge.
3.
Finances and Resources:
CP (Creation Points): 50 (next “Forging the Universe” costs 400 CP).
Cash: ~$14000.
Valuables in Inventory: Intellect Potion (5 portions), Muscle Stimulant (9 portions), Ores and the Magical Ore Crate itself.
4.
Technologies, Skills, and Items:
Unlocked: Recipe “Intellect Potion.” Recipe “Muscle Stimulant.” Recipe “Protective Field Generator.” Skill “Master Clockmaker.” Item “Magical Ore Crate.”
Locked (awaiting CP): Blueprint “Refined Extremis Formula” (Cost: 500 CP).
Item “Magical Ore Crate” (Cost: 500 CP).
Information Package “Disassembly Risk” (Cost: 100 CP).
Information Package “Ritualist-Optimizer” (Cost: 100 CP).
Other blueprints and recipes from the “Arcanum” set (Cost: 200 CP with subsequent increases).