Before Michael could even voice his thanks, his vision abruptly went black.
“Sorry about this, man.”
Jonathan sounded apologetic, but his hand had not hesitated in the slightest.
He put away the M1911 he had just used to knock Michael unconscious.
After confirming that Michael was completely out cold, Jonathan crouched beside him, placed a hand on his body, and activated his ability.
Plunder.
It was the trump card Jonathan had gained after crossing over.
Once activated, it allowed him to steal anything that belonged to another person.
Abilities.
Skills.
Bloodlines.
And even more.
This time, his target was the Perfect Blood flowing through Michael’s veins.
Of course, Jonathan had considered going directly after Alexander Corvinus and plundering his superior bloodline instead.
The problem was that Jonathan was still far too weak.
If he tried confronting that ancient progenitor now, he might lose his life before obtaining so much as a drop of blood.
The higher-grade Perfect Blood would have to wait.
Once Jonathan became strong enough, he could return to the world of Underworld and slowly devise a way to acquire it.
As Plunder activated, Michael’s body began convulsing violently.
A fine layer of sweat quickly appeared across his forehead.
The droplets steadily grew larger before rolling down his face one after another.
His healthy complexion gradually faded into a sickly bluish pallor, as though he were enduring unimaginable pain.
More than ten seconds later, the terrifying convulsions finally stopped.
The plundering was complete.
Jonathan examined the changes within his body but felt no immediately noticeable increase in strength.
That was perfectly normal.
Perfect Blood was never the kind of power that would make someone overwhelmingly stronger the moment they acquired it.
It was more like a universal compatibility system.
A foundation that allowed its bearer to integrate different bloodlines more effectively.
For Jonathan, that alone made it invaluable.
His objective had been achieved.
It was time to leave.
By then, the gunfire outside had nearly died down.
Jonathan pressed his back against the wall of the subway car and tightened his grip around the M1911 as he slowly moved toward the door.
His movements were cautious.
His breathing was shallow.
Only after reaching the doorway did he carefully lean out and glance across the platform.
The station was a complete wreck.
Several civilians struck by stray bullets lay scattered across the ground.
Their intermittent cries of pain sounded especially piercing in the sudden silence.
The vampires struck by ultraviolet rounds had already burned away, leaving nothing behind but piles of ash.
The dead Lycan’s body had also been dragged away by Raze.
The air carried the mingled scents of gunpowder and blood, along with the damp chill blown in by the rain.
After confirming that there was no immediate danger, Jonathan slowly stepped out of the subway car.
His gaze soon settled on a handgun lying on the ground.
It had been left behind by the dead Lycan.
Jonathan bent down and picked it up.
With practiced movements, he removed the magazine and examined the bullets inside, each one glowing with a faint violet light.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Since he had already come all this way, he might as well take home a souvenir.
Just as he was about to put the gun away, something cold pressed against the back of his head.
A gun barrel.
“Don’t move.”
Selene’s voice came from behind him, cold enough to seem almost devoid of warmth.
Jonathan immediately raised both hands.
He might have obtained the Perfect Blood, but he was still fundamentally an ordinary human.
A bullet could kill him just as easily as before.
“Give me the magazine.”
Selene spoke again.
Her voice remained calm, yet carried an unmistakable pressure that brooked no refusal.
Jonathan did not resist.
With her weapon still trained on him, he slowly turned around and met her gaze directly.
At such close range, Selene was even more stunning.
Several strands of black hair clung to her forehead, soaked by the rain.
Droplets ran down the sides of her face.
Cold.
Beautiful.
And lethally dangerous.
Jonathan slowly held out the magazine.
Seeing how cooperative he was, Selene reached out, took it, and smoothly slipped it away.
She then looked at Jonathan and spoke indifferently.
“You can go.”
Unlike many of her bloodthirsty kin, Selene had no interest in harming innocent humans.
Now that she had obtained what she wanted, she saw no reason to make things difficult for him.
After receiving permission to leave, Jonathan kept facing her as he retreated one step at a time.
Behind him stood a door.
When his hand closed around its handle, he raised his eyes and smiled at Selene.
“Selene.”
“We’ll meet again.”
Crimson earth stretched as far as the eye could see.
The surrounding landscape was unbearably desolate.
Wind swept across the open ground, carrying fine grains of sand that stung whenever they struck exposed skin.
The rusted skeletons of numerous buildings still stood crookedly across the wasteland.
Although they had long since been reduced to empty shells, they seemed to silently recount the glory of a forgotten age.
At the center of a relatively level stretch of land stood a white wooden door.
Beside it was a genuine leather sofa.
The sofa looked almost brand-new, making it seem absurdly out of place in this ruined world.
The next moment, the wooden door creaked open.
A figure wearing a gray raincoat stepped through.
“Welcome back, Jonathan.”
A young girl’s childish voice suddenly rang out.
Jonathan paused and turned toward the speaker.