Blade opened his eyes once more.
Even though he had been here several times and grown accustomed to the environment, as a dhampir—a half-human, half-vampire being—he remained on high alert every single second.
His hawk-like eyes scanned the dilapidated surroundings, brewing a fierce savagery.
A flash of red occasionally gleamed in the dim light—stark proof of his half-vampire nature.
Above him, a faded sign reading “Weyland Private Research Institute” hung loosely on the decaying building.
The name felt utterly out of place.
He had no idea what kind of madness drove the master of this place to establish a temporary base in a condemned building set for demolition in New York City, complete with such a high-tech-sounding name.
Just then, his ears twitched.
*Shhhk!* Blade reflexively reached for the two katana on his back—specially made weapons forged with silver alloy.
“I suggest you put those away.
This is my territory, and there aren’t any vampires for you to kill here.” The calm voice held not a single ripple of emotion.
A young, dark-haired man stepped out from the shadows.
His clean-cut features betrayed his youth; he looked to be only in his early twenties, seemingly as harmless as a little rabbit at first glance.
That is, if one ignored the strange creature standing beside him.
“If you can get that ‘pet’ of yours to back off a few yards, maybe I’ll believe you,” Blade paused, then let go of his hilts.
Yet behind his dark sunglasses, his eyes remained glued to the strange creature’s every move.
The thing stood nearly ten feet tall, its body sleek, black, and streamlined, as if constructed from countless fused human spinal bones.
A long tail, packed with immense strength, whipped gently through the air; its tip resembled a razor-sharp blade capable of terrifying piercing power.
Sharp claws scraped the ground, easily leaving long gashes in the floor that made Blade’s eyelids twitch.
Most striking of all was the creature’s head—resembling a bizarre, flared crown, radiating a sinister air of authority.
It was a beast he had never seen before.
Its entire body seemed engineered for pure, unadulterated combat, like the wild imagination of a brilliant science-fiction writer brought to life.
Relying on his enhanced vision, Blade keenly noticed that compared to their previous meetings, the monster was now covered in far more unknown, viscous slime.
Duval nodded, clearly satisfied with Blade’s response.
He casually sized up Blade with a peculiar look in his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the hunter’s body—staring at his bulging chest muscles, long legs, and thick, powerful arms that looked ready to burst with power…
*So magnificent.* Blade frowned, a spark of instinctive alarm flashing in his eyes.
Here it came again.
That look.
It made him feel like the guy wasn’t looking at a human being.
Blade had every reason to believe this strange man harbored some truly bizarre preferences.
At that moment, as if sensing the threat radiating from Blade, the peculiar organism beside Duval moved, lashing its tail straight out like a whip.
*So fast!* Blade’s expression shifted slightly.
He drew a sword in a flash and parried.
*Clang!* His hand went slightly numb from the impact, driving the monster’s tail back, and his heart sank.
Even though he hadn’t used his full strength, with his formidable power, he had failed to sever a tail that was as hard as solid metal…
When Blade looked up again, he realized the monster beside Duval had vanished without a sound.
It was already clinging to the ceiling directly above him, its razor-sharp claws glinting with terrifying cold light, looking ready to rip off Blade’s scalp at any moment.
“Sorry, force of habit,” Duval offered a quick gesture of apology.
“You know how it is.
I’m a researcher, and maintaining a place like this all by myself is tough work.
It’s hard not to pour all my attention into my job.” “This thing is strong.
What’s it called?” Blade asked, inwardly startled while maintaining his composure as he observed the strange creature, which retreated silently to Duval’s side like a phantom assassin.
“Xenomorph,” Duval replied.
“Interesting name.
Looks like it’s the finest achievement of your research institute—a war weapon.” Blade was well-traveled and had spent his life hunting vampires and fighting all kinds of monsters.
Even a brief, probing clash was enough for him to categorize the Xenomorph’s threat level—and Duval’s character.
He didn’t care if Duval was a mad scientist, as long as the man could provide him with useful tools.
Duval gave a noncommittal hum.
Finest achievement?
Setting aside the whole “egg-laying” business, this Xenomorph wouldn’t remain the finest for much longer.
With that thought, Duval took a deep breath, forcing himself not to gawk at Blade’s insanely strong physique, and pulled out a briefcase.
“Here is the highly corrosive weapon you asked for—diluted, of course, or nothing short of Adamantium could serve as its container.
In delicate situations late at night, this works much better than a UV grenade.
At least it’ll kill your enemies quietly.” Blade remained silent for a moment, reached into his jacket, pulled out a bag, and tossed it over.
“As agreed.
One hundred thousand dollars,” Blade said.
Duval let out a whistle.
“Are vampire hunters really this loaded?
Makes sense, though.
Hunting vampires is a cash-burning business; even the bullets are forged from silver.” “It’s not my money anyway.
The more vampires I kill, the more cash I plunder from those bastards.” Blade had always been generous when spending money.
Money exchanged for goods.
“I’ll help spread the word about your product.
Using this highly corrosive fluid against vampire super-regeneration is damn effective,” Blade tossed out as he stepped back a few paces, holding the briefcase.
Duval suddenly said, “If possible, bring me back a few vampires.
Alive.” “Oh?
Dealing with those scum isn’t a good idea,” Blade looked at him in surprise.
“Can’t be helped.
Time is running short,” Duval said.
Blade didn’t reply or ask what he meant, vanishing into the dark night.
“Blade…
tsk, the guy really is a righteous fanatic.” Duval watched Blade’s departing back, then shut the heavy doors again.
Vampires in the Marvel Universe were quite fascinating.
Their origin didn’t trace back to Dracula or Cain, but rather to a sorcerer named Varnae, who had first come into contact with the Darkhold and transformed himself into the very first vampire using its dark power.
And the author of the Darkhold was none other than the famous God of Dark Magic, Chthon—a deity wielding Chaos Magic, one of the three primordial forces of the multiverse.
A second-generation deity of the Primordial World Tree, Chthon stood above mass-produced third-generation World Tree gods like Odin, Zeus, and the Jade Emperor, while also serving as the power source for the Scarlet Witch.
He was one of the Four Chaos Gods of the Multiverse.
Anything connected to hatred, misfortune, or dark magic was more or less touched by the shadow of Chthon, that ultimate magical entity.
However, there was no need to worry about that for now.
Duval felt that as an ordinary individual in a multi-dimensional realm, unable to jump out of even the most basic timeline, he wasn’t qualified to draw the attention of such a cosmic big shot.
For now, what he needed to focus on was getting money from Blade, who had a decent reputation.
Blade, the famous vampire hunter of the underworld—when his mother was giving birth to him, she was bitten by a vampire, leaving him born with half-vampire blood.
Unlike ordinary vampires, he didn’t fear silver or sunlight, allowing him to walk under the sun at will, earning him the envious and bitter moniker “Daywalker” from other vampires.
His only downside was the need to regularly inject serum to prevent his vampire blood from completely taking over.
Still, Blade’s character was relatively reliable.
As long as you were willing to facilitate his vampire hunts, he was more than happy to trade with you.
Duval shrugged.
What choice did he have when he needed cash?
Trading a little Xenomorph blood for Blade’s money was just a temporary compromise.
Ever since transmigrating into this Marvel world, Duval had felt anxious for a time.
This world—or rather, this universe—had far too many freaks and ruthless powerhouses.
Fortunately, he had a Xenomorph by his side.
‘If I remember correctly, before I transmigrated, Marvel had officially begun serializing standalone Xenomorph comics.
That was a pure high-tech world without superheroes…’ Duval counted the cash in his hands, his thoughts drifting.
“Hss-hss!” The nearby Xenomorph sensed the shift in Duval’s mood.
Although it couldn’t know exactly what Duval was thinking, its absolute loyalty to the man prompted a subtle response.
A Xenomorph’s vocalizations were never meaningless; whenever it made a sound, it was expressing a specific purpose.
Duval smiled faintly and reached out his hand.
The Xenomorph obediently lowered its head, letting the man stroke its flared, crown-like skull.
Man and alien walked deeper into the research institute, opening a hidden chamber inside a rough, crude basement—or rather, a subterranean cave that looked as though it had been gnawed out by a ravenous beast with superhuman strength.
Duval slowly looked up.
Five white eggs, coated in thick slime, came into view.