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Chapter 72: The Blood Factory
🕑 Added 2025-10-23 16:47:12 +0000 UTC“Blade, how’s that female doctor doing?”
Skye asked anxiously. She couldn’t help worrying that the doctor might turn into a vampire—after all, she was still a living, breathing human being.
“She’s fine,” Blade replied. “I injected her with a concentrated garlic serum. Turns out she’s a hematology specialist—now she’s working on developing a serum that could counteract vampiric infection.”
Skye finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Under cover of darkness, the group headed toward the Blood Factory. From the outside, it looked like a massive warehouse. State-of-the-art surveillance systems covered every corner, and armed guards patrolled the perimeter in shifts.
“I say we go in loud,” Frank suggested. “Our real target is Deacon Frost anyway. If we stir things up enough, he’ll come out on his own.”
Frank’s logic was sound. Right now, Frost operated from the shadows while they were exposed. The best strategy was to rattle the snake—force him to make the first move.
Blade nodded in agreement. He knew Frost well—an arrogant narcissist with absolute faith in his power. If his blood facility was attacked, he would definitely take it personally and strike back.
So, the group marched straight toward the front entrance.
> “Who goes there?!”
The security guards spotted them instantly—how could they not? A small group walking confidently toward a restricted site in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly subtle.
Bang!
Frank didn’t hesitate—one clean shot, one kill. The guard dropped instantly, a red bullet hole between his brows and a spray of brain matter staining the ground. He didn’t dissolve into ashes like a vampire—he was human.
“Damn it—half-bloods!” Frank cursed under his breath. “These damn scumbags are everywhere.”
He despised the half-bloods—humans corrupted by vampiric influence. In his eyes, they weren’t people anymore, just worthless trash serving monsters.
The gunshot threw the rest of the guards into a panic. They returned fire immediately, their weapons blazing. Their firepower was heavier than Lucas’s team anticipated.
Lucas quickly realized his Judicator (the holy revolver) was useless here—it only worked against supernatural creatures. Skye, meanwhile, still couldn’t project her shockwaves at range. That left only Blade and Frank on the offensive.
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “Time to let Onion stretch his legs.”
He pulled out the Chocobo Whistle. His plan wasn’t to use Onion as a shield, but as an aerial platform—attack from above where their enemies wouldn’t expect it.
The whistle sang out, and Onion appeared from the pocket dimension. Lucas tossed it a Saghir Green, and the bird’s eyes immediately burned with energy. It clawed at the ground, feathers bristling with battle spirit.
Lucas swung himself onto its back, and in one powerful leap, Onion soared skyward.
Blade froze for a moment, stunned. He’d seen some bizarre things in his time, but watching what looked like a flightless bird—half ostrich, half dragon—take off into the night sky was a first.
Even Matt and Frank were speechless. They’d never seen anything like Onion before.
Up in the air, Lucas unsheathed the Ultimate Divine Blade, the emerald energy coursing down its edge.
He slashed through the air. Wind howled violently, twisting into a raging tornado that swept across the ground below.
From the sky, Lucas had a clear advantage. On the ground, silhouettes stood out under the dim floodlights, but in the night sky, with no reference points, he was nearly invisible. That was why he’d chosen to fight from above—using the darkness as his camouflage.
The tornado struck. The half-blood guards screamed as they were ripped apart, their bodies shredded into crimson fragments scattered across the ground.
Lucas descended moments later, landing amid the carnage. Severed limbs and pools of blood painted the scene like a vision of hell.
“Let’s move,” he said quietly.
They pushed open the factory’s main doors—and froze.
Inside, rows upon rows of human beings hung from the ceiling, sealed in translucent plastic cocoons. Men and women alike, all alive—barely. Each was connected to transparent tubes pumping bright red blood into massive collection machines. In return, the machines fed them nutrient fluids to keep them alive just long enough to drain them dry.
“Those damn vampires…” Frank’s voice trembled with fury. “If I ever get my hands on one of them, I’ll make sure they beg for death before I’m done.”
It was like a vision straight from hell. Humans, reduced to livestock—kept alive only to provide a constant flow of blood to feed the monsters outside.
“They’re… still alive?” Skye whispered. The horror in her eyes was unmistakable.
“Alive, yeah,” Lucas said grimly. “But they might as well be dead. Ending it would be mercy.”
He stepped forward and sliced through one of the main extraction machines. Sparks flew, and the hum of the machinery began to fade.
As soon as the system shut down, the life support for the captives failed. One by one, the heart monitors flatlined. An alarm blared throughout the factory, shrill and deafening.
Frank didn’t hesitate. He swung his heavy backpack around and started planting explosives. “This place doesn’t deserve to exist,” he growled.
The rest of the team fanned out, destroying the remaining blood-processing systems.
When Frank finished setting the charges, he pulled out his phone and started taking photos. “I’m sending this to Fury,” he muttered. “He needs to see what these bastards have been doing. The truce is over. It’s time for war.”
As Skye blasted apart the last active console, the factory’s entire power grid went down. Sparks flashed, and the lights died completely.
> “Let’s go,” Frank said. “Once Frost finds out what happened, he’ll hunt us down himself. That’s when the real fight begins.”
He looked around at the devastation. He knew exactly what this facility meant—it was a critical part of the vampires’ supply chain. Without it, they’d be starving, forced to hunt live prey again.
And knowing Deacon Frost’s temper, he would scour the entire city to find whoever had done this.
BOOM!
Frank pressed the detonator. The Blood Factory went up in a massive explosion, flames roaring into the night sky—visible from miles away.
Cleanup wasn’t their concern anymore. Someone else would handle the aftermath.
As the firelight reflected in his eyes, Lucas exhaled slowly.
“It’s time to go on the offensive,” he murmured. “Those monsters don’t care about reason or mercy. If we don’t stop them now, they’ll come for everyone we care about.”
He already knew Frost’s next move—sending Quinn to the museum to steal the fragments of the Book of Erebus in order to become the Blood God.
Lucas had no intention of stopping him—not yet.
Once Frost began his ritual, he’d need to sacrifice all the vampire elders—most of whom were powerful industrialists and politicians hiding behind human faces.
It would be the perfect chance to wipe them all out in one strike.
Lucas’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile.
> “Let’s see how he likes being the prey.”
