Chapter 122 | The Anchor | Kael
In the image, Adrian stood behind the castle door.
Her small hand pressed against the door, knuckles white. The shadow of the thing outside seeped in through the crack under the door, like ink spreading.
"Dad?" she called out again.
The thing didn't answer. It just kept knocking. The rhythm was three knocks, pause, then three more knocks. Steady, patient, like some ancient ritual.
"That's not her father," I said.
The image had no sound, but blood-crystal mirrors work one way. I was on Side B, watching a scene from Side A—or more precisely, through Side B's anchor point, I was seeing Side A's live feed.
Adrian stepped back. In her round pupils wasn't fear, but something clear and cold—acceptance.
She turned and ran deeper into the castle.
The thing didn't break down the door. It kept knocking, one, two, three.
"What's it waiting for?" Leah asked.
"Waiting for the door to open by itself," I said. "Gatekeeper bloodline can't defend against family members. If that thing copies her father's presence, the door will—"
The image suddenly shook.
The castle door opened.
Adrian didn't open it. The door opened on its own. The lock clicked, like a sigh.
The thing walked in. Its three swirling heads slowly rotated, scanning the hall. It didn't go upstairs right away, but stopped in the middle of the living room, looking at something above the fireplace.
Above the fireplace hung a portrait.
The painting showed a man. Silver-black long hair, ice-blue vertical pupils, wearing de Noct family formal attire.
My father.
The thing reached out—an arm woven from black threads—and touched the portrait.
The portrait caught fire. The flames were dark red, no smoke, no heat, just consuming the canvas and frame.
Adrian's voice came from upstairs, amplified through some device and echoing through the castle:
"You're not my dad. Who are you?"
The thing's three heads all turned toward the stairs at once. One of the faces opened its mouth. The voice wasn't one person's, but thousands of voices layered together:
"I am the Gatekeeper. Your... brother. Or sister. Depends on how you count."
The image cut out.
The blood-crystal mirror shattered into pieces. Sharp fragments flew everywhere. I raised my arm to shield my face, but one piece still sliced across my cheekbone, leaving a bloody line.
"It found the castle," Leah said. "It's looking for the anchor. If it destroys the anchor—"
"The passage will drift," I said. "We can't get back. And Xiao Qi can't come over either."
I turned to look at the mummy on the stone bed. It had closed its eyes again, as if that earlier moment of waking was just a final flicker. But its hand still pointed toward where the mirror had been, joints frozen stiff.
"There's another fragment," I said. "The mummy said so. Somewhere closer."
"How close?"
I looked around the stone chamber. The walls were rock, the floor was stone slabs, no other exits. But air was moving—from somewhere, carrying a different smell than the warehouse.
Not mold. Rust. Fresh rust.
I walked to the back wall of the stone chamber. No door, but I knocked on it. The sound was hollow. Empty space behind it.
"Help me," I said.
Leah came over. We pressed our shoulders against the wall and pushed together.
The wall moved. Not collapsing all at once, but rotating open like a revolving door. Behind it was an even narrower tunnel, just barely tall enough to walk through hunched over.
"You go first," I said. "I'll cover the rear."
She bent down and squeezed in. I followed.
The tunnel was pitch black. No lights, no glowing moss. I felt along the wall to move forward. The walls were wet and sticky, like the inside of some creature's gut.
After about twenty meters, light appeared ahead.
Not natural light. Red, flashing—the same as the beacon on top of that glass tower.
I picked up my pace.
The tunnel ended at an iron gate. Beyond it was a massive underground space—like a subway platform, but wider and taller. There were tracks on the platform, no trains, just a few abandoned rusty handcarts scattered around.
Someone was standing in the middle of the platform.
Back to us. White coat. Dr. Chen.
He was holding a UV lamp, the tube lit, aimed at the darkness at the far end of the tracks.
"Doctor?" Leah whispered.
He turned around.
His glasses reflected the red light. His expression was the same as in the castle—blank. But besides the UV lamp, he was also holding a scalpel.
"You came," he said, his voice echoing through the empty platform. "I've been waiting."
"Waiting for what?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He stepped aside, clearing the view.
Something was moving in the darkness at the end of the tracks.
Not a Night Walker. Not a fragment. Something more primitive, more animal—
A bat.
But the size of a train car. Wings folded at its sides, fur dark red, the same color as its skin. Its eyes were closed, but its abdomen rose and fell steadily. Breathing slow and deep, like it was in a heavy sleep.
"This is Side B's native vampire," Dr. Chen said. "Not the degenerate Night Walkers. A species from the Progenitor era. Side A's vampires evolved from them."
He raised the UV lamp toward the giant bat.
"But they fear light. Fear UV. Fear everything from the surface. So they've been hiding down here for three thousand years."
Leah squeezed through the gap in the gate and stepped onto the platform. I followed.
The giant bat didn't wake. Its breathing pushed air through the space, making the hem of Dr. Chen's white coat flutter.
"Why are you showing us this?" I asked.
"Because the fragment attached to it," Dr. Chen said, scalpel pointing at the bat's abdomen. "Attached to its womb. It's gestating. When it wakes, the fragment will be born as a physical entity. A creature with both Side A's shadow energy and Side B's physical body."
Leah's expression shifted.
"How long has it been gestating?"
"Seventy-two hours," Dr. Chen said. "You have twelve hours to stop it. Option one—while it's still asleep, cut open the womb, remove the fragment, and destroy it. But the mother will die too."
"Option two?"
Dr. Chen looked toward the other side of the tracks. There was a row of metal cabinets there, labels on each one.
"Side B technology. Anesthetic. High dose. Can make it sleep forever. The fragment will never come out. But—"
He paused.
"—But the fragment will find a new host. The nearest human. Or," he looked at me, "you."
The platform went quiet. The giant bat's breathing sounded like a bellows, in, out, in, out.
I walked toward the metal cabinets. The labels were in human writing, I couldn't read them, but I recognized the symbol—a skull and crossbones.
Poison.
"Cut it open," I said.
"Kael—" Leah grabbed my arm.
"Cut it open, take out the fragment, destroy it," I said. "If the mother dies, so be it. It's not human. It's a beast."
"But it's already been gestating for seventy-two hours," Dr. Chen said. "If you cut open the womb, the fragment might have already finished merging. It could jump out and kill you on the spot."
"Then use the anesthetic," Leah said. "Make it sleep forever."
"Then the fragment takes someone else," I said. "Takes you, or me, or Adrian, or the millions of people outside. Pick one."
Leah went quiet.
The giant bat's breathing suddenly changed. From steady to rapid. Its abdomen started moving faster.
"It senses us." Dr. Chen stepped back. "Choose quickly."
I walked toward the giant bat.
No weapons. No backup. Just two hands, and the scalpel I grabbed from Dr. Chen.
"Cut it open," I said.
Leah came up beside me. Her gun aimed at the giant bat's head, though bullets probably couldn't pierce that thick hide.
"If it wakes up," she said, "I shoot."
"Aim for the eyes," I said.
I climbed onto the giant bat's body. Its fur was rough, like steel wire, cutting into my palms. Blood seeped out, dark red, dripping onto its fur.
Chapter 122 | The Scalpel | Kael
The blade cut through skin.
The moment the scalpel tip sank into the giant bat's flesh, its eyes snapped open.
Yellow vertical pupils. Not gold, but primitive, murky yellow. It let out a shriek—ultrasonic, my eardrums screamed with pain, blood running from my nose.
Leah fired.
The UV bullet hit its left eye. The eyeball burst, yellow fluid spraying out. But it didn't die, just got more violent. Its wings spread, the blast of air throwing me off its body.
I crashed onto the tracks, the scalpel flying from my hand.
The giant bat stood up. Its wingspan was wide enough to block half the platform. The wound on its abdomen was healing—not normal healing, but black threads stitching the skin closed.
The fragment was protecting its host.
"Kael!" Leah ran over, dragging me away from the tracks.
The giant bat lowered its head, its remaining eye fixed on us. Its mouth opened, showing four rows of teeth. Saliva dripped onto the ground, hissing and smoking where it landed.
"Anesthetic!" I shouted at Dr. Chen. "Give me the anesthetic!"
Dr. Chen pulled a syringe from the metal cabinet and tossed it over. I caught it, but the liquid inside was blue, and there was barely any of it.
"That's all?"
"High-dose anesthetic purified down to this much," Dr. Chen said. "Has to go straight into the heart. Or—"
"Or what?"
"Or inject it into the fragment's container. The womb."
The giant bat lunged.
I rolled to the side, one of its claws tearing off a piece of my wing. Pain like fire. But I didn't stop. I scrambled to my feet, gripping the syringe, and charged at the giant bat again.
Leah was drawing its attention. She fired, the UV bullet hitting the joint of its right wing. Scales burned black, and it turned to chase her.
I climbed onto its back from the side. The fur stabbed into my knees and elbows. Blood made it more frenzied—it thrashed violently, trying to shake me off.
I crawled toward its abdomen. The wound was half-healed, black threads weaving back and forth across the skin like stitches. I found a weak spot—just above the navel, where the threads were still tangled, not fully closed.
I drove the syringe in.
The needle pierced skin and fat, hitting something harder, more elastic—the uterine wall.
I pushed the plunger.
Blue liquid flowed in.
The giant bat's scream changed. From rage to agony. Its body started convulsing, wings slamming against the platform walls, sending rocks and dust raining down.
I held onto the syringe, refusing to be thrown off.
Once all the blue liquid was injected, the giant bat's movements slowed. Its legs buckled, body tilting forward, like a collapsing mountain.
It fell.
With a thunderous crash, the platform shook. Dust filled the air.
I slid off its body and hit the ground. The syringe was still in my hand, but empty now.
Leah ran over and helped me up. Her face was scratched, her clothes torn by claws.
"Is it dead?" she asked.
"No." Dr. Chen walked over and checked the giant bat's pupils. "The anesthetic worked. It'll metabolize slowly in deep sleep. Could take... years. Or decades."
"What about the fragment?" I asked.
Dr. Chen pressed a stethoscope—human medical equipment—against the giant bat's abdomen. He listened for a while, his expression shifting.
"Still moving," he said. "The anesthetic didn't kill the fragment. Just delayed its birth."
I looked at the giant bat's abdomen.
The black threads had stopped stitching the wound, but they hadn't disappeared. They writhed under the skin, like a nest of trapped snakes.
"It'll still come out," I said. "Just a matter of time."
"Then we're out of time," Leah said. "Before it emerges, we need to find the other fragments. Seal the Door, or change it, or—"
"Or find the No-Door spell," I said.
We turned to leave the platform.
But footsteps echoed from the direction of the gate.
Not Night Walkers. Humans. A lot of them.
Scavengers. Not just three this time. Dozens—twenty or thirty—all carrying UV lights and guns.
Leading them was a woman in military uniform. Short hair, square face, no expression.
"Mr. de Noct, Miss Vane," she said. "You're suspected of illegal entry, killing Scavenger members, and releasing high-risk Night Walkers. Surrender now."
Her gun was aimed at my head.
"Otherwise," she said, "we'll execute you on the spot."