Vampire Rule N°40: The real parasites don't have pointy teeth and sharp claws, they wear expensive suits and rub shoulders with stars and presidents…don't be one of those.
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John Harker looked at the eight feet tall musclebound brute charging at him as if he stole his wife, and saw his belief in vampiric supremacy vindicated once more.
To have the opportunity to just wait and think in the heat of combat, combining his already inhuman mental faculties and perception with the boon of celerity, the supernatural speed and agility of the blood, was on its own worth the hassles of his condition.
Why? Because it gave him time.
Time to stand around when even great fighters would have to stand ready and be careful lest they get crushed by an objectively lesser foe.
Time to contemplate how utterly ugly this potentially atlantean, officially metahuman man-thing truly was, with ashen skin and a literal shark fin masquerading as a mohawk, large yellowish eyes with a crazed look.
Time to consider their exchange, and make changes to his tactics in order to dismantle him in the most productive and efficient way possible, helping him resist the intimidation of a literal man-eating monster, or hesitate facing the strongest enemy he has fought so far.
The vampire didn't move even as the mass murdering villain was one step away from him, standing still as a statue right until King Shark leaned back in preparation of one gruesome bite, then he simply kicked the ground and sent himself flying up faster than his enemy could react.
It was amusing to watch that disgusting thing's jaw clamp at the air with a loud metallic sound, to see the confusion in his eyes while gravity did its work bringing John down from the sky right onto his back.
To hear him gasp as he literally elbow dropped right on his neck.
It didn't matter if the collusion caused dozens of microfractures in John's arm, those healed almost immediately, and after the things he subjected himself to, that amount of pain was almost pitiful.
It hurts, yes, but not as much as a high caliber round through the chest.
Certainly not enough to stop him from making his next move, dropping the masquerade and the pretense of humanity in his hands, revealing sharp claw-like nails he used to slash at the discombobulated brute vulnerable face.
Right through his eyes.
It was all in the span of a few seconds, John still carrying the momentum of his attack spun around one in the air for one last heel kick at the metahuman's sensitive nose, using it as a platform to jump away before his victim started thrashing.
"Aaaargh!" King Shark howled grasping at his face, a common reaction for one who forgot what it felt like to bleed, he then started flailing around like a drunk elephant.
Hitting the air, shaking around and moving aimlessly, which was in some ways more dangerous than when he attempted to battle normally.
It was precisely the reason why he stopped engaging as soon as he inflicted enough damage.
John might be confident in his speed and the strength of his attacks, not to mention his ability to stay in the fight regardless of the damage he sustained so long as he had some blood in reserve, but he simply did not have the build to start wrestling with a heavy monster twice as tall and many times wider than him.
It was simple physics, the reason why Superman despite being invulnerable could and did get thrown around by enemies weaker than him.
That, and he was eager to test out his new prey's blood.
It was only justice, since he sacrificed quite a bit to attract him here in his chosen battleground.
John could feel the foreign blood lingering in his claws, a small amount by all metrics, but more than what he'd get had he not coaxed it out with his burgeoning blood manipulation.
A nearly useless ability at this level as far as combat was concerned, but boy did it make unlife easier.
He made it flow from his claws into one condensed sphere of blood rolling on the palm of his hand without staining it, his sense of touch and smell combining to give him a good idea of the composition of his new snack.
It was rich despite being only the shallow blood, far from the heart and major arteries where the purest of vitality could be found, potent in a way that reminded him of what little animal blood he acquired as a curiosity, but unlike the blood of common beasts, he knew it would be empowering and highly nutritious.
John's ability was not the finger tentacles of a certain flamboyant vampire with a habit of stopping time, but it did make consumption a bit less disgusting when dealing with blood outside of his usual diet requirements.
He brought the sphere of blood, hardly larger than a marble, to his mouth and consumed it, truly experiencing the abnormalities that was Nanaue's vitae.
Abnormal was the word for it.
It was both human and beastly.
Powerful, but suffering from King Shark's own life and habits.
Above all it held far more potential than anything he consumed so far, even if the fishy taste wasn't nearly as delicious as Copperhead's blood after she finished training, or as delicate as Vicki Vale's when she produced a piece of real journalism and saw it published, the power within more than made up for its failings.
It was but a taste, but John could feel the higher quality making his own reserves deeper, he could feel his own essence tearing it apart and learning what made it tick, removing the unsuitable parts and incorporating the desirable ones.
John knew King Shark hardly ever trained, that all of his power came from engaging in endless battles against foes both weak and strong, a power he squandered away indulging in endless revelry and base sadistic pleasures.
This one taste told him much about the thing before him, for a person without goals, morals or interests beyond the misery of everything else around it could hardly be called a man.
Even the Joker had more substance, and the man was a wretch.
"You're one pathetic piece of a shit, aren't you?" He said to the panting and groaning brute that was only starting to calm down from its futile rampage, "But don't worry, I know quite a few ways to give your life meaning,"
King Shark did not hear him, or it didn't care, it was much too busy assessing the state of its own face, one eye blinded beyond all repair, and the other narrowly escaping total maiming.
On its face were four red gashes, which only now began slowly staining with blood, the bulk of it had been plundered and what came next was pressed and restrained by strong facial muscles and skin he knew for sure wouldn't be cut by the sword he borrowed from the warehouse, if it survived supernatural slashes so well.
But despite possibly having the ugliest mug John has ever seen, and he watched while the dominated Black Spider directed the clown where the action was so the Joker was included, John could see an emotion in it.
Something he saw plenty of times, starting from that first night in the dark alley, and nearly every other one since. Something he saw in the faces of unlucky mobsters and persistent drug dealers, tough guys looking to make a quick buck or pathetic wannabe rapists who forgot whose domain they trespassed.
Fear.
The realization that all control has been lost, or that it had never been there in the first place. That safety was an illusion, a veil they pulled over their own faces and stumbled around seeking their doom.
For some it came with introspection, making them learn new things about themselves, sometimes even reforming hardened criminals.
For others it made their mind turn blank, the spirit leaving the body to fend for itself without so much as a goodbye, hoping it would get to see the next day.
Nanaue might have been an aberration, but his reaction was as common as the others, for those like him reverted to animalistic reaction to danger.
The instinctive, primal realization of his own weakness, and the possibility of violent and painful death becoming very real, very quickly.
Some of those run away desperately, others try to take a pound of flesh, but all of them start with the same reckless fury as they struggle to accept reality.
It was a rather human reaction, despite it all.
"You–You! Made! Nanaue! Bleed!?" He roared yet another time, screaming with all his might, but this time there was not even a sliver of intimidation in his actions.
It was not the wrath of a man-eating abomination.
It was the death-wail of a predator turned prey, one that did not go with dignity as the beasts of the land would but rather chose to throw a tantrum.
Where John had to rely and abuse his speed to find comfort in their battle when they first clashed, this time avoiding King Shark's reckless charge felt utterly natural, and ripping apart his armor to pummel his exposed flesh was child's play.
The supposed metahuman however, was sinking ever deeper in his worst instinct, striking and biting at an enemy he cannot touch even as he got battered, roaring and shouting vague threats all the while.
Naune felt betrayed by the armor of his unbreakable skin, which this time was not circumvented or overcome through trickery and all the advantages of superior numbers and technology, but casually overpowered by another's bare hands.
He felt betrayed by the change in natural order, his place in it.
And above all, he felt existential fear, which grew more and more with each cut from the vampire's claws, each time the smaller fighter parried a strike instead of dodging completely, each time his foe grew more comfortable.
In less than a minute, he was left breathless, his armor crumpled and left on the ground with his bare torso littered with open wounds which hardly bled anything before the vampire devoured it.
It wasn't supposed to happen, prey was supposed to be weak, King Shark was supposed to be strong…he shouldn't be the one who got eaten, the game wasn't played like this, it wasn't fun anymore.
But it was happening.
The fatigue forced the fury to pass, and his wounds made denial impossible, leaving behind only clarity and the primal needs of a being without pride.
For Nanaue was a sadist which only fought weaker prey, a being who lacked any higher purpose, a bully–and was thus left without the character needed to persevere or fight in the face of defeat.
King Shark roared once more, but his one good eye could not lie, his low-cunning not availing him a greater plan than to rip out the decorated victorian fountain and throw it at John before turning tail and running away.
He ran as fast he could, as if he wasn't facing a fighter who relied on speed, as if he could somehow endure attacks from one who knew how to hurt him, how to break his flesh and make him bleed.
One who grew stronger with each bout, and did so faster than Nanaue could heal.
John had no difficulty evading the clumsy throw, nor did he struggle to muster his full strength and speed, and then consuming some more blood to go even further beyond, before charging at the fleeing quarry.
This time, he did not care for the damage he inflicted on the ground with each step when moving at superhuman speed, this was neither his domain nor would it truly hurt the undeserving.
He did not hold back in fear of permanently crippling or killing his target when subduing them was so easy for him, King Shark could take it, and he very much deserved it.
He did not hide the dark gift's marks on his body.
*Crash*
John did not stop, even as he sunk his claws deep into King Shark's neck, even as he used all his strength to rip the skin and flesh open.
"Ugh!" Nanaue gasped, struggling to move but found that strong and resilient he might be, but someone digging into his spine with his bare hands would make moving, crawling or even screaming just about impossible.
He could only lay down and take it, his blood being consumed so fast it barely spilled from the gaping hole in his neck, the spasming flesh trying to heal but being forcibly kept open as the vampire threatened to end his life.
John was taking his fledgling blood manipulation to its absolute limits, using it to devour King Shark's blood without sinking his fangs into that thing, but also solidifying a portion of it around a small foreign object stuck right there in the poor creature's open neck, carefully not to disturb it too much as he guided it outside in what had to be the world's most twisted surgical intervention.
He levitated the bug sized mass of congelated blood and the device within, before chucking it into the destroyed fountain, having saved the crippled, exsanguinated metahuman of the suicide squad.
Something even Batman failed to do.
Truly, Alucard was a hero like no other.
'And all it took was trying a dubious experimental procedure on Black Spider,' He smiled, consuming a bit more blood as King Shark groaned helplessly, 'some might consider it cruelty, but those people shouldn't learn about the Tuskegee Syphilis Study,'
John looked at the downed foe, evaluating his state.
He needed to drink a lot more before it would be safe to move him with the rate at which the metahuman was replenishing it, it was truly shocking.
"Hm, I think we might need to crush your spine just to be safe, what do you think?" He looked at Nanaue.
"Ugh–uh" King Shark's one good eye was staring at the air, his ashen skin even paler somehow.
"Your opinion is duly noted."
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