Vampire Rule N°41: Kindness is Dangerous, but Cruelty is Deadly. Fairness, however, is the virtue any leader should strive for, as it avails you love and fear in equal measures.
… … … … …
With two hours left before sunrise and the chaos within the madhouse finally subsiding, the vampire left the Island with the spoils of war, feeling rather satisfied with the way things turned out.
Doing so was an adventure of its own.
John initially planned on using his speed to blitz poison ivy and steal some of her blood before leaving, not even bothering to break her out or try to recruit her, her character and goals made it all much more complicated than Bubbles, Copperhead or any other potential asset.
But then his brain had to start getting in the way of his desires, telling him annoying, reasonable things like how he would have to kill her to avoid problems down the line, which was both wasteful given her unique abilities, and reckless with so much attention placed on the asylum at the moment.
Nobody gives a shit about King Shark…but Ivy? That's a masquerade breach waiting to happen.
He couldn't seduce her either, or win her over with creature comforts and promises of a better future, nor would offering functional immortality at the cost of a leash be well received by the mentally unstable eco terrorist.
No, dealing with Ivy in a manner that wouldn't require her elimination to tie up loose ends would be much more complicated, and require precautions and conditions he has yet to prepare.
Key word being yet.
It was such a pity though, he was curious about the flavour of her blood, would it taste like juice? What kind of secrets would it hold? What kind of power could he siphon from someone with a possible connection to the Green and such a splendid control over plants?
'One day…' He promised himself, 'I shall taste the vegan blood.'
But that was tomorrow's project for tomorrow's snacks, and today John's gluttony needed placating, and it needs it yesterday.
Perched above a gargoyle, the vampire's finely tuned senses allowed him observational capabilities superior to even the most cutting edge of technologies, bypassing the needs for line sights or thermal sensing which only went so far, all of it focused on finding worthy blood.
He could see the essence flowing in the veins of everyone, from the most wretched of lunatics with chemical cocktails flowing in their blood, feeding their lobotomized minds, to the fittest special forces police geared and protected from harm, and every single inmate or patient.
Veins and arteries coming together like bright crimson trees in the shape of men, burning with potential vitality and scents that told him stories about their lives and decisions, their powers and weaknesses.
And just like that, John made his selection.
Yet each possible target he identified came with their own issues, until he saw one of the brightest tactical minds in the country—or perhaps the whole planet, depending on the version, reduced to a hulking brute in roid rage, the doped up inmate threw a police car with someone still inside.
No, there was no way in hell he'd try his luck with Bane's blood.
So normally, John would only feel some amusement and intrigue about how he would fare against him, but then his nose caught a whiff of something that changed everything.
Someone whose blood had a rather unique aroma, a minty freshness that roused his appetite, with a quality and potency that was so far beyond human he felt giddy just thinking about giving it taste.
All of it flowing within a rather promising vessel.
A metahuman with cryokinetic powers.
A metahuman with an ability that was both highly compatible with John's vampiric nature, and with the capacity to deal with one of his major weaknesses, someone whose blood might grant him the same dominion over frost.
'Fire would no longer be such a major threat,' His pupils dilated as he considered all the advantages it would bring, his blood nearly boiling in excitement.
If he was more human, then the sheer appeal of such power would be enough to rise something, and it wasn't the shield hero.
It would also go right down when he rushed over as fast as he could, his heart sinking when he heard the explosion and felt the dreadful fires lighting all around the unfortunate woman wrecking havoc upon her body.
Leaving not an inch of her unhurt.
Seeing her struggle to stay alive, even then, with molten skin and seared muscles, utterly ruined.
'Her blood flows still, my loss is not complete,' He thought callously, and yet he remained standing.
He could've feasted on her while she still breathed, it would surely be a mercy at that point, plundering her essence in those final moments would merely be the price for ending her suffering.
His fangs would numb the pain, replace it with pleasure and one last thrill before the curtain call.
It might be the pragmatic thing to do, the smart thing to do.
But something in him found the mere thought so repulsive. It might be the remnants of humanity left in him, or the part that got used to playing saviour to the broken and disenfranchised, or even the one that admired human's grit and willingness to cling to life.
Something that didn't want to take advantage of a crippled woman, simply because it wasn't right.
So he asked her.
"Do you want to live?" He said those words, giving her the choice.
He watched the woman who looked like a living corpse, saw her entire being screaming, raging, desperately trying to say yes, holding onto hope however fleeting.
And so he raised his wrist to his fangs, pierced the stone-hard skin and slashed his own veins open before pressing them to her lips, guiding the vitae into her system, letting her absorb as much as she needed.
His senses gave him a clear picture of the true extent of the damages and how they were all but forced to heal, the ruptured organs being rebuilt stronger than ever, the lost blood replaced in a heartbeat, seared muscle and skin recovered and enhanced beyond human limits.
He let her drink her death and suffering away, enjoy the taste of eternity as his blood bound them together, until it was time to leave.
The woman—Killer Frost, leaned up to continue drinking even as allowed his wrist to heal, sucking and licking blood that was no longer there, despite her body being exhausted beyond all reason.
John's lips curled.
Truly, what a troublesome woman he ended up saving.
"Sleep," He ordered his new ghoul, his voice barely enhanced by dominate, and watched her collapse to get some much needed rest.
John ripped away the mangled clothing soaked in blood and fused with flesh so burned her body discarded it altogether while healing. He removed his coat and used it to cover her smaller frame, doing his best to protect her previously irrelevant modesty before picking her up.
Despite becoming a ghoul, most of his blood was used to heal her, leaving little in the way of actual physical enhancement. That part would be covered in subsequent drinkings, of course, but for now she remained much frailer than Copperhead or even Bubbles were.
So a princess carry was out of the question, not at the speeds they would be moving, he instead had to hold her comfortably with one hand while supporting her neck, a secure if slightly humiliating position for her.
Another reason to put her to sleep, nobody wants to remember being carried like an oversized infant.
Still, it sure beat ending up like Gwen Stacy.
Taking a moment to make sure his charge was safe, he crouched low and burst into motion, all the while controlling himself to gradually speed up and avoid shattering the pavement with each step.
He couldn't exactly abuse his undead physiology to just walk underwater completely undetected this time around, not while caring for a fragile package who wasn't part fish, and so he would have to rely on his speed and the cover of darkness to leave the Island through the main bridge.
The bridge which was observed and swarmed with cops, reckless reporters who might benefit from a stay in a mental institution themselves, and whatever government rats Amanda Waller left behind.
Troublesome indeed.
So John had to be creative.
He allowed himself to fall off the bridge the moment he saw an opening, twisting around mid air to grab onto steel cables, only to launch himself back up and lift a clawed hand to pierce the bridge's underside.
"What? You see something?" He heard a police officer ask through a cigarette, but making no move to investigate.
"Nah," Another answered, though he didn't sound so sure, "Must've been a bird or something,"
"Might be Batman, wanna check, Stansfield?" The first one said, laughter in his voice.
"Oh, fuck off."
If they were enemies, this would be the moment where he started taking them out one by one.
Alas, this was not to be.
Carefully, John jumped from grip to grip, hanging upside down right under the authorities who were none the wiser, a fairly good allegory for their supposed control over the city, but one he didn't feel like exploring at the moment.
In a matter of seconds, he had already crossed the highly secure chokepoint, and with a single enhanced leap sent himself and his still sleeping charge flying into the city proper, shifting his weight and kicking the air to kill the momentum before landing.
All that was left to do was hit the ground running and return to the nearest safehouse, after calling his people to give new orders and set a few plans into motion… and let everyone know that he was safe and sound.
John still wasn't sure why he ended up saving Killer Frost.
But now he could start making up reasons about her usefulness as a strategic asset, how they were in desperate need of capable enforcers, the advantages of a super who could act during the day, or just the perks of turning a 'dead' cape into his subordinate.
But that shit wasn't true.
The truth is, he would've granted her his boon with or without powers, the very same way he used it to heal his people when they needed it.
The same way he used the dark gift to force people out of their self-destructive choices and addictions.
The same way he looked at a dopefiend with personality and decided to turn him into his right hand man, into someone he could call a friend.
John wasn't sure what it said about him as a person, and in all honesty, he didn't really care.
Wasn't it the point of having power, after all? To have the freedom of doing what you want?
If he wants to kill, he'll kill.
If he wants to take, he'll take.
If he wants to save somebody's idiotic ass? Then he'll bloody save them.
As for his bouts of generosity…
'I'm blaming you, Bubbles.'
. . .
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