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Chapter 93: Mind If I Eat You Out?
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Adam raised an eyebrow, a perfectly measured gesture. "No. Even vampires have limits. Though limits are made to be broken, so maybe later. What gave it away, by the way? That I've already turned?"
Tony stared at him, deadpan. "Did getting bitten by Dracula make you dumber? It's obvious."
"First, you look like you just stepped off the cover of 'GQ: Nosferatu Edition.' Fuck you, by the way."
"Second, you look like you've never been in a fight, let alone a war with an undead legion. What, did your injuries have a collective amnesia? And third..."
Tony pointed a shaky finger at him, "You're eyeing my neck like it's a rare steak and you're a stray dog. Cut it out."
"Oh." Adam blinked, then slowly nodded, as if processing a complex equation.
"Makes sense. The thirst is… distracting. And your neck does look particularly fresh and… delicious."
He tilted his head, his grey-eyed gaze unnervingly fixed on Tony's carotid artery. "So… mind if I eat you out?"
Tony recoiled as if electrocuted. He shot to his feet, his chair screeching back, nearly tripping over it in his haste to put distance between them. "You.... you! Are you fucking with me?!"
Adam's expression remained utterly flat for three long heartbeats. Then it shattered into a wide, boyish grin. "Of course I'm messing around. Sit down. I'm not that desperate. Yet."
Tony slumped back into his chair, running a hand over his face. The relief was palpable, but the wariness was now a permanent resident in his eyes.
"Jesus, Cypher. Are you okay? Really okay? Are you like the others? Are you going to… hurt people?"
Adam hummed, giving the question genuine thought. "No. I'm a special case. Fewer weaknesses. But I do need to feed. The desire is… pronounced. Hahaha."
"Be serious," Tony snapped, his fear sharpening into a blade of pragmatism. "If the thirst is an issue, we fix it. I'm with Blade on this one. If you turn into a problem, we deal with the problem."
Adam's smile was placating, but it didn't reach his cold eyes. "Relax, Stark. I'm decently rich. I'll just buy blood. High-quality, ethically sourced, O-negative preferably. Set up a subscription service. It'll be a line item on the corporate expense account."
Only then did some of the tension leave Tony's shoulders. He sat back down, picking up his glass but not drinking.
He studied Adam, the genius inventor assessing a groundbreaking, terrifying new piece of technology.
"Can it be replicated?" He asked finally, his voice quiet. "What you did. Can anyone become… that?"
Adam shook his head, a firm, definitive motion. "I'm a special case. I was special before. That's the only reason I'm sitting here and not in a dungeon, chained to Mephisto's desk. Anyone else tries my cocktail… they become a slave. Or a puddle."
Tony understood. He didn't have the details, but the shape of it was clear. Adam's mutant power, that 'Envy' he'd mentioned, it must be because of it, right?
Unfortunately, he has none of that. Moreover, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be a vampire. He nodded slowly, accepting the boundary.
The conversation that followed shifted in tone. The black humor and surreal horror ebbed, replaced by a grim, serious practicality.
Tony, his worldview violently expanded, needed a guide to the new, dark geography of reality.
Adam, now a permanent resident of that geography, needed allies who could operate in the light.
They talked about what had happened. Not just the battle, but the implications.
The existence of a demon lord with a vested interest in Adam. The true, hidden history laced with things like Dracula.
The depth of the rabbit hole.
Then, they talked about the future. Collaboration. They talked about designing inventions for the greater good, to combat vampires, demons, and all in between.
Tony's genius isn't to be underestimated, and in the field of technology, he surpasses Adam; he just needs a target, and he can deliver.
Adam's unique insights and supernatural resources. Security. Research.
A mutual defense pact against things that went bump in a much darker night than either had previously imagined.
Tony Stark realized, with crystal clarity, that he could no longer afford to be a lone genius in a suit of armor.
The world was stranger and more dangerous than he'd dreamed.
And Adam Cypher, for all his madness, his horrifying mind, and his new, thirsting condition, had just proven himself to be a very valuable ally.
[Tony's paranoia is now a superpower. Adam's madness is his methodology.]
[They're building a anti-bogeyman tech startup.]
[I feel like this is all bullshit. They don't trust each other at all.]
[True true. I bet when Tony goes back, he will make an anti-Adam suit.]
[That sounds so likely that I won't be taking the bet.]
The black, sleek limousine, a loan from Tony Stark's fleet, glided through the midday New York traffic with the silent assurance of wealth.
The tinted windows turned the brilliant, chaotic energy of the city into a muted, moving diorama.
Inside, ensconced in buttery-soft leather, Adam Cypher sat with his legs crossed, a picture of serene contentment.
He was humming. A soft, tuneless little melody that spoke of deep, personal satisfaction.
The last week had been a symphony of extreme experiences; trickery, revelation, a hunt for a monster, the dismemberment of said monster, and his own meticulous, near-suicidal transfiguration.
And it had all concluded with spectacular, personal success. Today was, by any metric he valued, a very good day.
The whole week had been exquisite.
A bag of premium, kettle-cooked salt and vinegar chips rested on the seat beside him.
He reached in, retrieved one, and crunched down. The sharp, tangy burst of flavor filled his mouth. A purely sensory delight.
As a True Vampire, the carbohydrates, fats, and salts meant nothing to his biology.
They would pass through his system inert, a curiosity. But his taste buds, heightened and refined by the transformation, sang with pleasure.
Indeed, even though he became a Vampire, he hadn't lost his sense of taste. In fact, it was heightened.
The act of eating, of savoring, was a ritual of life he had no intention of abandoning.
Cooking and eating would remain a hobby, a pleasure of the palate if not the body.
He was happily munching on his third chip when he spoke, his voice conversational, aimed at the empty space to his right.
"So, do your kind back home love cooking and eating too? Or is the whole 'consumption' thing strictly metaphorical? Souls, despair, that sort of thing? Or…"
He paused for effect, "…Do you just eat each other out?"
[The scene seems familiar... Is it Mephisto again?]
[HE JUST ASKED THE DEVIL IF DEMONS EAT ASS.]
[The sheer, unadulterated CHUTZPAH.]
[Guys, Adam might be gay. Else, why the hell does he spit so much gayness?]
[Man I wish, but I'm afraid the vixens got him by the balls.]
[Dude, true. Fuck women. Why do they gotta take our Adam!?]
[Goddamn so much dickriding wtf???]
[Yeah, wtf? Adam is cool, but u guys be playing tricks on it.]
[Still confused? U a dumbo? It's obvious. Look around you. Look how the world works. Benefits and self-gain. The cocksuckers are riding him because there is something to gain.]
[Ohh, so they pensucking cause of the supernatural nature of the show? I see the vision!]
[The vision is false! It's a lie! Adam is the anti-Christ! This, all of this is to lead us astray!]
[...] [What's happening?] [Ya'll need some weed, take dat shit and nosedive into halluchinations and all will be weeell.]
The chauffeur did not flinch. His eyes remained fixed on the road, his hands at ten and two, as if he heard nothing but the purr of the engine and the distant city sounds.
The reality is that whether he heard it or not doesn't matter, as Adam was already practicing one of the uses of his vampirism, mesmerism.
As much as Adam despises hypnosis and mind control stuff, he also can not allow just anyone to listen to conversations he deems important.
The space Adam had addressed was no longer empty.
A middle-aged man in an impeccably tailored, funereal black suit now sat there.
It hadn't felt like he appeared; he simply was, as if he'd been part of the upholstery all along.
His hair was salt-and-pepper, his features sharp and intelligent, but his eyes held a timeless, patient malevolence that made the plush interior feel suddenly, desperately cold. It was Mephisto.
The Lord of Hell ignored Adam's characteristic opening gambit of absurdity. His voice was a dry, rustling parchment of sound. "How did you do it?"
Adam swallowed his chip. "Do what? The chips? It's all in the kettle-cooking. Creates a more robust structural integrity for flavor adhesion. It's good shit. Guess you wouldn't know since you guys only know to eat each other out. Not gonna lie, that takes bravery."
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