Chapter 2: The Shadow Market
Lucius
The sewers stank of centuries.
I crouched in a maintenance alcove, back pressed against damp concrete, watching the rats navigate pipes that hadn't seen proper maintenance since the Soviet era. Forty-seven hours remained on my hunger timer. The system interface had helpfully provided a countdown in the corner of my vision, ticking away seconds like a bomb.
[ HUNGER STATUS: STABLE ]
[ TIME UNTIL FEEDING REQUIRED: 47:22:08 ]
[ CURRENT BP: 2/100 ]
Two points. Barely enough to register. The system tutorial had explained the basics during my sleepless day—BP thresholds, gene trees, ability upgrades—but all of it required more points than killing random homeless people would provide.
I needed better targets. Higher yields.
Blood Appraisal had shown me something interesting during my exploration. The rats glowed faintly in my enhanced vision, each one tagged with a floating designation: [ 0.5 BP ]. Dogs I'd spotted through grates: [ 1 BP ]. The humans walking above, heartbeats muffled by concrete: [ 2-5 BP ] depending on health and age.
But there was another cluster. Deep beneath the city. Multiple signatures registering [ 30-80 BP ] in a tight formation.
Vampires. Had to be.
Night had fallen three hours ago. Time to investigate.
The tunnel system beneath Budapest was a maze of old construction and older secrets. I followed the BP signatures east, ducking through passages that hadn't seen official use in decades. Graffiti gave way to carved stone. Modern concrete yielded to medieval brick. The deeper I went, the older everything became.
The scent changed too. Less sewage, more... something else. Ozone. Old blood. Candle wax.
I emerged into a catacomb.
Candlelight flickered across vaulted ceilings. Figures moved between stone pillars, their silhouettes sharp against the amber glow. I counted twelve immediately, more in the shadows. All of them registering between [ 30 BP ] and [ 80 BP ] on my Blood Appraisal.
And at the far end, a makeshift market.
Tables displayed weapons I recognized from the films—silver-loaded magazines, UV ammunition, blades with edges that gleamed too bright to be normal steel. Humans stood in clusters, their wrists bearing bite scars, their eyes glassy with something that looked disturbingly like worship.
A black market. Vampire black market. Operating beneath one of Budapest's most famous landmarks.
"First things first," I muttered under my breath. "Don't die."
I stepped into the candlelight.
Heads turned. Eyes flashed—not metaphorically, actually flashed, catching the light like cats in headlights. Every vampire in the room assessed me in seconds. I could feel their gazes cataloging my blood-stained coat, my pale skin, my obvious inexperience.
[ BLOOD APPRAISAL: MULTIPLE TARGETS ]
[ WARNING: POWER DIFFERENTIAL SIGNIFICANT. CAUTION ADVISED. ]
The nearest vendor—thick-necked, bald, a scar running from temple to jaw—smiled without warmth.
"Fresh meat."
His Hungarian accent was thick. The words weren't a greeting. They were an observation. Maybe a threat.
I approached his table, keeping my movements slow. Medical supplies lined the surface—blood bags, syringes, vials of something that smelled like copper and chemicals.
"How much for the bags?"
The vendor—Gregor, according to the nameplate scratched into his table's edge—laughed. The sound drew attention from nearby stalls. Other vampires drifted closer, scenting entertainment.
"Money? You try to pay with money?"
I pulled János's wallet from my coat. Forty-seven euros. The photograph of his daughters stared up at me briefly before I covered it with my thumb.
"It's what I have."
"Human currency." Gregor's lip curled. "Worthless. We trade in BP here, fledgling. Services. Favors. Blood." His eyes dropped to my throat, to the bite marks still healing from my own turning. "Though with that weak signature, you couldn't pay for a rat's corpse."
"Right. Alternative economy. Should have figured."
I pocketed the wallet. The vampires around us pressed closer, forming a loose circle. Predators sensing weakness. My Blood Appraisal tagged the nearest at [ 45 BP ]—more than twenty times my current power level.
"Then what services do you need?"
Gregor's smile widened. "Bold for a fledgling. Most come crawling, begging. You stand there like you have options."
"Everyone has options."
"Not fledglings." He leaned forward, bracing thick arms on his table. "Fledglings die in the first month. Ninety percent. Can't handle the hunger, can't handle the hierarchy, can't handle what they've become. The smart ones find protection. The stupid ones—"
"End up as examples?"
Someone behind me chuckled. I didn't turn around.
"Examples." Gregor nodded. "Or entertainment. Same thing, really."
A hand landed on my shoulder. Heavy. Gripped tight enough to grind bone.
"Problem here, Gregor?"
I turned my head slowly. The vampire behind me stood a full head taller, wrapped in black leather that screamed Death Dealer from every tactical seam. His Blood Appraisal reading pulsed: [ 52 BP ].
Gregor's expression shifted. Less amused. More cautious.
"No problem. Just a fledgling with delusions."
"Fledglings don't wander into the market alone." The Death Dealer's grip tightened. "Who's your sire?"
"Dead."
The word came out flat. Clinical. The surgeon delivering a diagnosis.
"Dead how?"
"Lycan. Tore his throat out. I woke up next to ash."
Silence rippled through the market. The Death Dealer's grip loosened slightly—not in sympathy, but in recognition.
"When?"
"Last night."
"Where?"
"District Seven. Near Kazinczy Street."
The Death Dealer released me entirely. His eyes—pale blue, ancient cold—studied my face with new intensity.
"We found a kill site there this morning. Two Lycans, one vampire. Thought the whole den was lost." He paused. "You survived?"
"Apparently."
"Unnamed. Untrained. Less than a day turned." The Death Dealer circled me slowly. "And you're already hunting the market. Either you're very stupid or very interesting."
"The two aren't mutually exclusive."
Another chuckle, this time from the Death Dealer himself. The tension in the room shifted—not gone, but redirected. Less likely to result in immediate violence.
"Name?"
I hesitated. My original name didn't exist in this world. My sire's name had turned to ash with his body. But I needed something.
"Lucius."
The name surfaced from somewhere—maybe the dead vampire's fragmentary memories, maybe something older. It felt right. Roman. Predatory.
"Lucius." The Death Dealer tested the word. "I am Soren. I train the fledglings who survive their first week. Prove you're worth training, and you might live to see your first year."
"And if I don't prove it?"
Soren's smile showed fangs. "Then you become entertainment."
He turned and melted into the shadows between pillars. The circle of vampires dispersed, finding other amusements. Gregor watched me with narrowed eyes.
"You have balls, fledgling. Stupid balls, but balls."
"The service you mentioned. What is it?"
Gregor studied me for a long moment. Then he jerked his chin toward a curtained alcove at the market's edge.
"Blood dolls. Humans who crave the bite. They pay us for the privilege of being fed upon—or more accurately, their addiction pays us. Ten euros per feeding, maximum four BP extracted per doll per night. Anything more damages the product."
I glanced at the curtain. Heard heartbeats behind it—slow, dreamy, lost in euphoria.
"They're addicts."
"They're willing." Gregor shrugged. "More willing than the alternatives. Feed there, build your points, and maybe in a decade you'll have enough to buy a blade worth carrying."
A decade. To build points feeding four at a time on willing addicts. The math was terrible.
But the hunger was already whispering. Forty-seven hours was a long time. And I'd burned BP on that first kill, vomiting most of what I'd consumed.
I pushed through the curtain.
The alcove held five humans. Three women, two men. All young. All bearing bite scars on wrists, necks, inner thighs. Their eyes tracked my entrance with lazy anticipation.
"New customer?"
The speaker was a woman in her mid-twenties. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, track marks on her arms that predated the bite scars. Eszter, according to the name scratched into the wooden bed frame behind her.
"First time," I admitted.
She smiled. Empty. Hungry in a different way than vampires.
"Sit. I'll show you."
I sat on the edge of the bed. Eszter crawled toward me, tilting her head to expose the column of her throat. The pulse there was slow, steady. Calmer than János's had been. She wanted this.
"Just... bite?"
"Don't drain. Don't tear. Just drink." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And make it last. Please."
The please hit harder than anything else. She wasn't just addicted. She was desperate. Living for the next bite, the next rush of vampire venom, the next few minutes of chemically-induced bliss.
I leaned forward. Teeth found flesh. Blood flowed.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 4 ]
[ MEMORY SIPHON LV.1 ACTIVATED ]
[ RANDOM MEMORY FRAGMENTS ACQUIRED: 2 ]
[ FRAGMENT 1: First bite—six months ago, alley behind a nightclub, euphoria unlike anything drugs had provided ]
[ FRAGMENT 2: Gregor—"You belong to us now. Work and feed, or starve on the streets." ]
I pulled back. Eszter moaned, reaching for me, trying to prolong the contact. But I'd seen enough.
Gregor wasn't just running a blood doll operation. He was running a slavery ring. Addicting humans, trapping them with the craving, selling access to vampires who didn't want to hunt.
"More," Eszter breathed. "Please, more."
"Not tonight."
I left ten euros on the bed frame. Eszter's eyes followed the money with the same desperate intensity she'd shown my fangs.
The market swallowed me back into its chaos. Gregor watched from his stall, counting the euros, marking something in a ledger.
[ CURRENT BP: 6/100 ]
[ QUEST UPDATED: INFILTRATE COVEN SOCIETY ]
[ OPTIONAL OBJECTIVE: GATHER INTELLIGENCE ON LOCAL POWER STRUCTURES ]
[ OPTIONAL OBJECTIVE: IDENTIFY POTENTIAL TARGETS FOR BP ACQUISITION ]
The system wasn't wrong. I'd learned more in the last hour than I had since waking in that alley. Vampire society operated on blood points and service debt. Death Dealers enforced order. Black markets provided feeding alternatives for those too weak to hunt. And underneath it all, humans like Eszter paid the price.
Dawn approached—I could feel it, some new instinct marking the sun's location even underground. I needed shelter. A plan. Time to process everything I'd seen.
But one thing was certain: I wasn't going to survive feeding on addicts four BP at a time.
I needed bigger prey.
MORE POWER STONES And REVIEWS== MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ In The Witcher With Avatar Powers,In The Vikings With Deja Vu System,Stranger Things Demogorgon Tamer ...].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!