Chapter 16: The Blood Doll Network
Lucius
The servant quarters smelled of desperation and cheap perfume.
I'd been cultivating the blood doll network for three days now, using Charisma Lv.1 to build rapport with humans who spent their lives feeding immortal appetites. They were easier to manipulate than vampires—lonely, addicted, desperate for any kindness in a world that treated them as disposable resources.
Marta was the first to break.
She was thirty-two, Hungarian, with the faded beauty of someone who'd once had options. Track marks on her arms told the story before her words did—the vampire bite had replaced heroin, but the addiction remained the same. She served blood wine in the Grand Salon, cleaned chambers for nobles who didn't acknowledge her existence, and dreamed of the next time fangs would pierce her neck.
I found her crying in the servants' kitchen at 3 AM.
"They don't even see us," she whispered, accepting the handkerchief I offered. "Centuries old, but they look right through us like we're furniture."
"Some of us see." I kept my voice gentle, projecting concern through Charisma Lv.1. "Some of us remember what it was like to be human."
It wasn't entirely a lie. I did remember. The memories just didn't matter as much as they used to.
Marta looked up, eyes searching my face for deception. She'd been used before—all blood dolls had—but something in my expression passed her scrutiny.
"You're the Butcher. The one who killed the Alpha."
"I'm just a Death Dealer who doesn't enjoy cruelty."
The irony of that statement, given what I was planning, didn't escape me. But Marta didn't need to know about the calculation behind my sympathy.
Over the next three nights, I became her confidant. I listened to her stories, her complaints, her observations about the coven's inner workings. In return, I offered protection—empty promises that cost nothing and earned everything.
"Kraven's been strange lately," she said on the second night, while we shared blood wine in an unused storage room. "Secretive. He has human agents tracking someone in the city. A man. I heard Erika mention the name—Michael Corvin."
[ INTEL ACQUIRED: MICHAEL CORVIN - TARGET CONFIRMED ]
I kept my expression neutral. "Michael Corvin? Who is he?"
"I don't know. But Kraven has files. In his office." She bit her lip, the gesture unconsciously seductive. "I could... I could show you. If you wanted."
The invitation was clear. Marta was offering more than information—she was offering herself, hoping that a Death Dealer's protection might mean something in a world where blood dolls were expendable.
I accepted.
The guilt came later, when she slept in my arms and I slipped from her bed to search Kraven's office. The files were exactly where she'd described—a locked drawer that vampire strength opened easily. Inside: documents on Corvinus descendants, genetic profiles, addresses.
Michael Corvin. 1847 Andrássy Avenue. Trauma surgeon at Saint Margit Hospital.
"Another surgeon. Perfect."
I memorized the address, returned the files, and went back to Marta's bed. She murmured something in her sleep—a name that wasn't mine—and I stared at the ceiling until dawn.
[ CURRENT BP: 643/1000 ]
[ EVOLUTION SICKNESS COOLDOWN: 58 HOURS REMAINING ]
The feeding began the next night.
Evolution Sickness prevented me from spending BP, but nothing stopped me from acquiring more. The blood doll network was extensive—hundreds of humans serving the coven, each carrying memories and blood worth extracting.
The first was a young man who cleaned weapons in the armory. He'd overheard Death Dealers discussing Selene's investigation of the subway system—she suspected Lycan activity near Déli Terminal. His blood tasted of fear and nicotine.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 12 ]
[ MEMORY SIPHON LV.2: TARGETING "SELENE INVESTIGATION" ]
[ FRAGMENT: Selene requested permission to scout Déli Terminal. Kraven denied. She's going anyway. ]
The second was an older woman who served Viktor's sleeping chamber. Her memories contained fragments of awakening rituals—ceremonial blood, specific prayers, the eighteen-day countdown until Viktor rose.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 9 ]
The third and fourth were twins who'd been turned together, shared by a noble vampire who'd grown bored of them. Their blood carried gossip about Kraven's secret meetings—whispered names, hidden locations, the unmistakable stench of conspiracy.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 8 ]
[ BP ACQUIRED: 11 ]
The fifth was different.
She was young—twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. Dark hair. Pale skin. The kind of fragile beauty that predators found irresistible. She reminded me of someone, and for a moment I couldn't place the memory.
Then it clicked. Not a memory from this life. From before. A sister I'd never see again, in a world I'd never return to.
I drained her anyway.
[ BP ACQUIRED: 15 ]
[ CURRENT BP: 698/1000 ]
The hunger was stronger than sentiment. The calculation was colder than guilt. But afterward, sitting in the servant quarters with her cooling body, something cracked.
"Thirty-six hour shift was easier than this."
The running gag felt hollow. I'd used it a dozen times since waking in that alley, a callback to a life that no longer existed. But the woman at my feet had just stopped existing too, and my joke wasn't going to bring her back.
[ HUMANITY SCORE: 43/100 ]
[ NOTE: CONTINUED PREDATORY BEHAVIOR ACCELERATES MORAL DEGRADATION ]
I buried her properly. Found a shovel in the servants' supply closet, dug a shallow grave in the mansion's garden, marked it with a stone that would be removed by morning. Meaningless gesture. The cleaners would find the disturbed earth, assume an animal, move on.
But the act of digging—the physical labor, the dirt under my fingernails, the cold November wind—felt necessary. Human. A reminder that I'd been something else once, before the System and the blood and the endless hunger.
Selene's voice echoed in my memory: "Purpose you chose, or purpose given?"
I didn't have an answer. I wasn't sure I wanted one.
[ CURRENT BP: 710/1000 ]
[ EVOLUTION SICKNESS COOLDOWN: 12 HOURS REMAINING ]
Back in my chamber, I washed blood from my hands and met my own eyes in the bathroom mirror. They'd changed—vampire blue with occasional gold flickers, the Lycan gene integration expressing itself in subtle ways. The face was familiar but alien. The expression was something I didn't recognize at all.
"What are you becoming?"
The question had no answer. Or rather, the answer was obvious: I was becoming exactly what I needed to be. A predator. A monster. A weapon capable of surviving in a world where mercy was weakness and sentiment was suicide.
The blood dolls would be missed eventually. Kraven would notice servants vanishing, order investigations, possibly connect the disappearances to me. But by then, Michael Corvin would be transformed, and I'd be powerful enough that suspicion wouldn't matter.
Eleven hours until Evolution Sickness ended. Then I could spend BP again. Until then: plan. Prepare. Position.
Tomorrow, surveillance on Michael Corvin began.
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