Vampire Progenitor System

New York City – Times Square, 4:21 AM

It started with a scream.

Then another.

Then chaos.

A man staggered from a subway entrance, bleeding from the throat, eyes wide in disbelief. Behind him—shadows. Moving wrong and moving fast. One stepped into the pale light of a flickering streetlamp.

Barefoot.

Shirtless.

Black hair dripping with red.

Eyes—black sclera, red irises.

Not breathing.

Just grinning.

A woman in a delivery van slammed the horn and screamed.

Too late.

The clone of Lucifer blinked forward—appearing mid-sprint—and smashed through the windshield with one hand. Her blood painted the seats before her scream could finish. The clone turned, ripped the van door off its hinges, and hurled it through the window of a corner store.

Another clone landed on the hood of a taxi. The driver scrambled out, and the clone dragged him back in.

Metal bent. Blood soaked the inside. The horn didn’t stop.

Then came the rest.

Dozens.

From alleyways, rooftops, and sewer vents—Malakov’s New York batch. Each one is identical. Each one is wrong. And each one is hungry.

One clone threw a man into a streetlight so hard it snapped in half.

Another walked through the lobby of a hotel, slicing through security with claws made of blood.

Civilians ran. Screamed.

Some were cut down mid-step.

Some were turned to red mist with a gesture.

By 4:30 AM, Times Square was a war zone.

Hunters arrived.

Poor bastards.

The first squad—five of them—landed on the roof of a bank. One raised a blessed crossbow, another chanted in Latin, trying to slow the onslaught with holy symbols.

One clone blinked behind them.

The first hunter was dead before the second turned.

The second was grabbed by the jaw and neck—torn in two.

Blood sprayed the tiles.

The third fired an incineration spell.

The clone walked through it.

Grinning.

The fourth tried to run.

Didn’t get far.

The fifth—he begged.

His spine was ripped out.

Their bodies were tossed off the roof.

Then more arrived.

Helicopters. Reinforcements. Sniper lines are set up across rooftops.

Didn’t matter.

The clones adapted. One raised his hand. A spear of blood shot through the air and impaled the chopper pilot through the glass. The copter spun. Slammed into a billboard. Fireball. Screams.

Sirens wailed.

But they weren’t police.

There were warning sirens from the Hunter HQ.

A threat greater than Class S had emerged.

And then—they came.

The family heads.

The real monsters.

They stepped into the crimson-lit square as a clone crushed a school bus under one hand. Children’s screams cut off instantly.

Blood stained the pavement.

Greta walked forward first, coat trailing behind her like wings made of smoke.

Beside her—Vulpina, tail flicking once.

Boris stepped heavily, the ground cracking under each slow stride.

Dera and Fowler stood further back, tense.

Clones swarmed every corner of the square now. They stood in the middle of burning cars, broken buildings, and piles of bodies.

A silence fell.

Then Greta spoke.

”We’re fighting another one of our children,” she said softly.

Vulpina’s eyes narrowed. ”That’s not Lucifer.”

Greta chuckled once. ”I know. But the irony... It’s still there.”

She turned to Dera, who kept her head down.

”Isn’t it, girl?”

Dera didn’t answer.

She was remembering Remu’s face. The way she’d ended her life.

Greta looked forward again.

”Enough talk. Let’s get rid of these things.”

She pointed to the nearest cluster of clones—six of them standing in the wreckage of a mall entrance.

”Fowler. Dera. Assist.”

Then she looked at Boris.

”When this is done... we wipe their memories. Every single human in this city. This proves they’re not ready for the truth.”

Boris cracked his neck, growling deep.

He shifted instantly.

Bones tore. Fur grew. His alpha form erupted in muscle and rage. His eyes burned gold.

And with a snarl—

They attacked.

Greta was first.

Her hands blurred, summoning chains of blood magic wrapped in void symbols. They lashed forward like serpents, binding three clones mid-movement. She clenched her fist.

One of the clones exploded.

The other two tore free—half their faces missing, but still fighting.

Vulpina vanished into smoke. Reappeared behind a clone and stabbed her fingers into its back. Her magic pulsed—a scream of shadow and time. The clone bent backward unnaturally, spine snapping.

She kicked its corpse into another.

Boris barreled through five clones at once, claws slashing wide arcs. One tried to dodge. Got its throat torn out mid-air. Another managed to stab Boris in the side. He roared, grabbed the arm, and ripped it off, beating the clone with it until it caved.

Dera didn’t hesitate.

She pulled two blessed pistols from her back and fired round after round into the nearest clone’s chest, walking forward with each shot.

One shot burned a hole straight through.

The clone healed instantly.

She gritted her teeth, tossed the guns, and drew her real weapon—a silvered glaive.

It shimmered with spirit flame.

She swung.

A head flew.

But even headless, the clone still moved.

Fowler stepped up beside her, light gathering in his palms. He clapped them together once.

Flash.

A wall of radiant force burst out, vaporizing three clones instantly. The rest scattered. Two charged him.

He caught one mid-lunge, snapped its neck, and used its body to slam the other into the ground.

But they kept coming.

Greta’s chains twisted and split, becoming spears that fired in all directions. She impaled one clone through the leg and kicked it in the face. It exploded in a wave of blood—but reformed mid-air.

Vulpina was holding her ground, flickering between shadows. Every time she was hit, she became smoke. But the clones learned.

One adjusted.

Faked a punch.

Then hit her mid-phase with a condensed blood bullet.

She screamed and hit the ground hard.

Boris roared and leapt over her, slamming down on the clone that hit her, his claw burying into its skull.

Fowler shouted. ”They’re too strong—these aren’t copies, they’re almost him!”

Dera panted, covered in blood. ”They fall short—but not by much.”

A clone tackled her, pinning her down.

Its hand reached for her heart.

Then Greta’s chain wrapped around its neck and yanked it back with a snap.

She stood above Dera, eyes hard.

”You’ll kill who you have to. Even if it looks like someone you loved. Don’t forget that.”

Dera looked away.

More clones came.

Fifteen. Then twenty.

All around them.

Boris was panting now. His fur was singed. Blood poured from a gash in his side. He’d killed a dozen.

They kept coming.

Vulpina was limping.

Fowler’s light was dimming.

Even Greta was slowing—her magic cracked the air, but her aura was thinning.

Then—

A new clone stepped forward.

This one wore a jacket.

Half-zipped.

His walk... was Lucifer’s.

He didn’t attack.

He raised a hand.

And they all stopped.

Every clone.

Frozen.

Like waiting for permission.

Then the clone pointed—at Greta.

The swarm surged.

Like a wave of death.

The family heads braced.

Impact.

The ground was lost beneath bodies and claws. Screams, blood, fire. Explosions. Magic. Roars.

Fowler hit the ground, a claw buried in his shoulder. He fired one last radiant blast, sending four clones flying.

Boris was dragged under five of them.

They tore at him, one biting into his throat before he ripped it apart.

Vulpina stabbed a clone through the eye, turned to mist—only for another to grab her mid-phase, a trick she didn’t expect.

She screamed.

Dera and Greta stood back-to-back.

Greta’s hands bled. Too many spells.

Too many wounds.

She snarled.

”You know what to do,” she said.

Dera hesitated.

Then nodded.

She raised her hand and ignited her glaive with full soulfire.

Greta whispered a curse under her breath.

Then—

Boom.

A burst of blood-red light knocked back the front wave of clones.

Greta stepped forward, her body cracking with every motion.

She looked up at the one in the jacket.

”Not bad,” she said hoarsely. ”But you’re just wearing his skin.”

The clone tilted its head.

Almost curious.

Then another wave came.

More screams.

More bodies.

And above, the sky cracked with red lightning.

The night was far from over.

Elsewhere

”We should go look for the other clone, the one we saw, he seems different and maybe he will help us defeat the other clones, cause with what we are seeing right now, only Lucifer can stop Lucifer,” Mob said as he looked at all of them.

”Where are we going to start from, New York is a large place, and last time I checked, he was around the Origin HQ possibly drawn to Lucifer and Lucifer is in Russia so what is stopping him from following Lucifer.” Angel said as she stood beside Ken.

”That’s unlikely to happen, he is not that smart yet to do that, he might be around New York so which means we have to spread out and find him,” Ella said as she looked at Ken and Angel, the two werewolves in the group as they nodded and ran shifting in the process.

”I will use my divination ability to look for him,” Mob said as he unfurled his wings and flew into the sky.

”You and I are going to Russia,” Francisca said looking at Ella.