Sorry for not updating these last couple days, life got in the way, unfortunately.
All I can tell you is that North African weddings are exhausting, is it the same in your countries?
Anyway, the chapter is roughly 2500 words long to compensate, that more than our usual 2K standard. So Drop Your Stones!
Hope you'll enjoy!
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Vampire Rule N°12: The Best among the Vampires are those who are thanked and applauded by the very people they consume.
… … … … … …
John Harker leaned against the brick wall of a dilapidated building, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his leather jacket. He could hear the faint mumbles of business transactions, the quick exchange of cash for baggies, and the occasional nervous laughter that punctuated the night.
Every minute, someone got high, someone got scammed, someone got done.
This was an open-air drug market, one of many poisoning the blood that might otherwise sustain him, and tonight, he was on a mission.
John had a clear objective in mind. He needed to know how deep the rot went, how many corners these parasites had infected, and just how much muscle they could muster when threatened. If he was to cleanse Brideshead, he needed to understand the scale of the infestation first.
Bubbles had given him a solid idea, but it was still only from the dopefiend's point of view, the front of the operations so to speak.
It was all good if he wanted to raid some corner stash-houses; easy business, breaking a few bones and going him with a couple grands and some bags of dope he had no use for.
Standard stick-up activities, the kind of problems drug dealers expect, accept and endure easily as a cost of doing business. They might put out a bounty if they knew who did the hit, which was useless in his case since he didn't bother selling the drugs. The smarter ones started rotating the drugs and money more often while getting muscle in the houses.
That means that it was as effective in culling the drug trade as the GCPD's occasional operation.
It didn't mean shit.
If he wanted to actually do something about it, then he had to aim much higher.
Why though? Why go out of his way to damage the drug trade? Wouldn't it be better to let them operate freely then come back to mow the grass and make a few thousand bucks every once in a while?
The answer was fairly simple.
From the very moment John woke up in East End and decided to hang around, the prosperity and peace of mind of the drug dealers was doomed.
It was a natural conclusion.
A vampire feeds on blood and craves power.
Drug dealers hoard power and spoil the blood.
How could the two ever coexist?
One of them had to flee or be crushed, and John had no intention of cowering and seeking greener pastures because a bunch of fools on a drug-fuelled power trip were too much for him to handle.
'Not to mention of lucrative it would be to take over the assets of so many groups, without needed to worry about the costs of making business.' He thought, his mind already giving him ideas to launder and invest the money.
He moved silently, slipping from one vantage point to another. His senses, enhanced by his vampiric nature, picked up every whispered conversation, every furtive exchange of money for poison. The dealers operated with an arrogant confidence, as if they believed themselves untouchable.
And in a sense, they were right.
The police couldn't do anything, the bat was too focused on the big players and freaks to try and clean up the corners. Not to mention the fact that he never beat on children the way he battered the adults playing the same game.
Capes always made a point of avoiding the ugly reality of the streets, it was so much easier to break a grown man's bones after all.
Without an obvious predator, the dealers were free to grow as big and fat as they wished, only keeping an eye out for the crooked or incompetent cops or the rival gangs.
John couldn't help but smirk at their ignorance. They had no idea that they were being watched, studied by something far more dangerous than the police or rival gangs.
Each corner had its own crew, a motley assortment of lowlifes who thought themselves kings of the block. The vampire counted them, noting the way they interacted, the pecking order among them. The ground stashes were the easiest to spot—small amounts of drugs hidden in the most convenient of places, ready to be ditched at the first sign of trouble.
He didn't care much for them, stealing ground stashes was a capper, a drugfiend's game.
The corner stashes were better protected, but even there, John saw the holes in their defences. He had raided a good dozen in his short stay here, saw them go from a couple idiots playing guard to half a dozen fools with small guns and lots of bravado.
Raiding one was taking away a few days worth of money and drugs, a week at best, nothing they couldn't make up in a few days.
It was the main stashes that really interested him, though.
The places where the real money was kept, where the big players hung out, and where the drugs were cut and packaged. These were the fortresses, hidden behind the facades of legitimate businesses—a strip club here, a gentleman's bar there.
John knew that these places were more than just drug dens; they were the command centers, the heart of the operation.
He spent hours moving from one location to another, cataloguing every detail, every weakness. The more he saw, the more confident he became.
These dealers were complacent, lazy even. They had grown fat and slow, believing themselves safe in their little empire. But John knew better. He knew that in a city like Gotham, safety was an illusion, and empires could crumble overnight.
As the night wore on, the bloodsucker returned to the center of Brideshead, his mind racing with possibilities. He had seen enough to know that the local drug crews were vulnerable, ripe for the picking.
But he also knew that he couldn't rush this. He needed to be methodical, precise. A blitzkrieg was only effective if it was overwhelming, and for that, he needed more power.
The Vampire System has been a great tool, reliable, and gave him the opportunity to grow with each achievement, each bite in the neck of a worthy prey.
Maintaining a proper feeding habit, completing the Tasks and diligent exploitation of what he had availed him some solid growth.
[ Level: 4
- Name: Jonathan Harker.
- Age: 16
- Titles: Crackhouse Resident, Jailbait.
- Race: Vampire (Fledgling)
- Blood Points: 270/400
- Exp: 17/80]
Still, it wasn't enough.
His mind drifted to the hunger gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. It was always there, a constant reminder of what he was and what he needed to survive. The blood thirst. The power it promised. He would feed tonight, but not just on any blood. He had standards, after all. Virgins, healthy, competent women, and those who intrigued him—those were the ones he favoured. The blood of addicts, drunks, and sluts was tainted, polluted. He wouldn't lower himself to that level.
But first, he needed to finish his reconnaissance. There were still a few more places he wanted to check out before the night was over. He slipped into the shadows once more, his eyes scanning the streets for anything he might have missed.
Or a the presence of a nosy bat, something he has avoided so far.
The more he observed, the more certain he became that this was the right move. These gangs, these so-called soldiers, were nothing more than parasites feeding off the misery of the people.
That was something only he had the right to do.
John's lips curled into a cold smile as he thought about what was to come.
He had seen enough. Now, it was time to feed.
He needed more power if he was going to take on the drug dealers and their so-called soldiers. They had numbers, weapons, and territory. John had himself. But that was enough, or it would be, once he'd fed.
His first stop was Max's apartment. Max Black, the feisty waitress who'd caught his eye, was someone special. Max had stopped smoking, partly because he'd made her, but also because she wanted to please him, even if she wouldn't admit it.
She would also stop working and spend more time taking care of herself if he had it his way, but that would come later.
He slipped into her apartment like a shadow, silent and unseen.
If he did the same thing while being ugly, it would be a horror show, but pretty privilege was a thing and there was no doubt that many a girl out there fantasized about being his glorified sandwich.
Max was asleep, her dark hair splayed out on the pillow, her breathing soft and steady. Johnny moved closer, even without unleashing his presence he could still affect her, stirring something deep within her even in sleep. She shifted, a soft sigh escaping her lips as he leaned over her, his eyes locked on the pulse beating in her neck.
He could hear her heart beating, her warm blood flowing...he could even smell it.
John didn't rush. He took his time, savouring the moment. His hand brushed against her skin, and she stirred again, her eyes fluttering open. There was no fear in her gaze, only a sleepy confusion that quickly turned to something else as she recognized him.
"Johnny…" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
"Shh," he whispered, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. "Just relax, Max."
She did, her body going limp at his command. Even without presence, or supernatural domination, she obeyed blindly and earnestly.
The perfect blood doll.
John bent down, his lips brushing against her neck, just above the artery. The hunger flared inside him, but he held it back, controlling it with iron will.
When he bit down, it wasn't a savage act. It was gentle, almost tender, his fangs sliding into her skin. Max gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as the pleasure hit her. John fed slowly, drawing out the experience for both of them. Her blood was rich, vibrant, filling him with a warmth that spread through his entire body.
[Blood Points: 330/400]
[+3 Exp Points]
He could feel the power surging within him, his senses sharpening, his muscles tightening. But it wasn't just physical strength he gained. There was something more, something deeper. It was like drinking in her essence, her life force, and it made him stronger, more complete with every gulp.
When he finally pulled away, Max was breathless, her eyes half-closed, a blissful smile on her lips. John licked the last traces of blood from his lips, savoring the taste.
"You did good, Max," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Get some rest."
She mumbled something incoherent, already drifting back to sleep as he slipped out of the apartment, leaving her with only the memory of the pleasure and the rapidly fading marks on her neck.
His saliva could close the wounds his fangs caused and helped prevent an infection.
It was rather fortunate, or hunting would be much more complicated.
One feeding wasn't enough. John needed more, much more, if he was going to take on the drug dealers and cleanse Brideshead. He moved through the night, hunting with a purpose. He knew where to find his prey—his usual hunting spots, the places where he could find the kind of blood he needed.
He avoided the addicts, the drunks, the ones whose blood was tainted by their vices. John had no interest in feeding on filth.
Instead, he sought out those who were pure, or as close to pure as one could find in Gotham.
Virgins, healthy women, those who had something to offer beyond just their blood. They were harder to find, but that only made the hunt more satisfying.
His next target was a young woman he'd been watching for a while.
She worked at a small boutique in the Gotham Heights, a place untouched by the worst of the city's corruption.
She was pretty, in a quiet way, with a shy smile and a reserved demeanour. John had seen her around, noticed the way she carried herself, the way she interacted with others.
She was intelligent, cautious, the kind of woman who didn't take risks.
But tonight, she had taken a risk. She had stayed late at the boutique, working after hours, alone. John had been waiting for this opportunity, and now it was here.
He approached her as she was locking up, stepping out of the shadows with a disarming smile. She startled at first, but his presence, his aura, put her at ease.
They talked for a few minutes, the vampire charming her with practiced ease, he almost felt bad for her.
When he made his move, it was quick, almost too quick for her to notice. One moment they were talking, and the next, she was in his arms, her head tilted to the side as he sank his fangs into her neck. The shock of it made her tense, but the pleasure that followed melted her resistance away.
John fed deeply, his hunger driving him, but he was careful not to take too much. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to leave her weak or drained. He took just enough to sate the hunger, to feel the power surge through him, then he pulled away, leaving her dazed and disoriented.
"Thank you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead before disappearing into the night.
He continued like this, moving from one target to the next, each feeding bringing him closer to the power he needed. By the time he was done, the night was almost over, and John was filled with a power unlike anything he'd felt before.
[ Level: 4
- Name: Jonathan Harker.
- Age: 16
- Titles: Crackhouse Resident, Jailbait.
- Race: Vampire (Fledgling)
- Blood Points: 400/400
- Exp: 88/80 (Level Up?)]
With a single thought, he felt his insides turn and his veins burn as if someone had poured molten steel within them. Something unlike his previous level ups, something greater.
In a few seconds the pain left, leaving behind nothing but a feeling of increased physical power.
He had reached a new milestone in his life as a humanoid mosquito.
[ Level: 5
- Name: Jonathan Harker.
- Age: 16
- Titles: Crackhouse Resident, Jailbait.
- Race: Vampire (Fledgling)
- Blood Points: 400/800
- Exp: 0/200]
He was ready, ready to take on the dealers, to cleanse Brideshead, and to claim his territory.
The next phase of his plan was about to begin.
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Yo! It's Hamtaro!
Bubbles is in rehab, but John has been pretty busy, huh? He also finally reached that level 5 milestone, it's about time.
In case you were wondering, he got his first major physical boost (without bloodbuff) getting him from peak human with bullshit physics to slightly superhuman with bullshit physics.
He ain't no Spiderman, to be honest he ain't no Deathstroke either, but it's the start of a very twisted journey till he becomes some eldritch abomination.
His blood reserves doubled, and the Exp Required to level up also went up a lot.
Guess he'll need to eat someone a bit more important next if he wants to get strong.
Anyway, the whole Drugs Arc is about to end, so don't be stingy with your suggestions, advice and criticism!
Hope you'll have a nice day!
Yo! It's your buddy Hamtaro!
Apparently, some war crime folks are debating about the morality of gang r*pe, many of them arguing that r*ping a prisoner to death is self defence while others say it's a good policy to make people fear them...terrorism much?
I'm back with a chapter, I know it's been a while, but I was busy writing some chaps in reserve just in case. I am officially 5 chapters ahead!
Now you know the drill, since I didn't update in a couple days, this chapter is much bigger than our usual 2K words max, sitting at a cozy 2600 words.
Drop your stones, write a comment, make a review if you feel like it.
Drink some water, study well, sleep and eat plenty.
That's the Hamster Hermit Way!
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"Well, you can still be destroyed but... Forget the books and the movies. Garlic? It's worthless. A cross? Pfft! Shove it right up their ass! Hahahaha! A stake? Only if it catches you in the heart, and then it just paralyzes you. Runnin' water? Ah, that's no problem. I bathe... eh... occasionally. Now, a shotgun blast to the head? Oh, that's trouble, boy. Fire? That's real trouble. Sunlight? Well, you catch a sunrise and it's all over, kiddo. Get it?"
- Wisdom from a Jolly Blood Sucker.
… … … … … …
John knew the streets of Brideshead like the back of his hand. He'd spent weeks scoping out every corner, every alley, every damn crack in the pavement where the scum of the city hid their dirty business. He wasn't just some bloodsucker out for a midnight snack—he was a hunter, and these streets were his hunting grounds.
After feeding and levelling up, the thirst was sated, but the hunger for more power still gnawed at him. He was ready to tear through the filth that had taken root in his neighbourhood. The dealers, the thugs, the so-called soldiers—they thought they owned Brideshead, poisoned it's people, they maimed and slayed his cattle. Tonight, John was going to show them just how wrong they were.
It started with a tip-off—an exchange set to go down at a corner stash just past midnight. One of Hungry's guys, a lieutenant in charge of this particular crew was one of the more cautious types, the kind who didn't let his boys get too comfortable. He rotated locations, kept the deals short and quick, and always made sure to be on the move.
But no one could stay off John's radar for long.
He perched on a rooftop, hidden in the shadows, watching the street below like a hawk. The stash was hidden in plain sight, a viable alternative to the usual vacant house. A busted-up phone booth with a false bottom, a garbage can with a hollowed-out interior—it didn't matter. The real action was what happened around it, the comings and goings of the corner boys, the muscle lurking nearby, and the lieutenant who orchestrated it all.
Sure enough, he spotted the man in charge, a wiry fella with a slick, greasy look about him. He moved with the nervous energy of someone who knew he was in a dangerous business but wasn't quite sure how to get out. The guy had half a dozen men with him, each one armed, though they tried to keep it subtle. A couple of Glocks tucked into waistbands, a shotgun hidden under a ratty jacket….now that's troublesome.
Unless you were some Superman-kinda guy, a shotgun blast to the face will always be a bad experience.
Fortunately for him, the man on the other side of the barrel was big, green and squishy.
John couldn't help but smirk. They had no idea what was coming.
The exchange was quick. The lieutenant handed off a small duffel bag—probably stuffed with cash—while his guy passed over a package wrapped in brown paper. It was a smooth transaction, efficient even, but John didn't care about the deal itself. He was after the bigger fish.
'This kind of transfer is routine, give the corner boy's a new package and take your share of the profits back home,' The vampire thought, getting himself ready.
He put on his game face, he was dressed in all black with a hood large enough to cast a shadow over his face to protect his identity, though he knew that a bit of presence and showing off his burning red eyes would be enough to craft a separate image from the charming, playful John Harker.
As the crew started to disperse, the lieutenant gave a nod to his men, signalling them to take the stash back to their corner. It was then that John made his move.
He dropped down from the rooftop, landing silently in the alley. The lieutenant was already heading back to his car, a beat-up sedan that looked like it had seen better days. John slipped through the shadows, his footsteps soundless on the pavement, until he was right behind the man.
The lieutenant never saw him coming. John's hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the car with enough force to dent the door. The man's eyes bulged in shock, his hands scrabbling at John's grip, but it was like trying to move steel.
"Where do you think you're going?" John hissed, his voice low and cold.
The lieutenant gurgled something incomprehensible, his eyes wide with fear. John loosened his grip just enough to let him speak.
"W-what the hell… who the f*ck are you?" the man stammered, his voice shaky.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is you're going to take me to your boss." His red eyes shone even brighter under his hood.
The man's eyes darted around, looking for the crew, but they were too far away, already heading down the block. John could see the panic setting in, the realization that he was utterly alone with a predator he couldn't hope to fight off.
"You've got two choices," John continued, his voice as calm as ever. "Take me to your boss, or I start tearing apart your little operation piece by piece until there's nothing left but blood and dust."
The lieutenant hesitated, and for a moment, John thought he might try to fight back. But then the man's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he nodded weakly.
"All right, all right, I'll take you… just don't kill me, man."
John smiled—a cold, predatory grin that showed just a hint of fang. "Good choice. Now, drive."
The ride to the main stash was tense. The lieutenant kept glancing at John in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. John didn't say a word, just stared out the window, already planning his next move.
Of course, his nine-millimetre was pressed against the driver seat, business end pointed right at his new friend's spine, just in case his balls got bigger and overthrew his brain's rule.
"I'm out, I'll take my money and go back to Texas, game got too fierce nowadays…" He heard the relatively old man, at least in his profession, mumble under his breath.
"Yes, that would be a smart idea." He answered honestly, but his driver didn't think much of his advice.
Or maybe he did? John couldn't tell, the poor guy just flinched and kept driving in complete silence this time.
'That's pretty rude.' He thought, shaking his head in disapproval.
The main stash was exactly what he expected—a rundown strip club on the edge of Brideshead. The kind of place that looked as shady as all hell, seedy in more than one way, but still pulled in a decent crowd thanks to the cheap booze and cheaper thrills. It was the perfect front for a drug operation. The bouncers at the door gave the lieutenant a nod as they passed, not even bothering to search him or his "guest." It was a sign of just how secure they felt in their little kingdom.
But their arrogance would be their downfall.
Once inside, John could feel the tension in the air. The place was packed with muscle; dozens of guys, all armed to the teeth, lounging around as if they owned the world. The lieutenant led him through the club, past the bar, and into the back room where the real action was.
'Seven pistols, three assault rifles, four shotguns and a bunch of baseball bats, knives and knuckle dusters.' The vampire counted in less than a second, choosing the most fitting among the many plans of attack he had prepared.
Hungry was there too, surrounded by his best soldiers. He was a large man, built like a tank, with a bald head and a thick gold chain around his neck. The kind of guy who looked like he could break bones with his bare hands—and probably had on more than one occasion.
He favoured the melee judging by his scarred knuckles, though he still had a large revolver within arm's reach.
"Franky, who the hell is this?" The boss growled as John and the lieutenant entered.
"Uh, boss… this is the guy who's been causing trouble," the lieutenant stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. "He—"
Before he could finish, John moved. It was like a blur of motion—a speed that no human could match. He grabbed the nearest thug with a shotgun, twisting his arm behind his back with a sickening crack, then used him as a meat-shield as the others scrambled to draw their weapons.
The room exploded into chaos. The thugs fired off shots, but John was already on the move, darting between them with supernatural agility. He could feel the power coursing through him, the strength that came from his recent feeding, from levelling up. His fists were like hammers, breaking bones and crushing jaws with every strike.
"F*ck this, I'm getting outa here," His driver said, running away without looking back amidst the confusion.
"Bye Franky!" He called while neutralising the last of the shotgun-men with a brutal kick right on the liver, he grabbed the metal weapon and threw at a shooter who was a bit too accurate for his taste.
*Crunch*
"Argh!" His target whimpered on the floor after his skull had a nice meeting with the heavy gun.
The handgun fire that might have torn a normal man to shreds barely slowed him down, and he was much too fast for the riflemen to spray him without butchering their own friends and brothers.
The few wounds he sustained where healed almost instantly, and he still had more than enough blood in his reserves to unleash dreadful presence upon his helpless enemies.
He used the fear to his advantage, letting the terror spread through the room like wildfire. The men started to panic, shooting wildly, hitting more of their own than they did him.
The vampire was unwilling to personally kill anyone just yet, getting caught by this or that vigilante was still a risk, so he'd rather keep the 'I am Justice' card just in case.
However, it didn't mean he had to save them from themselves.
John focused on their boss, the big man who had once seemed so imposing. Now, he was just another target. Hungry swung at him, a meaty fist aimed at John's head, but John ducked under it with ease, then drove his elbow into the man's ribs with enough force to crack them.
However, he wasn't a boss for nothing, the enraged criminal all but shrugged it off, instead aiming his large revolver right at John's hooded head ready to take the shot.
A weapon of this caliber would take a pound of flesh, and he was a bit too close to evade all six shots without taking chances, so John burned some blood to activate his bloodbuff for the very first time in battle.
The explosive increase in speed was all it took to close the distance between them before he could even press the trigger, John punched him right in the stomach with so much force both he and the gun were sent flying on different directions.
In his Earth, the gangster would be a peak athlete with the strenght, speed and durability he displayed. But here, he was just a common brute.
Hungry staggered, gasping for breath, but John didn't give him a chance to recover. He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him off his feet as if he weighed nothing, then slammed him into the wall. The boss's eyes were wide with fear, the bravado gone in an instant.
"Please… please don't kill me," the boss wheezed, his voice trembling.
John leaned in close, his eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light. "I'm not here to kill you," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "Not yet. First, I'm going to take everything you've got. Then I'll let you live long enough to see your empire crumble."
He dropped the battered and bruised boss to the floor, leaving him gasping for air until a foot on his face sent him to land of dreams. The rest of the thugs were either unconscious, wounded, or too terrified to fight back.
John walked through the room, picking up the duffel bags filled with cash and drugs, grabbing a few guns for good measure, and stuffing them into his coat.
He scattered the rest of the drugs; crack, dope and coke around the home, making it unfit for consumption.
He checked for cameras, but even thugs had the sense not to record a criminal conspiracy.
As he left the strip club, he felt a grim satisfaction. The first step in his plan was complete. He had taken down one of the biggest players in Brideshead, and he'd done it without breaking a sweat, the sound of sirens coming to the worst neighbourhood in all of Gotham was the cherry on top.
But he wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
John returned to his apartment, the spoils of his raid hidden beneath his coat. His place still wasn't much to look at, a relatively clean crackhouse was a crackhouse nonetheless, but it served its purpose.
He didn't need luxury for the moment; he needed privacy, a place where he could lay low and plan his next move.
He stashed the cash and weapons in the bathroom, making sure everything was secure. The duffel bag felt heavier than before, not because of the money or the guns, but because of the significance of what he'd just done. He'd made a statement—a loud, violent statement—that Brideshead was no longer under the control of petty thugs and dealers. It was his territory now.
But John wasn't naive. He knew that taking down one gang wouldn't be enough. The others would see what had happened and either come after him, or go into hiding. Either way, he needed to act fast before they had a chance to regroup.
He wasn't too worried about being targeted, he was essentially a ghost for all intents and purposes.
He didn't sell dope, didn't flaunt wealth and didn't hang out with any crowd save for a dopefiend and people just ignored those folks.
John didn't get out in the day either, when most of spying and gossiping...I mean, 'intel-gathering', took place.
So he was safe from the wrath of those he robbed.
He stepped back out into the night, his mind already working on the next target. He needed to track down the remaining gangs, find their main stashes, and hit them where it hurt. It wouldn't be easy, each gang had its own network of hideouts, muscle, and connections, but John had something they didn't. He had the element of surprise, and he had the power that came from feeding, he was a vampire.
They never stood a chance.
......
Don't forget to drop yer stones me lads! I appreciate the support!
Criticism, suggestions and advice are always welcome! So don't be a stranger!
Writing action scenes is pretty new, any idea on how I might improve them? Readers or writers, I'll take anyone's advice if he's giving it away.