Blade opened his eyes once again.

No matter how many times he came here or how familiar he was with the environment, as a half-human, half-vampire, he remained perpetually on guard.

His hawk-like eyes scanned the dilapidated surroundings, brewing with menace. Occasionally, under the dim light, a flash of red betrayed his hybrid nature—a visible hallmark of his vampiric side.

Above him, the large, bold letters "Weyland Private Research Institute" hung on the decrepit building in front of him.

The name itself screamed abnormality.

What kind of lunatic, Blade wondered, would establish a temporary base in a condemned building slated for demolition in New York City and give it such a name, as if it were a hub for cutting-edge science?

His ears twitched suddenly.

Swish!

Instinctively, Blade reached for the two katanas strapped to his back—custom-made weapons infused with silver.

"I'd suggest putting those down. This is my territory, and there aren't any vampires here for you to kill."

The voice was steady, devoid of emotion, and soon after, a young man with black hair emerged.

The man's clean, youthful face suggested he was barely in his twenties. At first glance, he looked harmless, like an innocent rabbit.

That impression, however, faded quickly when Blade noticed the peculiar creature beside him.

"If you get that… pet of yours to step back a few meters, maybe I'll believe you," Blade said after a moment's hesitation, releasing his grip on the swords.

Still, his eyes, hidden beneath his sunglasses, stayed locked on the strange "pet," watching its every move.

The creature stood around three meters tall, its sleek black body resembling a fusion of countless human vertebrae. Its elongated tail, exuding latent power, swayed slightly. The blade-like tip of the tail gleamed menacingly, capable of piercing through anything. Sharp claws dragged across the ground, leaving deep scratches that made Blade's eyelids twitch.

But the most striking feature was its head—a bizarre, crown-like structure that seemed to carry some extraordinary symbolism. 

Blade had never seen anything like it. Why did it even have such a long head? The creature's entire form seemed designed for combat, like the fevered dream of a sci-fi screenwriter.

Using his enhanced vision, Blade noticed something new: the creature's body was now coated with an unfamiliar viscous substance that hadn't been there during their previous encounters.

The young man, apparently satisfied with Blade's response, nodded slightly. His gaze lingered on Blade with an odd glimmer, his eyes roving over Blade's chiseled chest, long legs, and muscular arms.

'What a masterpiece.'

Blade frowned, a flash of instinctive caution crossing his face.

'Here we go again.'

That look—the way the man's eyes lingered—made Blade feel like he wasn't being regarded as a person. He had every reason to believe this guy harbored… peculiar tastes.

Sensing the tension radiating from Blade, the strange creature beside the man moved. Its tail whipped forward at lightning speed.

Too fast!

Blade's expression shifted slightly. He swung his katana instinctively.

Clang!

The impact made his hand tingle with numbness as he deflected the tail. A cold realization struck him—despite not using his full strength, his blade hadn't been able to sever the tail, which was as hard as steel.

When Blade looked again, the creature had vanished from the man's side. Without a sound, it had climbed to the ceiling, its razor-sharp claws glinting ominously, poised to rip Blade's skull apart.

"My apologies. Force of habit," the man said quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "You know how it is. Being a researcher and running this place alone is no easy feat. Sometimes, I get too engrossed in my work."

"What's its name?" Blade asked calmly, though inwardly unsettled by the ghostly creature now back at the man's side, its movements reminiscent of a deadly assassin.

"Xenomorph," the man replied.

"Interesting name. So, it's your institute's most impressive creation—a war machine."

Blade, no stranger to the supernatural, had spent his life battling vampires and monsters of all kinds. Even that brief encounter was enough for him to assess the creature as a weapon and, by extension, the man as a mad scientist.

The man didn't deny it, though he thought privately: 'Most impressive? Hardly. Once it starts laying eggs, this xenomorph will quickly be outclassed.'

Suppressing his inappropriate fascination with Blade's ridiculously well-built physique, the man opened a briefcase. "Here's what you wanted: a highly corrosive weapon—diluted, of course. Otherwise, you'd need adamantium to contain it. In a quiet, specific scenario, this will kill your enemies far more discreetly than UV grenades."

Blade hesitated briefly before tossing a bag from his coat.

"Hundred grand, as agreed," Blade said.

The man whistled. "Vampire hunters are loaded, huh? Makes sense—killing vampires is expensive, what with all those silver bullets."

"It's not my money," Blade replied. "The more vampires I kill, the more I take from those bloodsuckers."

With that, the exchange was complete.

"I'll spread the word about your product. This stuff is effective against vampires' regenerative abilities," Blade said, stepping back with the case.

"By the way, if you get the chance, bring me a live vampire," the man added suddenly.

"Oh? Dealing with those things isn't exactly wise," Blade said, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't have much choice. Time's running out," the man replied cryptically.

Blade didn't press further. He disappeared into the night.

"Blade, what a self-righteous zealot," the man muttered, watching Blade's retreating figure before shutting the door.

The Marvel Universe's vampires were fascinating. Their origins weren't tied to Dracula or Cain but to Varnae, a sorcerer who used the Darkhold to transform himself into the first vampire.

The Darkhold's author was none other than Chthon, the Elder God of chaos magic, a being far beyond the likes of Odin, or, Zeus, and the source of the Scarlet Witch's powers.

But such lofty entities were irrelevant for now. The man, a mere mortal trapped in this multiverse, had far more mundane concerns—like earning money through deals with Blade.

The man glanced at the loyal xenomorph beside him and smiled.

"Marvel did start publishing standalone Xenomorph comics before I transmigrated—a pure sci-fi world without superheroes…"

Lost in thought, he patted the xenomorph's crown-like head. It lowered its head obediently, allowing his touch.

Together, the man and the xenomorph descended into a crude, makeshift underground laboratory.

There, amidst the dim light and rough walls, five white, mucus-covered eggs came into view.