"But like… if this were an anime…"
"Oh my g*ds shut up."
And behind all that casual teenage fueled by raging hormones bickering, the Hellcat roared on through the desolate streets, a rolling shrine to apocalypse and unresolved trauma.
"By the way did you see his eyes when he snapped that guy's neck? I swear they turned black"
Morgana whispered as she did Catherine also squinted her eyes.
"Yeah that was f*cking weird as f*ck, Is he secretly some kind of demonic cultivator or somenthing"
Morgana's eyes lit up like a conspiracy theorist handed a whiteboard.
"Okay okay but think about it, what if he's part of a secret underground assassin clan that awakens demon bloodlines after a certain age? Like, maybe the army was just a cover."
Catherine gasped.
"Or... hear me out... maybe he made a deal with a demon in exchange for power, but now he's being hunted by angelic forces disguised as corporate mercenaries and this whole thing is, like, one big celestial proxy war!"
Morgana nodded solemnly.
"It all makes sense. The white hair. The eyes. The chain smoking. The s*xy as f*ck girlfriend with a g*ddess tier booty. He's clearly the main character of some lost anime timeline."
Catherine snapped her fingers.
"Yes! That explains the f*cking Hellcat too. No normal dude drives that fast with that much style unless the literal apocalypse is his side hustle."
Morgana leaned back, arms crossed.
"Bet he even has a sealed power. Like, a 'don't make me go full monster' type deal."
Catherine shivered.
"I bet he listens to heavy metal to keep the voices down."
Morgana gasped.
"Bet the girlfriend is actually a fallen AI designed to wipe out humanity, but fell in love with him instead!"
Catherine gasped louder.
"Omigods, she probably keeps calling him 'darling' because she's rewiring her entire doomsday protocol around him!"
Morgana, with full body chills.
"F*ck. That's actually romantic as f*ck"
Both of them stared dreamily out the window for a solid beat before… Catherine blinked.
"...We're definitely insane."
"Like full on delusional, It seems like It runs In the family"
Morgana nodded.
"But if we're right…"
They both exchanged a slow, dramatic look.
"...I call dibs on the sidekick arc,"
Morgana whispered.
"B*tch, no! I do!"
"Get f*cked, you're the tragic sacrifice episode!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"You're a filler character!"
"TAKE THAT BACK!"
And on and on they bickered.
MC POV
Pfft... youre hearing this, theyre almost spot on.
A message appeared In my view as It did I glanced at Invicta as I rolled the Hellcat up into the old sixteen story apartment complex's private parking lot with a long, echoing vroom, the tires spitting out one last whine of protest before settling into eerie silence.
Yeah, dont even ask...
I replied mentally while exhaling slowly, dragging smoke out of my lungs like I was wringing water from a sponge.
My nerves were calm. My hands were steady. My brain? Slightly fried from the non stop teenage conspiracy theory generator in the back seat.
I killed the engine, letting the silence take over for a long beat. Then.
"Out. We're here. Don't touch anything. Don't speak unless spoken to. And for the love of all f*cking things sacred, don't flirt with anyone you're related to."
The twins went silent. For a full two seconds. Then Morgana leaned forward, smug.
"So… does this mean your anime arc is about to start uncle Drac?"
I banged my forehead gently against the steering wheel. Motherf*cker someone please just kill me.
We got out of the Hellcat, the twins still whispering behind me like gremlins high on drama and speculation.
Invicta strutted beside me, hips swaying, probably enjoying the chaos she knew she was feeding into just by existing.
I flicked away my cigarette, stepped over a pothole, and entered the building's side entrance. The place hadn't changed. Dingy lighting.
Cement walls. The faint, familiar scent of old furniture polish and fried rice from one of the tenants upstairs.
We hit the stairwell and climbed one flight, passing the busted vending machine I once broke during a hangover rage. Then came the elevator.
The twins crowded inside, still whispering. Invicta pressed the button for the 13th floor with a dramatic ding. The elevator shuddered once before crawling upward like it was carrying an army.
Morgana cleared her throat.
"So… do you still get nosebleeds when you eat spicy food, Uncle Drac?"
"Shut. The f*ck. Up."
Ding. The doors opened. Standing in the doorway of the apartment directly in front of us was a brick wall pretending to be a man.
Jacob a dude with IT wizards brain and muscle. Six foot even. Muscular like he was cast out of a protein ad. Broad shoulders under a fitted black shirt, veins on his forearms popping like battle lines.
Still had that no nonsense, stoic glare, like he was ready to arm wrestle a rhino just because it looked at him funny. He squinted at me.
"...What the f*ck did you drink Drac, some kind of new military grade supplement I haven't heard about?"
I smirked, stepping forward and gripping his outstretched hand. Solid. Firm. Familiar.
"Don't worry. I'll tell you later."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked me over, reading between the lines, but didn't press. Just nodded once and stepped aside.
"Moms in the living room. Sylvy's pacing like a caffeine addict with Caspar trying to placate her. Grandpa's and grandma… well. Theyre there."
The twins brushed past him, calling out "Uncle Brickhead!" and "Mister Muscles" with matching grins.
He just grunted and kept his focus on me and Invicta who gave him a lazy once over and a smile that probably shaved five years off his lifespan.
"Who's the hotstuff?"
"Long story."
"Uh huh."
My cousin mused as we stepped into the apartment and immediately the scent hit me home. Old wood. Herbal ointment.
A hint of incense from a corner altar. And fried garlic from something someone reheated an hour ago. It was nostalgic in a way that sucker punched me straight in the chest.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, my mom's sister stepped into view. Dressed in her usual conservative slacks and cardigan combo, thick glasses perched on her nose, still wearing that permanent frown of someone who'd seen enough of life to stop pretending it was pretty.
She paused mid step, squinted at me, and instinctively pulled her glasses off. Wiped them on her sleeve. Put them back on.
"…What happened to you?"
Her voice was dry. Suspicious. Already preparing for bullshit. I shrugged, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew.
"Would you believe me if I said Invi over here..."
I pointed a thumb toward her, who was currently giving my aunt a polite smile like a predator pretending to be a poodle.
"...is a self aware AI who gave my body an upgrade?"
She stared at me.
"No?"
I nodded.
"Figured."
Before she could say anything else, a whirlwind of clicking heels and pissed off energy stormed into the room Sylvy, my cousin.
Her heels clicked like gunfire across the floorboards, and her curves were wrapped in a tight gray business dress that said 'CEO by day, MILF g*ddess by night'.
"Drac, you f*cking..."
She began, voice ready to unleash decades of repressed cousinly rage. Only to stop. Mid word. Her mouth froze open. Her eyes tracked up. And up.
"…What the f*ck."
She blinked once. Then twice. Processing.
"You're not Drac,"
She declared flatly. I just smiled, stretching my arms slightly and letting the T-shirt pull tight across my newly science sculpted torso.
"Yeah. Nice seeing you too."
I stepped aside, giving her a full view of Morgana and Catherine, a bit bruised, but walking just in time for my aunt and Sylvy to rush forward and swoop them both into a flurry of maternal fury and concern.
"Oh my g*ds, what happened to you.."
"Who did this?!"
"Are you bleeding?!"
"What kind of a sick bastard..."
I took the moment to tap Invicta's arm, jerked my head toward the hallway, and together we slipped quietly out of the room, away from the emotional landmine, toward the back guest room.
The door to the back guest room creaked open slowly as I stepped in, and the air immediately grew heavy.
There they were my grandparents. Once towering pillars of strength in my childhood, now reduced to little more than brittle skin and bones.
Each lay in a reclined medical bed, surrounded by humming machines and softly beeping monitors. Tubes fed into their arms, noses, and necks, and their eyes stared at the ceiling like the lights were still on but nobody was home.
And sitting quietly between them, in a modest chair too small for his tall frame, was my youngest cousin Caspar.