Five, Six, Seven in Marvel

The man named Tommy was not as embarrassed as he is today a few days ago.

When Charlie Wells was at his most helpless, he mixed him a cup of Amber Dream.

Charlie Wells, like the white-haired boy named Feng, fled to the United States because he couldn't survive in his own country.

But the reason why that young man came to the United States is questionable.

And he just doesn't have the ability.

When Tommy first met Charles, his eyes were full of unwillingness, and he cursed a certain British noble he didn't know in authentic British English.

This kind of person is most suitable to become a vampire.

Not the kind of aloof person like him, but a low-class person who can only come out in the dark.

He mixed the man a glass of wine for free. Tommy was not short of money. He often did this job of delivering wine, and a few more inferior products would be great for him.

The more fun the little ghost makes, the safer the big ghost will be.

There are very few vampire hunters. While they are running around killing little ghosts, the big ghosts are sitting in a high-end bar, watching more people drink that glass of Amber Dream.

One second he was immersed in fantasy, and the next second a big black foot fell from the sky.

"This is the smell of a werewolf." The mortal enemy of vampires.

The taste is extremely impure, and the blood of this werewolf is extremely rough.

Werewolf and Blade captured him easily, and Charlie Wells was able to escape very quickly.

Blade didn't notice him at that time because he didn't know that the wine Tommy sold Wells was a first love.

As for the origin of Amber Dream, another colleague told him.

That guy's name is Mockingbird, and he's one of Blade's sex partners.

....

....

Wells felt the blood all over his body was boiling.

Among the sixteen girls he killed, not one dared to resist like her.

So what if she is good at fighting? Now he is a vampire, and his speed and strength are far superior to ordinary people!

The two pairs of martial arts sticks drew a perfect arc in the air. Her movements were graceful, as if she were dancing. Wells lost his mind for a moment.

He was beaten to the ground with a martial arts stick.

"This woman is a practicing artist!"

Wells forgot one thing.

He is a British aristocrat who has learned social etiquette and various unpopular knowledge, but he has never learned fighting.

Putting speed and strength on him is like giving a gun to a three-year-old child, it has no effect.

Wells rushed out of the box.

If you can't fight, you can at least run.

While running in the carriage, he looked back from time to time. The woman did not chase him, and Wells breathed a sigh of relief.

"Maybe she's just an ordinary girl who knows a little bit about fighting and doesn't mean to kill me."

He thought so in his heart.

The sunlight outside the window was a bit dazzling, and Wells felt like the skin all over his body was burning.

Sunlight!

Don't let the sun shine on me!!

A kind gentleman helped him close the curtains.

"Thank you," Wells said.

This kind gentleman wore a pair of sunglasses and half a cigar in his mouth.

It was the first time in Wilson's life that he had seen a man dressed like this. He looked like a Japanese gangster.

Wearing a dark ring on one hand, it was engraved with a certain chapter of the Bible. In the other hand, he held a long knife with a dark red sheath.

He was wearing a long black trench coat, and Wilson couldn't see his skin, but he felt that if this man rolled up his sleeves, there must be ferocious beasts tattooed on them.

The man casually leaned the knife against the car seat and fumbled for something in the inner pocket of his windbreaker.

After a while, he took out an ID card with a black cover.

The man opened the document and Wilson saw the contents.

There is a silver badge pinned to the right side of the document. On the badge is a slightly solemn eagle with spread wings.

On the left side of the document is his name, or code name.

Wilson slowly read out the words.

"Blade, Strategic Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Agency, Level 10 Secret Service Agent."

Although he didn't know what the Strategic Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Support Agency was, judging from the name, this organization might not be very friendly to him.

The man put away his ID and said, "Actually, my identity is highly confidential. I shouldn't have shown it to you, but I made an exception because this is the first time we have met, and it will also be the last time."

His hand rested on the hilt of the knife.

Wilson's heart was beating uneasily.

After becoming half a vampire, he had never felt such a powerful oppression.

Wilson stood up from the car. At this time, he had exceeded the zero point of being human.

Black scales covered the body, long pointed fangs protruded from the lips, and half-inch long claws shone with a sharp cold light.

This is the lowest level of vampires, unable to even maintain a basic human appearance.

"It's a shame for you to be alive till now."

"Did you know? The speed and strength of the lower vampires are obtained by burning their lives. They do not have a life span of thousands of years. They are just cannon fodder on the battlefield. Even if I don't care about you, you will die in a month at most.

, what’s ridiculous is that you actually think that falling into darkness is a good thing.”

"I guess you must feel the blood flowing under your skin now, so hot it can tear everything apart."

"Unfortunately, your level is too low."

The man opened the curtain.

The light shines in in an instant.

White smoke rose from Wilson's body, as if he was about to be burned by flames.

Blade pulled out a dark red long knife.

The gorgeous slash drew a perfect arc.

Wilson's head fell to the ground and flames burst into the air.

The head that fell to the ground was still howling in pain.

slowly.

The wailing sound disappeared into the flames.

Only dark residue was left on the ground, and it was as if Wilson had never appeared.

"We've wasted so much time on this little guy." The werewolf came over from another carriage.

The blade threw only a quarter of the remaining cigar to the ground, splashing some black residue.

"Don't say that, doesn't this train just arrive in New York? We should thank him. Without him, we wouldn't be able to take this ride."

The werewolf said: "You are the boss and you have the final say. Do you still want to investigate that Amber Dream? Also, your old sweetheart is here, why don't you go and say hello?"

Blade lit another cigar.

"It's not necessary. We'll meet again when we get to New York. She's probably here to carry out a mission, and she's probably here to help us."

The werewolf muttered dissatisfiedly: "There are so many drop-ins. You obviously don't want to see her."

The blade's eyes were cold, and the werewolf suppressed the second half of what he wanted to say.

He ignored the werewolf's teasing and said to himself:

"Wilson has been running away for so long, and even we have been chasing him for a month. Is he really an incompetent British aristocrat? If his first love hadn't made him stupid, he might have been happy for a longer time."

The werewolf knew that the happiness Blade mentioned was referring to Wilson's rape and murder of 16 girls.

He ruthlessly sucked the blood of those women to gain taste and sensory pleasure.

How would the werewolf respond?

Should we feel sympathy for those women?

he does not know.

....

Blade made a sign of the cross on his chest as a sign of mourning for the dead girls.

"Werewolf, we are law enforcement officers. You have to remember that our lives are worthless. Before we die, we must kill as many vampires as possible. As many as we can."

He was a little sad, maybe because of the dead girls, or maybe because of his own past.