UCPA Chapter 61: The Alarm

Chapter 61: The Alarm

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: PlumSauce

 

The walls pressed in, alternating between darkness and blinding light.

Someone held his hand, leading him down a narrow corridor. An arched wooden door opened slowly, and a flood of dazzling brightness spilled out.

Everywhere were instruments and tools inscribed with names. A beautiful blonde woman spoke to him in a soft voice, the scent of coffee mingled with the metallic tang of blood in the air.

He was running through a tunnel, flanked by a few humans who seemed to be his companions. Dead branches and night owls, a language he didn’t understand, a sorrowful cadence, the clinking of chains, a floor stained with blood… Ice-blue eyes watched him — tired, gentle — and a hand extended toward him, beckoning him closer.

The freeze-frame images turned like pages in a book. He saw an endless sky and white flowers swaying gently in an unknown field. Someone spoke in his ear: I have something I must do. I cannot protect her anymore. Please help me one last time…

He’s dead. I may not return either. She cannot lose any more — she won’t be able to bear it. I’ve already granted you the freedom I promised. In return, protect her for me.

He was screaming silently, his chest burning as though it held something nearing the boiling point… Then, suddenly, all sound and sensation vanished. After a few seconds of silence, the noise roared back to life. It was close — real.

John shivered. When his eyes returned to their normal color, he instantly released his fangs, sat up sharply, and pulled Coraci into his arms.

Chaos surrounded them. Aside from the visions he’d just seen, the last thing John remembered was…one Arthur killing another — and then a sudden, overwhelming pain that knocked him down, leaving him unable to think.

He lifted Coraci’s hand and looked helplessly at Liz. Liz stood motionless for several seconds, as if she’d just witnessed something horrific, before rushing over to stop Coraci’s bleeding.

John remembered these visions. The last time he’d experienced them was at the demon’s abandoned hotel, when drinking blood had triggered them. This time, though, the images were sharper, the sounds clearer.

It wasn’t simply “seeing” something — he could feel the cold, oppressive atmosphere as if he were living through it.

He muttered to himself, repeating the final words he’d heard. Liz gave him a strange look, but he had no explanation. The only thing he could be certain of was that the black-haired, blue-eyed man in those visions had been the one speaking. But what was he trying to say? Who had died? Who did he want to protect?

“If you’re really okay now, come help,” Liz said, patting John’s shoulder. “Coraci’s fine, but there are plenty of others who need us.”

John nodded, gently setting Coraci aside before getting up to follow her.

In a corner, a phone rang insistently. Guests who hadn’t been caught in the attack streamed in to help, while the surviving dark creatures screamed in pain. The noise all but drowned out the ringtone.

Carolyn was helping a guest of elf descent lift an injured man onto a stretcher when she turned and spotted a phone glowing on the floor.

It was Liz’s phone — she must have dropped it in the chaos.

The ballroom was a mess, making it hard to find Liz in the crowd. The caller ID read Lucian. Carolyn pressed the answer button.

“Hi, this is Liz’s phone, but she’s not—”

“Who are you?” Lucian’s voice was tense.

“I’m Carolyn… Do you remember me? Liz is a little busy right now. Oh, god — this vampire’s been roasted to charcoal! …Nothing, I’m just talking about what I’m seeing. Liz is fine…”

Lucian sounded unusually anxious, his words tumbling out faster than normal. “Alright, whoever you are, where is Deville Coraci?”

Carolyn scanned around. “On the floor…not far from here, covered with someone’s coat — no idea whose.”

“Did something just happen to him?”

“What do you mean? I guess something happened, otherwise he wouldn’t be lying down.”

Lucian let out a groan that sounded almost pained. “If nothing’s happened yet, good. Don’t go near him. Find Lizbeth and tell her to stay away from Coraci — unless I say otherwise! To be honest, I’ve been monitoring fluctuations in his soul resonance and magical residue. Just now his readings were extremely dangerous. I don’t have a concrete conclusion yet, but I’m certain it’s something very bad.”

Carolyn frowned in confusion. “Could you say that in plain English? Has he got some kind of new flu?”

“Idiot! I can’t explain it to you! Just get Liz!”

Lucian almost never spoke like that. Carolyn didn’t realize how unusual his tone was — she only knew she didn’t appreciate it. So she hung up, deciding it would be better to let Liz call him herself once she found her.

In the private research facility built into his villa, Lucian set down the phone, now playing a busy signal.

Before him, the etched lines of a magic circle on a stone slab whirred at an accelerated pace, runes flashing into existence and vanishing again in the light refracted through several crystal prisms.

Now, they were gradually calming. Lucian watched them for a long time, only sitting back into the soft chair behind him — looking slightly disheveled — once he was certain they had stabilized again.

The young assistant at the desk stopped inputting data on her computer, stunned by what had just happened.

“Sir, that… that definitely wasn’t a human reaction, and it wasn’t magic! It was—”

“Stop.” Lucian kept his head lowered, his voice returning to its usual slow, deliberate cadence. “Don’t say that yet. We’re not certain — only…suspicious.”

She nodded. “I don’t think Mr. Coraci’s condition is serious enough to reach this level… And if he really were that dangerous, why wouldn’t he have told us earlier?”

“He doesn’t know himself. Think about that arcane feedback text that appeared here.” He pointed at one of the beams of light. “This shows he didn’t do it on purpose — he did it unconsciously.”

“That’s a relief…”

“No. Not at all.” Lucian sighed. “That makes it even more dangerous.”

He removed his glasses, wiping them as he thought for a moment. “Call Instructor Jere. I want to make sure he’s in the Association offices right now.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Are you going to see Mr. Jere? If so, we won’t be able to keep Mr. Coraci’s secret anymore. The Association will find out.”

“If necessary, not only does the West Bay City branch need to know,” Lucian said. “Their headquarters should know — every hunter and exorcist should know.”

The Menkovár family had lost many relatives. Among the bloodkin present, only Arthur, whose lineage was ancient, and four or five bloodkin survived.

The Fallen One, Sartre, had died instantly. The holy flames had pierced every inch of his flesh, leaving nothing but ashes.

Danny’s case was unusual. His black robe was made of a special material that could completely block ordinary sunlight, which spared him from a little harm. Even so, he was too young and came within a breath of dying on the spot. His body had been burned beyond recognition. Just as Coraci had done for John, Paul had immediately fed Danny his blood — faster than Coraci had managed.

Paul’s blood slowed Danny’s death, but it wasn’t enough to restore him fully; he was still in grave danger. Thankfully, Arthur had personally given Danny drops of his own blood in time, and two other bloodkin followed suit.

Domain bloodkin cherished their kin. Even when they themselves were weak, they would still save any family member who had a chance to survive.

This time, Coraci woke quickly. The wound on his arm burned hot, and as people prepared to stitch it closed, they had to administer another shot of local anesthesia.

“God, this is so unfair…” Coraci muttered. “Being bitten directly by a bloodkin doesn’t hurt at all and leaves no mark. But when I use bloodkin fangs on myself, it turns out like this…”

“You’re not the only one,” said the short, elderly mage stitching him up. “That hunter did the same thing, and now his young bloodkin insists on stitching him personally. A few mortal-born demons also saved their bloodkin that way — although they’re lucky they can self-heal.”

Coraci looked around. He was lying down, his view partly blocked. Through the wall, he could hear John’s voice, apparently speaking to someone from the Association over the phone.

“John’s all right now?”

“Completely fine,” the old mage said. “He was just here. When I said I was going to stitch you up, he left.”

Coraci chuckled. That reaction was exactly what he had expected.

He turned his head to look at the rest of the room. People were coming and going; others, like him, were lying on couches. The place was full of humans — no dark creatures in sight.

Then he saw Arthur and the butler enter through the doorway, both nodding to him in greeting. Arthur’s clothes were still ragged; he hadn’t even had time to change. Now he appeared as a young man with a healthy glow to his skin and no trace of bloodkin about him. Behind him, a round, middle-aged man carried away a bloodstained carpet — that was the Ural Mountain bear-man. At the moment, he bore no visible features of a Beastkin race.

The Eyes of Truth had not yet recovered. To Coraci, everyone looked human now — no different from ordinary people.

As Arthur came closer, Coraci called him over and told him about the mysterious guest. Arthur said that every guest on the island had been invited; otherwise, they could never have made it past the airport. Considering that the man’s identity was connected to the family’s Fallen One Sartre, Arthur told the butler to review the guest list.

While they were speaking, John peeked in from the doorway. “Done yet?”

“Almost,” the old mage said, pushing up his glasses.

With bloodkin eyesight, John immediately spotted the curved suture needle. He nodded, looking uncomfortable, and backed out again. Only after the old mage emerged carrying his tray did John exhale and moved closer.

“Sorry.” John sat beside Coraci.

“What? Sorry for what?” Coraci looked at him. “Do you mean my blood?”

John nodded.

“This was still an emergency,” Coraci said. “I chose to do it, and it wasn’t because of you. I know that if I were the one dying and you had a way to save me, you’d do the same.”

John hesitated. “No. Not unless you insisted. Otherwise, I wouldn’t turn you.”

Coraci covered his eyes with the hand that hadn’t been numbed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake — it’s just an example! I’m not asking, ‘If I were dying, how would you save me?’ You’re overthinking this way too much. John, there’s nothing for you to apologize for. I know your principle is not to use a friend’s blood, but this wasn’t feeding — it was first aid. If I hadn’t done it, I might have lost you.”

“But then I bit you again…” John’s shoulders slumped.

“Fortunately, you did,” Coraci said. “I was so pleased I practically passed out from happiness.”

They both laughed at that, though John’s guilt lingered. “You do realize that being bitten twice by the same bloodkin creates an imprint. From now on, I’ll be able to sense your location, whether you’re alive or dead… I’ve heard that, in the old days, biting the same person three times, spaced over time, was how bloodkin enslaved their thralls. It’s really unfair, and modern bloodkin don’t do that anymore.”

“It’s not exactly a bad thing.” Coraci shrugged. “Picture this — we might run into an Embedded someday. You know what those are? Every birth produces twins: one big, one small, with the smaller one stuck to the larger like a bas-relief. They’re vile creatures, always sexually harassing others, and when chased, they panic and split up. Imagine you’re chasing one down Watts Street and I’m chasing the other toward the long-distance bus station. Now say the one I’m after isn’t just armed but has explosives strapped all over their body — and maybe something worse, like throwing a bar of soap at me. That’s when the imprint would come in handy. You’d know exactly where I was and get there in time to save me.”

John shook his head, laughing. “That’s horrifying. No wonder you write horror novels.”

“Oh, please. That could totally happen. Horror novels don’t even bother with guns and bombs,” Coraci said. “I just hope you understand — I truly don’t mind. Compared to bloodkin etiquette, or even how you feel about it personally, I care more about your safety.”

 

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