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#Post#: 20566--------------------------------------------------
Elseworld Story: Vampire Apocalypse
By: Coolcat207 Date: January 7, 2026, 8:59 pm
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Prologue
The world did not die in silence. It drowned in blood.
Born of war, the virus was meant to be a weapon—a scourge to
cripple nations in the twilight of World War III. But no hand
can leash a plague. It spread like shadow across the earth,
reshaping flesh and spirit alike. From its womb came the
vampires: pale sovereigns of hunger, eternal and merciless. And
from its chaos came the shifters: men and women who shed their
skins to walk as beasts beneath the moon. Wolves, ravens,
bears—creatures of fang and claw. Not true werebeasts, but
something new, something forged in the crucible of ruin.
Against all expectation, predator met predator and chose peace.
Vampires claimed the cities, shifters the forests, yet together
they carved dominion from the bones of mankind. Humanity, once
master of the world, became quarry. Hunted, shackled, drained in
blood-labs where veins were harvested like rivers. In the
cities, shifters acquired darker hungers—flesh and organs torn
from human captives, offered as tribute by their vampire hosts.
In the wilds, shifters feast on animals but they have no love
for the mundane. They turned their backs on humanity altogether,
declaring mankind unworthy of salvation.
From the ashes rose families touched by mutation—elites whose
veins carried power beyond hunger. The Darkfires and Hazeldines,
once rivals, bound themselves in vengeance after betrayal and
slaughter at the hands of Garton Xeno and his Ragnorok cabal.
With allies—the Dovans, the Lasombra clan, the vampire
ninja—they waged war, mounted Garton's head upon a pike, and
extinguished the last of the hunter bloodlines. Even Alucard,
once mankind’s weapon, was freed and bound himself to the last
surviving member of Toshiro Darkfire's bloodline, Karasu Tepes,
by marriage and progeny.
Yet victory did not cleanse the world. Hatred lingered. Grief
festered. Some vampires pitied humanity’s fall; others reveled
in it. The night grew heavier, and the empire of predators
thrived. And in that empire, a single fugitive ran.
Rhea Silverfang, child of a hunter bloodline long extinguished,
was spared as an infant by Kindron Darkfire, who defied his own
kin to hide her in the arms of General Kain Silverfang. Raised
in secrecy, she learned the alchemy of mana and the darker arts
of shadow. For a time, she knew peace. For a time, she believed
she belonged.
But peace is a fragile dream. At sixteen, betrayal found her. A
raven’s whisper summoned assassins, branding her as the last
ember of the Blackthorn name—a curse tied to Ragnorok’s
treachery. Kain smuggled her into the night, sacrificing
everything to keep her alive.
Now, two years later, Rhea wanders the ruins of a world that
hunts her. Alone, mistrustful, pursued by vampires and shifters
alike, she survives in silence and shadow. Her blood carries
secrets that could ignite war anew. Her story begins not with
triumph, but with exile. Her destiny waits in the dark, where
hunger and grief reign eternal.
Story: Ashes in Detroit:
Late morning bled into the slums of Detroit, the sun a pale
ghost behind smog and broken towers. Rhea crouched beside her
motorcycle, hands blackened with grease, scavenged parts
scattered like bones around her. The scrapyard had given her
enough to breathe life back into the machine, and for weeks she
had hidden in an abandoned home nearby—longer than she usually
dared. Normally, five days was her limit. But Detroit was
different. Detroit was already dead, and in death it offered her
sanctuary. The bike sputtered, coughed, then roared awake. The
sound was thunder in the hollow streets, a beast shaking off
rust and ruin. Relief flickered across her face. She stowed her
tools, slung her duffle bag over her shoulder, and swung onto
the seat. The engine growled beneath her as she tore down the
cracked asphalt, burning rubber into the silence.
Supplies. That was the next task. Before the sun dipped, before
the night unleashed its horrors. Shifters prowled the forests
and mountains by day, but vampires owned the night. And
Detroit’s nights were a nightmare carved in blood. She stopped
at the husk of a supermarket, its windows shattered, its sign
half hanging like a broken jaw. Parking by the back, she pried
open the employee entrance with practiced ease. Inside, the air
was stale, heavy with dust and rot. She moved quickly, sweeping
aisles for canned goods, hygiene supplies, first aid—necessities
for survival. Her duffle bag swelled with scavenged life. Then
she froze. Two figures moved in the snack aisle. Humans. Their
steps were cautious, their hands gathering what little remained.
Two more joined them, shadows of desperation. Rhea melted into
the darkness, her body instinctively folding into shadow. She
watched, silent, unseen. They were here for the same reasons she
was. She couldn’t blame them.
She was about to slip away when the air cracked open.
Vampires—low-level enforcers—burst through the front, clad in
sun-shielding suits. Predators on the hunt. The humans
stiffened, terror etched into their faces. Rhea’s mind screamed
at her to leave. Survival first. Never be a hero. But the
tribe’s code whispered louder, her foster father’s voice echoing
in her soul: help those in need. She hissed a curse and stepped
from the shadows. Mana alchemy flared in her veins, her hands
puncturing wrists and ankles with precise strikes. The vampires
staggered, snarling.
Rhea: Run! She barked at the humans, her voice sharp as steel.
The fight was brutal. Her silver dagger found one vampire’s
heart, flames consuming him in a shriek of agony. Another she
disarmed, ripping away his helmet with alchemy until his head
ignited in a crown of fire. But then she saw it—the suits bore
trackers. Red lights blinked, then shifted into black circles
wreathed in flame. Her stomach dropped. Reinforcements. She
bolted for the back, helmet snapping into place as she burst
through the door. Her boots hit the stairs, her body leaping
down toward her bike. But a sudden kick slammed into her side,
hurling her against the wall. Cracks spidered across the
concrete. Pain lanced through her ribs. More vampires. Stronger.
She scrambled up, mana alchemy sparking in her hands. Two fell
beneath her strikes, but one drove a knife deep into her torso.
The blade burned like ice. She gasped, clawing at it, but the
wound refused to yield. The weapon was forged with a Hell Gate
shard—nullifying her magic, stripping her of power. The vampire
loomed, ready to finish her. Then—gunfire. The shot split the
air, crows scattering into the sky. The vampire convulsed, eyes
wide, before erupting into flames. Rhea staggered, revolver
half-raised, realizing someone else had fired first. Her vision
blurred. Blood soaked her clothes, pain dragging her down. She
tried to stand, tried to fight, but darkness pressed in. The
last thing she saw was the humans she had saved rushing toward
her, their faces pale with fear and resolve. Then the world fell
away.
Rhea woke sharply, breath ragged, eyes snapping open to a
ceiling she did not recognize. The sheets beneath her were
clean, too clean, and the faint hum of machines whispered in the
silence. Her torso throbbed with pain, bandages tight against
her wound. This was not her bed. Not her hideout. Not the slums.
She scanned the room, instincts coiled like a blade. A desk sat
against the wall, cluttered with papers and a flickering
computer screen. Beside it, a silver bat gleamed under the
sterile light—an odd weapon for a medical ward. The door creaked
open. A woman entered, her stride calm, her presence deliberate.
Japanese, early thirties, her lab coat crisp against the ruin of
the world outside. She carried herself like someone who had seen
too much and survived anyway.
Doctor: Morning, sunshine. She said, voice edged with dry humor.
Rhea’s hand twitched toward her boots, her jacket, her bag—all
stacked neatly nearby.
Rhea: Where am I? Who the hell are you?
Doctor: raise eyebrow Wow. Bit rude toward someone who just
saved your ass. And before you argue, no—you wouldn’t have
regenerated in time. That Hell Gate-infused knife was laced with
something else. Something that negates metahuman powers. We
thought it was varanium, but… it wasn’t.
Rhea: Like what?
The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line. Doctor: Not sure.
And that worries me. But for now, all that matters is you’re
safe. I’m Dr. Saori Sakajou. The group you saved brought you
here.
Rhea: And where is here, exactly? She ask suspiciously
Dr. Sakajou: A safe haven. For humans.
The words struck Rhea harder than the knife had. She had always
suspected such places might exist, whispered rumors of
sanctuaries hidden from vampire eyes. But she had never seen
one. Not in Detroit. Not anywhere. She sat up slowly, muscles
stiff, eyes darting to her belongings. Tank top,
sweatpants—thank God she wasn’t stripped bare. She reached for
her jacket, but Saori’s voice cut sharp.
Dr. Sakajou: And where do you think you’re going, Spades?
Rhea: Anywhere but here. She muttered Look, I’m grateful.
Really. But I need to get going.
Dr. Sakajou: folds her arms over her chestYeah, no. In case you
haven’t noticed, your powers are still negated. Best case, a few
hours before they reboot. Worst case, longer. And you didn’t
just kill vampires—you killed members of the human-hunting task
force. They won’t rest until they find you. Gruesome death, best
case scenario. Besides… we need help.
Rhea: For what?
Dr. Sakajou: We’re trying to rebuild humanity. Before you roll
your eyes, hear me out. We’ve been working with others—Dr.
Tolodora, for one—who believe this whole harvesting and torture
of humans is beyond f*cked up. We’re gathering survivors,
building something new.
Rhea: So humans can take back control? Become rulers again?
Rhea: So we can live without fear. So children aren’t born into
cages. I know you’ve been running for years. I know you’ve lost
someone.
Rhea: You don’t know me.
Dr. Sakajou: From an alchemist’s standpoint, I do.
Rhea: blinks You’re an alchemist?
Dr. Sakajou: Yes. A medical one. I use it to heal wounds too
severe for ordinary medicine. I was trained by a tiger shifter
named Feling—until the culling. She saved me. Later, I met
Tolodora… and even Dr. Daphne Xeno.
Rhea: Her eyes flared. A Xeno?! The ones responsible for this
entire mess?
Dr. Sakajou: Listen, damn it! You’re not the first to think
that. I thought the same. But Daphne had nothing to do with her
brother’s organization. She cut ties long before the
assassinations.
Rhea: sneers Likely story. And you trust her?
Dr. Sakajou: Funny, coming from a Blackthorn.
The words silenced Rhea. Her expression betrayed
everything—anger, shame, grief.
Dr. Sakajou: Your alchemy tells a story, as does mine. You were
spared as an infant, but your family’s sins stain you still.
Imagine Daphne—innocent, yet condemned by blood. We’re all
sinners, Rhea. The only way forward is together.
Rhea: You think they’re alive? The ones who taught us to help?
Dr. Sakajou: …I hope so. I pray Feling survived. Last I knew,
she was close to Kindron Darkfire and an old wolf mana user. I’m
guessing that wolf was your foster father.
Rhea: …Yeah.
Dr. Sakajou: Then honor them. Use what they taught you. Help
others. That’s what Feling and that old wolf would want. For
now, rest. I’ll speak with Tolodora. Things will get better. One
step at a time.
She left, the door closing softly behind her. Rhea sat in
silence, staring at the bandages, the bat, the shadows creeping
along the walls. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to
run, to vanish back into the ruins. But Saori’s words lingered,
heavy as chains. She didn’t trust this place. Not yet. But for
now, she had no choice.
Epilogue
Dusk bled across Detroit, painting the ruins in bruised shades
of violet and ash. The supermarket lot was a graveyard—scorched
pavement, scattered bones, the acrid stench of burned flesh
clinging to the air. A squad of vampires moved in, their boots
crunching over charred remains. At their head strode a woman in
the same armored suit as her brethren, though hers bore a mark
on the shoulder: the jagged insignia of Sucker Punch. She
paused, lifted two fingers to her helmet, and spoke into the
comm.[b]
Sweet Pea: "Baby Doll, this is Sweet Pea. Come in."
[b]Static hissed, then a voice answered, cool and sharp.
Baby Doll: Baby Doll here. Status?
Sweet Pea’s tone was venom. Sweet Pea: “Got a metahuman problem.
Played hero, took out my men. Tracker’s already on her trail,
along with the humans who dragged her off.”
“Type?” Baby Doll asked.
“Mana user. Skilled. Knows how to wield the dark.”
A pause. Baby Doll: “Did you see her?”
Sweet Pea: “Image is blurry… but clear enough. It’s bad news.”
Baby Doll: “What is it?”
Sweet Pea: “…The Blackthorn kid. The one the Alchemists hid.”
Baby Doll’s voice sharpened. “What?!”
Sweet Pea: “I know. The Blackthorns ruined everything. They took
my parents from me and Rocket. And now she’s out here, killing
my men and God knows how many more.”
Baby Doll: “We’ll find her. But she must be brought back alive.”
Sweet Pea: “Alive?! Kara, that two faced witch killed my men!
They deserve revenge.”
“They deserve closure.” Baby Doll countered. “And they’ll have
it. But the girl is valuable. Once she’s delivered, you’ll have
your justice.”
Sweet Pea: “…Understood. I’ll keep you updated. Maybe we’ll
finally get the old wolf to come to his senses this time. He
can’t hide her forever.”
Baby Doll: "One can only hope. Uncle Qrow has history with him.
Better him than Raven or her sons.”
Sweet Pea: “Agreed. I'll understand the assignment. But when I
find her, she bleeds one way or another before I drag her back
to the scientists.”
Baby Doll: "Be careful. She’s clever. Learned that the hard way
when I fought Hellsing.”
Sweet Pea smirked beneath her helmet. “Of course. Sweet Pea
out.”
She lowered her hand, scanning the ruins one last time. The
tracker’s signal had gone cold halfway across the state. She
sent the order to keep searching, then turned toward her truck.
The hunt was far from over. And when Sweet Pea found Rhea
Silverfang, the Blackthorn girl would pay in blood.
End
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