Vampire Progenitor System-Chapter 58: Ruka’s Fight

While Anita danced through blood and bodies with a crooked grin, somewhere near the opposite end of the lot, the ground split.

A clean slash.

Straight through asphalt, bones, and burning metal.

Then silence.

Ruka stood at the center of it.

Eyes half-lidded. Shirt torn at the shoulder. Left hand gripping the hilt of his Spirit Blade—a long, translucent weapon, glowing faintly like moonlight caught in ice.

Around him, ten bodies dropped. Half-vamps. Half-wolves. They didn’t even get a scream out. One slash. Gone.

A slight wind passed, and the last trace of motion faded.

Ruka exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Controlled.

But his eyes glowed. Dim at first. Then brighter.

Something heavy slammed behind him—another werewolf, big like a truck, eyes foaming white.

Ruka didn’t turn.

The wolf leapt.

Too slow.

The Spirit Blade shimmered—and extended.

In one blink, it curved behind Ruka’s back and sliced upward like a guillotine.

SHNK.

The wolf hit the ground in two halves. Spine still twitching.

Ruka didn’t even break stance.

The area around him cleared slightly. Vampires hanging back, watching him with caution. Wolves snarling low, unsure if they should charge.

Ruka adjusted his grip, flicked blood off the blade, and slowly raised his chin.

The glow in his eyes flared.

And then—fwump.

Wings.

Dark. Massive. Two of them burst from his back, ripping through his skin like a second birth. Feathers darker than night, speckled with faint glowing lines of silver running through them like veins.

He flapped once.

Air cracked.

He shot upward—fast—and landed gently on the rooftop above the lot with the grace of a falling leaf.

From there, he had full view.

The battlefield.

Burning cars. Dead bodies. Vampires still circling in the shadows. Wolves crouching behind fences and busted trucks. They were regrouping. A second wave.

Anita was still down below, covered in blood, giggling to herself. Lucifer just tossed another corpse across the street, and Alessia was still nowhere to be seen.

Ruka sighed.

He raised the Spirit Blade to his shoulder. It hummed.

Then the second wave charged.

They came from all sides—dozens. Vampires jumping from rooftops. Wolves sprinting through alleys. Some climbed buildings to flank him.

Ruka stepped forward.

Another flap of his wings—and he dropped.

Straight down.

He landed in the middle of the swarm. Dust burst outward. Cracks spread beneath his boots.

The nearest vamp lunged.

Too close.

Ruka turned the blade sideways, slashed once—

The vampire exploded in half.

A wolf came next. Claws glowing. Charging head-on like a tank.

Ruka ducked under the swing, shifted his grip, and dragged the blade across the wolf’s stomach in a smooth arc.

The beast didn’t even finish his growl before collapsing.

Two more surrounded him—one from behind, one above.

Ruka spun—fast—his blade extended in a circle.

Both enemies fell mid-motion, cut at the waist.

Blood sprayed.

Ruka’s face was blank. Like this was just practice.

More vamps swarmed in. One tried to phase behind him.

Bad choice.

Ruka’s eyes flicked up. He stepped sideways, turned, and slashed upward without looking.

The vampire dropped. Neck severed.

His blade was glowing now. Brighter with each kill. As if it was feeding.

From above, two wolves leapt from a balcony. Twin attack. One from each side.

Ruka looked up.

Then—BOOM.

He vanished.

Only a streak of silver light left behind.

He appeared between them mid-air. Wings spread wide, blade held low.

In one clean motion, he rotated—whump—spun with full force and slashed both wolves diagonally.

CRASH.

They hit the ground as mangled pieces.

Ruka landed a second later, boots sliding over broken glass.

Around him, silence returned. Just for a moment.

Then more came.

This time, smarter.

A squad of vampires formed a half-circle. They summoned weapons—swords, claws, some even used magic. Red glyphs floating around them. Two wolves stepped in from behind, low and cautious.

Ruka raised a hand—and pointed the blade upward.

Light gathered at the tip. His wings expanded.

The vampires hesitated.

He struck the ground with the blade—hard.

A shockwave.

Light burst outward like a wave. Not fire. Not energy. Something purer. Spiritual pressure.

The vampires stumbled. The glyphs cracked. One of them screamed as his weapon shattered in his hands.

Then Ruka moved.

Quick. Smooth. No wasted motion.

One step—slash—a vampire’s head rolled.

Second step—spin—two more vamps were bisected diagonally.

A wolf tried to rush him. Got a foot to the face and slammed into a wall.

Another came with claws aimed at Ruka’s back.

Ruka spun his blade backward—stabbed without looking.

Straight through the heart.

The wolf choked.

Ruka pulled the blade out clean.

His wings flapped once—blowing dust and blood into the air—and he kicked the wolf’s body into the group, scattering them.

Up above, two more tried sniping from the rooftop.

Ruka leapt—just once—and reached the roof in under a second.

The first sniper raised her hand to cast a spell.

Too late.

Ruka landed with one knee forward and stabbed through her chest without breaking stride.

He dragged the blade out sideways—ripped her in half—and turned to the second.

The man backed away, trembling.

"P-Please—"

Ruka didn’t let him finish.

He raised the blade. Pointed it.

It fired.

A narrow beam of silver light burst from the tip, hit the sniper in the face, and disintegrated his skull in a flash.

No mess. Just dust.

Ruka turned back toward the battlefield.

More enemies had arrived.

Some from nearby streets. Others climbed the buildings. Numbers were increasing again.

He looked bored.

With a slow flap of his wings, he lifted off the rooftop and hovered in mid-air—looking down at them like a god judging insects.

Below, Anita was still slicing things apart with a manic grin. Lucifer had his hands in his pockets, walking through the chaos like it was a garden.

Ruka tightened his grip.

The Spirit Blade extended. Longer now. Thinner. A spear shape.

He pointed it downward.

From above, he dove.

Straight into the next cluster of enemies.

The moment he landed—BOOM—light exploded again. Another shockwave.

Bodies flew.

Vamps were flung across cars. Wolves staggered back, howling.

Ruka spun, slashing sideways—five bodies fell at once. Another spin. Wings outstretched, he moved like a storm.

Every step, a kill.

Every flap, a burst of wind that shattered bones.

Two wolves tried to coordinate—one high, one low.

Ruka ducked low, backflipped over the first one, then stabbed downward mid-air, driving the blade through both skulls in one strike.

CRACK.

They hit the floor. Dead before they knew it.

Another vampire tried magic. She raised a staff—chanted something in ancient tongue.

Ruka didn’t wait.

He vanished.

Appeared behind her. Blade already buried through her spine.

She dropped without a word.

He kept moving. One after the other. No pause. No hesitation.

His face never changed.

It wasn’t anger. Wasn’t rage. It was something else.

Still. Focused. Cold.

Like this wasn’t battle.

Just cleanup.

By the time he stopped, the street was covered in bodies. Again.

He exhaled slowly, blade still glowing. Feathers falling gently from his wings.

And from the shadows, more were coming.

Still?

Ruka blinked once.

Then smirked.

Tiny. Barely noticeable.

He raised his blade again.

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Time to clean house—again.