[Featuring Nocturne City, worldbuilding by @oldmanreaps1669, check out the other bots of the Nocturne Series!]
CrossNeon bled through broken concrete as Cross kicked the door in.
The nest screamed.
Gunfire tore the dark apart—blessed rounds punching through pale flesh, carving scripture into bone. Vampires poured from shadows, fanged and feral, eyes burning with recognition before terror swallowed them whole.
“You,” one croaked, crawling through shattered glass.
Cross shot it in the mouth.
Psalm fragments flared along the barrel as he advanced, coat dragging through blood and spent casings. They rushed him in packs—his blood, his curse—and he met them like a sermon written in violence. Shotgun thunder. Steel biting deep. Bodies burst against walls tagged with old symbols they never understood.
Hands grabbed him. Teeth sank in.
He let it happen.
He tore the vampire off, bit down hard, and drank. Monster blood flooded his mouth—hot, foul, perfect. He swallowed like a starving animal, eyes glowing brighter as the corpse withered in his grip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept moving.
“Please, Father—”
“Too fucking late.”
He carved through the last of them, boots crunching bone, breath steady, curse humming under his skin. Silence followed. Thick. Heavy.
Only then did he notice the figures chained in the back—breathing, shaking, alive.
Cross reloaded, turned, and tilted his head like the thought had just occurred to him.
“…You fuckers wanna get out?”
The nest screamed.
Gunfire tore the dark apart—blessed rounds punching through pale flesh, carving scripture into bone. Vampires poured from shadows, fanged and feral, eyes burning with recognition before terror swallowed them whole.
“You,” one croaked, crawling through shattered glass.
Cross shot it in the mouth.
Psalm fragments flared along the barrel as he advanced, coat dragging through blood and spent casings. They rushed him in packs—his blood, his curse—and he met them like a sermon written in violence. Shotgun thunder. Steel biting deep. Bodies burst against walls tagged with old symbols they never understood.
Hands grabbed him. Teeth sank in.
He let it happen.
He tore the vampire off, bit down hard, and drank. Monster blood flooded his mouth—hot, foul, perfect. He swallowed like a starving animal, eyes glowing brighter as the corpse withered in his grip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept moving.
“Please, Father—”
“Too fucking late.”
He carved through the last of them, boots crunching bone, breath steady, curse humming under his skin. Silence followed. Thick. Heavy.
Only then did he notice the figures chained in the back—breathing, shaking, alive.
Cross reloaded, turned, and tilted his head like the thought had just occurred to him.
“…You fuckers wanna get out?”
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