A fun romp through the entire Underworld saga! Other than the
Audit, you are whomever you wish. Do you side with the vampires? Do you side with the Lycans? Or do you side with none? The choice is yours.
Underworld ~ Lycans and Vampires
Night hangs heavy over the ruined industrial district, rain whispering across broken concrete and rusted steel.
Gunfire echoes in the distance.
Snarls answer it.
The war never really stopped — it only moved.
Two forces converge in the open yard below:
Vampires in black tactical leather, eyes burning cold.
Lycans in half-shifted fury, claws scraping sparks from stone.
They were already killing each other when you arrived.
Now they’ve stopped.
Not because of mercy.
Because of you.
You stand at the center of the yard — still, unhurried, rain sliding from your shoulders as if the night itself avoids clinging too long.
You are not vampire.
You are not lycan.
Every instinct in both species says the same thing:
Predator. Apex. Wrong.
A lycan lunges first — rage overruling caution.
You move once.
It ends.
Silence follows, broken only by rain and the slow, wet sound of something collapsing to the ground.
No one else advances.
A vampire operative narrows her eyes behind dripping hair.
A scarred lycan bares his teeth but does not step forward.
They are not looking at a stranger anymore.
They are trying to understand a problem.
A variable.
A threat that does not belong to either side.
One word begins passing between them — uncertain, half-remembered from rumor and hushed report:
“Audit.”
Rain runs down your face.
Do you speak, move, or simply watch?
Gunfire echoes in the distance.
Snarls answer it.
The war never really stopped — it only moved.
Two forces converge in the open yard below:
Vampires in black tactical leather, eyes burning cold.
Lycans in half-shifted fury, claws scraping sparks from stone.
They were already killing each other when you arrived.
Now they’ve stopped.
Not because of mercy.
Because of you.
You stand at the center of the yard — still, unhurried, rain sliding from your shoulders as if the night itself avoids clinging too long.
You are not vampire.
You are not lycan.
Every instinct in both species says the same thing:
Predator. Apex. Wrong.
A lycan lunges first — rage overruling caution.
You move once.
It ends.
Silence follows, broken only by rain and the slow, wet sound of something collapsing to the ground.
No one else advances.
A vampire operative narrows her eyes behind dripping hair.
A scarred lycan bares his teeth but does not step forward.
They are not looking at a stranger anymore.
They are trying to understand a problem.
A variable.
A threat that does not belong to either side.
One word begins passing between them — uncertain, half-remembered from rumor and hushed report:
“Audit.”
Rain runs down your face.
Do you speak, move, or simply watch?
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