DC & Marvel: This Guy Is Crazy

Chapter 155: The Progenitor Lilith Descends Upon Gotham

"You shut the hell up!"

Talia bellowed in a rage.

Allen's words only made things worse. Damian's eyes burned with hatred, as if his entire world had collapsed in an instant.

Anyone in his position would struggle to accept such a soul-crushing truth.

"I hate you both."

Tears welled in Damian's eyes as he turned and leapt toward a nearby rooftop, desperate to flee from the unbearable reality.

"Damian!"

Talia rushed after him.

If this wasn't explained clearly, it could leave a deep psychological scar on the boy.

Allen stood quietly, watching the mother and son. He had no intention of getting involved.

Apparently, Talia had confessed with her own mouth—he had just been mouthing off.

With years of experience watching films, Allen had gained some insights into human reproduction—even if he had never put them into practice. So he knew nothing could have come of that night.

As for Damian's true parentage, only Talia knew for sure. And knowing Bruce's personality, he would've definitely done a DNA test.

Back on the street...

"Who did this?!"

Allen saw a sword lodged in the front wheel of his bicycle, the outer steel cables shredded.

Furious, he turned to the assassins lying on the ground and shouted, "You've got a problem with my bike, huh? Where's your sense of decency? Where's your moral compass? Just because a mental patient like me can't drive, you go after my bicycle? Shameless. Pfft…"

The assassins immediately covered their faces and wailed.

They all collectively denied it.

Who would pay attention to a bicycle in the middle of a fight? A stray sword had just happened to pierce the front wheel—purely an accident.

"You guys suck. No manners at all."

Yee-haw...

Allen rode off on his one-wheeled bike, still holding his battle-axe steak triumphantly.

Watching his retreating figure, the assassins were filled with emotion.

To be honest, their assassination target was absurdly difficult to kill.

"My thigh is broken."

"Dude, it's your arm that's broken."

"I don't care. I'm out for the next mission."

"No way, I cracked a whole row of ribs. Even moving makes me gasp in pain."

"In that case, my kidneys are failing."

The assassins silently agreed to all call in sick.

It was obvious their target had gone easy on them. Otherwise, the street would be littered with corpses.

Their injuries weren't critical, but they kept getting hurt before they could recover.

———

Gotham Harbor.

A cargo ship docked under the cover of night.

The captain ordered the crew to begin unloading. Heavy wooden crates were hoisted onto the dock by cranes one after another.

Once the unloading was complete, the captain and crew hurried to steer the ship back out to sea.

They worked for a shipping company controlled by the vampire clans, and they knew exactly what they had just brought into Gotham.

They were terrified that if the starving vampires awakened, they'd be the first ones on the menu.

Inside one of the crates, the lid creaked open from within. One by one, pure-blooded nobles crawled out of the soil.

Their eyes glowed with a ravenous thirst for blood.

At the center of the group stood a black coffin trimmed with gold.

As its lid slowly opened, a woman of regal elegance sat up inside.

Her delicate face radiated youthful charm, yet her figure was so exaggeratedly voluptuous it resembled a perfectly ripened peach—full and firm.

Suddenly, a swarm of bats swooped down from the sky.

Moments later, they coalesced into human form.

"Prince Ferdinand, at your service, Your Majesty the Progenitor."

The vampire girl was none other than the progenitor of all vampires.

Prince Ferdinand had brought his pure-blood contingent to Gotham, but things had spiraled far beyond expectations.

He had initially believed that with his own power and that of his subordinates, capturing Dracula would be a simple task.

Instead, before he could even make a move, he was ambushed by Morbius. Severely wounded and unable to complete the mission, he now faced relentless attacks from the Claw Corps.

The losses were devastating.

Despite their noble lineage, pure-bloods still shared the weaknesses of common vampires, and their enemies had clearly exploited that.

"Any news on Drake's whereabouts?" Lilith asked calmly.

As the progenitor, Lilith normally wouldn't have involved herself. At most, she would've dispatched other princes to handle it.

But Ferdinand's report changed everything—both hybrid anomalies, Drake and Morbius, had surfaced in Gotham.

If either of them obtained the power of the Blood God, they would become a threat to her.

"Drake is currently roaming Gotham. Ostensibly, he's targeting Dracula, but in reality, he's hunting purebloods."

Ferdinand regarded Drake with disdain—he believed he could crush him single-handedly.

The problem was Morbius.

That so-called Doctor Night, who looked like a vampire and drank blood like one, didn't share any of their weaknesses. Infuriatingly, he could even fight on par with a pureblood prince.

Just thinking about it made Ferdinand feel the world was grossly unfair.

"Gotham sounds fun."

Lilith smiled cryptically.

In the long span of her life, few things stirred her interest anymore. But now, someone—or something—had piqued her curiosity.

In an instant, she transformed into a swarm of blood-red bats and flew toward Gotham's urban core.

———

A Black mugger dropped the handbag in his grasp, satisfied as he rifled through the cash inside, paying no mind to the woman lying nearby, unconscious and bleeding from the head.

As he turned around, what he saw made his blood run cold.

A monstrous figure loomed before him, its entire body encased in chitinous armor, jaws parting grotesquely.

Before he could even scream, a tongue like a python shot out and sank into his throat.

The serpentine tongue pulsed and writhed, draining every last drop of blood from the man's body.

Within moments, the mugger's eyes rolled back as his life slipped away.

Drake looked down at the corpse with disdain. When it came to blood, he much preferred young white victims.

If not for Allen's warnings and Morbius secretly eavesdropping, he wouldn't have bothered holding back.

Just thinking about Morbius made Drake crave the taste of his blood.

"Who's there?!"

Drake spun around to see a voluptuous young woman standing behind him.

Though it was nighttime, she held a lace-trimmed parasol like a noble lady out for a stroll.

Their eyes met—and Drake's entire body trembled uncontrollably.

It was a deep, primal reaction embedded in his blood, an instinct to submit.

In that instant, one name exploded in his mind.

No pure-blood prince had ever made him feel awe—but this woman did. The only possible explanation: the source of all vampires.

"What a perfect creation," Lilith murmured, her voice tinged with envy at Drake's immunity to sunlight—something even she, the progenitor, could not overcome.

"Your Majesty... Do you have any orders?"

All of Drake's bravado crumbled.

He could trash-talk a pure-blood prince, but before the progenitor, he was nothing but a trembling lamb. His fate lay entirely in her hands.

Lilith smiled wickedly and asked, "Would you like to wield the power of the Blood God?"

"…"