Vampire Progenitor System
Chapter 142: Fighting The Ghouls 1

Chapter 142: Fighting The Ghouls 1

Abandoned Metro Tunnels – New York’s Lower Depths

Two Nights Later

The air was thick.

Not just from dust, but from age. The smell of rusted rails, moldy concrete, and dried blood clung to every surface. This place wasn’t used anymore—not by trains, not by humans. But something else moved here now.

Lucifer stepped lightly over the broken rails, coat dragging behind him, his steps silent but precise. Every few meters, he paused. Tilted his head. Eyes scanning.

There were traces.

Barely-there signs.

Scrapes on the walls. Burnt stone. Alchemical residue that hummed faintly under his senses. Whoever brought Calen back hadn’t erased their trail as well as they thought. He followed it deep, deeper than most vampires would even consider going.

The further he went, the colder it got.

And quieter.

Even the rats had stopped coming down here.

He stopped at an old security gate. It was torn open like paper. Something big did that. Fast.

Lucifer stepped through without a word. His fingers brushed the walls now, sensing residual essence. He was close. Too close.

He turned a corner—

And froze.

The tunnel opened into a wide chamber—what used to be a maintenance hub. Broken generators lay in the corners, and the ceiling had long since caved. Only faint blue lights glowed from some kind of arcane wiring woven into the floor.

Lucifer took one step in.

Then another.

His eyes flicked left.

Then right.

He already felt it. The pressure.

Something wasn’t right.

Then the first click echoed behind him.

Then another.

Then ten more.

A low groan filled the air like metal twisting inside flesh.

And one by one, they emerged.

From behind pillars. From holes in the ceiling. From the shadows.

Ghouls.

Dozens.

Lucifer didn’t move. Just slowly exhaled and muttered, "So it’s a trap."

A voice rang out from the upper platform.

Not monstrous. Not guttural.

Smooth. Human.

"Of course it is."

Lucifer looked up.

There he stood—Malakov.

Dark coat. Leather gloves. Eyes sharp with delusion and victory. He leaned casually on the railing, the Crimson Grimoire in one hand, glowing faintly.

Beside him, something shifted. Shackled to the wall.

A hunched figure. Bare-chested, covered in scars. Twisted skin. Sharp claws for fingers. Spiral mark pulsing red above one eye.

Calen.

Still alive. Or something close to it.

Lucifer’s eyes locked on him for only a second—then returned to Malakov.

"So it’s you."

Malakov chuckled softly. "The one and only. I was hoping you’d come. Saves me the trouble of sending another bait."

Lucifer didn’t answer.

Malakov leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited to speak to you, Lucifer. The infamous vampire that thinks himself king. You’ve built clans. Territories. Alliances. But all of it... it’s just fear management, isn’t it?"

Lucifer’s voice was quiet. "You talk a lot for someone who doesn’t understand what he’s touched."

Malakov raised the Grimoire and turned it slightly. "You mean this? Oh, I understand exactly what this is. Power. Knowledge. Evolution. This book didn’t fall into my hands by accident. It chose me."

Lucifer’s eyes darkened. "That book belongs to me and not in the hands of a lowly human like you, so shut up before I do that myself."

Malakov smirked. "Says the leech who’s lived for centuries leeching off humans."

He raised his hand—and the ghouls responded, stepping forward as one, eyes dim but bodies twitching like weapons loaded and waiting.

"I’m not here to destroy the world, Lucifer," Malakov said, voice calm but rising. "I’m here to correct it."

He started pacing slowly above the chamber.

"For too long, supernaturals have ruled from the shadows. You kill. You manipulate. You shape the world and call it balance. But humans... we’ve survived everything thrown at us. Wars. Plagues. Monsters like you. And we’re still here."

He gestured to Calen.

"And now... we’re stronger."

Lucifer’s voice didn’t change. "You turned a man into a beast."

"No," Malakov said, almost proudly. "I freed him. From fear. From failure. From death. Calen was broken. Now he’s something more."

Lucifer looked again at the twisted form of Calen. The faint breath. The chains cutting into mutated skin. The pain etched in every twitch of his jaw.

He didn’t see freedom.

He saw torture given form.

Malakov continued, "I will rebuild humanity. Not under you. Not beside you. Above you. Supernaturals will serve us—guard our cities, power our weapons, fight our wars."

His smile widened.

"You’ll be what you always were—tools. Pets. Maybe gods in chains."

Lucifer’s silence deepened.

"You think you’re eternal, but you’re all rotting inside. We’re not. We adapt. We evolve. We rise."

He stepped to the very edge of the platform now, looking down at Lucifer like a collector viewing a rare trophy.

"You, Lucifer... you’re the crown jewel. The perfect specimen. Imagine what I could make from you."

The ghouls moved again. Closer now. Circling. Some of them snarling low, jaws twitching with restrained hunger. One even dropped saliva like acid, hissing against the floor.

Malakov’s voice dropped to a whisper, but it echoed like thunder in the stone walls.

"You’d be beautiful. A new kind of monster. My monster."

Lucifer finally looked up at him.

Expression unreadable.

Then a smile. Small. Dry. Cold.

"You done talking?"

Malakov blinked. "For now."

Lucifer stepped forward once. Just enough that the ghouls tensed.

"I’m going to tell you one thing," he said, voice soft but deadly.

"You’re not the first human to think they could rewrite the food chain."

His eyes gleamed crimson.

"You won’t be the last."

He paused.

"But you will be the next to disappear."

The ghouls screeched.

Malakov raised his hand.

Lucifer’s coat flared as he stood still, center of the storm.

No fear.

Just the silence before a flood.

But he wasn’t moving yet.

Not until they made the first mistake.

Not until the strings were visible.

Because the truth was...

Lucifer wasn’t just here to kill.

He was here to learn.

And Malakov had already started teaching.