My Stepmom Is A Vampire & Her Entire Bloodline Wants To Breed Me

Chapter 197: The Progenitor Residue

The monster tore through nearly half of the vampires in minutes. Blood sprayed violently against the reinforced glass, streaking it in thick, uneven patterns that slid downward like rain. Bones cracked. Bodies were crushed.

Screams echoed briefly before cutting off one by one. Strangely, the doctors did not flinch.

Their eyes remained empty, unfocused, as they calmly scribbled notes, adjusting instruments and recording data as if nothing grotesque were happening in front of them.

Dylan stood frozen, his mind splitting under the weight of what he was witnessing. He had two choices, and he knew it.

He could turn around and run right now, risk being hunted down, and survive. Or he could follow Mark Latros deeper into this place and uncover whatever nightmare lay at the core of it.

Before he could force himself to decide, a violent impact shook the glass beside him.

A boy, barely older than Dylan, slammed his fists against the barrier over and over again, eyes wild with terror.

"Please," he screamed hoarsely, voice breaking. "Please help me. I don’t want to die. I don’t want—"

The monster reached him before the sentence could finish. One massive hand seized his body and smashed him into the floor.

The sound was wet and sickening. Blood exploded outward, flattening beneath the creature’s weight.

Somehow, impossibly, the boy was still alive. His face was unrecognizable, swollen and soaked in red, but his eyes were still open, locked onto Dylan with desperation as his mouth moved soundlessly, begging.

Dylan’s chest seized. Air refused to enter his lungs. This was worse than Corvane, worse than anything he had imagined.

He finally understood why he had avoided joining Andrew and the others during the Corvane conflict. This was the truth he never wanted to face.

His stomach twisted violently, and he dropped to his knees as vomit spilled onto the sterile floor. Cold sweat drenched his skin as shame and horror tangled together in his chest.

He wondered why he had insisted on coming here, why he had dragged himself into something so far beyond him, and why he had ever believed he could handle it.

But no one noticed him or glanced at him except one vampire.

Mark’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and almost bored. "It’s unfortunate, but only one needs to survive," he said into the microphone. "Shall we continue?"

The group of doctors began to leave, following him as if nothing of value remained behind.

Dylan forced himself to stand, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand. Mark glanced at him briefly, then dismissed him entirely.

Dylan understood then. Mark didn’t care. He didn’t see him as a threat or even a person. That indifference was worse than hostility.

If Mark was moving forward, then whatever mattered most was ahead. Seamus would be drawn there too. Dylan clenched his fists as he walked. He forced his breathing to steady, his legs to keep moving.

"I need to be stronger," he muttered under his breath. "I have to. If I want to defeat Seamus and avenge my friend... I have to."

The next floor opened into a bifurcated space that made his blood run cold. One side was dedicated to extraction.

Vitalis Cores were removed with efficiency, bodies stripped of what made them valuable before being dumped through an open chute surrounded by low metal barriers.

Dylan watched a corpse slide through and disappear below, understanding now how the pile he’d seen earlier kept growing. Nausea clawed at him again, but he swallowed it back.

The other side of the floor was quieter, more controlled. This was where the maroon liquid was produced.

At the center stood a massive glass container large enough to hold an adult man suspended upright in clear fluid. Tubes ran in every direction, humming softly as they pulsed.

Inside the container floated a torso, cracked and fractured, glowing faintly gold as if it were carved from marble infused with light.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t alive in any normal sense, yet it wasn’t dead either. The tubes siphoned something from it constantly, feeding into sealed vials below.

Dylan stared, frozen. He knew instinctively that it was something really important.

"This," Mark said calmly, gesturing toward the enormous glass container, "is the torso of the Progenitor. It contains the serum used to turn humans into vampires with a single injection."

His voice echoed softly in the chamber, measured and confident, as if he were presenting a scientific breakthrough rather than an abomination.

"We call it Progenitor Residuum. A potent toxin infused with residual power from the King of Morum himself, carrying the Morvane Locus gene. That gene is what allows the subject to evolve faster and reach higher thresholds of power in a much shorter time."

Dylan felt his throat tighten as Mark continued speaking, walking slowly in a wide arc as though lecturing the young doctors.

"It’s just like Seamus..." he murmured.

"We discovered that the Residuum can also be adapted," Mark went on, unfazed by Dylan’s growing tension.

"By altering its structure, we can implant Vitalis Core compatibility into animals, creating vessels capable of sustaining it upon contact. With that we can make armies of mutated animals and source of power."

A pause, then a faint smile. "And of course, the crown jewel of our work. What we call a perfect vampire."

Mark stopped near the glass container, resting a gloved hand against it. "The process requires permanent genomic binding, completely rewriting the subject’s DNA through a technique we’ve perfected called Regulatory Genome Overwrite."

He turned back toward Dylan as he spoke again. "Corvane attempted this with their so-called Lady Crow. They failed. The child’s body was too fragile, and the Core overclocked before stabilization could occur."

Dylan stepped back instinctively, his hand moving to the gun hidden in his trousers. He pulled it out and aimed it straight at Mark’s chest, his arms trembling despite the effort to steady them.

"But we succeeded," Mark continued, his tone almost bored now. "Through animal trials and the sacrifice of countless young vampires. Still, the results were incomplete. The Progenitor’s body is fragmented, and his power remains scattered across the North."

Mark walked closer, deliberately slow, forcing the other doctors to step aside. His shadow loomed over Dylan, overwhelming in its weight.

"But then," he said softly, "we found your friend."

Dylan’s breath caught.

"He carries the same attribute as the Progenitor," Mark said, eyes gleaming.

"Blood capable of wielding four Bloodstyles. A living convergence. I am very curious whether this iteration of our experiment will finally succeed."

The gun in Dylan’s hands shook violently now. He had never faced an aura like this before, not even during the worst hunts. Still, he forced the words out.

"Where is Seamus?" he demanded. "What are you planning to do to him?"

Mark’s lips curled upward. "Do you not hate him?" he asked casually. "Don’t you want him dead?"

The question hit Dylan harder than any blow. His eyes widened, and before he could speak, Mark answered his unspoken confusion.

"We see everything," he said. "Every spider you encounter. Every web you destroy. Did you really think this place didn’t notice you?"

He tilted his head slightly. "We work closely with doctors from Caduceus. They are eager to create something beyond humans and vampires alike."

Mark spread his arms slightly, pride evident in his posture. "We call ourselves the Society of Red. Tell me, Dylan. Would you like to join us?"

Silence stretched between them. Dylan’s thoughts raced. He could gain strength and finally get revenge. An end to his weakness. For a fleeting moment, temptation whispered to him.

"But why me?" Dylan asked instead, his voice low and strained. "You have plenty of candidates. You want me as bait, or as a weapon against him?"

Mark sighed, visibly uninterested. "You are simply convenient," he said.

"A suitable human subject for the final phase of Caduceus’ request. And an excellent lure for Seamus."

Then his voice sharpened. "I read your records," Mark continued coolly. "An abusive household. A mother who lashed out at you whenever she caught your father cheating."

"A father murdered and fed back to you in stew." He shrugged lightly. "It’s remarkable your mind survived at all."

Dylan stared at him, motionless. Then, slowly, he laughed. "You really should’ve studied me better," he said hoarsely. "Because if you did, you’d know I’d rather die than work with people like you. I won’t betray my humanity for an ounce of power..."

"There isn’t any pride in it."

He then fired. The shot tore through Mark’s torso, vaporizing half of it on impact. The force alone would have killed anything else.

Mark staggered once, looked down at the damage with mild curiosity, then raised his head again.

It was as if he didn’t even feel pain at all.

"Wrong answer," Mark said.

The floor beneath Dylan split open without warning, transforming into a massive, organic maw. Gravity vanished. Dylan screamed as he plunged downward into darkness, the sound swallowed by the closing abyss.

Mark watched calmly as the pit sealed itself.

"The only thing that can save you now," he said softly, "is courage, and a mind free from fear and hatred."

Below, Dylan fell.