Blood Awakening: The Strongest Hybrid and His Vampire Bride

Nikolai left the apartment after enjoying a small meal—he couldn't take Ryan or his wives due to the situation. Ryan went to meet the Lamia, so Leona and Anya protected Clara in Nikolai's place while he headed out.

Sssss

The rain hammered the pavement, bleeding into the overflowing flood drains. Each step was wet and came with a squishy sensation.

Damn shoes.

He forgot to wear the new pair that Nikita packed for him, a pair from an advert he watched in the past, when they were human... Before he boarded the plane to arrive in Londis, there was a package at his aunt's house with a Limited Edition pair signed by the female singer who endorsed them.

To think she remembered.

His coat clung to his shoulders, damp and creased along the folds of his elbows. The streetlights flickered with soft halos. Dull yellow and hazy, with some that buzzed like tired cicadas and countless broken bulbs leading to dark spots.

He passed a bakery that smelled faintly of cinnamon and yeast. Closed. But the social media link and other advertisements remained lit in the window—a family-run shop, tucked between concrete monsters. Nikolai stopped for a moment under the weathered awning just to check the menus and delivery times.

Leona and Clara would probably love these sweet cakes...

However, didn't Anya like bitter and tart desserts?

With a mental note of what they might want to try, he opened his smartphone, the display strange due to being in a different language, and yet he could read it easily.

[Order for tomorrow at 08:30]

Cost: £55 + £20 TIP

- Mont Blanc x 2

- Blackcurrant Tart x 1

- Fruit Tea Set + Butter biscuit basket.

- Chocolate cake x 4

- Apple Crumble x 2

Additional Fees: £8.55

Total: £83.55

"Well... thank god I am rich."

Not only did he earn over a million in the local currency from the arena match, but he also had the funds his father transferred, which could probably buy a small house in this expensive City.

The girls will be happy with this.

However, as he trudged along the wet streets, his silver hair dripping with water, Nikolai's heart became warm.

This is where Dad once lived...?

Not in a fancy castle, nor a tower or mansion... above the small bakery was a little apartment with two windows and wonky bricks.

Nikolai looked around, the overflowing gutters, filled trash bins, and a slight scent of almost rotten food lingered from the takeaways on the next street. It must have been hell!

His breath fogged up as he exhaled in the cold British air.

Somewhere behind him, a bottle clattered along the ground. Just wind, or maybe a fox? The City didn't sleep, even in miserable weather like this.

He took the long way because Ryan took his Supra GTX... to impress the Lamia. Nikolai wanted to see this place, to enjoy the streets whose names he would never remember, but the scents and small details.

Left at a rusted mailbox, past a shuttered florist, across the broken fence of a neglected park. It wasn't until he reached the underpass—a crumbling mouth of stone and rust-stained pillars and pigeon shit.

Cold and wet, yet somehow it didn't feel horrible.

Like being in the eye of a storm as it held its breath, then a glass shattered.

Clink!

His gaze snapped left. Nobody there...

Then right.

A glint of light, something strange. Porcelain, white as bone, peeked for just a moment, then it slipped out of view behind a lamppost.

Tiger stripes.

The mask was similar to that of the Siberian tiger.

"What the...?"

Nikolai's hand dropped to his belt.

Too late.

The feminine shape rushed forward, like a flash.

And darkness surged toward him.

The porcelain mask blurred as it shot from the shadows.

Nikolai's back foot pivoted.

Too slow.

Crack!

A knee drove into his ribs like a battering ram—his feet left the ground as he was launched into the wall, cracking the brick, paint and mortar raining over his shoulders.

She's Fast!

Before he could draw breath, she was already there.

A blur of white and cobalt. Her fist tore through the rain, missing his cheek by inches as he rolled to the side—claws, actual claws that sliced sparks from the wall where his head had been.

Her mask tilted as a hum followed.

"Well... your father would have countered that blow, child."

Nikolai's eyes sharpened.

He charged forward, aiming for her abdomen, but her leg shot towards his face. Ready this time, he ducked underneath and managed to counter.

Thunk!

His elbow smashed into her gut.

She staggered, not far, but the blow was enough for him to close their range.

His palm struck her chin, the force lifting her onto her toes. With his other hand, he followed up, slamming into her abdomen, sending her back several steps into the rain.

"Ngh..." The tiger mask tilted further, her soft red lips appeared as she hissed through her nose with a snort.

Then she smiled.

"You're not like the rumours."

Her jacket tore down the back as her form shifted.

White fur. Black stripes. Muscles bulging beneath her skin. Her hands were claws now, tipped in iron. Her eyes gleamed gold through the eyeholes.

She leapt.

Boom.

Nikolai's eyes widened.

He dropped just as her claw passed overhead, splitting the rain like silk. She pressed further with blows raining like a storm. Nikolai blocked two, but the third slammed into his chest. Another grazed his thigh. Each blow throbbed with pain, but he held ground.

He roared, then slammed his forehead into her mask.

Crack!

Porcelain shattered.

A single eye was visible now—a narrowed slit burning with ferocity and a wild challenge.

The woman hissed.

Then her head turned toward the neon glow at the edge of the alley.

Voices.

Pedestrians appeared, just past the bend. Humans. She clicked her tongue, then backflipped, landing on all fours like a beast. Her golden eyes locked on Nikolai, before she vanished... appearing in the building room the next moment.

"Well... it seems our little game ends here, Nikolai Volkov."

Nikolai stood still.

Blood on his tongue, sweet with rain in his eyes.

Then he laughed once, quietly.

"...A tiger, huh?"

***

Outside the Red Fox, Nikolai limped towards the doorway.

Because of the woman's assault, his abdomen wouldn't heal. Something about her claws caused his wounds to stop healing naturally—it reminded him of getting a cat scratch as a kid, and it lasted weeks.

"She didn't have rabies or anything... right?" he muttered, brushing damp hair from his eyes and about to enter the Arena. The alley behind him faded into murky wet silence. In front, music pulsed through the steel-lined walls.

A crimson fox logo glowed above the metal doors.

He pushed them open.

Boom.

The bass rumbled in his stomach.

Inside, the Arena was alive—steel, sweat, and smoke. Neon rings lined the rafters above a sunken cage, flickering with static. Spectators leaned over rails, drinks in hand, some shouting bets, others whispering about the foreigner limping into the pit.

Ever since his first win, he could feel the difference.

Eyes.

Judging, measuring him, and deciding whether he was worth betting their funds on. Would he be the next big thing or collapse like all foolish upstarts without a sense of balance and foundation?

A few recognised him and started to whisper.

"It's that rookie, the son of Ivan, who won last night, is he gonna fight again!?"

Most fighters only fought once a week due to injury, and even werewolves had a limit when fighting other supernatural beasts.

"Isn't that Nikolai? The one who wrecked the Stray?"

"Doesn't he look strange? He's limping, is he injured...?"

"Think we can make a pretty penny on this?"

He didn't flinch.

The scent of oil and blood filled his lungs. His boots clacked on metal stairs as he descended to the locker tunnel, lit with flickering bulbs and moss along the walls—quite charming when he thought about it.

At the bottom, a handler in a blood-red coat met him.

"Promotion match with two opponents," the man said, scanning a glowing tablet. "You still fighting?"

Nikolai pulled off his coat and tossed it to the bench. His shirt stuck to the half-dried blood over his ribs.

"You want a medical patch?" the handler asked.

Nikolai rolled his neck and cracked his vertebrae like dry wood.

"No."

He extended and flexed his fingers, then pulled on a pair of tight gloves over his hands. One black, the other grey. There wasn't time to adjust, and because of her hard body, his wrists hurt too much.

He tied the last strap and stepped toward the tunnel.

The gate opened with a harsh clang, leading into a cylindrical steel corridor. Red light bled from the Arena's floor, pulsing in rhythm with the music.

He inhaled once.

'Tiger outside. Wolves inside.'

He cracked his knuckles, shoulders squaring.

As the crowd screamed, the monster with cornrows stole the microphone from the announcer and pointed at Nikolai, then turned to the ground with a deep and rather eloquent tone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, blood fiends and mana freaks of all dimensions...The Silver Clan proudly brings to you, its soon-to-be slaughtering, soul-crackin', arena-dominating TAG TEAM CHAMPIOOONS OF THE UNDERWOOOOORLD!

The Devastator... Lassie Jaaaames!The Lard Ass... Neville Guuuun!

The Silver Clan Outlaws!

And if you ain't down with that... We've got two words for ya!"

The crowd screamed the words along with the pair before a moment's pause, and everyone in the Arena finished the introduction.

"DROP DEAD!"