'Pathetic. Every single one of them.'

A shadow watched the destruction unfolding below him from the safety of a nearby rooftop, silently condemning the brightly-colored figures he could see backing away from the villain and its desperately struggling hostage in the center of the street, each of them willing to let the boy die to maintain their perfect records and their lives. He spat in disgust, committing to memory their outfits, their quirks, their names, filing the information away to be used at a later date when he finally came for them. Fakes, all of them. Unworthy to hold the title of "Hero."

He would start with Death Arms, he decided. A supposed strongman too shortsighted to think about anything he could do to help the situation that wasn't pummeling something with his oversized fists. Kamui Woods next, followed by the new one, Mount Lady. Both hungering for the spotlight over all else, Kamui unwilling to take a burn or two to snatch the boy away from the monster's grip and Mount Lady refusing to shrink down to her normal unremarkable size to fit into the narrow street; another hero all too reliant on their quirk. Fame. Fortune. An easy life of slapping muggers on the wrist. That was the life this scum wanted to lead, not the hard-fought struggle of a true hero.

"Tch. What a waste." The hostage's struggles were slowing down as he seemed to run out of air. Such a strong will may have been suited to a strong hero if he'd been of the right temperament. It seemed that nobody would find out now.

"Idiot, Stop! Stop!"

Death Arms shouted after a figure running out of the crowd, much smaller than the others. A student? The boy twirled suddenly, tossing his backpack towards the villain. The multitude of objects impacting its eyes seemed to stun it as it reared back, but all the boy seemed to be able to do with his opportunity was claw at the goop surrounding the hostage.

'I need to get closer. This one is interesting.' The man thought, propelling himself closer to the action. It was risky; the fake heroes had a better chance of spotting him at this distance, but he just had to hear what the boy would say. To see what he would do next.

"M-My legs just moved on their own!" the boy shouted, still hopelessly pulling at the slimy villain's exterior, "You… you looked like you were asking for help."

The man's eyes widened. It couldn't be… in a crowd of this size, with all the 'pros' hanging around, the only hero here was this boy? He narrowed his eyes, making up his mind on the spot as the villain readied a tentacle of slime to slam the boy into the pavement. In an instant, weaknesses were sought after, distances were calculated, and a plan was formed.

Dust kicked up from around him as he launched himself off of the roof, pulling the sword from his back as he soared towards the villain. A shallow slash to its eye incapacitated it long enough for him to scoop the boy up in the same motion, leaping away just as something much faster shot its way past him. He locked eyes with All Might, the symbol of peace, for a single moment before dashing away, leaving the one true hero to clean up the mess the rest of the fakes left behind for him. He smirked, knowing that All Might's power used in such a fashion would have kicked up enough dust and wind to keep his identity hidden from any cameras present for the time being.

He continued to run from building to building, noticing the dead weight of the boy over his shoulder.

'Must've passed out from the stress.' He concluded, figuring the sensory overload of staring death in the face followed by a major case of whiplash would be enough to put any schoolkid down for the count. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he took the time to inspect the boy, pulling out his school ID in the process. 'Moved without thinking, huh?' he smirked at the thought, 'A true hero at such a young age, risking everything to save that other brat.' The faraway screams and explosions had grown quiet; All Might had probably dealt with the villain and left the others to take care of the rest. Uninterested in the situation any further, he picked the boy up and continued moving, getting as far away from the site as he could.

'That's one problem solved. Now, let's tackle your future prospects, Izuku Midorya.'

"You should probably give it up."

"I cannot simply tell you 'you can become a hero' regardless of your power."

"You also have to consider what's realistic, young man."

"What the hell are you doing here, Deku!?"

"K-Kacchan!" Izuku groaned as his body protested his attempts at movement, squirming and opening his eyes only to close them again immediately; the sinking sun seemed at just the right angle to strike him directly in the face. Even if he couldn't see, he could still smell. Wherever he was held the putrid combination of long-forgotten trash and the salty breeze. "Urgh… where am I?"

"Dagobah Beach." A stern voice informed him from nearby. "Kacchan… is that the one you were trying to save?"

"Y-Yes…" Izuku squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light. The speaker was a masked man, clad in metal armor and dirty rags. He wielded an assortment of blades all over his person, including a large katana strapped to his back. He didn't recognize him, and for a hero nerd like Izuku, that was a scary prospect. "D-Do you know what happened-?"

"Stand."

"B-but what about-?"

"I won't ask again, boy."

Izuku, in spite of his terror, complied. His adrenaline-taxed muscles ached in protest, but he slowly rose to his feet. The man did the same, hopping down from his perch atop a broken-down pickup truck and standing in front of the student, eyeing him up and down.

"That was the second step." He stated cryptically, dusting off Izuku's shoulders with a few harsh pats. "The boy is fine, thanks to you. All Might saved him in the end, but it was your intervention that earned him those precious seconds to breathe. Don't mistake this for congratulations, though. You're only alive because I saw potential in you. The real question is if you're willing to take the steps necessary to follow through."

Izuku went through a range of emotions. Relief, then fear, and confusion.

'S-Steps? Didn't he say…?'

"Y-You mentioned the second step." Izuku figured he must have been talking about that. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the stress of the situation getting to him. The other man stepped forward, a sincere softness to his eyes that contrasted with his roguish looks.

"Yes, I did. Now, when you ran in to save the brat, your body moved on its own, correct?" he inquired, moving on to another topic entirely. Izuku didn't have to think, already knowing it to be true.

"I just- I couldn't sit there just doing nothing."

"That, boy, is the sign of a true hero." The smirk the man had on his face was equal parts encouraging and terrifying as he continued, "To move without thought for your own safety, only that of others. To keep a good head on your shoulders, searching for weak points, calculating advantages. To go beyond everything that the human race is meant to be, and become an unselfish beacon of hope. That is a hero!"

He was laughing now, which was seriously concerning and hopeful all at the same time. Izuku began growing an uneasy smile of his own. Could this man really believe in him? Did he see the potential in him to become a hero, in spite of what everyone else told him?

"Kid," Izuku snapped out of his thoughts, returning his focus to the man in front of him, "tell me about your quirk." Izuku's smile faded.

'I guess I was too hopeful… it always comes back to that, doesn't it?'

"I… my quirk… I can't... it's not suited to heroics." He admitted with a dark look on his face. The boy's eyes were flashing back to distasteful memories as he talked about his quirk. The man could feel a connection, deep down, and he thought he knew why. His eyes were similar at one point.

"Heroic actions are not decided by quirks." he began, causing Izuku to raise his head and look at him, "Heroic actions are decided by your conviction. You can be forgiven for being under that assumption with all they teach you these days. I was once like that as well."

"Y-You mean… I can become a hero no matter what my quirk is?" Izuku's eyes were brimming with unshed tears. These were the words he wanted to hear, the ones that his mother would not give him, the ones that even All Might could not find in his heart to let him believe. The man nodded.

"Oh yes, one certainly could." He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes, "But not if you lack conviction. You need to possess the ability to ignore the drivel that others spew."

Izuku stepped back at the intensity of the man's stare.

"Let me guess," the man continued, "your quirk is 'evil.' Much more suited for a villain than a hero? They told you to give up and work a nice cushy office job so that 'evil' wouldn't someday corrupt you into switching over to the other side?"

He'd hit the nail on the head, of course. Izuku nodded grimly, looking at his hands as if they'd hold all the answers.

"My quirk… its abilities, its effects, and side-effects. They're all so gruesome." Izuku admitted. "Someone like you, who saved me in the blink of an eye, must have some kind of speed enhancer, right? How could you possibly understand-?"

"I don't have a speed-enhancing quirk; quirks have simply made people blind to the feats that they can achieve through their own hard work and training. Your story sounds much like mine, boy. But I trained. I learned that I could use this infernal power for more than just evil deeds. How many people it could save. How many people you could save!"

Izuku finally stopped resisting the flow of tears that he so desperately wanted to release. There was finally someone in front of him who believed he could be a hero, regardless of his quirk.

"W-Why? Why me? What's so special about me?" he asked, unbelieving that after all these years such an opportunity would finally present itself to him. The man smiled.

"Because of what you said: 'My legs just moved on their own.' That, boy, is something that many of the world's greatest heroes have said about their first rescue. I believe you can become a true hero and change the course of this society's corruption and be a beacon of hope for everyone, not just those that are deemed 'acceptable.'"

He held out a hand.

"My name is Stendhal. I will train you to become that hero!"

Izuku looked at the proffered hand with growing conviction. This was his opportunity. His starting line.

"My name is Izuku Midorya." He returned, grasping Stendhal's hand to accept the offer. "I will not let you down."

"In related news, a confrontation between heroes and a bag snatcher this morning at Tatooin Station ended with Mt. Lady, a new hero on the scene, saving the day. Luckily, no serious damage was done and no civilians were injured during the ordeal. Later, a slime-type criminal harassed the downtown area, going so far as to take a middle school student as a hostage and set the street he was occupying alight. Fortunately for those involved, All Might was on the scene, putting a stop to the danger and creating a little rain in the process. We will continue to provide information on the cleanup and reconstruction as it becomes available. Moving on to tomorrow's weather report…"

The news anchor's bright smile and short dress disappeared with a flicker as Izuku tapped the TV remote's power button, sighing and sinking down further into the couch. He could hear his mom humming in the kitchen, the savory scents of dinner slowly beginning to fill his senses as she worked. Despite having felt like this his whole life, he'd never felt so uncomfortable in normalcy as in that moment.

"A true hero…" he whispered quietly to himself, still trying to wrap his head around the concept of someone as strong as Stendhal believing in him. Izuku was to meet his new mentor at Dagobah Beach tomorrow to begin his training, which was promised to be an arduous and painful project; the U.A. entrance exams were a mere ten months away, not much time to establish proper control over his quirk and a commit to a full-body training regimen. It didn't matter how much he may suffer though; he was willing to endure whatever it would take to realize his dream of becoming a hero.

Stendhal seemed to have so much confidence in his potential. Izuku had always tried to hold out hope, but it was different to know that there was someone else out there who believed in him. A fire burned in his chest as he imagined all the times that his classmates and peers had put him down, told him it was his destiny to remain a nobody or become a villain. Today, when All Might had told him he couldn't honestly tell him he could become a hero, Izuku had finally begun to entertain the thought that they were right. He was ready to give up. But now…

'Maybe I don't believe in destiny.' He thought to himself with a lackadaisical smile. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and, for the first time since he could remember, he could enjoy just being himself for a moment.

Little Izuku Midorya, the boy with a blood-based quirk who suddenly had a bright future within his grasp.

"Izuku, dinner is ready!" his mom, Inko, called from the kitchen, her voice trailed by the clinking of plates and silverware. He smiled, jumping off the couch and racing to the table, looking over his mother's usual tired features. She seemed worried, as always, smiling tentatively as he took his seat across from her. She shuffled nervously, pulling a small vial filled with crimson liquid out of her apron pocket and placing it beside his bowl of Katsudon. "Here you go, sweetie."

"Thank you for the meal." He bowed, giving his thanks before digging in. The atmosphere was the same as usual, but somehow everything felt different all the same; he was more comfortable than he'd ever been, enjoying the simple guarantee of his mother's company.

"How was school today, Izuku?" she asked between scoops of rice, years of experience steeling her nerves as she watched her son work the cap off the vial. It helped her if he downed it as fast as possible; the less time spent looking at blood the better. A familiar feeling of fatigue washed over her as Izuku brought the vial to his lips.

"It was good." Izuku chirped, his chipper mood radiating into his demeanor. He certainly wouldn't be telling his mother about his involvement in the showdown at Tatooin Station, especially since his role was miraculously left out of the news. He reasoned that he was much less interesting than All Might, and that probably saved him for the time being. Still… "Mom…"

She looked up in concern as his lively voice dulled down into something a little more serious. He'd watched her fuss over him throughout the years, seen the worry etched on her face as his desire to be a hero in spite of public perception of his quirk took a toll on his social life, noticed the way she took the blame for his quirk upon herself as the guilt wore down on her health and mental well-being, as if she was the one at fault for whatever genetic mutation landed him a quirk so wildly different from either of his parents. Stendhal was right; he firmly believed it in that moment. He understood his new teacher's words from earlier.

Saving his mother from herself would be the next step on his path to becoming a hero.

"You don't have to worry about me anymore, okay?" he told her, smiling as brightly and confidently as he could. He held her gaze with blazing determination, noticing the questions hiding desperately behind her eyes.

"Izuku…?" She seemed confused, placing down her bowl and chopsticks to give him her full attention. He leaned forward, thinking about how he could elaborate without giving her so much information that it would do more harm than good.

"I can't really explain all the details right now, because I don't know too many myself," he began, trying his best to sound confident in his words, "but I've found someone who wants to teach me and pass on his knowledge. I've given up on the idea of being a hero without using my quirk. He… He told me that I could be a true hero, mom. He told me that it didn't matter whether or not some people thought my quirk was closer to something a villain would use. He told me I could save people. That… That's all I want to do. I want to help people." Inko gasped, her eyes glistening but he continued without pause, "You… You've done so much for me, mom. I want you to be able to think about yourself for a bit. I've got eight months of middle school left, and a few more months after that the hero school exams start up. Until then I think I'll lay low around school and probably be out of the house more. I want you to worry about yourself for a while."

Izuku thought about all the times his mother would cook him special meals when he had a bad day, or when she would patch him up after Kacchan fought with him. Always worried and always distraught, but never reprimanding him for trying to follow his dreams. Never calling him the monster he'd let everyone else convince him he was. He felt his vision growing hazy and his face heating up as he continued.

"I… I know you could never encourage me to become a hero the way I wanted, but you never told me I couldn't like everyone else. I'm going to be okay now, mom, I just know it. So please let me be the one worrying about you for a bit!"

True to his genes, Izuku was already too emotional. Inko, just the same, came around the table to scoop him up into a bear hug which he returned fervently, wrapping his arms around her as they both shook with emotion and tears.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled on repeat, reminding him of a certain night all those years ago. There was a different atmosphere this time though; both he and his mother understood that this was the start of a new chapter in their lives, and they were more than happy to turn the page.

"So you'll try? For me?" he asked and she nodded into his shoulder, squeezing even tighter. They stayed like that for a while, Inko undoubtedly releasing the last vestiges of her excessive emotions as her grip on Izuku slowly went slack. When she finally released him she stepped back, eyes rimmed with red but a wide smile on her face.

"Your father would be so proud to see the man you're growing up to be." She told him, placing an affectionate hand atop his head and ruffling his unruly hair. He smiled wider, bringing a hand to rest atop hers as they grinned at each other like they hadn't done since he was a young child.

"Thanks, mom."

"Stand."

Izuku complied with the order, sweat dripping generously from his body as he dragged himself to his feet. He let out a deep breath, panting from exhaustion. Stendhal told him the training would be difficult, but he certainly didn't expect this!

"… Take a break."

"Oh thank Kami." Izuku murmured, collapsing into the sand and allowing the cool grains to soothe his aching muscles. Stendhal's idea of light training seemed to be cleaning up the beach.

"Today's so-called 'heroes' have completely lost their sense of where they came from. Back when the title meant more than a weekly check, heroes would perform community service just because serving the community was their calling. They saw themselves as a part of the masses, instead of above them. On top of being a good deed, it also doubles as strength and endurance training to get yourself up to snuff."

Of course, that meant lifting items that weighed almost as much as he did and pushing even heavier objects across the sand to the 'extraction zone' where Stendhal had apparently arranged for an industrial-sized container to be picked up and taken to an actual dumpsite once it was filled.

"You're surprisingly tenacious." His teacher told him, the closest he'd come to a compliment since they'd started early this morning. It had to be nearly noon now, judging by the sun, and he was pretty sure they still had hours to go. "That will be enough physical training for today."

This piqued Izuku's interest.

"W-What else will we be doing?" he asked, sitting up to look his teacher in the eyes. He still wondered at his identity; any searching for the name "Stendhal" yielded little results. He was even more elusive than the Underground Hero Eraserhead, it seemed.

"We'll talk about your plans, first." Stendhal decided, looking down at him with his intimidating red eyes. "You're a middle-schooler, correct?"

"Y-Yes. It's my last year." Izuku affirmed.

"And you also plan to attend U.A. don't you?"

Izuku nodded enthusiastically.

"I do! It's always been my dream to learn how to become a hero there-"

"No." Stendhal interjected, his voice filled with venom. Izuku's eyes widened in confusion.

"B-But I can't become a hero unless I-"

"I'm not talking about the license, kid." Stendhal seemed to hold a distaste for that topic as well, but Izuku supposed that might be a question for another time. "I could care less if it's U.A., Shiketsu, Seijin, or even Seiai if you're willing to sneak in—hell, I don't even care if you go at all—but I absolutely forbid you from learning how to be a hero from any of them."

"I-I don't…" Izuku tried to understand what he meant, going to a hero academy but not learning how to become a hero. Stendhal sighed.

"It doesn't matter what academy you go to, kid, they won't teach you to become a hero. As far as I'm concerned, you figured that bit out all by yourself. All you have to expect from any place like U.A. is criticism about your weaknesses; they won't treat you the same because of your quirk. Take their experience, make it your own, but never let them change your ideals of what it means to be a hero."

"Y-You seem to know a lot about U.A." Izuku discerned, still trying to understand why it is his teacher believed these things about hero schools. "Did you go there?"

"I did." Stendhal nodded with something akin to pride, although that didn't make much sense considering his opinion of the school's teachings. "That school shaped me into who I am today. I realized instantly the corruption that ran rampant behind those walls. It bleeds into their teachings and sullies the students who may have made decent heroes; changes them into the same sort of filth that usually comes out of that place." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if recalling a bittersweet memory, "I left after my first year, preferring my own sense of justice to the twisted version they exercise."

"Y-You're a-a…" Izuku froze as realization struck him. He threw his hands over his mouth in case he would say something he would regret, but Stendhal only chuckled.

"Yes, I am a vigilante, although I tend to keep my work to myself, for now."

Stendhal seemed to be in a faraway place, looking towards a future that Izuku couldn't begin to guess at. His teacher brought himself back to reality just as fast as he'd left it, however, pulling a short blade from somewhere on his person. He flipped the knife in his hand, holding it handle-out towards Izuku.

"We will begin working on your quirk. Tell me about it." He demanded, staring his student down with great intensity. Izuku got the feeling that Stendhal already understood the basic concept of his quirk as he watched the shimmering reflection of the sun dance across the blade's surface.

"I… A-A doctor named it." He admitted, gingerly grasping at the handle of the knife as he brought it closer for inspection, "T-They sent me to a Quirk Rehabilitation Center when I was young, because of the side-effects. The therapist in charge of my case thought that if someone who admired heroes as much as I did thought of my quirk as villainous that I would be reluctant to use it."

"It worked, I suppose." Stendhal inferred, judging by Izuku's timid nature. He held out an arm, already knowing what would come next. "Show me."

"H-Hemokinesis, he called it." Izuku was still timidly staring at his own reflection on the knife's surface, watching it shimmer and dance as he twisted the blade between his nervous fingers. "I… When I drink blood, I can control it for a bit. Move it, shape it, solidify it. I-It also heals me."

"Show me." Stendhal repeated, waiting for his student to take the initiative. Izuku's expression seemed pained at the thought.

"I-I don't want to-"

"Hurt me? Kid, mastering your quirk and using it for good is the point of the training, isn't it?" When Izuku didn't respond, he sighed. "Look, our quirks are similar, alright. Why do you think I carry all of these blades?"

Izuku's head raised at this information.

"Vampirism-class quirks tend to come with the unsavory side-effect of bloodlust. They tried to kick that out of you during quirk rehabilitation. I'm even willing to bet they set you up with someone who would donate regularly, even knowing that your quirk would activate when you ingested it, just to shut you up so you wouldn't risk losing control."

"M-My mom." Izuku admitted, shuffling his feet in shame. It was just one of many sacrifices that Inko made for him over the years. Sacrifices that she wouldn't have had to make if he was stronger-willed.

"Using your quirk doesn't have to mean giving in to that bloodlust. I use my quirk as a means to an end; we're going to teach you to do the same. Thing is, regardless of whether you're cutting someone to sate your desires or to activate your quirk to fight them, you're still cutting them; the only thing that changes is your motivation. Doesn't mean you have to use blades to become a hero, but you need to find a way to get at that blood. You need to be comfortable hurting people to do it. You understand?"

Izuku thought back to his time in the quirk rehabilitation center. They'd tried very hard to drill it into his head that using his quirk was synonymous with giving in to his baser urges. That if he hurt someone, it would set him down a darker path that he wouldn't be able to recover from. How much did he truly trust Stendhal to lead him away from that dark path if he started down it? He looked once again at the knife and then to Stendhal's still-waiting arm. He stepped closer, raising the blade.

It was time to take control of his own quirk.

Stendhal didn't so much as flinch as the knife slid lightly across his skin, leaving a mark barely large enough to leak a stream of blood that trickled down his arm. Izuku cupped a hand under the flow, gathering a small amount into his palm and bringing it closer. He hesitated before bringing the liquid to his mouth.

"Do it." Stendhal commanded.

The vigilante was surprised at the feeling that washed over him the moment his blood touched Izuku's tongue. He felt heavy like a sudden weight held him down and his movements felt slightly slower than they should. It was as if he'd finished a light training session followed by a short run.

"What an interesting feeling." He commented, swinging an arm to see how much his reactions had slowed. It wasn't significant, but something told him more training might fix that. A look at Izuku showed him looking somewhat uncomfortable as well, though for different reasons.

"Y-Your blood..." The boy mumbled absent-mindedly staring at the crimson essence still dripping from his teacher's arm. It must have been a long time since he'd seen the stuff outside of a government-sanctioned rationing tube. Stendhal snapped his fingers in Izuku's face, bringing him out of his daze.

"If I had to make a guess, you're subconsciously exerting some sort of control over the blood in my veins after tasting it." Stendhal told him, continuing to monitor the effects on himself as well as keeping an eye on his student. "I'm slower than usual."

Izuku's eyes widened.

"I-I'm doing that?" How had he never noticed that he could control the blood still inside someone? The doctors had always assumed the fatigue just a side-effect of activating his quirk. Just how far could he push that? How dangerous was it? What would happen if he drank his own blood? Or that of multiple people at once? He could barely handle his quirk as it was. Stendhal seemed to ignore his surprise.

"You're mumbling." He stated, wrapping his wound up with one of his outfit's many bandages and retrieving the knife from where Izuku had placed it after cutting him. He left the boy to his own devices as he timed the duration of his quirk; it took a few minutes for the fatigue to begin washing away, leaving him feeling just as he did before Izuku's quirk had taken effect. "Four-minute duration." He wondered if that was due to the small amount of blood or Izuku's lack of experience. The boy had spent the time shakily forming simple shapes in the air with the tiny amount of blood that had left his teacher's body, but the forms were fragile and the movements tentative. It was obvious he had little to no experience actually using his quirk outside of routine examination.

"It can go longer." The boy said, having heard his teacher's musings and noticed his control waning. "The amount controls the duration."

"I see… Well, we'll talk optimal strategy farther down the line. We're done with your quirk for today." Stendhal stood up suddenly, charging at Izuku with a punch that the boy barely dodged.

"W-What?"

"Combat training begins now."

'O-Oh no…'

Premise (and a solid portion of this first chapter's plot) credited to FatSmack, whose original story Blood Stained Green has been placed on permanent hiatus with a note that anyone was free to take the premise and expand on it. That said, I will be taking this story in a much different direction than I believed he was heading. Izuku, despite having an "evil quirk" and being trained by Stain, as was the case in the original story, will maintain his goody-goody cinnamon roll personality for the most part. I'm also changing Izuku's quirk. I wanted to differentiate this story from its inspiration further with Hemokinesis, which it took me way too long to realize is basically Vlad King's quirk. I blame him for not showing up enough and looking more like a pallette-swapped Endeavor rather than a bloody boi. I already have some ideas about how I'll be differentiating the two, especially given Vlad's place as a hero teaching at U.A. with a blood-based quirk in this AU where they're kind of universally hated. More specifically, he doesn't ingest blood as an activation requirement, so he's not part of the group of people like Izuku who 'need' to be monitored/controlled/feared.

I have some fun ideas for Izuku's combat style (especially later in the story) which thankfully don't involve katanas or knives. Generally avoiding edgy (pun) stuff here. One thing I'm really trying to do is maintain the soul of the characters. Stain (currently Stendhal) is no doubt intimidating and villainous at the time we see him in canon, but I think he could truly come to care for Izuku as someone he sees as worthy of the title of a true hero. Similarly, Izuku is, at heart, someone that wants to help people. Having a quirk that forces him to maim people to activate would probably eat at him. Big difference between punching someone to put them down versus slicing them up to suck their blood and then proceeding to use their own bodily fluids to beat them down.

Feel free to take a guess at our leading lady for this adventure, because we'll be seeing her next chapter and I'll update the character tags accordingly. I warn you; it's almost definitely not who you'd expect!

Till then, please drop a review if you enjoyed or have constructive criticism and follow the story to get notified when I post the next chapter!