Vampire Progenitor System-Chapter 37: Meeting Of The Heads 1

The Next Morning...

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, soft and golden.

Ken stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar with a confident smirk. Hair done. Shirt crisp. Cologne subtle but sharp. He looked clean. Smooth. Almost too smooth.

From the couch, Angel raised a brow, watching him while half-wrapped in her blanket.

"...What are you doing?" she asked, voice still groggy.

Ken didn’t even turn. "Going on a date. With Dera."

Angel blinked. "...Seriously?"

"She agreed. Which means her and Lucifer? Nothing." He gave a little wink to his reflection, then turned with a grin.

Angel stared at him like he just said the dumbest thing ever. "Of course they had nothing, genius. If they did, you think Lucifer would’ve let her ride him and you like a damn carousel? Come on. And Francisca would’ve smelled it from across town."

Ken’s smile faltered just a bit.

"But what you should be wondering," she said, sitting up and stretching, "is what she and Lucifer were doing all yesterday while everyone else was busy. And now that he’s a vampire... who knows what kind of influence he’s got on her. Mind tricks. Blood bonding. Maybe he’s just using her."

That made Ken pause.

His smirk disappeared.

His eyes glowed blue.

His chest rose and fell sharply.

Before anything exploded, another voice chimed in.

"Relax," Mob said, walking out from his room, still tying his hoodie. "She’s messing with you. You know Lucifer’s not that kind of guy."

The rest of the crew started to gather in the living room—some yawning, others just catching the heat in the air.

"Yeah, chill bro," Angel laughed, pointing at him. "And I’m the one they call hot-headed?"

Francisca rolled her eyes and looked at Angel. "You are hot-headed. But more importantly... what if Ken had just dashed off to Lucifer in that state? Do you know how bad that could’ve been?"

"Oh, it’d be great," Remu said from the kitchen, her smirk wide and unbothered. "Lucifer would be dead in minutes. We all know what a werewolf bite does to a vampire." She dragged her finger across her neck in a slicing motion.

Everyone froze.

"...Remu." Ella’s voice was quiet but sharp. "Don’t say stuff like that."

Francisca’s aura flared, her eyes turning molten orange. "Do you have a death wish?"

Mob frowned, clearly annoyed. "Remu, come on. That’s low, even for you. Lucifer’s one of us now. So what if he and Ken had a fallout? Doesn’t mean someone has to die. Thought you were done with all that ’I hate Lucifer’ crap."

Remu glanced toward Ella, expecting backup—but what came out of Ella’s mouth stunned everyone.

"...Mob’s right," she said, voice calm as she headed for the bathroom. "We’re not kids anymore. Lucifer’s changed. We all have. Maybe it’s time you did too."

Remu stared at her, speechless.

Francisca blinked in disbelief.

Even Mob looked a little surprised.

"...What happened to you?" Remu asked, her tone quieter now, but still tinged with frustration.

Ella stopped at the bathroom door and looked back at her with steady eyes.

"Nothing happened," she said. "I just grew up."

She held Remu’s gaze for a moment longer, then closed the door behind her.

The hallway fell into silence. Tense. Awkward. Like the wind before a storm.

Remu stood frozen. That hit harder than any insult.

Mob crossed his arms. "Well... damn."

Angel whistled low. "That’s new."

And Francisca? She just looked at the closed door, her thoughts racing.

Something was changing in Ella. In everyone.

And the timing couldn’t be more dangerous.

Zane’s Apartment

Out back, behind the house...

Lucifer stood shirtless, body slick with sweat. His red hair glowed faintly under the morning sun, strands sticking to his forehead. Muscles tighter. Frame taller. More defined. Everything about him looked... sharper. Not human. Almost divine.

He threw a punch into the air—boom. A shockwave rippled out and scattered a few dry leaves.

"Yo..." Anita muttered, pacing around him like she was studying a damn sculpture. "You looked totally normal this morning. Now you’re rocking red hair, you’re taller, jacked, and you’re moving like a damn demigod. Is this how evolution works or what?"

Lucifer wiped sweat from his brow and gave her a tired look. "How should I know? I don’t evolve like normal vampires."

Anita kept circling.

He frowned. "Can you stop walking around me like that? You’re making it weird."

She snorted but stopped.

"When Ella gets back, she’ll explain the vampire stuff to you. She understands all that bloodline mutation talk. I just... feel it," he said, cracking his knuckles. "My body’s adapting on its own. Feels like instinct."

Anita tilted her head. "And that big guy? He still out cold?"

"Yeah," Lucifer nodded, glancing over his shoulder toward the house. "He’s not dead, though. He’s evolving into something else. Different species of an undead. So I’m leaving him be."

Lucifer turned back to his training. His movements were smooth, calculated. One punch. A kick. A dash. Each strike carried power that bent the air. Before, he fought with pure speed and instinct. Now, it was like his body had upgraded overnight.

Abilities. Real ones. Offensive ones.

And he was mixing them into his fighting style like he’d been born with them.

Anita crossed her arms and watched quietly now. There was something different in her eyes. Not curiosity anymore.

Respect. Maybe even a little fear.

Elsewhere

In a quiet room bathed in dim light...

The walls were covered in glowing runes, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. The air was thick with tension and ancient power. Around a long obsidian table sat figures who didn’t need introductions—these were the true powerhouses of Earth.

Clan heads from the oldest vampire families, each with eyes that had seen centuries. Alphas of different werewolf packs, their presence wild and heavy like a storm waiting to break. Coven leaders, draped in flowing robes, their fingers twitching with subtle magic. A single fox-eared woman sat calmly among them—the Kami of the kitsune race. Small in number, but feared and respected by all.

And at the far end, arms crossed, sat Mr. Fowler—the man who ran the Hunter Association. Cold eyes. Iron will. No smile.

They didn’t usually gather like this. Not unless something big was happening.

The one standing in front of them, pacing slowly with eyes that glinted in the rune-light, was the one who had called them all here.

And he wasn’t here to waste time.