The cold rain finally ceased over the Beitong Residential District in the pre-dawn hours. The air was thick with the fishy stench of damp sewers mixed with the pungent odor of disinfectant.
In front of the convenience store's rolling shutter, Jason crouched on the ground, holding a tape measure he'd borrowed from a forensics technician. He was like a high-precision scanner, his face nearly pressed against the cold tiles, his gaze locked onto a single footprint partially contaminated by bloody water.
In his vision, every ridge of the tread, every microscopic rubber granule, and even the degree of oxidation at the edges of the dried blood appeared with an exaggerated, high-definition clarity.
This was by no means the eyesight of an ordinary trainee officer.
But Jason masked it well. He frowned occasionally, scribbling in his notebook, playing the part of a clumsy but hardworking rookie.
Suddenly, a massive shadow blocked the light overhead.
Jason instinctively looked up. His retina instantly captured the subtle micro-expressions of the newcomer—it was Captain Su Ping of the Criminal Investigation Detachment.
"Captain Su." Jason stood up immediately, his back slightly hunched in a restrained, cautious posture.
"Mm." Su Ping didn't give him a second look. Peeling off his blood-stained latex gloves, he dropped a cold remark: "Since you're not going back to rest, come with me."
"Where to?" Jason acted the part of being momentarily stunned.
"Calling it a night," Su Ping's voice remained flat. "It's late. The scene is cordoned off; we continue tomorrow."
Watching Su Ping stride toward the police car and drive off in a cloud of dust, Jason stood his ground and pursed his lips. He didn't care about Su Ping's cold shoulder; he only regretted that he hadn't had enough time to "savor" the room full of supernatural traces.
"Jason!"
A gentle call came from behind. Jason turned around, instantly switching to a smile of gratitude. It was Brother Song, a veteran investigator, waving at him.
"Jason, mind if I call you that?" Song patted the passenger door of the police Jeep. "Come on, I'll give you a lift."
"Thanks, Brother Song." Jason climbed into the car obediently and buckled his seatbelt.
The cabin was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine. After driving two blocks, Song glanced at Jason out of the corner of his eye, breaking the silence: "First time at a scene, and the victim was your old classmate. How do you feel?"
"I don't know." Jason looked at the blurred reflections of streetlights passing the window. His eyes held a mixture of confusion and exhaustion—a perfect fit for his persona. "To be honest, my head is still a mess."
"That's normal. Newcomers react in all sorts of ways—some get excited, some puke, and some just go numb like you. You'll get used to it." Song nodded, then shifted his tone to something more inquisitive. "Still, I saw you crouching there observing for a long time. So, our top police academy graduate, find anything?"
At the mention of business, Jason sat up straight and flipped open his notebook, his expression becoming intensely serious.
"The scene is very chaotic. However, only a few items on the floor were stepped on or crushed. Even though the shelves were toppled, there are very few marks of blunt force impact or other violent damage on them."
Song gave an "mm" of acknowledgment, signaling him to continue.
"Though the victim, Duan Kun, died in an exaggerated posture with distorted facial muscles, he was still slumped over the counter. This indicates there was no violent physical struggle between the killer and the victim. The destruction at the scene was entirely one-sided, caused by the killer." Jason paused, tossing out his first bait. "Combined with the obvious signs of rummaging through the shelves near the counter, I believe the motive was financial. This was a robbery-homicide."
"Financial?" Song laughed and shook his head. "Jason, you're looking only at the surface. Truly valuable items weren't on the shelves; they were in the glass display at the register. A large quantity of high-end cigarettes, lighters, and even expensive wine behind the counter were untouched. The cash register showed no signs of being tampered with. Clearly, the killer wasn't looking for money."
"I see..." Jason put on an expression of being enlightened, though he knew better than anyone.
That female vampire wasn't looking for money; she was looking for a "certain item" Duan Kun had hidden—the only piece of intelligence Jason hadn't managed to interrogate out of the monster before locking her in the Asylum.
Seeing Jason lost in thought, Song encouraged him: "Don't be discouraged. Tell me something else. I saw you measuring that footprint for ages."
"There were numerous bloody footprints at the scene; those are the best leads." Jason looked at the crude sketch in his notebook and began a precise, textbook-perfect criminal profile:
"First, the sole has a wave-pattern tread, providing good traction on dry land but prone to slipping on wet surfaces. The heel has a split-sole design, with a narrow arch and a visible internal support beam. Despite the blood, the branding is positioned precisely where a standard Nike basketball shoe manufactured via compression molding would be. Second, the wear on the tread is severe, indicating the killer has worn them for a long time. Finally, based on the footprint length of 28.5 cm and the stride length, applying the Federal Police formula—the killer stands between 182 cm and 185 cm tall. Furthermore, the weight distribution favors the left side; the killer is left-handed. That is all."
Jason finished his rigorous logical deduction in one breath and looked at Song like a student waiting for a teacher's praise.
A flash of admiration crossed Song's eyes. He nodded. "Not bad. Your fundamentals are solid, and you've mastered your academy textbooks well."
"Just 'well'?" Jason gave a bitter smile, playing up the frustration of a rookie. "Brother Song, are you implying I'm just reciting by the book and lack flexibility? Where did my calculation go wrong?"
Song cleared his throat and asked a seemingly unrelated question: "Did you take photos of the footprints with your phone?"
"Uh..." Jason shrunk his neck back sheepishly. "I did."
"Open the photos now. Don't look at the tread patterns; look at the pressure points. Look closely."
Jason tapped his phone screen as instructed.
In truth, he didn't need the photos. During that hour of investigation, his "non-human senses" had already revealed the terrifying truth hidden in those tracks.
"The gait..." Jason stared at the screen, muttering in an uncertain, self-doubting tone. "All the bloody prints follow a bizarre pattern—the toe impressions are extremely clear and deep, while the heel marks are faint. In several steps, the heel didn't touch the ground at all..."
"Exactly." Song turned the steering wheel, his gaze deepening. "A normal adult male's center of gravity naturally falls on the full foot or the heel. Only two types of people walk with their toes digging into the ground. One is a sprinter in a state of extreme arousal, ready to burst into a dash. The other..."
"Someone walking on their tiptoes," Jason finished.
"A man over 180 cm tall, wearing worn-out sneakers, searching for something after a murder, yet walking on his tiptoes the entire time? Does that sound logical?" Song sighed. "Jason, textbook formulas are static, but people are dynamic. The killer was desperately trying to mask his true gait. Even those Nike footprints might be a fabrication."
Watching Song descend deeper into the dead-end of "mortal logic," Jason let a faint, eerie smile touch his lips in the shadows of the passenger seat.
The veteran's reasoning was seamless and airtight. Unfortunately, the premise was wrong.
The killer wasn't walking on tiptoes. The killer simply didn't possess human "weight."
Jason slowly lowered his left hand to his side, his thumb grazing his left wrist.
In a dimension invisible to the naked eye, his left hand was covered in a black material that looked like sludge from the abyss—the Constraint Glove granted to him by the [Calamity Asylum].
The glove extended to his elbow, with a dark gold metal band buckled at the wrist and five gold rings embedded at the base of each finger.
Jason remembered clearly: just before sunrise, after he had locked the female vampire into Cell [Calamity-0001], the glove had undergone a miraculous change.
A miniature holographic screen had appeared. When his consciousness clicked the gold wristband and selected "Calamity-0001," a numbing sensation—like countless electrical currents coursing through his marrow—surged through his body.
He had acquired the vampire's "Basic Physical Template."
His vision could now see in absolute darkness; his hearing was sharp enough to hear termites gnawing wood inside the walls. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could hear the heavy thump-thump of Brother Song's heart pumping blood in the driver's seat.
This was why he could easily see through the pressure points of the footprints.
In a vampire's perception, gravity was something that could be partially waived. The killer in the Nikes wasn't tiptoeing; it was because half of its body was literally suspended in the air.
As for the weaknesses—sunlight, garlic, and holy water? Jason had confirmed through rigorous experimentation at dawn that the Asylum's glove acted as a perfect "firewall." It extracted only the monster's buffs and filtered out all negative vulnerabilities.
Furthermore, the five gold rings meant he could extract the "Core Supernatural Abilities" of the contained monsters. The female vampire's only ability was [Basic Hypnosis], which Jason found too weak, so he hadn't equipped it yet.
One wristband (Basic Physique) and five rings (Supernatural Skills). This meant he needed to hunt at least five more different types of monsters to fill this "Demon's Left Hand."
"Jason? You're spacing out. What are you thinking about?" Song's voice pulled him back.
"Oh, nothing... nothing, Brother Song." Jason snapped out of it, darkening his phone screen and returning to his confused rookie persona. "I was just thinking... if even textbook logic can't explain it, how are we supposed to solve this case?"
"That's the job of the Earth Federation Police," Song laughed. "The net of heaven has wide meshes, but nothing slips through. If a human did it, they'll leave a flaw."
Jason gave a perfunctory smile and turned to look at the rainy night.
The Earth Federation. A highly developed, orderly, and massive society. Jason's early life had been like a standard screw in the Federation's machine. Normal exams, a top-tier university.
Until his sophomore year, when he dropped out. The reason was simple, yet arrogant—he was bored.
Possessing terrifying intelligence and insight, he could see his entire life laid out before him—mediocre and predictable. To find excitement, he had obtained a [Licensed Private Investigator] credential, one of the hardest to get in the Federation.
He thought he would find joy in bloody, dark homicide cases, but soon, even the mortal criminals killing for money, lust, or revenge became deeply tedious. He even suspected something was wrong with his brain and checked into a private psychiatric hospital for treatment.
As it turned out, he stumbled into the [Calamity Asylum] instead.
The absurdity in the eyes of mortals became his reality. The thousands of tombstones for the "Gravekeepers" didn't frighten him; instead, they ignited a long-dormant madness in his veins.
"If a human did it, they'll leave a flaw," Jason repeated Song's words in his mind, a feral fervor flickering deep in his eyes.
"But Brother Song, this wasn't done by a human."
Jason whispered so softly it was barely a breath. His left hand tightened in the shadows, feeling the surging, cold, and violent power of the vampire within him.
With this power, it would be a disservice to this mad world not to find some fun.
Since the monster disguised as Duan Kun had left an "anti-gravity" Nike print at the scene... it was the next prey Jason had chosen for the first gold ring on his glove.
The police car sped through the rainy night toward the Federal Police Station. And the intern in the passenger seat had already begun pulling back the blood-stained curtain on a hunt that did not belong to the human dimension.