Romania, Transylvania Mountains.
"Red Moon" underground nightclub.
"Uh, seriously, this is the first time I've ever seen a corpse this disgusting."
S.H.I.E.L.D. special agent Melinda May looked at the chunks of flesh on the floor and couldn't help commenting.
Over the course of her career, she had seen enough corpses to fill dozens of incinerators, yet this pile of "stuff" before her still left her speechless for two seconds.
The dance floor at the center of the nightclub had been completely sealed off. Half the metal framework that had once held the laser lighting had collapsed, and severed cables dangled in midair, occasionally spitting blue-white sparks.
The floor was covered in dark red bloodstains, mixed with ash, shattered bones, torn leather, silver shell casings, and some kind of powder that resembled black grit.
May crouched down and shone her tactical flashlight on the severed arm nearest to her.
The skin was pale, its nails sharp, and dark bluish veins stood out across the back of its hand. It looked like it had belonged to some sickly human—or one of those things from movies that ought to be hiding in coffins.
Then she looked at another mangled head.
Rather than touch it directly, she looked up at Jemma Simmons, who was collecting samples beside her in a mask.
"Tell me this thing isn't a vampire."
Simmons paused.
"From a scientific perspective, I'm extremely reluctant to use that word."
"But?"
"But it has enlarged canines, abnormal blood coagulation, an extreme photosensitive reaction, and a very strange metabolic stasis." Simmons inserted the swab into a sealed tube and glanced at May. "If you translate folkloric descriptions into biological indicators, it comes very close to a vampire."
May remained expressionless.
"I hate that answer."
"So do I."
A few meters away, Phil Coulson stood