The black Impala was speeding down the road toward Nevermore Academy.

Inside the car were Dean and Enid. Both of them looked like they had just walked out of a bar where an especially brutal brawl had taken place. Dean’s clothes were covered in blood, and his jacket was torn across the back, partially exposing skin.

Enid sat in the passenger seat and looked no better. All of her clothes — and even her hair — were stained with dried blood. The aftermath of the fight with Hyde was obvious.

They were rushing back to Nevermore to make sure Alex and Wednesday were all right.

Dean understood that Alex had, by some twist of fate, become Death itself, which meant that nothing truly serious could happen to him. Enid, knowing Alex’s true nature, was barely worried at all.

As they approached, Dean noticed a checkpoint ahead, illuminated by floodlights. Teachers and students of Nevermore were standing along the road, trying to understand what was happening at the academy. Control Bureau operatives, however, were not letting anyone past the established line.

Until the order to lift the isolation was given, access was completely restricted.

As he got closer, Dean slowed down and honked, demanding the road be cleared. The students immediately stepped aside, letting the car pass. Enid leaned out the window and, after making sure no one was hurt, let out a relieved sigh.

When the Impala reached the checkpoint, Dean tried to drive through, but he was stopped. He was already about to pull out his documents when a bright flashlight beam hit him straight in the face.

The fully equipped operative examined Dean — and immediately recognized him. Even covered in blood and torn clothing, it was hard to mistake a Winchester.

“This is Agent Winchester. Let him through!” the operative shouted.

Hearing who was in the car, the barricade was immediately moved aside, allowing Dean to pass.

The ease with which they let him through surprised Dean. He knew he had become an agent of the Control Bureau, but he hadn’t realized his name was known even to rank-and-file operatives.

As the Impala passed the checkpoint, other agents began whispering among themselves, watching the car go by. Dean noticed how their expressions changed after his name was mentioned, but decided not to dwell on it for now and kept driving.

“Hey, kid. Don’t you want to go check on your friends?” Dean asked, turning to Enid.

“In this condition?” Enid pointed at herself. “I look like the main character from Carrie.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Dean smirked. “Looks like someone dumped a bucket of blood on you.”

Enid just sighed heavily. Right now, all she wanted was to change clothes and take a shower, washing the dried blood off herself. For Dean, this kind of appearance had long since become normal, and he barely paid attention to it anymore.

When they arrived at Nevermore, they got out of the Impala and immediately went looking for Alex and Wednesday.

Dean had no idea where they might be, so he looked at Enid. She returned his look with confusion, not immediately understanding what he wanted from her.

But before Dean could say anything, Enid’s nose twitched slightly. She sniffed the air — and, catching a familiar scent, confidently headed in the right direction.

Dean followed her. They emerged into the central courtyard of Nevermore. Or rather, what was left of it. Most of the courtyard was destroyed. Broken stone columns lay scattered everywhere, and clear traces of blood were visible on the tiles.

Surveying the aftermath of the battle, Dean and Enid shifted their gaze toward the center of the courtyard — and saw Alex and Wednesday. They were sitting calmly beneath a tree, staring straight ahead.

Following their line of sight, Dean and Enid noticed a man dressed like a pilgrim. His body was pierced by dozens of black rods, and his face was frozen in a silent scream.

Dean couldn’t help but whistle. Alex and Wednesday heard the sound and turned around at the same time. Seeing the state Dean and Enid were in, Alex barely managed to hold back laughter.

“For the love of all that’s holy… why are you two so filthy?” he said with a grin. “You were supposed to fight a monster, not cosplay Carrie.”

“Very funny,” Dean replied dryly, nodding toward Laurel and Joseph. “And why are you two so clean, while those two look like someone tried to shove them into a meat grinder?”

“They turned out to be fairly weak,” Wednesday said indifferently. “My previous punching bag was much more resilient.”

Dean just shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.

Smiling, Alex pulled a shard of Darkness from his pocket—the one he had taken from Laurel—and tossed it to Dean. Dean deftly caught the shard and immediately drew the Cain Blade from behind his back.

Meanwhile, Enid ran up to Alex, clearly expecting praise. Alex smiled, ruffled her hair, and hugged her, completely ignoring the fact that all her clothes were soaked in blood. Enid beamed and pressed herself tightly against him.

After that, Enid decided that Wednesday would surely agree to a hug as well and immediately reached out toward her. However, Wednesday calmly raised her palm, making it clear that she had no intention of hugging Enid while she looked like that.

Seeing this, Enid puffed out her cheeks for a moment, then suddenly stepped forward and hugged Wednesday anyway. Wednesday only let out a tired sigh, fully realizing that her life would be tied to Enid for much longer than she had originally expected, and allowed herself to be hugged.

Giving them a bit of space, Alex walked over to Dean, who was carefully examining the Darkness crystal in his hand. Dean touched it with the hilt of the Cain Blade—and the blade immediately began drawing the crystal into itself.

“As I understand it, that idiot never really had a chance to win. Even if you hadn’t become Death,” Dean said, nodding toward the crucified Joseph.

“Well, I would’ve had to swing my fists a bit. But yeah, you’re right—that moron had zero chances from the start. I didn’t spend all this time upgrading Darkness suppression tech and handing it over to the Bureau for nothing,” Alex replied with a cheerful smile.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. Your little gadget helped me too when I was fighting Hyde,” Dean said, nodding.

“Dean, before it was just you, Sam, and Castiel. But now there are more of us, and we have the Bureau’s support. That means we can avoid unnecessary deaths,” Alex said, slightly shaking his head.

“You’re right… Alright, enough of this sentimental crap. How much longer is this idiot going to suffer? Or are you going to put him down already?” Dean sighed, pointing at Joseph.

“Just walk up and stab him with the blade. Absorb the Darkness—and he’ll die for good,” Alex said with a shrug.

“That simple?” Dean asked, looking at him.

“Yep, that simple. So stop wasting time. We’ve still got a few things to wrap up, and then we can go home,” Alex said, yawning.

Watching Alex yawn, Dean felt the fatigue creeping up on him as well. The thought of returning home soon made him relax even more. He walked up to the crucified Joseph Crackstone and, without a word, drove the Cain Blade into his chest.

In the very next moment, the blade began absorbing Amara’s power. Joseph’s body started to change rapidly: the more Darkness left him, the faster he aged, until he turned into a dried-up mummy. When Dean pulled the blade from his chest, Joseph Crackstone crumbled into ash. The only reminder of his existence were the dozens of black rods sticking out of the wall.

Alex snapped his fingers—and the rods vanished, returning to his inventory. Enid and Wednesday watched this in silence.

“So… does that mean we won?” Enid asked with slight uncertainty.

“I wouldn’t call it a victory. We solved one problem, but there are still a dozen more ahead,” Dean said, sheathing the Cain Blade.

“Ugh, Dean. Can’t you at least be happy for a moment? Why do you have to ruin everything?” Enid said, puffing out her cheeks.

“It could be called a victory if there were no more problems. As it is, there’s no reason to celebrate,” Wednesday added calmly.

“You too, Wednesday. We defeated a monster, took down two villains. We should celebrate this,” Enid insisted, still pouting.

“Yeah. And I’ll celebrate it with a very good, very long sleep,” Alex said, yawning once again.

Enid looked at Alex as if he had just betrayed everything sacred. In response, he simply nonchalantly formed a heart with his fingers, as if mocking her.

Seeing Enid pouting at everyone like a sulky puppy, Dean couldn’t help but smile, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

Hearing Dean laugh, Alex let out a small laugh himself. Within a second, Enid joined in—her feigned offense evaporating, replaced by genuine, joyful laughter.

Wednesday merely sighed wearily and shook her head, but even she couldn’t completely hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

After a little laughter, Alex pulled his phone from his pocket and contacted Nicholas Wood, briefly informing him that the situation was fully under control.

Ten minutes later, dozens of Bureau operatives appeared in the central courtyard of Nevermore. Their task was to thoroughly check the area and ensure that no threats remained.

Seeing the destroyed courtyard, the operatives all turned their heads toward Alex as if on cue. Alex, in turn, pretended to have no idea what they were talking about, looking away with the most innocent expression on his face.

Shortly afterward, the students of Nevermore began arriving as well. The scene of destruction shocked them even more—what had once been a well-kept courtyard was now almost entirely in ruins.

Larissa Weems, seeing the extent of the damage, could only sigh heavily and cast Alex an empty, tired look.

Feeling her gaze on him, Alex immediately looked away and began softly whistling, feigning complete indifference.

Watching this, Larissa sighed again and tried to think positively. After all, only the courtyard had been destroyed—the academy building itself remained intact. Most importantly, none of the students had been harmed. This thought brought her a noticeable sense of relief.

When the whole ordeal finally came to an end, Alex and Dean decided to stay at Nevermore to get some proper sleep, planning to head home afterward. After all, they had already packed all their belongings from the hotel and stored them in Alex’s inventory.

Before going to sleep, Alex glanced at Laurel Gates and remembered that her interrogation was still pending.

He approached the Bureau operatives who were about to take Laurel away and briefly explained the situation. After listening, the operatives nodded knowingly and, without further questions, handed Laurel over to Alex.

Hoisting Laurel over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Alex headed to the dormitory, clearly not planning to do anything else that night.

Dean saw no reason to stay behind and simply trailed after him.

They reached the dormitory—the room where Wednesday and Enid lived. Alex first left Laurel in an empty room, tied to a chair, then returned.

Without wasting any time on conversation, Alex grabbed two mattresses, threw them on the floor, and immediately lay down, not even bothering to change.

Everyone fell asleep almost instantly, completely ignoring what was happening outside the academy.

While Alex, Dean, Wednesday, and Enid slept, Larissa Weems was already restoring order, sending students to their rooms. Watching the Bureau operatives clean up the aftermath and purge the remaining Darkness, she made her final decision.

Larissa Weems decided to accept the Bureau of Control’s proposal, which Alex had previously made—to expand Nevermore.

To do that, she would have to take a difficult step and end the academic year a month earlier than usual.

When Alex woke up the next morning, he opened his eyes—and the first thing he saw was a pair of black eyes watching him intently.

Blinking a couple of times, he realized that Wednesday was lying beside him on the mattress, simply observing him in silence.

Alex had already opened his mouth to wish her good morning, but Wednesday immediately placed a finger on his lips, making it clear that now was not the time to speak.

Alex raised an eyebrow and silently nodded.

Wednesday rose from the mattress and extended her hand to him. Letting out a small yawn, Alex took it and stood up.

Looking around, he saw Dean sleeping like the dead, completely ignoring the world around him, and then glanced at Enid, who was hugging a pink plush toy to her chest.

Before Alex could fully wake up and process what was happening, Wednesday tugged him by the hand and led him out of the room.

She guided him to an empty room where Laurel was being held. In her other hand, Wednesday carried a small black case—the very one containing the torture tools.

Alex immediately understood what she had in mind.

Once inside the room, Wednesday calmly turned on the light.

Laurel Gates, tied to a chair, squeezed her eyes shut as the bright light struck her face. When her vision adjusted, she saw Alex and Wednesday standing before her.

“What do you want?” Laurel asked angrily. “Did you come to stroke your egos by pointing out how you ruined my plans?”

Wednesday calmly set the black case down on the table.

“I see no point in doing that in front of yet another failure who couldn’t even finish what she started,” she replied coldly.

Hearing Wednesday’s words, Laurel clenched her teeth in fury and shot a venomous glare at her back. Wednesday, showing not the slightest emotion, calmly laid out the torture tools on the table, as if she were engaged in the most mundane routine imaginable.

Alex unhurriedly dragged over a chair and placed it in front of Laurel. Sitting down, he lazily leaned back. Laurel immediately fixed him with an openly hateful stare, doing her best to ignore the animal fear rising inside her at the mere sight of him.

Alex yawned, lit a cigarette, and completely ignored her glare.

At the moment, he cared about only one thing—what exactly the British branch of the Men of Letters had planned, and whether they possessed any more shards of Amara’s power. And if they did, he saw no reason not to take them for himself.

Laurel’s gaze darted between Alex and Wednesday. If she hadn’t been tied up, she would have lunged at their throats with her teeth without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Wednesday finished arranging the tools and slowly pulled on black rubber gloves.

“I need answers, Laurel. And you will give them to me. Voluntarily—or you will be forced to talk. So, first question. What is the British branch of the Order planning?” Alex said, exhaling cigarette smoke straight into her face.

“Go to hell. I won’t say anything. You’d better kill me,” Laurel snarled, clenching her teeth in fury.

“Ah, Laurel… You really are stupid. Or did yesterday’s blow to the head knock the last bits of memory out of you? I am Death. I can kill anyone, anytime. Or do you really think we have no ways to torture your soul?” Alex said lazily.

He tilted his head slightly.

“So no, you’re wrong. You’re still alive not only because I need answers. You’re alive because Wednesday wants revenge for what you did. All of this is just a formality. I could pull all your memories out by force, straight from your empty head. But like Wednesday, I prefer the classics…”

“And that means the most ordinary torture. And I have experience with it,” Wednesday added calmly, rolling the table with the tools closer to Laurel.

“Impossible! You can’t be Death!” Laurel shouted, refusing to believe him.

Alex merely rolled his eyes and extended his hand. Before Laurel could understand what was happening, he snapped his fingers. Her body exploded in a bloody fountain. And in the very next instant, Alex brought her back to life.

The reaper who came for Laurel’s soul saw Alex and froze. Alex turned his head toward him and casually waved a hand, making it clear that this soul was not his yet. The reaper silently nodded and vanished.

Laurel was experiencing the most horrifying shock of her life—something beyond words. She had died… and immediately returned. When her gaze focused on Alex again, it was filled with genuine, animal terror.

Meanwhile, Alex lazily spun the Ring of Death on his index finger, as if nothing remarkable had happened.

“Now you’re convinced that I am Death. You will die only when I decide so,” he said with a faint smile. “And now—it’s time to answer questions. But first, the torture. Wednesday, you may begin.”

Laurel looked at Wednesday in horror. She was holding a neat iron hammer and a thick nail. Her face remained cold and completely expressionless.

Before Laurel could start begging, Wednesday drove the nail into her hand. A scream of pain tore through the room. To ensure that no sound escaped, Alex snapped his fingers, creating a barrier that completely isolated the room.

Wednesday deliberately hammered the nail in slowly, stretching out the agony. Each strike sent waves of pain through Laurel’s entire body. Each one was accompanied by a new scream. Alex calmly rocked back and forth in his chair, watching as Wednesday moved to the second hand and began driving the nail into it. He felt not a trace of pity.

Laurel’s revenge was merely a consequence of her family’s sins—and nothing more. Everything happening now was just the most basic minimum of pain she was destined to endure.

From the shadows behind Alex, Zhang Ya stepped forward and placed her hands on his shoulders. She watched Wednesday, and only Zhang Ya knew what she was thinking at that moment.

When Wednesday finished with the second hand, she looked up and noticed Zhang Ya. From the memories Alex had shared, Wednesday knew exactly who she was—and what she was capable of.

And she understood perfectly: once Alex got all the answers, Laurel would not die. But calling her alive would no longer be accurate. In the end, Laurel would become a new resident of the Red City—a place with no way out, only the false hope of freedom.

“So, Laurel. How did you learn to use the power of Darkness? And where did you get it from?” Alex asked calmly, looking her in the eyes.

“A pendant… The pendant was passed down in my family. They taught me how to use this power…” Laurel said with difficulty, feeling the pain pulse through her entire body.

“Do they have any other fragments of this Dark power? And what do they use them for?” Alex asked, lighting another cigarette.

“They do… They want to kill an immortal monster that sits on a chain…” Laurel whispered, barely lifting her gaze.

“What immortal monster?” Wednesday asked, showing interest for the first time.

“Nosferatu…” Laurel ground out, clenching her teeth from the pain.

At her words, ash from the cigarette held between Alex’s fingers quietly fell to the floor.

Alex slowly ran his hand over the bridge of his nose, feeling the dull, familiar headache starting. He already knew who she was talking about, but he had hoped until the last moment that he was wrong—that it was just an Alpha vampire, another problem the British wanted removed by someone else’s hands, and not the very Nosferatu he immediately thought of.

But Alex’s intuition never failed him in moments like this. And if his suspicions were correct, he knew all too well where this was heading. For now, he decided not to rush—first confirm the details, then make plans.

Wednesday looked at Alex carefully and noticed his pensive, heavy gaze. She immediately understood: he had already reached a conclusion.

“The monster you’re talking about… it doesn’t happen to sit chained with the Order of the Royal Protestant Knights, does it?” Alex asked, removing his hand from his face.

“Yes… They use this immortal creature to fight other monsters,” Laurel said with difficulty, nodding.

“What Order?” Wednesday asked, shifting her gaze to Alex.

“The Hellsing Order,” he replied calmly. “Founded in 1899 by Van Helsing himself. After his death, leadership passed to the Hellsing family. If I’m not mistaken, the current head is Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.”

Alex thoughtfully stroked his chin and looked at Laurel.

“Quite… an interesting woman. But what concerns me is something entirely different.”

Wednesday understood what he was hinting at instantly. Without saying a word, she swung her arm and struck Laurel on the head with the hammer, making sure she wouldn’t hear anything she wasn’t supposed to hear.

Alex barely held back a smile. Zhang Ya gave a slight, approving nod—she valued women who understood her husband without unnecessary words. Wednesday set the hammer aside and looked at Alex, silently signaling that he could continue.

At that moment, Alex was already seeing the future. Britain. London. A full-scale three-sided war. Mountains of corpses. Rivers of blood flooding the streets.

“And what exactly don’t you like about this?” Wednesday asked, crossing her arms. “Care to continue?”

“A war could break out in London,” Alex said, pulling out a new cigarette. “And there will be far too many corpses.”

“So Men of Letters and Hellsing will start a war with each other?” Wednesday raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no, my dear Wednesday,” Alex smirked. “It’s going to be much worse.”

He lit the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke.

“It will be a war between the Catholic Church, Millennium, Hellsing, and Men of Letters. And this entire bloodbath will play straight into Chuck’s hands. That kind of spectacle delights his rotten nature. There hasn’t been slaughter like this in decades—and you really think he’ll resist watching it?”

“The Church is clear enough,” Wednesday said. “But who are Millennium?”

“The remnants of the Nazi army, obsessed with war,” Alex replied without a trace of emotion. “They became vampires. They’re led by a fat little dwarf who thinks he’s a genius. In short—trash. Nothing more.”

He waved it off as if he were talking about parasites.

“So, I take it you’re going to interfere?” Wednesday asked, watching him closely.

“Oh, absolutely,” a predatory smile appeared on Alex’s lips. “How could I miss the chance to take part in another war?”

His eyes flared.

“Just the thought of it is enough to awaken the desire in me to rip and tear my enemies.”

He laughed—loudly, sincerely, with notes of manic pleasure—baring sharp teeth.

“And you know what pleases me the most? The thought that I’ll ruin the whole show for Chuck. Just thinking about it makes my heart race.”

Wednesday looked at Alex with an empty, distant gaze and gently shook her head. Then she shifted her eyes to Zhang Ya, who was watching Alex the same way—without emotion—as he laughed.

Even the girls watching the broadcast shook their heads in unison, once again convincing themselves that their husband wasn’t quite right in the head. Still, it didn’t diminish their interest in the slightest—everyone was curious where this chain of events would ultimately lead, and who would make the first move in the coming war.

As for Alex, he was savoring the anticipation.

Who would have thought that his simple desire to go to Britain to deal with the British Men of Letters would lead to the opportunity to take part in a real war—and, along the way, slaughter some Nazi vampires.

However, first he needed to figure out the relationship between the Bureau of Control and Hellsing. If the organizations maintained at least neutral, or better yet—friendly ties, Alex could easily go to Britain as a Bureau agent.

To do that, he first had to stop by New York—at the Bureau of Control headquarters.

“Eh, looks like we won’t be heading straight to the Bunker,” Alex sighed.

“And where do you want to stop along the way?” Wednesday asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re going to the Oldest House. I need to talk to Jesse,” Alex said, nodding.

Wednesday just nodded briefly in response, showing no objection. In any case, she planned to go to the Bunker with Alex, and a stop at the Bureau of Control didn’t bother her. Moreover—after Alex’s stories about the Oldest House, the space with its own logic, a separate dimension, and the Council from another reality—her interest in the place had only grown.

“And what are we going to do with her?” Wednesday asked, nodding toward Laurel.

“Let her become a resident of the Red City,” Alex replied calmly. “My love, you can take Laurel to the infirmary. Let them help her there.”

Zhang Ya slowly lifted her gaze toward Laurel. Her shadow stretched, elongated, and settled right under the prisoner’s feet. The next moment, pale, bloodied hands emerged from the darkness and dragged Laurel down without ceremony.

Wednesday calmly removed her gloves. The only thing she felt was mild boredom. Laurel’s torture had been surprisingly uninteresting, and Wednesday genuinely felt that her time had been wasted. Carefully gathering the tools, she packed them into the black case and was ready to leave.

Alex took Wednesday’s hand, and together they returned to the room.

Upon entering, they saw Enid sitting on her bed with a completely blank stare. She was looking into nothingness, as if trying to figure out what day it was and what time it was.

Dean was sitting nearby as well, clearly recovering his bearings.

“And where have you been?” he asked, looking up at Alex and Wednesday.

“Chatted with Laurel. You know… all that stuff,” Alex replied, waving his hand casually.

“And what did you find out? And where did Professor Thornhill go?” Enid asked, yawning.

“We found out that we need to stop by the Oldest House on the way to the Bunker. I’ll tell you the rest along the way,” Alex said with a slight smile. “As for Laurel Gates… well, she’s dead. That’s it.”

“Dude, cut the riddles,” Dean said irritably. “You’ve only been Death for a couple of days, and you already talk like some ancient oracle. Spill it—what did you find out?”

Alex smirked and nodded briefly.

“For now, I’ll say just one thing,” he said. “Nazi vampires.”

At those words, it was as if a short circuit had occurred in Dean’s mind. He stared at Alex with a look that said without words: Are you serious right now?

Alex just nodded, once again signaling that he would explain everything on the way to New York.

Dean could only nod silently in response—this information had fully woken him up. He had already encountered Nazi zombies calling themselves The Thule Society—creatures that could only be killed by decapitation followed by burial to prevent resurrection.

And now Alex casually mentions Nazi vampires as well. How could he pass up the chance to learn more?

After a brief conversation, it was time to pack their things.

Enid had the most luggage, so she needed help. Wednesday had noticeably fewer items, but even so, packing all the suitcases took over an hour.

Dean didn’t comment at all on the fact that Wednesday and Enid were going with them. He had already seen that both girls could handle themselves. Besides, as Alex had said earlier, they needed to expand—the workload was huge, and there weren’t nearly enough hands to handle it.

Once everything was packed, Enid called home and lied to her parents, saying she wanted to travel for a while with Wednesday. They didn’t notice the deception and agreed without questions.

When Alex was asked if Wednesday should contact her parents, she coldly replied that she owed them no explanation. She left a short message on the crystal orb, saying she was moving in with Alex—and that was it.

When all preparations were complete, Alex stored the suitcases in his inventory. One last task remained—visiting Larissa Weems, who had probably had the most sleepless night of her life.

Leaving the dormitory, Alex, Dean, Enid, and Wednesday passed through the destroyed inner courtyard of the academy and made their way to the principal’s office.

Inside, they found Larissa Weems with eyes reddened from lack of sleep. She was constantly answering calls, trying to smooth over the aftermath of the events at Nevermore. Parents of the students had already learned what happened and were demanding explanations.

After finishing another call, Larissa sighed heavily. This school year had been a true nightmare for her, and she was already mentally counting the days until her well-earned break, which might finally allow her to relax a little.

Raising her gaze and noticing the visitors, she sighed once more.

“And what brings you here, agents? And you too, Miss Sinclair… Miss Addams,” Larissa Weems said, pressing her hand to her forehead in an attempt to ease her headache.

“We came to say goodbye. Today we’re finally leaving. Nevermore is a nice place, but as they say, there’s no place like home. And yes, Wednesday and Enid are coming with us. Their parents know,” Alex said in a cheerful, almost carefree tone.

Larissa began massaging her temples, looking at Alex’s smile, and her headache only worsened.

She glanced at Dean—his expression was completely blank, as if he were just passing by and had stopped to listen to the conversation.

Then her gaze shifted to Wednesday—she had the same look she’d worn on her first day at Nevermore. The look of someone who had longed to leave this place.

Last was Enid. Though she felt sad to leave, her entire demeanor showed that she was ready to move forward.

Massaging her temples, Larissa simply sighed. In this situation, she had nothing left to say. Especially since she was already planning to announce Nevermore’s closure for reconstruction.

“Agent, you said you’d cover all the damage done to Nevermore. Or should I remind you what you did to the inner courtyard last night?” Larissa Weems said with a faint, weary smile.

“How could I forget? Of course, of course. I’ll fully reimburse the damage. Here’s my secretary’s number. First, calculate the total, and everything will be compensated. And yes… my secretary isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. If he starts saying nonsense—just ignore him. He’s just greedy,” Alex said with a carefree smile, placing a business card on Larissa’s desk.

Larissa took the card in her hand. It only had a name—GIR, a phone number, and a note:”If you’re calling for money—don’t call.”

Reading the note, Larissa’s eyelid twitched slightly. She looked at Alex again, who was still calmly smiling.

Shaking her head, Larissa set the card down and waved tiredly, signaling that they could go wherever they wanted—just as long as no one else bothered her.

Chuckling, Alex was the first to leave the office. Dean, Wednesday, and Enid followed. Dean even felt a little pity for Larissa, knowing just how much work would now fall on her shoulders.

Once outside, they headed straight for the Impala to finally hit the road.

Sitting in the car, Alex stretched out on the front passenger seat and rolled down the window. Wednesday settled in the back seat next to Enid, and Thing perched on her shoulder, clearly ready for new adventures.

“So, where to now?” Dean asked, starting the engine.

“I’d like to say ‘home.’ But our next stop is New York. Time to visit our workplace, since we’ve never been there. And I need to kick Ahti’s butt. That idiot went and leaked my number to everyone,” Alex said, sticking his hand out the window.

“And who’s Ahti?” Enid asked, leaning slightly forward.

“He’s like Schrödinger’s cat. Everywhere and nowhere at the same time. But it’s way more complicated,” Alex replied, turning his head.

“Can’t wait to see that, Mr. Death. Now let’s go. We’ve got a long road back to the bunker,” Dean said, turning on the music.

“Yeah. I’ll take care of some other work on the way. Give me a nudge when we get to New York,” Alex muttered, closing his eyes.

“Just say you’re going to sleep already. ‘Work, work,'” Dean snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I’m Death. And I do need to check in with my subordinates. Now don’t bother me,” Alex waved him off.

Physically, Alex remained seated in the Impala as it sped down the road, but at the same time his consciousness shifted into the Library of Death.

Once there, he couldn’t resist walking between the endless rows of shelves, carefully studying the books.

Naturally, he stopped at the books of Dean’s and Sam’s lives.

What he saw surprised him. Where dozens—if not hundreds—of volumes should have stood, there was only a single book for each of them, resting on a completely empty shelf.

Alex immediately understood why. He didn’t touch them, unwilling to know how the brothers’ future would unfold.

Casting one last glance at the two books, he placed them into his inventory—so that no reaper would ever be able to reach them again.

Leaving the rows of shelves behind, Alex took a step and found himself before a simple, unremarkable white office desk.

After assessing the interior used by the previous Death, he merely snorted and decided to redo everything to suit himself. When the changes were complete, Alex sat down in the chair, and in that very instant all the necessary information appeared in his mind.

His task was perfectly clear: to preserve the final balance. All who were meant to die must die. All who were meant to live must live. No exceptions. If a Book of Life had reached its end, then that person was not destined to die.

“Greg!” Alex called out, slightly lifting his head.

“Sir, my name is not Greg, but Harold,” a respectful voice answered nearby.

Alex turned his head and saw the very reaper who had once handed him the Ring of Death. Looking at Harold, Alex merely rolled his eyes—eloquently enough.

Harold looked like the most ordinary funeral home employee: an unremarkable appearance, a gray suit, and a complete lack of individuality.

The reaper stepped closer as Alex remained silent.

“How may I assist you, sir?” Harold asked respectfully.

“Gather all the reapers. In a conference room, if there is one. If not—make one. Don’t make me explain how this is supposed to work. We’re having a meeting. All that corporate nonsense,” Alex said, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“It will be done, boss. I’ll gather everyone immediately,” Harold replied, giving a respectful nod before vanishing.

Alex nodded, lit a cigarette, and leaned back in his chair. He had to rebuild the system the way he saw fit, not the way it had functioned before. It would take a lot of time—but in this place, time flowed differently.

Besides, Alex had something that would significantly speed things up. Clones. Creating hundreds of copies of himself, he didn’t bother explaining anything—the clones already knew what to do. Thus began the reconstruction of the Library of Life.

To be continued…

(As one reader requested, I’ve decided to add Hellsing. And when it’ll be, I’ll have to think about it. As I said, first there will be the main events of Supernatural, namely the visits to Hell, Lucifer’s cage, and all that. Then there will be Silent Hill and Derry, and then perhaps Hellsing. Or it will be a sudden Hellsing, as I usually do, when Alex simply wakes up and is told, “Go to work, why are you sleeping?”)

(One of my Patreon subscribers accidentally bought a gift subscription. Anyone can use it and read chapters early for a whole month. Get it before it’s snatched up. The link is in my chat, which is available to all free Patreon subscribers.)

Early access to chapters on my patreon: p*treon.com/GreedHunter

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