A dead person could never start breathing again. Even with Superior medical skills, there was practically no way of bringing the dead back to life except that a vampires bites him and he wakes up being a vampire.Despite that, Drake appeared calm and gleamed with confidence in his eyes. This surprised The head doctor as she watched attentively, she had never seen such confidence at such circumstance. At the same time the head doctor handed over the set of silver needles but using them on a dead person was a waste, she heaved.As Drake ran his fingers across the silver needles, Drake had an inexplicable sense of familiarity and his face was brimming with confidence. "Do you need my help? " The head doctors, Mrs Lydia asked softly, Though she knew it was going to be futile. Being in the medicine field for many years she had always be kind-hearted with a respectable reputation, but was selfish by nature. She instinctively knew Drake perhaps can do some magics.Drake looked at her and ask

Even Samantha trembled convulsively, as from fear when she heard that name, and a chill ran down her spines.Mr Otumba is the godfather of Delta city, he controlled and oversees the mafia and regiment groups all over Delta city. He was a figure who could send ripples all across the Delta city with a flick of his fingers. He was a mundane, yet he had the capabilities of some downworlders. Rumors says that his lackey's were not mundanes that they are beast, not even a bullet or cut would penetrate their skin. They were werewolves.Only those that had a death wish would book an appointment with the dreaded Mr Otumba. Any slight annoyance you cause him, he would feed you to his vicious wolves. Even Darwin himself wouldn't deliberately book an appointment with him. The last time he did, he lost thousand of his lackey's.Upon noticing the expression on Darwin and Samantha, he felt his request didn't went down well with them."Anything unsettling with my request? "Samantha cleared her throa

It was another conference meeting day for Downworlders where they tackle anything that upsets the balance of the umbra world. The downworld representative at the conference room were all serving to bring to mind the possibility of a surviving Nephalem. Mr Otumba, the mundane representative was punctual this time around.The Genie stood up to address everyone and clear the air. The murmuring was escalating into a noise."There is a Nephalem alive!. Few days back I felt the usage of magic being the most powerful warlock. The only person who could harness such demonic power is a Nephalem, the signal wasn't clear though. He used a rune to deactivate being tracked and as such I couldn't pin point his location." The Genie explained.Meanwhile an appointment had been fixed for Drake to meet up with Mr Otumba, later that day. **********Samantha laughed shakily. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.” “No,” he breathed, sliding his fingertips under her chin. “Not at all.” He lifted her face

"please don't kill me, Mr Otumba is our sponsor! " The young werewolf cried out as he is afraid to die, he thought Drake was really one of the umbra hunters sent to capture them thus, he was willing to confess and save his skin.Drake was not however going to kill him unarmed and not attacking. He was dumbfounded at once upon what the werewolf had just said."Mr Otumba? " He queried."Yes... Please don't kill me! I'm the only child of my parents and too young to die" The werewolf boy cried out the more pleadingly."Pick up your phone and call him right now and tell him what had just happened" Drake declared. He was going to meet Mr Otumba later today and he is beginning to see why Darwin was reluctant to book the appointment.Drake paused for a while as the werewolf boy picked up his phone and dialed Mr Otumba's line. Drake could sense someone was watching him from somewhere but he couldn't quite pin point, more like a spy or being tracked. He looked at his hands and noticed his trac

Meanwhile at Darwin's mansion...Clara was trying to draw the thing that had attacked her in the dream. She was still reminiscing on that as she took her sketchpad and started working out something. She was still feeling uncomfortable.“And his arm looked like an eggplant,” Clara muttered to herself in exasperation. The drawing just wasn’t working. With a sigh she tore yet another sheet from her sketchpad, crumpled it up, and tossed it against the orange wall of the bedroom. Already the floor was littered with discarded balls of paper, a sure sign that her creative juices weren’t flowing the way she’d hoped. Clara pulled her headphones out—cutting off Stepping Razor in mid song—and rubbed her aching temples. It was only then that she became aware that the loud, piercing sound of a ringing telephone was echoing through the apartment. Tossing the sketchpad onto the bed, she jumped to her feet and ran into the living room, where the retro-red phone sat on a table near the front door.“H