Jesse grunted, grabbing his rifle. Beside him, his loyal partner checked the cylinder of his revolver. "Smoke and mirrors, kid," Edgar muttered. "That's all these leeches are. They hide in the shadows until you shine a bright enough light on 'em."

"We're running out of time, Jesse," said, her eyes fixed on the strange, pulsating Sanguisuge samples on her desk. "If we don't find the source of the infestation in the marshlands, the United States won't have a frontier left to defend."

He didn't hesitate. With a surge of lightning from his gauntlet, Jesse launched himself into the fray. Each punch landed with the force of a steam engine, shattering the "mirrors" of the vampire's illusions. The fight was brutal, a dance of silver and sparks against the ancient hunger of the night.

They headed out into the swampy darkness, where the trees seemed to reach out like skeletal fingers. The clock was ticking—a metaphorical countdown to the total collapse of the Institute's defenses. As Jesse waded through the murky water, the silence was broken by the guttural screech of a Highborn vampire .

"Part seven of the plan," Jesse thought, smashing a creature’s skull into the mud. "Keep punching until there's nothing left to punch back."

The air in the was thick with the smell of ozone and sulfur. Jesse Rentier adjusted his heavy gauntlet, the metal humming with unstable electrical energy. He wasn’t a man of many words, but the sight of his father, William Rentier , wasting away after the attack on the Rentier Institute, said enough.