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The fire raged around them, thick smoke swirling like a living thing, clawing at Morbius’ lungs even as his unnatural physiology filtered out the worst of it. The woman in his grasp barely stirred, her breath coming in shallow gasps against his chest. He had wasted too much time. The structure beneath them trembled, every second they stayed increased the likelihood they wouldn't be leaving at all. And then, a voice cut through the roar of the flame.

"Hey, gruesome!"

Morbius turned his head, fangs bared instinctively as the silhouette of Luke Cage stepped through the collapsing hallway. The man stood like a wall, broad and unmoving, framed by the flickering light in a way that made him look even larger. His stance was set, ready for a fight.

"You best take your hands off that lady" Cage warned, cracking his knuckles, "Or I’m gonna send your ass back to Transylvania in a bucket."

Morbius let out a sharp breath, half a sigh, half an incredulous huff. Of course.

Of course, this is how the night was going. The silver lining was that it was Cage and not Spider-Man. He'd had more than his fair share of run ins with the webslinger and was thankful he'd at the very least not end the night webbed up against a wall for all to see.

With the fire raging around them, his own monstrous form silhouetted against the destruction, and a barely conscious woman in his grasp it wasn't hard to see how Cage had reached his conclusion. The fact that Morbius was saving the woman, not feeding on her, would be difficult to argue when every instinct in Cage's body was telling him otherwise. After all, its not like Morbius' reputation hadn't preceeded him, and evne if it hadn't his outward appearance didn't exactly scream 'hero'

Morbius tightened his grip on the woman and turned his glowing crimson gaze toward Luke.

"Ah, yes." he rasped, his voice raw from the smoke but still laced with that wry, unshaken arrogance. "Because clearly, I thought to myself 'Why merely feed in the shadows when I could dramatically incinerate my meal in front of a crowd?'" He adjusted his stance, shifting the woman slightly in his grasp to better support her weight. The fire was worsening, embers cascading from the ceiling like dying stars. They had no time for this. "We both know I'm not the type to like my meat well-done, I am attempting to save this woman, not drain her." he continued, irritation creeping into his tone. "But if you’d rather we argue until the building collapses around us, by all means, please, continue with the threats."

His eyes flicked toward the nearest compromised wall. It wouldn't hold much longer. He met Luke's gaze again, his brow furrowed. Cage was a professional, much more experienced in saving folk from burning houses than he was. He didn't doubt that the hero for hire could probably save the woman and make it back in time to go toe-to-toe with him.

"If you truly wish to help, then I suggest we move. Now." He held the woman up with one arm, the other hand slyly extending the claws just in case Cage leapt in for a punch.
Sorry all, I'm choked with the cold at the moment, hoping to get a Morbius post up once I'm a bit better!

On the subject of chatter and activity in the OOC:

What's everyone's favorite take on their respective character? Any particular runs in the comics you'd consider required reading, or a version from the cartoons or movies that inspired you?


My favourite interpreation of the character is definitely from the Midnight Suns video game. Comic-wise the "Morbius: The Living Vampire" Run from 2013 was cut short way too early and the 1992 run is very cool and gothic with great art. I'm planning on reading his appearance in "Amazing Spider-Man: Blood Hunt" once I get a minute!
<Snipped quote by PrinceAlexus>

The main problem I have with it is the denial of the fact that it is AI.


If it's just the art itself and not the writing I don't see why it's something that needs to be pointed out.
@AndyC Am I right in thinking that the fire Luke is responding to is the same as the one Morbius is responding to? I was setting things up at the end of my last one for Morbius to cross paths with any other heroes who were at the fire to see him and assume he had been feeding on the fainted woman. I'm happy to write another one in the fire either way, but I'm not sure how much I could write that isn't fluff if he's alone.
Got a post up with Morbius getting involved with the Brooklyn fire. I've left it open ended enough for others to join in.


Crimson trickled down his pale white chin as his fangs sunk into the neck of the drug pusher. He'd taken a risk, these dealers often got high on their own supply, tainting their blood and creating a potentially dangerous cocktail for Morbius to consume. He'd had issues with hallucinogen laced blood before, but this was an emergency. He could feel the hunger becoming too much for him, he could feel himself getting too close to going on an uncontrollable feeding frenzy. This would have to do, the risk was too great.

It had been a few days since meeting Cavallero at the morgue and it felt like they were making no progress at all. Morbius had been stalking the alleyway at Livonia every night, on the lookout for whoever was dumping the bodies, but no one ever turned up, and it had seriously impacted his feeding schedule. Michael Morbius was a very impatient man, both in terms of when he got to feed, and also when he got results.

His suit helped him to blend in to the almost abject darkness. It clung to him like a second skin, sleek and seamless, a deep black that gleamed under the streetlights when he glided by them. Thin, violet lines traced along his torso and limbs in intricate, almost organic patterns, pulsing faintly with his unnatural psionic energy. From just above his elbows to his ribs were a pair of dark purple, bat-like wings. Not true wings, but a membranous cape stitched into the suit itself, jagged and torn at the edges. A little addition to his costume that helped with gliding, and with his persona.

He left the dealer in a slump on the ground, brushing back long black hair with his long, gloved, clawed hand as he rose to his full height. His glowing red eyes gleamed in the night as he made his way over to the edge of the building where he perched. Brooklyn's heartbeat pulsed below him. He could hear it. The layered rhythms of countless lives moving through the streets. Cars idling at red lights, voices rising in laughter or argument, the click of heels against pavement. It was all so loud. A symphony of the living, carrying on as if the night did not belong to creatures like him.

Then, something different. A scent on the wind, acrid and bitter, cutting through the familiar stench of the city. Smoke. Morbius’ head snapped toward the source, a column of black rose against the darkened sky, thick and suffocating, curling high above the rooftops. Fire. Somewhere relatively nearby. His thoughts were cut short when his enhanced hearing picked up on the distant, panicked cries echoing out from the building.

His claws tightened against the buildings edge as instinct warred with reason within him. This was not his concern, it was a job for the fire department. He had more important matters to attend to; the bodies in the morgue, the unknown killer, and of course the ever-present hunger gnawing at his insides, demanding him to feed even after his recent meal. And yet?

A scream broke his concentration again. A woman's voice crying out for help. For a moment his mind shot back to the fateful night of his first feeding. His mind shot back to memories of Martine, his former fiancee.

Morbius moved. In one fluid motion he leapt from the rooftop, his wings snapping open to catch the air as he flew through the nightsky. The city blurred beneath him as he glided toward the inferno, the violet tracings on his suit flickering with each shift of his body and leaving a fading trail of purple psionic energy as he cut through the air like a knife.

Closer now. He could feel the heat against his skin, hear the violent groan of the building as it struggled against the flames. The fire was already spreading, crawling hungrily across the structure, consuming it from the inside out. The onlookers below stood frozen, helpless, useless. Some filmed. Others shouted in horror. But none of them acted. Morbius did not hesitate.

His claws found purchase on the blackened brick as he scaled the burning building with unnatural ease. Embers floated past him like fireflies, smoke coiling around his limbs, but he did not stop. A window shattered just ahead, a woman leaned out, coughing, her pained face illuminated by the flickering light behind her.

His glowing red eyes met hers.

She recoiled.

Of course she did.

He was used to that.

The fire behind her surged, swallowing the ceiling in a wave of fire. If she waited a moment longer, there wouldn't be a choice. Morbius didn't wait for her to decide. He lunged forward, crashing through the half-shattered window, talons raking against the frame as he hauled himself inside. The heat wrapped around him like a vice, but he pushed through it. he landed in a crouch in front of her. The woman stumbled back, eyes darting wildly between him and the collapsing room. He could hear her pulse, it was like a hammer pounding her heart against her ribs.

He straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the heat. His glowing red eyes locked onto her. "Your fire escape is…inconveniently melted." he remarked, his voice smooth yet tinged with wryness. "I suggest we find another exit."

The woman coughed violently, her legs unsteady. "W-what the hell are you?" she rasped, barely able to get the words out.

Morbius sighed. "Do we really have time for existential questions? I could give you the long answer, but…" He gestured toward the flames creeping across the ceiling. "Something tells me you have more immediate concerns."

She flinched as another wooden beam collapsed behind her, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Morbius took a step forward, his clawed hand outstretched. "Come now, let’s not linger. I'd hate for my good deed to go to waste."

Smoke curled around them, dark and choking. The fire climbed the walls, devouring cheap wallpaper and old wooden beams with frenzied hunger. The whole building groaned in protest, its foundations shifting beneath their feet.
Morbius reached for her and the woman flinched. Just for a second and then, realizing there was no other option, she grabbed onto him.

Morbius pulled her close, shielding her from the thickening smoke as his eyes quickly scanned the room for exit. The fire was encroaching towards them closer by the second, and worse yet had began to burn its way towards the window, their only exit.

They had seconds at best.

With a powerful leap, Morbius pushed off the ground, aiming for the shattered window, but something gave way. A section of the ceiling collapsed with a sickening crack, sending flaming debris tumbling between them and the exit. The force of it knocked the woman from his grip, sending her sprawling onto the blackened floor. She let out a strangled cry, scrambling backward as another burst of fire surged between them, licking at the walls with greedy fingers.

Morbius was on her in an instant, leaping through the wall of fire like a wraith. His taloned hands caught her shoulders, steadying her. She was terrified, close to fainting.

From the outside, through the shattered window, the scene told a different story. The woman, barely conscious, slumped in his grasp. Morbius hunched over her, his clawed fingers tight around her arms, his fanged mouth close to her throat. His jagged wings stood taut against his arms, catching the firelight, making him look less like a savior and more like a predator about to feed.

The flames cast monstrous shadows against the walls, distorting his silhouette into something other. Something inhuman. To anyone watching from the street, it was a nightmare unfolding before their eyes. A fire made worse by the addition of the Vampyre.

And if any so-called hero had come to play savior tonight, they would only see one thing:

A monster in the fire.

For Michael Morbius his good deed might not have gone to waste, but it definitely wasn't going to go unpunished.
Hey all, just writing to say I'm still here! It's been a bit hectic since getting back from Poland, but I plan on reading everything and hopefully getting a post up tomorrow!

The trick was to look tired, not exhausted. Exhaustion drew attention. No, just the kind of worn out that made people glance past you in the street, assuming you were another overworked professional trying to scrape by in the city that never slept.

Michael Morbius had perfected the act. Years of living as someone people would point and stare at taught him the skills to make himself into a person they wouldn't look twice at.

His black hair was slicked back neatly and dark rimmed glasses tinted red rested on the bridge of his nose, not entirely necessary, but effective. They softened his angular face, made him seem less severe, and did their best to hide his piercing crimson gaze. He'd tried contact lenses in the past, but let's just say taking them out with claws led to less than comfortable results.

He wore a charcoal button-up shirt, the top button undone just enough to look effortless. His pants were dark, tailored but not expensive, the kind a doctor or scientist might wear when they didn't expect an audience. Finally was his overcoat. It fit perfectly, sleek yet unremarkable, the type of thing that could belong to an underpaid forensic consultant or a man walking home from an expensive restaurant. The inside lining was silk, a rich deep purple, a hidden luxury only he knew about.

It was all part of Dr. Nikos Michaels, forensic consultant, hematology specialist, and a man with absolutely nothing to hide. Especially not that he was secretely Morbius, The Living Vampire.

The weather in Brownsville was as unforgiving as the streets within it. Cold bullets of rain battered down onto Morbius as he rushed through the streets, one hand in his pocket and the other holding up a now soaked newspaper in a futile effort to stop his hair from getting wet. The wind carried the scent of damp pavement, cheap cigarettes, and gasoline, all of it layering over the faint iron tang of blood that always seemed to linger on his senses.

He took a quick left down a set of concrete stairs and punched in a code on a keypad, being met with the satisfying click of the metal door as it unlocked and let him into the morgue. Two officers stood by the doors in raincoats, huddled together for warmth. One of them, a bored looking woman with a heavy NYPD jacket and a styrofoam coffee cup, nodded when she saw him.
"Some weather, eh, doc? Surprised to see you out this late."

Morbius adjusted the strap on his worn leather satchel, smiling back to her. "Strange cases tend to keep me up."

The officer chuckled, stepping aside to let him through. "Well, you picked a good one tonight."

Inside, the air shifted from the cold bite of the rain to the sterile chill of the morgue. The overhead fluorescents buzzed faintly, casting everything in a stark, clinical glow. The scent of antiseptic, formaldehyde, and death pressed against his senses. Morbius exhaled slowly as he shook the water from his overcoat and adjusted his glasses. The morgue wasn't large, but it was efficient. Cold steel tables, rows of body lockers, a scattering of outdated computers and filing cabinets. It was the kind of place people avoided if they could help it, which made it one of the few places in the city where he could work freely without suspicion.

Dr. Neil Cavallero, Brownsville's resident medical examiner, was already at work, leaning over a sheet-covered body. His salt and pepper stubble and rumpled lab coat made him look more like a sleep deprived professor than a coroner. Morbius pulled off his overcoat, hanging it on a rusted hook by the door. "I heard we had another one." He flexed his fingers before sliding on a pair of gloves. "Same pattern?"

Cavallero let out a long, tired sigh and finally turned toward him, nudging the sheet covered body with the back of his hand. "You tell me." He pulled back the sheet.

The corpse belonged to a man in his early forties, lean, with short brown hair. There were no signs of struggle. No defensive wounds, no rope marks, no bullet holes or stab wounds. A clean, untouched body in a city where violent deaths were the norm. Morbius' eyes, as always, went straight to the throat, where he let his gaze settle on the thin, nearly invisible incision along the jugular. Something in his gut twisted.

"Cause of death?" Morbius asked, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

"That's the thing." Cavallero stepped back, rubbing his forehead. "Autopsy says massive internal hemorrhaging. Every major organ bled out from the inside." He glanced at Morbius, tired eyes narrowing. "You ever seen anything like that?" Cavallero ran a hand over his tired face as he moved over to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. He motioned an offering to Morbius but was met with a decline. "Third this month. Same age range, same lack of ID, same drop-off point. Dumped in an alley near Livonia Avenue. And just like the others, no missing persons report, no criminal record, no dental matches. Like the guy never existed."

Morbius looked closer at the incision on the deceased's throat. It was surgical in precision, sealed with a synthetic compound that looked almost like medical glue. There was no blood pooling around the wound, no bruising suggesting a violent attack. Whoever had done this had bled him carefully, methodically.

Cavallero folded his arms. "You see what I mean, Nik? This wasn't some back alley mugging. Someone took his blood, then patched him up after the fact. But why go through all that trouble if you were just going to dump him like trash?"

Morbius' fingers hovered over the wound, his pulse quickening despite himself. It definitely wasn't a frenzied, instinctual kill. This was controlled. Clinical. Someone in Brooklyn was harvesting blood, and doing it with a surgeon's hand, and for once it wasn't him.

Morbius swallowed, the hunger coiling in his gut like a tightening noose. He pushed it down, focused on the matter at hand. "I need to run a full panel on what’s left in his bloodstream." he murmured. "Something tells me this isn't just organ trafficking."

Cavallero sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah? And what the hell do you think it is, then?"

Morbius exhaled slowly. "Something worse."

He let the words settle as he reached into his satchel, withdrawing a syringe and a few vials. His hands moved with practiced efficiency. He inserted the needle into the man's arm, drawing what little blood remained. It was thinner than it should be, paler. Something had been introduced to his system before death, something that had altered the blood's composition.

Cavallero watched him work, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and concern. "You know, Nik, most consultants don’t get this hands on."

Morbius didn't look up. "Most consultants don't have a specialty in hematology."

Cavallero snorted. "Fair enough. Just don’t let the higher ups catch you poking around too much. They barely tolerate me asking questions." He took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the bitterness. "You think we should be worried?"

Morbius removed the vial and held it up to the light, watching how the blood clung to the glass. "I think whoever did this is careful. Experienced. And I think if they've done it three times, they’ll do it again."

A beat of silence passed between them. The morgue was always quiet, but now the air felt heavier, like the cold was seeping into the walls. Morbius glanced at Neil with a smile. "But you also don't strike me as the type to hang around Livonia Avenue. Plus, your blood is about 60% caffeine at this point, unless he's opening up a new coffee chain I'd say you're safe."

Cavallero let out a small chuckle, leaning back against a desk. "You want me to send the reports over when I finish up here?"

Morbius nodded, slipping the vials into his coat pocket. "Send me everything you can. And if another body shows up—"

"I'll call you."

The rain was still falling when Morbius stepped back outside, but he barely noticed. His mind was already elsewhere. This wasn't just a murder. This was something else. The precision, the blood extraction, the lack of any real forensic trace, this had purpose behind it. And that meant whoever was responsible wasn't finished.

Morbius adjusted his glasses, blending seamlessly into the night as he walked back into the city. If the killer thought they could drain people dry without consequence, they were wrong.

He would find them.

And if it turned out they were anything like him?

Well.

Then it would be a very different kind of hunt.
IC is going live today, folks!


Fantastic! I have a post ready but just FYI I’ll be going to Poland from Thursday to Tuesday so will have limited time to write up a follow up post.
<Snipped quote by Half Pint>

Morbius is APPROVED




Thanks! Also just as an FYI I added Madame Masque to his list of enemies, being that he is based in Brooklyn.
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