"From the Vampire Elder Council," Coulson explained evenly, "we've confirmed Deacon Frost has broken their accords. He attacked members of the Council and has illegally convened a mass gathering of clans from around the globe, right here in New York.
They've formally requested federal intervention. Current estimates suggest at least five thousand are present—though the exact number is unclear."
Coulson left it at that.
Tony leaned back in his chair and smirked. "Funny. My intel says otherwise." He lifted his glass, then looked pointedly at Gwen. "According to my source, we're not talking five thousand. Try ten."
Coulson blinked. "Ten… thousand?"
If that was true, then S.H.I.E.L.D. had already fallen dangerously behind. Vampires were notoriously resilient; conventional weapons had limited effect. With specialized gear, soldiers could cull them like weeds. Without it, the roles reversed.
"Better to overprepare than underestimate," Fury growled. "We'll requisition double the stockpiles. And get the Council leaning on the brass. Tell the military: the situation's changed. I want boots on the ground by tomorrow."
Tony swirled his drink once more, then set it down. "Tomorrow, I'll be there. Stark Industries will provide hardware. And I'll bring the hardware personally."
Coulson's composure cracked into genuine relief. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. We could use the firepower."
Tony tipped his glass. "See you on the battlefield."
"Tomorrow," Coulson echoed.
"Tomorrow," Gwen repeated firmly. She met Tony's gaze. "Russell and I will fight too."
Tony studied her for a long moment. He'd seen her strength—she'd toyed with Obadiah Stane's Iron Monger like it was scrap metal. Then his eyes flicked to Russell.
"And you?" Tony asked bluntly. "Can you keep up?"
Russell raised an eyebrow. "…Ask Gwen."
Gwen smirked. She knew his weight in a fight as well as he knew hers.
Tony exhaled and waved them off. "Fine. Stay here tonight. Pepper will set you up with rooms. Tomorrow morning, we roll out with S.H.I.E.L.D."
With that, he disappeared into his workshop. Plans were already spinning in his head: silver-lined ammunition, ultraviolet grenades, gas clouds laced with garlic and colloidal silver. By dawn, he'd have a vampire-slaying suit ready for war.
---
Russell's guest room was quiet, softly lit with a faint scent of lavender. It should have been relaxing. But sleep never came.
He sat upright, eyes fixed on the pulsing blue panel in front of him.
[Name: Russell (Transcendent)]
[Lifespan: 25 / 7,850]
[Physique II: 5]
[Perception II: 5]
[Spirit II: 5]
Innate Talent 1 – Energy Drain: Convert any form of energy into attribute points, defaulting to lifespan.
Innate Talent 2 – Attribute Shift: Convert [Lifespan] into [Physique], [Perception], or [Spirit].
The system had just upgraded. He'd felt it instantly—his body reshaping itself too abruptly, too violently to miss.
His stats had reset to one, then climbed steadily to five. Meanwhile, his lifespan had jumped by more than seven millennia.
He clenched a fist. Strength surged—five tons, five times what he'd wielded before. Which meant that one point of Physique now equaled a hundred of his old ones.
A grim smile curved his lips. Burn life for power. A hundredfold exchange.
He tested it. Shifted years into his stats. And the numbers leapt.
[Name: Russell (Transcendent)]
[Lifespan: 25 / 150]
[Physique: 31]
[Perception: 31]
[Spirit: 30]
Seven thousand four hundred years, gone in a blink. He stopped short of the last 150. If the cost of living had risen with his rank, he didn't want to wake tomorrow already a dead man.
Still—the results were staggering. Thirty-one tons of raw strength. A body that could shrug off bullets. Speed he guessed was over a hundred meters per second. And energy—something unseen yet tangible—woven into his muscles and bones, both armor and weapon.
His senses sharpened, awareness blooming like a sixth sense. He could feel the space around him, anticipate movements before they happened.
His mind crackled with force. The psychic lash he'd once used sparingly now burned hotter, wider. Enough to crush a crowd of enemies, or pierce a single soul until it broke. Enough to bind his will into his blows, striking flesh and spirit at once.
He felt powerful. Frighteningly powerful. Stronger than the numbers on his panel suggested. And yet… looking at those stats still below a hundred, an itch stirred. What came next? Another hundredfold leap? Or more?
---
Eternal Night Hall.
The ritual had begun.
Blade's blood poured along engraved channels, feeding the circle etched into the stone. Clouds thickened, swallowing the moon. Crimson drops marked the brows of twelve pureblood vampires chained in place.
"We are the masters of this world!" Deacon Frost exulted, spreading his arms. "The Blood God descends!"
The Daywalker's blood traced runes of fire across the floor, converging on Frost's forehead. Thunder split the night sky.
Lightning struck the twelve black pillars of the hall, coursing down into the captives. Their bodies detonated in a frenzy of gore, souls shrieking into bone-white bats that streaked into Frost's chest.
Power surged. His veins lit like molten iron. Wounds healed before they could form. Weaknesses—sunlight, silver, the curse of hunger—melted away. His bloodline was becoming something new. Something greater.
And then—a gaze.
From beyond the universe, through Frost, an eye peered into this reality. One glance, and even its owner nearly unraveled into madness.
The Eternal Heart. This planet… was the Eternal Heart incarnate.
Another thunderclap shook the hall. The Blood God roared across the veil, uncaring that only a fragment of its essence could pass. A tenth was enough. A whisper of eternity was enough.
"Go, my apostle," the voice thundered in Frost's skull. "Conquer this world for me."
The power fell like a storm. Every vampire in the hall lifted their face to the dark, bathed in their god's blessing.
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