The pulse of electronic music vibrated through the foundations of Club Twilight, an opulent fortress of sin nestled in the neon heart of Vegas. The air in the main floor reeked of excess: expensive perfumes mingled with the tang of blood, and laughter punctuated the hypnotic rhythm of bass-heavy beats. But behind the layers of glamour, in the private back offices, the temperature dropped noticeably -both literally and figuratively.
Mr. Ice, as elegant as he was dangerous, lounged in his high-backed leather chair, one leg crossed over the other. His tailored suit was pristine, midnight black with accents of ice-blue that shimmered faintly under the dim office lights. A glass of something crimson swirled lazily in his hand, his long fingers tipped with nails that glinted like frost under moonlight.
Across from him sat Mr. Stone, his demeanor calm and enigmatic. His charcoal-gray suit was tailored to perfection, and his every movement exuded precision. The two men -if either could truly be called men- were study contrasts: Ice’s palpable predatory hunger and Stone’s unnerving stillness.
“Charming ambiance,” Mr. Stone remarked, his voice as smooth as silk. He placed a sleek black briefcase on the desk between them with deliberate care. “Though I doubt we’re here to trade compliments.”
“Correct,” Mr. Ice replied, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable chill. He leaned forward slightly, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “I was told you had something... intriguing to show me. Let’s hope my informant wasn’t exaggerating.”
Stone smiled faintly, his fingers brushing the top of the briefcase as if savoring the anticipation. “Intrigue,” he said, his voice steady, “is a specialty of mine.”
With a flick of his wrist, the briefcase clicked open. Stone turned it toward Ice, revealing its contents: an array of glittering shards, their crystalline surfaces refracting light in hues that shifted from ruby red to icy blue. Alongside them rested vials of shimmering minerals, each emanating a subtle glow, and several polished pieces of Prismatrix and Prismana, their auras distinctly aligned with blood. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as Ice’s sharp eyes took in the offering.
“Well,” Ice murmured, his voice carrying a note of genuine interest. “That is intriguing.”
Stone said nothing, letting the contents speak for themselves.
Mr. Ice leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the items. “Rare minerals of some sort?”
“Prismata shards,” Mr. Stone answered. “Aspected Prismana.” He picked up one of the shards, holding it to the light. “And this… this is aspected toward blood.” The sanguine power it was keyed towards was palpable -it practically radiated life energy.
Mr. Ice’s lips quirked into a cold smile. “Now that is interesting.”
“I thought it might appeal to your particular tastes,” Stone replied, his tone carefully neutral.
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“It does.” Ice’s gaze flicked to Stone, his smile growing sharper. “But I can’t help but wonder how you acquired these. Items of this caliber don’t exactly grow on trees.”
Stone’s faint smile didn’t falter. “The dungeons,” he said simply. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.”
“The stories, yes,” Ice said, his voice low. “Fairy tales, some might call them. But you… you make them sound quite real.”
“They are,” Stone said, leaning back slightly. “Real, dangerous, and immensely profitable for those with the means to harvest their treasures.”
Ice chuckled softly, his fangs catching the dim light. “Profitable, indeed. But you seem very sure of yourself, Mr. Stone. Perhaps too sure.”
Stone’s gaze met Ice’s without wavering. “Confidence,” he said, his tone cool, “is not a crime. But testing it could be.”
Ice’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a calculating expression. “You’re in my territory,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-growl. The air in the room grew colder, the shadows at the edges of the room seeming to deepen. “And in my club, there are rules.”
Stone’s response was as swift as it was subtle. He reached into the briefcase and withdrew a small, black Prismata core, its surface etched with faint, otherworldly runes. As he placed it on the desk, the atmosphere in the room shifted violently. A palpable wave of death-aligned energy swept outward, pressing down on Ice like a physical weight. His confident posture faltered, and he gripped the arms of his chair as his knees buckled beneath the pressure.
“You misunderstand,” Stone said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of menace. “I don’t come here to be intimidated. I come to negotiate. And I don’t take kindly to veiled threats.”
Lester, Ice’s loyal enforcer, stepped forward, his broad frame tense and ready to strike. But Ice raised a trembling hand, signaling him to stop. “Stand down,” he rasped, his voice tight.
Stone tilted his head slightly, studying Ice with an expression that was almost amused. “Wise,” he said, letting the energy of the core dissipate. The suffocating pressure lifted, and Ice straightened slowly, his icy composure returning.
He adjusted his suit with deliberate precision, then reached for one of the vials in the briefcase. Opening it carefully, he poured a drop of the Prismateria-infused liquid into his glass. Swirling it thoughtfully, he brought it to his lips and took a slow sip.
The effect was immediate. His eyes glowed faintly, their icy blue hue intensifying as the power of the liquid coursed through him. “My, my,” he murmured, his voice carrying a faint growl. “That’s quite good.”
“Pardon my manners,” Ice added, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a pristine handkerchief. “I had to try. You understand.”
“Of course,” Stone replied smoothly, his expression unreadable. “I’ve dealt with your kind on many occasions. And, unfortunately, the results are always predictable. It seems you require… reminders to understand the hierarchy.”
Ice’s smile tightened, irritation flashing in his eyes. He picked up the phone on his desk, dialing a number with deliberate slowness. When the line connected, he remained silent for a moment before extending the receiver toward Stone.
“It’s for you,” he said, his tone flat, though his grip on the phone betrayed his frustration.
Stone took the phone without hesitation, pressing it to his ear. A cold, ancient voice crackled on the other end, each word resonating with an unsettling power. “Ah, Mr. Stone,” the voice said, smooth and chilling. “I’ve been expecting you.”
A slow smile spread across Stone’s face as he listened. Whatever the voice said, it seemed to please him. After a moment, he hung up the phone with precise movements and turned back to Ice.
“Big things are coming,” Stone said as he stood. “You’d best make ready.”
Without waiting for a response, he strode to the door, his every movement exuding quiet confidence. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Ice seated behind his desk, a shard of Prismateria glinting ominously in his hand.