After Wanda collected the blood sample, she placed it back in her pocket and looked at Magneto. "Mr. Eric, as a token of appreciation, I can offer you a word of advice," she said.

"Oh?" Magneto responded.

"The other consciousness inside this gentleman doesn't come from this world. It's linked to a very ancient being. You might want to keep an eye on that," Wanda said, nodding slightly toward Sergei in the distance.

With that, Sergei lowered his cross sword and walked over to Wanda. She waved her hand, and in the blink of an eye, their figures blurred and disappeared. Just as mysteriously as they had arrived, they left with equal grace.

Magneto and Mystique were left astonished by the display. Mystique turned to Magneto, frowning. "Eric," she began, "it seems our knight has many secrets. Is this truly a consciousness from another world?"

Magneto, no fool, understood the implications of Wanda's words. He glanced at Johnny, who looked utterly bewildered.

The sound of sirens grew louder. Mystique, glancing around, said, "We need to go, Eric."

"Yes," Magneto agreed. He glanced at the disheartened Pyro, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. The commotion had caused major damage to the city, with metal torn from underground structures, leaving a mess that would cost the government heavily. But Magneto had no intention of cleaning up after himself—this conflict with the U.S. government was just one more in their long history of disputes.

Meanwhile, Wanda, Sergei, and Pietro returned to New York. By the time they arrived at their manor, it was early morning. After a quick bath, they enjoyed a delicious and healthy breakfast prepared by the manor's chefs. Aside from Wanda, the rest of the family hadn't returned yet, leaving the four younger ones at the table with Leon.

During breakfast, the children were especially curious about Wanda's trip to Texas. The mention of Mephisto and Magneto had them all excited, especially thirteen-year-old Pushkin. He yearned to be part of the action, hearing about Leon's spectacular battle with Mephisto. His youthful imagination ran wild, dreaming of taking on the demon king himself. But, being so young, Leon had forbidden him from participating in such events—at least not until he turned sixteen.

Clarice, equally fascinated, bombarded Wanda with questions. The two younger girls, Alina and Polina, were less interested in the battles. They preferred playing with the manor's animals, particularly the furry ones, a fondness that developed during their time in the Ural Mountains. Leon was even considering adding more animals to the manor—perhaps some lion and tiger cubs. He'd always had a soft spot for big cats, even in his past life.

After the lively breakfast, it was time for the children to go to school. The housekeeper took them, while Pietro and Sergei left in a McLaren sports car, their plans unknown.

Leon and Wanda then strolled down to the beach near the manor. The rising sun bathed the golden sand in warm light, and the sea breeze was refreshing. Walking barefoot on the sand, with waves gently lapping at the shore, the two of them felt at peace. The wind tousled their hair and rustled their shirts, creating a perfect moment of tranquility.

All along the beach, rows of footprints marked the path where Leon and Wanda walked side by side. At 1.8 meters, Leon only slightly towered over Wanda, who stood at 1.7 meters. Wanda extended her hand, closed it gently, and let the breeze blow against her cheek. Gazing at the blue waves, she sighed, "It's so beautiful."

"It really is," Leon chuckled. "This planet always finds a way to make you fall in love with it."

When free from life's pressures and distractions, the world's beauty becomes impossible to ignore. Leon believed that the Earth was worth fighting for, even if it meant opposing humanity itself to protect it. He could battle interdimensional demons and stop anyone who threatened to destroy the world.

Wanda nodded, then mischievously turned around, quickened her pace, and walked backward while looking at Leon. In her playful voice, she said, "I wish we could stay like this forever."

"Maybe we can," Leon replied with a smile.

Leon gently rubbed Wanda's hair, as he'd always done. Her delicate face flushed pink, and she smiled sweetly. But a hint of worry crossed her expression as she asked, "Leon, do you think Hell appearing will have a big impact on Earth?"

"Who knows?" Leon shrugged. "But don't worry. If Mephisto ever makes a move on Earth, I'll deal with him."

"Hehe, so confident, huh? He's the devil, after all."

"Devil or not, I'm much stronger than you think. Don't underestimate me."

"I've never underestimated you," Wanda teased, sticking out her tongue. With the sea breeze blowing, she asked again, "Leon, did you have us travel the world collecting blood from undead species just to train us?"

"You already figured that out, didn't you?" Leon shot her a playful look that made Wanda laugh, knowing she couldn't hide anything from him. They understood each other too well.

"It's hard to believe you used the genes of those undead species to create a super-soldier serum to enhance us. You've worked hard."

"Actually, it's you who's been doing the hard work," Leon admitted. Wanda and the others had collected the blood themselves. If Leon had given the order, Sky Blade could have handled everything, leaving him with little to do.

Wanda sensed that Leon was hiding something, but she was smart enough not to pry. Instead, she changed the subject. As they stood at the water's edge, letting the waves lap at their ankles, she said casually, "I'm planning to go find that guy with Pietro."

"Today?"

"Yep, as soon as Pietro gets back."

"Just make sure you're home for dinner," Leon said, offering his usual light warning. Wanda's eyes curved into crescent moons as she smiled.

"I want to have steamed garlic lobster! I'm craving it."

Wanda loved seafood, especially lobster.

"I'll have Dirk prepare it, and you can eat as much as you want."

"Great! I'll go see Natasha first."

Meanwhile, in the underground lab of the seaside villa in New York, Tony Stark sat in an expensive, custom-made chair. The lab, filled with vibrant decor and precision instruments, was a display of Stark's characteristic flair. Leaning back, Tony rubbed his temples, exhaustion written all over his face.

"Sir, you have been awake for forty-eight hours straight. It has been detected that you are extremely fatigued. It's time for you to rest," came a gentle voice in Tony's ear.

Tony, staring at the technical drawings he'd been working on all night, responded absentmindedly, "Thanks for the concern, Jarvis. Maybe I'll sleep in ten hours."

"That must be quite a dream."

"Sir, Miss Pepper has sent a message. She hopes you will sleep properly."

"What's she up to?" Tony asked.

"Miss Pepper is negotiating with the military on behalf of you and Mr. Stane."

"Ha, Pepper's really starting to act like a president. Maybe I should promote her to CEO." Tony flipped through the holographic projections in front of him, nodding casually.

"I think Miss Pepper would be very pleased."

"Uh-huh. Jarvis, place the order according to the technical drawings. We're about to start a big project."

"OK, sir."

Tony stretched, feeling the weight of exhaustion creep in. He unsteadily stood up, opened the tempered glass door, and walked upstairs. Heading to the bar, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, just about to take a sip when Jarvis's voice interrupted him again.

"Sir, Ms. Natasha is here to visit."

"Well, isn't that a pleasant surprise," Tony remarked, eyebrows raised. Holding his whiskey and dressed only in a thin gray sweater, he walked toward the living room. As the door opened automatically, Natasha entered, clad in a black trench coat, accompanied by two unfamiliar individuals.

Tony's curiosity piqued as Natasha approached, but her stoic demeanor made him cautious. He was intrigued by the two strangers but unsure of what Natasha's intentions were. Still, he greeted her with open arms, trying to appear cheerful. "Hey, Ms. Natasha, nice to see you."

"Don't get too excited, Tony," Natasha replied, her face remaining cold and indifferent.

Her tone made Tony frown, sensing something was wrong. Keeping his composure, he joked, "I hope you're not here to ruin my mood with bad news, Natasha."

"I'm sorry, Tony, but I'm not the one here to see you today."

Natasha's attitude remained emotionless, causing Tony's heart to sink. He glanced at her and then at the two strangers beside her, growing more serious. "So, who's here to see me?"

"Tony Stark," Pietro said coldly, his eyes filled with unmasked murderous intent.

Click!

As soon as Pietro's intent became clear, the villa's walls and ceiling began shifting. Panels retracted, revealing an array of weapons aimed directly at the trio. Jarvis's voice followed.

"Hostile action detected. Level 1 alert activated. Please cease all resistance, or you will be neutralized immediately. According to—"

Boom!

Before Jarvis could finish, Wanda's eyes glowed red as she raised her hand, forming a fist. Instantly, chaotic red energy surged throughout the villa. The walls, ceiling, and even the weapons were torn apart and twisted by the force. The entire villa trembled, and the glassware on the tables and bar shattered—yet Tony remained unharmed, standing amidst the wreckage.

"Sir, I—" Jarvis began but was cut off by Tony.

"Jarvis, cancel the Level 1 alert and defense mode."

"Understood, sir. Level 1 alert and defense mode deactivated."

Jarvis's response took two full seconds, which was unusually slow for his AI. Tony realized the delay was caused by the conflict between the on-site image analysis and his command.

Ignoring the technical hiccup, Tony downed his whiskey in one gulp, then walked slowly to the nearby shelf. Calmly, he asked, "I thought even if we weren't friends, we were at least partners. Can you tell me why you're doing this? Or did someone offer you a better deal than I did?"

Tony stood there, puzzled, trying to understand the reason behind their hostility.

…

It was easy for Tony to turn off his alert and defense systems. After all, he knew that the defense system he had built into the villa could handle ordinary people, or even a special operations force, without leaving him vulnerable.

But now, he was facing superhumans.

The red energy released by the girl, which had instantly destroyed all the defensive weapons in the hall, was enough proof of the huge gap between them. If they really wanted to kill him, nothing he did now would make a difference. It was better to face the situation calmly; even if he was going to die, he'd at least know why.

What Tony didn't realize, though, was that Jarvis had a built-in rule prioritizing his life above all else. So, without Tony knowing, Jarvis had already sent out distress signals.

Natasha, Wanda, and Pietro noticed Tony's calmness in the face of danger, but that wouldn't stop Wanda and Pietro from seeking revenge.

Wanda stepped forward, her delicate, sweet face now filled with rage. She gritted her teeth and spoke to Tony, "Tell me, do you remember a country called Sokovia?"

"Sokovia?" Tony frowned, repeating the name.

"It was a small country in Eastern Europe. Poor and backward. Pietro and I were just ordinary people there. We were poor, but we had a warm home. Until the war broke out when we were ten years old."

She paused, her anger intensifying. Red energy swirled around her, and her golden hair began to float as if blown by an unseen wind. A terrifying aura filled the villa, making Tony feel as though he were carrying a massive weight on his back. His chest tightened, and breathing became difficult.

But Tony kept listening.

Pietro stepped forward to stand by Wanda, his eyes full of hatred as he stared at the man responsible for destroying their family.

Wanda continued, her voice trembling with anger. "The explosion destroyed our home. The building collapsed. Our parents died that day. Pietro and I survived, but just as we were about to escape, a missile hit less than a meter away from us."

Tony remained silent, listening to Wanda's every word.

"We were trapped. We couldn't leave the collapsed apartment. All we could do was stare at the missile, unsure when it would explode. We watched it for two days..."

Her voice dropped, but her rage was palpable. "And on that missile, we saw the name: Stark Industries."

Wanda's eyes bore into Tony's, her voice sharp and cutting like steel blades. "Tell me, Tony Stark, do you think you deserve to live?"

Her words hung in the air, slicing through the room as if Tony could be torn apart at any moment. The Maximoff twins' hatred and anger were laid bare.

Tony stood still, grappling with the weight of her accusation. His mind raced, recalling moments that had once seemed insignificant. He remembered the female reporter who had confronted him, and the Jericho missile that had landed him in a terrorist's cave.

What could he say? How could he justify himself?

Since his father founded Stark Industries, the company had developed countless weapons and supplied arms to the U.S. military. How many wars had those weapons fueled? How many civilians had been killed? He had never truly considered it.

Because he had never seen the consequences with his own eyes.

Tony had always lived in his own world—the world of the upper class, of banquets and casinos, where he basked in admiration and attention, surrounded by women and accolades. He had enjoyed the life of a genius, insulated from the horrors of the outside world.

He had never seen the suffering of the poor, or the families torn apart by war.

His world had always been narrow.

It wasn't until he was kidnapped that he realized how deeply Stark Industries' weapons had scarred the world. Only then did he begin to understand the devastation his company had caused.

After he returned, Tony made the decision to shut down the arms department. But even then, he hadn't truly grasped the pain of those scorched by the flames of war—not until now, standing before these two children, staring into their hateful eyes as they recounted their harrowing experience from when they were just ten years old.

It was hard for Tony to fathom that two children, so young, had been huddled in the corner of the ruins, staring at a missile just a meter away for two days, consumed by helplessness. The panic, fear, and despair they must have felt seemed unbearable.

Tony's heart ached.

He stood in silence, gazing at the two before him. Slowly, he closed his eyes, his weary face turning calm. He offered no excuses. When he opened his eyes again, he took heavy, guilt-ridden steps toward Wanda and Pietro.

"I'm sorry," Tony said, his voice calm but filled with regret. "I know that nothing I do can ever make up for what you've been through, or for all the lives lost because of war. For all the broken families. I imagine I'll be going to hell when I die."

His tone was self-deprecating, devoid of the bravado he used to carry.

"Jarvis."

"Sir?"

"After my death, I want you to execute a will through Pepper. She's already been appointed president and CEO of Stark Industries. All my shares will be transferred to her. Ten percent of the profits each year will go to her. The rest should be used to establish a charitable foundation."

Tony paused before continuing. "And I want all my assets and funds to be dedicated to helping children and people around the world who suffer from war, illness, and homelessness."

"Sir!"

"Jarvis, write it up."

"Yes, sir. May you rest in peace."

Jarvis's voice echoed throughout the villa, leaving Wanda and Pietro visibly surprised as they looked at the man in front of them. Tony, though seemingly at peace, had a weight to his words that caught them off guard.

In the past, Tony might have worn a mischievous grin, teasing the two. But now, his demeanor was calm as he addressed them.

"I hope my death can help lift the shadow that's been hanging over you. I'd hate to laugh at you from hell."

He paused, then added, "And Jarvis will inform the authorities that my death was voluntary. You won't face any consequences. People will gloat about my death and that will be it."

…

On the streets of New York City, a black SUV sped recklessly through traffic, ignoring several red lights without a care. The traffic police quickly noticed and began pursuing the vehicle, immediately calling for backup.

"Driving like that in New York, during morning rush hour, with a speed limit of 45 kilometers per hour? You're insane," one officer muttered as they raced to catch up. The driver had already run red lights and caused multiple accidents, showing off incredible driving skills, but the arrogance infuriated the officers. "I'm going to make you regret this."

Despite their best efforts, the police couldn't keep up with the black Chevrolet SUV, which expertly weaved through the congested city streets. Inside the SUV, the driver was none other than Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, heading straight for the seaside villa, barking orders as he drove.

"Hill, send in the Quinjets and have snipers on standby."

"Five Quinjets are already in the air and will arrive in three minutes. Snipers are on standby. The rapid response special forces, led by Rumlow, have also arrived," Hill's calm voice came through Fury's earpiece.

Fury didn't respond but issued another command. "Get rid of the pursuers behind me."

"Understood."

After giving the order, Fury slammed on the accelerator, speeding like a black bolt of lightning, carelessly ignoring the red lights and traffic. Behind him, screeching brakes and the sound of crashing cars filled the air, but Fury paid no mind. His focus was on the projected route displayed on his windshield.

"Someone's actually managed to break into the villa, and the perimeter security system didn't react. This is bad," Fury muttered, frowning.

Tony Stark was originally just a contingency plan in Fury's larger strategy—an afterthought, really. He hadn't paid too much attention to Stark, certainly not as much as the Hulk, who was being hunted by the military. But that changed when S.H.I.E.L.D. followed the faint tire tracks of a military convoy into the desert, where they discovered the remains of a canyon buried by an enormous explosion, 330 meters deep. Everything inside was destroyed.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had invested significant resources to dig out what remained of the site. They found corpses blown to pieces, offering few clues as to how Tony had escaped. But what they unearthed in that cave was a startling discovery—a massive, crude steel armor. Though damaged, it had survived the explosion, and after repairs by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s scientists, the full suit of armor was restored.

To Fury's surprise, the suit, despite its rough design, was highly functional. Experts confirmed that it had been powered by an energy source, which immediately made Fury think of Tony's arc reactor. Surveillance footage showed that Tony had been holed up in his villa, ordering parts from major corporations, suggesting that he was working on something even more advanced.

If Tony had built such a suit under extreme conditions in a cave, Fury had no doubt that his second set of armor would be even more sophisticated and deadly. This newfound knowledge made Stark's value skyrocket, not to mention the intel he held about the mysterious woman only Tony and Colonel Rhodes knew about.

Nothing could happen to Tony. Fury couldn't let that happen.

"I hope I'm not too late, Howard. You'd better hope your son doesn't die on my watch," Fury muttered.

Meanwhile, inside the seaside villa, a strange silence filled the room. Wanda and Pietro stared at Tony, who stood before them calmly, accepting his fate. Their emotions were conflicted. Tony was their enemy, yet they couldn't help but admire the courage he was displaying at this moment.

Natasha stood behind Tony, her arms crossed, watching quietly. Her red lips curled slightly as she already had a sense of where the situation was headed.

"Wanda..." Pietro hesitated, glancing at his sister.

Wanda didn't look back, her gaze fixed on Tony. Her eyes flashed red, and in an instant, she vanished and reappeared before him like a ghost. She pressed her index finger against the arc reactor on Tony's chest.

"If I apply just a little pressure, you'll die."

"Wow, that's not a great way to go. If the reactor is punctured, it'll cause a radiation leak, affecting the environment around us. Jarvis, send an evacuation message," Tony said, remaining calm despite knowing the painful death awaiting him.

But Wanda interrupted. "No need."

Tony looked at her with confusion. "What?"

"Everything you said is true. My abilities allow me to sense your emotions. You're not like some of the others, Tony." Wanda's voice softened, though her eyes still burned with anger. "I didn't originally plan to kill you like this. I was going to control your mind, make you a puppet. You'd be trapped in a world I created—like hell. The souls of those killed by Stark's weapons would tear at your consciousness until I died."

Wanda's voice dripped with intensity, but her tone was calculated. "From your memories, I saw that Stark Industries' primary partner is the U.S. military, right?"

Tony nodded. "Yes."

Stark Industries, founded by his father during World War II, had thrived on war profits. It was a leader in arms manufacturing, and the U.S. military had always been its biggest client. Due to legal agreements, the company couldn't sell advanced weapons to other countries without facing suppression from the U.S. government.

Wanda's anger slowly subsided, her face becoming calmer. "If you hadn't shut down the arms division, you would certainly be dead by now. But I saw your memories. I see that faint trace of conscience. Thank you for that, Mr. Stark."

With that, she turned and walked toward the villa's exit. Pietro, hands behind his head, followed her with a resigned expression, glancing back at his sister's retreating figure. He had no choice but to follow.

Tony stood there in stunned silence, watching the twins leave. He turned to Natasha, who had been silently observing the entire situation. "So...what was that?"

"Your performance was flawless. I'm impressed. I've come to see you in a new light, Mr. Stark." Natasha winked playfully at Tony before turning to leave.

As her figure disappeared through the door, her slightly husky voice echoed back. "Don't forget our deal. I'm looking forward to our next meeting."

Her voice lingered, seductive and mysterious, but instead of feeling relieved, Tony was left with a deep sense of confusion and fear. When faced with death, he had felt calm—accepting. But now, finding himself alive, a flood of emotions overwhelmed him.

"I'm not looking forward to that next meeting at all."

His legs trembling from the ordeal, Tony wobbled over to the sofa and collapsed onto it, breathing heavily.

"It's been a rough day, Jarvis."

"I'm glad you didn't die, sir."

"Yeah, me too," Tony muttered, fatigue washing over him. He had been awake for two days, and the intensity of the situation finally caught up with him. Leaning back on the sofa, he slowly closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

Meanwhile, several Quinjet fighters hovered silently above the villa. Due to the villa's secluded location, the Quinjets remained stationary, their anti-gravity engines allowing them to hover perfectly in place. The hatch of one of the Quinjets opened, and an elite sniper lay prone, aiming his rifle at the villa's living room.

Through his scope, he saw only Tony, slumped on the sofa, alive but clearly exhausted. The room around him was a wreck; weapons on the ceiling, floor, and walls had been twisted and destroyed by an unseen force.

The sniper's eyes widened in shock. Had the target been killed? He checked again, noticing Tony's chest slowly rising and falling—he was alive.

The sniper quickly covered his earpiece. "Director."

"What's the situation?" came the reply.

"The intruder in the villa is nowhere to be found. The target is still alive, but appears to be in poor condition, possibly unconscious on the sofa."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Ziiiip—

Outside the seaside villa, a black Chevrolet screeched to a halt. With a loud bang, the engine shut off as Nick Fury stepped out of the vehicle. Almost simultaneously, the Rapid Response Special Forces, led by Agent Rumlow of S.H.I.E.L.D., arrived fully armed, securing the area around the villa.

Rumlow, wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. Kevlar combat uniform and sporting a bit of stubble, approached Fury. "Ready to move in, sir?" he asked.

"Proceed immediately, but be cautious," Fury responded, his expression serious.

Rumlow nodded, raising his right fist to signal the team. "Advance in formation, watch all sides," he ordered quietly. More than 30 heavily armed agents, led by Rumlow, moved in a coordinated pattern toward the villa, with Fury following behind.

The villa's perimeter security had already been neutralized by the time the special forces arrived, making the advance seamless. The artificial intelligence, Jarvis, recognized the identities of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and did not trigger any alarms. After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had the proper credentials, and the defense systems had been completely dismantled by whatever force had attacked earlier.

Once inside, the team secured the building, making sure there were no lingering threats. Meanwhile, Fury strode across the room to where Tony lay on the sofa, deeply asleep from exhaustion. Fury bent down and, without hesitation, slapped Tony's face hard.

The forceful slap stirred Tony from his sleep. Groggily, he opened his eyes and squinted up at the dark face and bald head looming over him. "Jarvis... where'd the egghead come from?" Tony muttered, half-conscious.

The agents nearby struggled to suppress their laughter, though their professional demeanor kept them mostly in check.

Fury, expressionless, gave Tony another firm slap, this time out of pure retaliation. The crisp smack echoed through the room, snapping Tony fully awake. Annoyed, Tony swatted away Fury's hand, rubbed his reddening cheek, and glared up at him. "So... who the hell are you?"

"I'm here to save you," Fury replied dryly.

"Save me? By slapping me in the face?" Tony rubbed his sore cheek again, clearly unimpressed. His expression warned Fury that if there wasn't a good explanation, things might get ugly.

At that moment, Rumlow approached. "Sir, we've completed the sweep. No one else is here; looks like they cleared out."

Fury nodded, and Rumlow stepped back, giving Fury room to continue the conversation with Tony.

"So," Fury said, turning back to Tony, his voice low and serious, "shall we talk?"

Tony stared at him for a moment, feeling the weight of Fury's one-eyed gaze. After a brief pause, Tony pushed himself off the sofa, wandered over to the bar, and poured himself a drink. He glanced around at the agents securing the perimeter outside before taking a sip of whiskey, letting the alcohol jolt his tired nerves.

Leaning against the bar, Tony crossed his arms and gave Fury a skeptical look. "So, what's your deal? FBI? CIA?"

"Nice guess," Fury said with a hint of sarcasm. "I'm the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I've heard that name before. Didn't I tell someone that your agency's name was way too long and convoluted?"

"We've shortened it since then," Fury replied dryly. "But let's get to the point, Tony. What are you hiding?"

Fury's piercing gaze locked onto Tony, not letting him evade the question.

…

"Hide something? What exactly do you think I'm hiding?" Tony sneered, taking a sip of his drink before continuing dismissively. "The day I was attacked, a shady man showed up with a group of others, claiming they were there to 'save me.'"

He straightened up, looking directly at Fury. "So, what are you hiding? You intercepted Jarvis's distress signal and..."

Tony gestured toward the floating aircraft outside the villa. "That kind of tech? It can't be built by any ordinary organization. Jarvis identified your face and pegged you as FBI."

"What's your game here? To get close to me? Spy on me? Or maybe you're here to 'protect' me?"

Fury stared at Tony, watching as he drank the whiskey slowly, trying to glean information from his expression. Tony's personality was too distinctive, usually impossible to mask. But right now, Fury found it hard to read him. Tony's bloodshot eyes seemed to be mocking something, yet there was an odd calm behind them—far too calm for someone like him.

Even when he's being sarcastic, he's never this… composed, Fury thought.

"You're deliberately hiding the whereabouts of the people you just met," Fury asserted. Tony's dismissive expression didn't falter. Fury paused, then continued with a note of contempt, "You're smart, Tony. I'll give you that. And I can tell you, I'm not interested in you as a person. I'm interested in your mind."

"Much as I hate to admit it, like Howard, you're one of the few geniuses in the world."

"But right now, what concerns me more is what you've been through."

Tony frowned slightly at Fury's words, which only prompted Fury to keep going.

"Our agents risk their lives to keep the world stable, while you—" Fury's tone grew sharper—"you're out there screwing women on thousand-dollar beds."

"Trust me, we will track down those people you met. I don't care why you're concealing their whereabouts, but they could be a destabilizing force in the world."

Fury pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then pointed them back at Tony. The message was clear: I'm watching you.

Tony, however, simply looked at him with an expression that screamed mockery.

Seeing that he wouldn't get any more out of Tony, Fury turned and left the villa. Rumlow approached him as Fury made his way to his car.

"Sir, we questioned the security team. They claim no one was spotted entering, and the surveillance shows nothing out of the ordinary."

"Interesting," Fury muttered and scoffed. "So the people who showed up today were all ghosts?"

"This is definitely odd," Rumlow agreed.

"It reminds me of some other strange cases recently… except this time, it's not our agents."

Fury mulled over the situation for a moment before giving Rumlow his instructions and returning to his car. He started the engine and drove off. In typical S.H.I.E.L.D. fashion, all agents were evacuated in record time, leaving Tony's seaside villa in silence once more.

Inside the villa, Tony wandered to the balcony, gazing at the golden reflection of the sun on the distant sea.

Jarvis's voice broke the quiet. "Sir, based on facial recognition and data analysis, the search results show that on March 30, 1999, a war broke out in Sokovia. The city was engulfed in flames, with over 32,000 casualties. Records show a family who match the description. I believe them to be the parents, the Maximoff couple, of the individuals who threatened you."

"The Maximoff couple were killed, and their ten-year-old twins, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, were rescued two days later. The twins were placed in an orphanage but escaped six months later. Since then, their whereabouts have been untraceable."

As Jarvis relayed this information, Tony could almost hear the echoes of a war-torn land—screams and wails amidst the ruins, the ground littered with corpses. He could picture the terrified eyes of children left in despair.

His right hand clenched into a fist.

The girl's voice replayed in his mind.

"We relied on each other to survive. We were trapped in a collapsed building, staring at a missile that could go off at any moment. For two days, we just watched it."

"And the name on that missile? Stark Industries."

"Tell me, Tony Stark… do you think you deserve to die?"

Each word cut like a knife, digging deep into Tony's conscience.

The world of adults is driven by interests, especially for capitalists who care only about their profits and status. Why would they care about the lives of civilians?

In truth, Stark Industries only provided the weapons; they didn't start the war. The tragedy of Wanda and Pietro's lives wasn't Tony's doing, nor was he directly responsible for the events in Sokovia.

Yet, Tony was overcome with guilt. Unlike other capitalists, he had now a conscience. He might be arrogant and flamboyant, but he still had empathy, and that empathy made him willing to face the consequences of his action. Whatever his intention may have been, all those people did die. That was a fact that he couldn't change.

He would use all his wealth to establish charities, making his final contribution before facing his inevitable death.

Lost in thought, Tony stood on the balcony, the sea breeze ruffling his hair, unsure what to do next.

Meanwhile, at a riverside balcony in New York's Central Park, Natasha leaned on a railing, staring at the woman beside her. "So, is this really the only reason you let that playboy go?"

Wanda, now dressed in a casual shirt and a cap, gazed down at the river and responded softly, "I figured out a lot a long time ago."

"The real enemy was never him."

"Though, I admit that if he hadn't kept his cool till the end, I would've killed him."

…

Natasha looked at Wanda's face, her red lips curving into a smile. "I'm finally relieved, Wanda."

Although Wanda and Pietro's painful experiences had been gradually softened by their new family, including people like Leon, it didn't mean their trauma had been completely erased. The hatred buried deep within their hearts still left a thorn lodged in their souls. However, after they faced Tony, both of them seemed to have finally smoothened their souls from all of its thorns.

Natasha understood very well that whether Tony lived or died, that thorn would have been removed regardless. That's why she had come to see Tony differently. The playboy image he had projected no longer fit him. He had broken her preconceived notions of capitalists and arms dealers, the ruthless warmongers she had known.

As Wanda signaled, if Tony had begged for mercy or shown regret, she would've turned him into a puppet without hesitation, wiping out his consciousness with just a few words.

But it didn't come to that.

Facing the early morning sun, Wanda stood up straight and stretched. A wave of relaxation washed over her, and the recent happenings seemed to have transformed her spirit in a magical way. From her perspective, the world appeared more vivid and alive.

The ones responsible for the Sokovia airstrikes and the chaos that followed were a group of terrorists attempting to seize power. Those terrorists had been wiped out by U.N. peacekeeping forces long ago. And the missile, the one that haunted her and Pietro for two days, was the reason she had seen Tony as her sole enemy.

Now that everything had been resolved, she felt completely at ease. She was ready to embrace her future with Leon and her new family. Wanda still had people she cared about, and from now on, she wouldn't live for revenge.

In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard, and there was some commotion in the streets. Something seemed to be happening. Suddenly, all three of them sensed a powerful presence moving across the rooftops of nearby buildings at an extraordinary speed.

"Whoa, seems like an interesting guy," Pietro remarked in surprise.

Wanda nodded, looking toward the source of the energy. "It appears to be someone enhanced," she said softly.

"That little guy, I met him with Leon before," Natasha mused, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. "He's definitely enhanced, and Leon seems to admire him a lot."

"He's a good kid."

"Sister Natasha, you don't seem that old, yet here you are calling someone a 'kid,'" Wanda said with a touch of exasperation. Lately, Natasha had been acting as though she were older, talking like an elder.

"Oh, Wanda's all grown up now, here to teach her big sister," Natasha teased, stepping up to Wanda, hugging her, and planting a kiss on her cheek.

Wanda enjoyed the embrace but still rolled her eyes. Natasha always took advantage of her affectionately, using the excuse that Wanda had a nice scent. Reluctantly, Wanda "endured" Natasha's teasing, then turned the conversation to Pietro. "By the way, Pietro, what was Sergei up to? You were muttering about something earlier."

"Oh, Sergei heard rumors that a vampire faction in New York had summoned some kind of 'Blood God.' He wants to take me to check it out," Pietro replied.

The 'Blood God of the Vampire Clan' sounded formidable, and someone like Pietro, who was always up for excitement, naturally wanted to get involved.

"That sounds dull. Can't you stay here?"

"Nope. I'm meeting up with Sergei," Pietro said with a grin before waving to the two women and dashing off.

As Pietro's figure disappeared, Wanda pulled away from Natasha's embrace. "We should head back too. Leon said he's preparing a grand feast today."

"You greedy girl," Natasha teased, pinching Wanda's delicate cheek. "But I'm looking forward to it too."

At S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Triskelion headquarters, Nick Fury sat in his office, deep in thought as he reviewed the data and images on his computer screen. He was thinking about the events that took place in the recent years.

From the raid on Stryker's base a few years ago to a string of bizarre and untraceable events over the years—everything seemed to be connected. Most recently, there had been the massacre of vampires at New York's Century Building, the mysterious woman who broke into Colonel Rhodes' barracks to steal a Hummer, Tony Stark's sudden rescue from a terrorist camp, and the unexplained attack on his oceanfront villa.

All these seemingly unrelated incidents felt linked by some invisible thread, but Fury couldn't grasp what it was. Even with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vast resources, there was no clear answer.

It felt like he was chasing a ghost—feeling its presence but never being able to track it down.

Fury had a hunch that the people who executed the raid on Stryker's base, swiftly and with precision, were connected to the group that massacred the vampires at Century Tower. The tactics were unmistakably similar.

But there was no solid evidence, no fingerprints, no footprints, no hair samples. Nothing. It was as though these people didn't exist. Even the surveillance footage from nearby streets showed no signs of tampering, yet the people were still missing.

Alien technology, maybe?

Either S.H.I.E.L.D. experts were facing technology far superior to their own, or something else was at play. Fury wasn't ruling it out.

The only lead he had was Tony, but Tony was keeping his mouth shut. And prying information out of someone like him was futile; Fury knew he might have better luck investigating it himself.

What troubled Fury the most was that this mysterious organization operated freely in New York, across the U.S., and possibly beyond, without anyone detecting them. Their purpose remained a mystery, but Fury feared it would destabilize the world.

He clicked the mouse, and a stunning image of Natasha Romanoff appeared on the screen.

"Natasha Romanoff… Are you part of this organization?" Fury's one eye narrowed, full of suspicion and depth.

…

After the battle, Leon relaxed in the hot springs aboard Sky Blade.

Yes, the massive space fortress that traveled the universe had hot springs.

The angels, with their almost endless vitality, were a race that not only fought demons and evil but also sought love and joy.

They excelled in balancing war and leisure, knowing how to enjoy life better than any other beings in the cosmos.

Sky Blade, though designed for warfare, had a city built on it to serve as a temporary home for the angels when they left Merlot Heaven for the wider universe. They often travelled to the nearby galaxies.

In their downtime, they soaked in hot springs, sipped wine on rooftops, and savored peace.

As the captain of Sky Blade, Leon naturally had access to all these luxuries. In fact, it was his favorite thing to do. Sky Blade was like a heavenly place after all.

He stripped off his clothes, immersed himself in the warm waters, and leaned against the rock wall, enjoying the sight of the surrounding jungle. Birds chirped on nearby branches, occasionally rubbing their heads together, as the bright sky bathed everything in light.

The surrounding was peaceful. One could spend their whole life here and never be bored. The Sky Blade simulated natural environment with great precision. Leon then decided to do something productive.

Connected to Sky Blade's system, Leon's mind was bombarded with data streams. "The black guy noticed something," he muttered. "Pretty sharp."

Sky Blade monitored Earth constantly, filtering events through its vast database. Everything was categorized, from Sergei's recent meeting with the dhampir Blade to their plan to kill the Blood God, to the ongoing skirmishes between vampires and werewolves in London.

Of course, the highest priority was anything related to Leon, or his allies. And now, Sky Blade had picked up something concerning Leon: Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., had started to notice Leon's, well more specifically, his families' activities.

Nick Fury was one of the few individuals on Earth who had a broad understanding of the big picture. He was known for his near-obsessive control and manipulative tactics, earning him the distrust of many, even the Avengers, whom he helped assemble.

But despite his flaws, Fury's intelligence was undeniable. With minimal clues—the corpses at Stryker's base, Natasha's covert infiltration of Colonel Rhodes' barracks, and the theft of a military Humvee—Fury had begun to piece together a connection to Leon.

Leon couldn't help but be impressed by Fury's deduction skills.

Fury was a master detective. There was no doubt about that.

But at his current level of power, Leon no longer had to take painstaking measures to conceal his movements like he did during his early days in the Ural Mountains.

In fact, he didn't want to hide. Fury's knack for stirring up trouble was useful, as it drew major players—heroes and villains alike—from and to Earth. It would be a great opportunity for Leon to obtain genetic samples to expand Sky Blade's database.

While Leon paid some attention to Fury's efforts, he didn't take them too seriously.

It wasn't that he underestimated Fury, but even if the S.H.I.E.L.D. director realized there was an unknown force causing trouble on a global scale, Sky Blade would ensure Fury never found Leon and his family.

The most Fury could hope for was to uncover something about Natasha, given her past as the Black Widow. She had left more than enough clues during her time as a covert operative. Yet even without Sky Blade's assistance, Natasha had become adept at hiding her presence. Her mastery of haki allowed her to not only make herself invisible but also alter the perceptions of those around her.

But it would be hard, maybe even impossible, for Fury to glean information about the family through Natasha's movement.

At that moment, Keisha's voice interrupted Leon's thoughts. "Captain Leon, Sky Blade has detected a new dimension and discovered a Skyfather-level lifeform imprisoned there."

Whoosh!

A holographic projection appeared before Leon, displaying a world consumed by flames. The extreme heat had turned the landscape into molten lava, and no signs of life were visible. In a scorched canyon, a tall, skeletal figure sat on a flaming throne, eyes closed in slumber. A massive sword, glowing with molten heat, leaned beside the throne. The figure's body was composed of jagged rocks, with red light glowing from within. Two massive horns jutted from its head. Though the being appeared weak, its presence was undeniably powerful.

"Fire Demon, Surtur," Keisha's voice explained. "One of the oldest fire elemental demons, ruler of Muspelheim. He was defeated by Odin, King of the Asgardian Gods, and is categorized as Skyfather-level at his peak. His weapon, the Sword of Twilight, is composed of an unknown elemental metal with magical properties, allowing him to manipulate elemental power and break through dimensions. Currently, he is in a weakened state."

Leon leaned against the rock wall and smirked. "Surtur, the bringer of Ragnarok."

Though Surtur was weakened now, his power was undeniable.

He had long been a thorn in Asgard's side, even giving Odin trouble. One of the oldest creatures in the Nine Realms, Surtur had harbored a burning hatred for Asgard for millennia. At Ragnarok, he would wield the Sword of Twilight to destroy Asgard, fulfilling his destiny. In the end, both Surtur and Asgard would perish together. More of a force of nature than a villain, Surtur's fate was tied to Asgard's survival. His only purpose was to bring about its destruction.

Leon's eyes gleamed as he stared at the sleeping fire giant. Though Surtur's mind was singularly focused, his raw power made him valuable. With a sly grin, Leon began to plot how he might use Surtur's strength to his advantage.

…

New York, in an unremarkable auto repair shop.

A muscular Black man sat on a metal chair, his dark skin glistening with sweat. His hands and feet were tied, and an iron rod was clenched between his teeth. His face contorted in pain, and it looked like he might bite the rod in half. Sweat poured from him as he groaned in agony.

Nearby, an old man with white hair stood at a metal workbench, inspecting weapons, ammunition, and equipment. He occasionally glanced over at the struggling man, unfazed by the sight—it was a scene he'd grown used to.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pain subsided. The man's chest heaved as he took deep breaths, but his expression showed relief. The old man set down the shotgun he was inspecting, walked over, and began to untie the man.

"How do you feel?" the old man asked.

"Same as always," Blade replied through gritted teeth.

Once freed, Blade stood up slowly, his expression indifferent. He walked to a nearby chair, grabbed his black leather trench coat, and slipped it on. Then, he put on his signature sunglasses, masking his emotions further.

"You seem to be in a hurry, Blade," the old man, Whistler, observed.

"I found an ancient text in the Book of Death," Blade said grimly. "It mentioned, 'The Blood God Comes,' and I've got a bad feeling about it."

Blade slung his sword across his back and returned to the workbench. Whistler nodded.

"From the information I've gathered, a lot of vampires in New York are planning something big," Whistler said. "But I don't know what exactly they're up to."

"It's probably fallout from Century Tower. Those bastards have already started to make their move," Blade responded sharply. "I need to act fast."

"You can't take them on directly," Whistler cautioned. "They're hidden deep, and we don't know enough about their operation yet."

"And besides, you alone aren't enough."

Blade didn't argue. As someone who had known him since he was young, Whistler understood Blade's strength well. A half-vampire with exceptional abilities, Blade had the strength, speed, and reflexes that matched those of high-level vampires. He'd trained himself since childhood to hunt and kill his own kind. And unlike other vampires, Blade could walk in the daylight, earning him the title of "Daywalker."

But even with all that power, Blade knew Whistler was right—this wasn't a fight he could take on alone.

No matter how powerful Blade is, he knows he can't take on an entire vampire faction alone. He nodded in acknowledgment, glancing towards the factory door.

"So, I called for backup," Blade said.

"Backup?" Whistler raised an eyebrow. Just then, a series of beeps echoed through the shop—an alarm Whistler had set, signaling someone's approach. His face tightened in reaction, but before he could move, he noticed two figures standing in the sunlight outside the factory.

The light obscured their faces, and Whistler instinctively reached for the weapon under his arm. But Blade remained calm, stepping forward to greet them. Seeing Blade's reaction, Whistler relaxed slightly and followed close behind.

As the figures approached, Whistler could finally make out their features. They were both tall, strikingly handsome, and carried themselves with undeniable confidence. The taller of the two had a presence that matched Blade's, clad in a stylish coat and shirt. Based on Whistler's decades of vampire-hunting experience, he could tell these two were far from ordinary.

The way they moved, the look in their eyes—everything about them screamed power. Standing before Whistler, they felt like two volcanoes ready to erupt at any moment, capable of devastating anything in their path.

"Eric Brooks," Blade introduced himself.

"Pietro Maximoff," said the first visitor.

"Sergei," the second one added.

"Abraham Whistler," Whistler finally responded.

The newcomers were none other than Pietro and Sergei. Pietro's gaze drifted around the shop, taking in the workbench cluttered with computers, weapons, and scattered tools. He glanced at Whistler, and his first impression of the old man and Blade was one of poverty—not in terms of resources but in terms of their rough, haphazard setup. It didn't mean they were without weapons or equipment; it just looked disorganized.

Pietro also sensed a strange mix of cold and hot energy from Blade, which intrigued him. Sergei locked eyes with Blade and commented, "You're looking a little... tired."

"Uh-huh," Blade replied nonchalantly. "I need your help."

"The Blood God?" Sergei asked.

"Yes. I slaughtered a bunch of vampires and found the Book of Death, which details their history. I couldn't decipher the ancient vampire text, but from what I gathered from a few pure-bloods, they're planning to resurrect the Blood God."

"Do you want to strike first?" Sergei asked with keen interest.

"I don't know what this Blood God is, but it must be something important for the vampires to get so aggressive," Blade responded without hesitation. As someone who despised vampires, it didn't matter what they were planning—so long as they failed, it would be enough for him.

"I like your thinking," Sergei said, approvingly. Then, turning to Pietro, he added, "You in? Want to have some fun?"

"Why not? It's been boring lately," Pietro shrugged.

"Fun? Boring?" The short exchange made Whistler and Blade exchange glances. Blade's eye twitched; these two sounded overly confident. Were they really this nonchalant about vampires?

Whistler narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge the origins of these newcomers. He suspected they were no ordinary men. But Blade wasn't concerned. For him, as long as Sergei and Pietro could help kill vampires, their true identities didn't matter. He trusted Sergei's power—Sergei had taken out the vampires in Century Tower single-handedly, something Blade knew he couldn't have done so quickly on his own.

"We'll start today," Blade said, always decisive. "I've got an informant. Maybe he can tell us where their lair is."

"Alright," Sergei nodded. "Do you need our help?"

"Got a car?" Blade asked in response.

"Of course."

"Then fill it up—we're in for a fast and furious night."

…

On the bustling streets of New York at night, the entire commercial district was lit up, showcasing the elegance of the city that never sleeps. Crowds surged, filling the streets with life. In the midst of this lively scene, Leon and Wanda were out with Alina, Polina, and Clarice, taking them on a shopping trip. Each of the girls had an ice cream in hand, happily licking away as they wandered.

The three little girls were clearly enjoying themselves. They chatted excitedly, their heads close together, debating whether to buy new clothes or head to the movies. Wanda and Leon followed behind, like doting parents, watching over them.

Wanda, being a girl herself, had a natural flair for shopping. In the past, there hadn't been much opportunity for it, with most of her time focused on training and seeking revenge. But now, with her heart's burdens lifted, she found herself fully embracing this long-forgotten skill.

As for Leon, he didn't mind the shopping at all. Compared to the intense training and battles he was used to, this was easy. Plus, his perspective on life had shifted, and now he saw shopping as another way to enjoy the little pleasures. He was incredibly patient, carrying bags of clothes that Wanda had bought for herself, him, and the three little ones. Seeing how happy they all were, Leon couldn't help but smile softly.

"Leon, Wanda, let's go watch a movie!" the three girls exclaimed, having reached an agreement. They had been searching on their phones and turned around excitedly to share the news.

"Have you decided what to watch?" Leon asked.

"Yep! We're going to see Godzilla!" Clarice held up her phone to show them the movie tickets. The screening was in just ten minutes.

Leon glanced at Wanda, who smiled sweetly. He patted Clarice on the head and asked, "Did you already get the tickets?"

"Yep, five tickets!"

"Then let's go," Wanda said, indulging the younger ones.

"Yay!" the three girls cheered, filled with excitement.

The little girls beamed with happiness. The movie theater wasn't far, so the five of them walked together, laughing and enjoying the evening. As they strolled, bats suddenly appeared in the sky above New York City, all flying in the same direction. In the moonlight, the sight was eerie, though the people around them didn't seem to notice.

However, Leon, Wanda, and the three little ones did. They stopped and looked up at the sky. Using their heightened senses, Leon and Wanda could clearly feel the cold, evil aura emanating from each bat.

"Leon?" The three little girls, unaware of what was happening, looked up at him with concern. Leon and Wanda exchanged a glance.

Wanda chuckled softly, "It's nothing. Let's go watch the movie."

"Okay!" Satisfied with that answer, the girls didn't make a fuss as long as their movie plans weren't disrupted.

Before heading to the theater, Leon quickly contacted the housekeeper, who drove to the curb. He loaded all their shopping bags into the car and sent them off to the manor, arranging for the driver to pick them up after the movie.

The girls, excited beyond words, ran hand in hand, laughing as they went. Leon and Wanda followed at a leisurely pace behind them.

"Those bats... and the vampires. Looks like they're planning something big tonight," Wanda whispered to Leon as they walked side by side. They were both dressed in matching outfits with animal prints, just like the little girls, which showed off their fit figures.

Leon nodded. "There's going to be a bloody grand party tonight. Sergei and Pietro are going to have a good time."

"Will the hosts make them that happy?"

"Maybe, maybe not." Leon smirked, understanding her underlying concern. "Are you worried about them?"

Wanda didn't hide her feelings. "I'll check on them after the movie. Hopefully, I won't be too late."

She trusted Sergei and Pietro's strength, but the creatures they were dealing with—undead beings tied to ancient legends—made her uneasy.

Leon chuckled. "Go ahead, but if they do screw up, make sure to take a picture. We can embarrass them later."

Wanda grinned mischievously. "Deal."

Meanwhile, over in Brooklyn, New York—a culturally, socially, and racially diverse area with a rich artistic and architectural heritage—things were far less lively. On the west side of Brooklyn stood a towering high-rise. At night, the streets around it were shrouded in darkness, the sky filled with heavy clouds, giving the entire area an eerie and unsettling atmosphere.

A figure on a motorcycle sped down the street, heading straight for the building. Without any hesitation, they smashed through the front entrance, sending glass shattering across the floor.

Boom!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunfire erupted, and the lobby was instantly filled with the sound of bullets ripping through the air. The decorative lights and rock formations inside were torn to pieces as bullets flew, filling the space with shards of glass and debris. The motorcycle, however, weaved through the hail of bullets, dodging the heavily armed vampire warriors who blocked the way.

Then, a towering vampire warrior smirked and lunged forward, delivering a punch that sent the motorcycle crashing into a distant wall. But the rider had already vanished before the impact.

The vampire warriors, guns at the ready, aimed toward the broken glass where the rider had disappeared, the atmosphere thick with tension. A chilling air hung over the room as they moved cautiously.

Suddenly, another window shattered about ten meters away. A figure burst through, wielding two fully automatic submachine guns, both hands on the triggers.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The roar of gunfire echoed through the lobby, and flashes of light blazed from the gun barrels. Several vampire warriors were caught off guard, unable to dodge in time. Bullets ripped through their bodies, sparks flying as they let out agonized screams before crumbling into ashes.

The remaining vampires roared in fury, turning their guns on the attacker. But the figure moved like a phantom, darting through their lines. Even for these elite pure-blood warriors, dodging bullets wasn't difficult, but the relentless suppressive fire pinned the attacker behind a nearby column.

The battle was far from over.

…

Faced with an entire squad of pure-blood clan warriors, the attacker quickly found themselves at a disadvantage. But they weren't alone.

Boom!

A dazzling red firelight erupted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the building. The intense heat made the vampire warriors inside uneasy. Their heads snapped toward the source of the glow, their faces illuminated by the fiery red light.

Suddenly, the glass on the entire first floor shattered.

A blazing flame transformed into a dragon, raging through the air with divine ferocity. Even the enhanced reflexes of the pure-blood warriors weren't fast enough to respond. All they could do was watch in horror as the fiery serpent wound through the air, scorching everything in its path. The heat, the pain—it was unbearable. Screams echoed through the hall before the warriors were consumed in a cloud of sparks, leaving nothing but ash behind.

The fiery dragon left a trail of devastation, beautiful yet deadly. In mere moments, the entire first floor was swept clean. All that remained were piles of ash and discarded weapons.

Blade, who had been hiding behind a column, stepped out as the fire dragon dissipated. Amid the fading embers, Sergei's tall figure emerged, holding a cross sword.

"Well done," Blade said flatly, though his face betrayed his astonishment. He finally understood how Sergei had wiped out the vampires in the Century Building so quickly.

This method of fighting—it was unlike anything Blade had ever seen.

Luckily, Sergei was on their side.

Whoosh!

A breeze swept by, and suddenly a figure appeared before them like a ghost. It was Pietro.

"How's it looking upstairs?" Blade asked, walking over.

Pietro shook his head. "Nothing. You've killed all the remaining fighters in the building."

Blade frowned, immediately sensing something was wrong.

"Did they know we were coming?"

"Probably not," Sergei replied, shaking his head. "I think something must have made them leave suddenly."

Behind Blade's sunglasses, his eyes shifted as he processed the subtext. "Tonight's the night they summon the Blood God," he muttered.

"That's the only explanation," Sergei agreed. "If they're going to summon the Blood God, what do you think they need?"

"An altar and offerings," Pietro replied confidently.

"Now it's getting interesting," Sergei said, rubbing his hair. He wasn't too concerned about not finding anyone. He almost wished more enemies had been left alive to test their strength.

"Damn it!" Blade cursed, his anger flaring. He didn't know exactly what the Blood God was, but if it was recorded in the vampire's ancient Book of Death and the pure-blood clan valued it so highly, then it was bound to be something dangerous.

Pietro, however, seemed indifferent. He shrugged, thinking that if they couldn't stop the ritual, they could always handle the Blood God afterward. He even joked about bringing Wanda along to help. His attitude was more casual, as if he was just looking to join the spectacle, curious about what this legendary Blood God might be like. He figured it'd be a good story to tell the little ones back home, while also dispelling their fantasies of elegant, romantic vampires.

Sergei's motivations were more serious. His main objective was the Blood God's blood. He could wait for the summoning, but first, they needed to find where the ceremony was taking place. He frowned, deep in thought.

"If they've moved to another location for the summoning," Sergei began, "why didn't they take the guards from this building with them? And why were so many left behind?"

"Every one of these vampire warriors is pure-blooded and heavily armed," Blade added, now realizing something was off. He glanced at Sergei, who nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. So the altar must be in this building."

"Not on the upper floors," Pietro said immediately. With his speed, he had already checked the entire building and found nothing resembling an altar.

"If not above..." Sergei crouched down, placing a hand on the smooth marble floor. He closed his eyes, much to Blade's confusion.

Weng!

From Sergei's perspective, the world around him shifted to shades of gray and white. Like infrasound waves, the light pulsed through the floor, spreading downward. He could sense a vast space deep beneath the surface, though something was blocking his powers from fully detecting it.

He opened his eyes and stood, looking at Blade and Pietro. "About a hundred meters below. There's some kind of force blocking my sight."

Blade didn't fully understand what Sergei had seen, but he grasped the meaning: the altar was hidden deep underground.

Blade's sharp eyes scanned the area from beneath his sunglasses. Spotting an elevator nearby, he raised his chin and said, "Maybe they went down through the elevator."

The trio approached the elevator, noticing that in addition to the upper floors, there was a button specifically for going down.

Pietro hummed but remained unfazed. "Before they summon the Blood God, the system should be locked down. Unless authorized, the elevator won't work."

"Let's keep it simple." Sergei turned to Blade with a grin. "You ready?"

Blade gave a cold, nonverbal acknowledgment. Sergei chuckled, then, with a swift motion, slashed at the thick floor of the elevator with his cross sword. Sparks flew, and the floor was cut clean through.

Bang!

The three of them, along with the metal plate, plummeted towards the deep underground like meteorites. A 100-meter drop meant little to superhumans like them, and they descended rapidly. As the end of their fall approached, Blade drew the long sword from his back, driving it into the rock wall beside him.

Zhi! Zhi! Zhi!

The blade screeched against the rock, sending sparks flying and leaving a long mark as his fall slowed. Meanwhile, Sergei and Pietro continued their freefall, crashing into the metal floor below with a thunderous bang, leaving two large dents where they landed.