The Deal

In an abandoned factory somewhere in New York, a man in a white suit and a black cloak lined with red sat behind a table. Dressed bizarrely, he was sipping Red Bull with neon squid jerky, looking quite interested as he waited for someone.

It was evening, and this area was full of abandoned factories. The power and lighting had long since stopped working for one reason or another, leaving everything inside shrouded in darkness. Only a few spots were lit by sunlight streaming through the windows.

Before long, just as the last glimmer of sunset faded from the ground, a wall of bodyguards—clearly an elite team—escorted a middle-aged man in a suit into the factory.

"Mr. Bill, welcome. And welcome, Mr. Victor." The cloaked man raised his beer in greeting, then went right back to drinking.

The middle-aged man known as Mr. Bill gestured to the bodyguards surrounding him. They quickly fanned out, methodically searching the factory with tactical flashlights and taking up positions at key corners.

If negotiations broke down, they could ensure that Mr. Bill escaped under their protection at once and made it to the bulletproof car outside.

Mr. Bill walked straight over to the cloaked man and set a briefcase on the table. The case was linked to his wrist with a handcuff. "Where's the thing we agreed on?"

The difference between him and the man drinking beer was striking. Mr. Bill's hair was meticulously styled with pomade, and his suit was immaculate, with not a single crease. It was clearly high-end and custom-tailored, giving him a crisp, upright look. He was unmistakably a successful man from the elite class.

The beer in the other man's hand and his outlandish cloak badly undermined his own style. His white suit was rumpled and obviously cheap, and his black hair was a tangled mess. He looked more like a lunatic than someone important enough for a man like Mr. Bill to meet in person.

The cloaked man laughed. "It's been here the whole time."

Mr. Bill nodded, entered the password, and opened the case, then turned it to face the cloaked man.

Inside the briefcase was nothing particularly valuable, just a tablet and some connected equipment. But in an era when patent issues had kept Wi-Fi from becoming widespread, this tablet somehow had a full signal and could even make video calls.

A slightly aged face appeared on the screen. It belonged to a man with a pronounced air of nobility, his skin as pale as if he had never seen sunlight. His eyes were a deep blue, with a faintly chilling glint.

"Doctor Death." Victor's voice came from the speaker. It did not match his elegant appearance; his tone was tinged with impatience. "You said you have something vital to the bloodline. I'd be very happy to trade for it—if it's really worth that much. I can offer an oil field as payment."

The bloodline was what vampires called themselves. Victor, who was speaking with Doctor Death through the tablet, was a Pureblood Vampire himself. In the vampire hierarchy, he ranked just below the Thirteen Pureblood Elders.

But being just below them still meant living under their rule. Crushed by their power, Victor had long been frustrated and unable to make his mark.

Vampires were long-lived. "There are no sixty-year crown princes" was a joke among their kind. Power in their society always belonged to the strongest Pureblood Vampires. The stronger a vampire was, the longer it lived; over the ages, some had even learned ways to prolong their lives unknown to other vampires, allowing them to hold onto power indefinitely.

A vampire like Victor, hungry for power, could only obediently follow orders, never getting a chance to rise. Dissatisfied, he yearned for more strength and a way to overthrow the Thirteen Pureblood Elders. Then Doctor Death, who claimed to be from HYDRA, approached him, saying he had something that could change the balance of power in the vampire world.

In Victor's mind, only one thing could do what Doctor Death claimed: the Book of the Blood God, written by Blood God Madola. It recorded magic that only the bloodline could use, as well as a way for them to evolve. If Victor got his hands on it, he could rise to the top in one leap and trample the Thirteen Elders beneath his feet.

The Book of the Blood God had always been in the hands of the bloodline, but only a handful of people knew where such a precious item was. Victor had mistakenly believed it had been lost to the outside world and acquired by Doctor Death. It was a rather wonderful misunderstanding, to say the least.

Unable to wait, Victor sent a human in his service to negotiate with Doctor Death and arrange this meeting. As for the price of acquiring the Book of the Blood God, Victor didn't care.

Against humans, whose average lifespan was under a hundred years, long-lived beings like vampires had a clear advantage. Their long lives allowed their collections to become antiques and appreciate in value, while the land they owned became worth a fortune as the economy grew.

And then there were the wealthy. After accumulating vast fortunes and using them to gain power, what they sought was a longer life. In an age when technology was underdeveloped, the best way to live longer was to have a vampire give them the First Embrace, turning them into longer-lived vampires so they could continue enjoying everything their wealth and power afforded them.

Vampires were still vampires. Even if the scriptures called them the firstborn of humanity, they were hardly benevolent. The wealthy usually had to surrender most of their assets to earn the chance to become Lesser Bloodline.

That way, the vampires had no need to invade other lands or brutally oppress colonies to accumulate their initial capital.

In the modern era, capital had grown increasingly important. Besides having capitalists willingly join their ranks, vampires also knew how to use the capital they held to make more money. Their experience accumulated over centuries gave them exceptionally sharp instincts. Even if vampires couldn't keep up with the times, there were still people willing to serve them for wealth, power, or a longer life.

By now, countless members of the capitalist class had ties of one kind or another to vampires. Saying that capitalists were all vampires was an exaggeration, but it did describe the truth. Nick Fury's prediction that turning them would cause economic turmoil and a global crisis was accurate.

As a high-ranking vampire with a fortune greater than that of some small countries, Victor didn't consider an oil field too high a price. Compared with the power and status he'd gain from the Book of the Blood God, it was nothing.

Doctor Death set his beer on the table. "Mr. Victor, you've misunderstood. What I have may not be what you think it is."

As Doctor Death spoke, the empty factory suddenly lit up. The sharp change in brightness briefly blinded everyone except Doctor Death. Mr. Bill, a vampire, let out a scream and quickly raised the arm not handcuffed to the briefcase to shield his face. Even Victor on the other side of the screen instinctively tried to duck away, fearful of sunlight.

"Don't be nervous. It's just ordinary lighting. The thing I mentioned—the one that can change the balance of power in the bloodline—is right in front of you!" Doctor Death's voice rang out again, laced with mockery.

Mr. Bill felt none of the searing, corrosive pain caused by sunlight. He lowered his arm and looked at Doctor Death, confused.