"Whatever Dragonetti offers, I can give you more!"
Deacon Frost's voice cracked with desperation. The sheer absurdity of his situation wasn't lost on him—here he was, the vampire who'd dreamed of godhood, reduced to bidding for his own life against the very purebloods he'd tried to sacrifice.
And against people who apparently just wanted money.
It was humiliating. It was infuriating. And worst of all, it was probably futile.
"Don't concern yourself with him."
Gitano Dragonetti's voice was smooth as aged wine, carrying the casual contempt that only centuries of aristocratic breeding could produce. Even bound and recently rescued from a blood ritual, the elder vampire managed to project an aura of superiority that made Deacon's teeth grind.
"Deacon Frost is merely the leader of some turned rabble," Gitano continued, addressing Luke as though Deacon weren't even present. "We are purebloods. Our wealth is... incomparable to what a jumped-up fledgling could offer."
"I'll give you everything I have!" Deacon wasn't ready to give up. He'd clawed his way up from nothing once before. He could do it again—if he survived the night.
Gitano's expression flickered with something between annoyance and amusement. "I assure you, his 'everything' won't come close to matching what I'm prepared to offer. The turned vampires play at wealth. We are wealth."
"Enough."
Luke's voice cut through their bickering like a blade. He'd been watching the exchange with the detached interest of someone observing particularly stupid NPCs argue over who got to give him the better quest reward.
"I'm not interested in your rivalry, Mr. Dragonetti. Or your desperation, Mr. Frost." He let his gaze sweep across the assembled purebloods, all still bound, all watching him with expressions ranging from calculation to fear. "Distinguished purebloods—let's discuss terms."
Internally, Luke had already made his decision. He'd kill them all eventually. Gitano, Deacon, the whole lot of them. Vampires were a plague, and the only good vampire was an ash pile.
But that was future Luke's problem. Present Luke saw an opportunity for resources, and he wasn't stupid enough to pass it up.
Gitano made the call. His people arrived within the hour—a small army of vampire guards in expensive suits, moving with the predatory grace of creatures who'd spent centuries perfecting the art of violence.
The ritual site was secured. Deacon was taken into custody, his fate to be determined later. And Luke found himself being escorted to the pureblood stronghold with all the ceremony of a visiting dignitary.
The irony wasn't lost on him. Twelve hours ago, he'd crashed their party with twin gatling guns. Now they were rolling out the red carpet.
Capitalism, baby. Even vampires understood the value of good business relationships.
The pureblood guards surrounding them were impressive, Luke had to admit. Elite warriors, every one of them—centuries of combat experience etched into their movements, supernatural reflexes honed to razor sharpness. In most circumstances, a human wouldn't stand a chance against even one of them.
Luke wasn't worried.
Even if every single guard decided to turn on them simultaneously, Riven and Skadi could extract him before the vampires landed a single blow. The power gap was simply too vast. Marvel's vampires had a hard ceiling on their capabilities, and it wasn't nearly high enough to threaten game characters from universes where "destroy a mountain" was considered a warmup exercise.
After that? Well, Luke had seen what happened when Skadi decided to stop holding back. There wouldn't be a pureblood stronghold anymore. There'd be a crater.
Fortunately, Gitano had no such suicidal intentions.
The negotiations took place in a chamber that probably cost more than most countries' GDP. Marble floors, Renaissance paintings that were almost certainly originals, furniture that predated the United States. The purebloods did love their ostentation.
Whatever Luke asked for, Gitano agreed. The other pureblood council members—the ones who'd contributed their own concessions after witnessing Riven and Skadi's capabilities—nodded along like bobbleheads.
They'd seen what Luke's companions could do. More importantly, they couldn't get a read on Luke himself. A mysterious leader of an unknown organization, powerful enough to crash a Blood God ritual and capture Deacon Frost alive?
Better to have him as an ally than an enemy.
Gitano's attempts at subtle networking flew completely over Luke's head. The pureblood elder kept making little hints, dropping references to mutual benefits and long-term partnerships that Luke simply didn't register.
Eventually, Gitano realized his new "friend" didn't pick up on social cues and switched to more direct communication.
That suited Luke just fine. Time for the orca to open wide.
"I want a company," Luke said. "Fully operational, properly staffed. You'll provide the initial funding."
"Of course. How much?"
"Sixty billion dollars."
Gitano didn't even blink. "Done."
Luke waited for the negotiation. The counter-offer. The hemming and hawing about such a large sum.
Nothing came.
"I also want a second set of identities," he continued, testing the waters. "Completely separate from any other documentation. Hidden. Untraceable."
"Easily arranged."
"Properties. A second location in Los Angeles. A mansion in Boston. Another in Washington DC."
"Consider it done."
Luke was starting to feel like he'd lowballed this negotiation significantly. Every demand he made was met with immediate agreement. Were the purebloods really this desperate to stay in his good graces?
Then Gitano made an offer of his own.
"If you wish," the elder vampire said, his tone carefully neutral, "we could facilitate the acquisition of Oscorp Industries. Or Hammer Industries. Even Stark Industries, though that one presents certain... complications."
Luke's eyebrows rose despite himself.
Stark Industries was tricky—he knew that much. SHIELD was watching it closely after Tony's disappearance, and the military held significant shares. Not impossible to acquire, but definitely messy.
Oscorp and Hammer, though? Those were just money problems. And apparently, money wasn't an issue.
"You vampires are even richer than I expected," Luke admitted.
Gitano's smile was thin but genuine. "Capitalism serves us well, Mr. Foster. We've had centuries to accumulate wealth, and the promise of immortality is... compelling."
He gestured vaguely, encompassing the opulent room around them.
"Politicians, oligarchs, titans of industry—they all come to us eventually. Some seek the embrace, hoping to join our ranks. Others fund research programs, desperate to unlock the secret of eternal life through science." Gitano's smile widened slightly. "Either way, their resources flow to us. It's been this way for generations."
Luke processed this information. Centuries of accumulated wealth. Generations of powerful humans dancing to vampire tunes. The numbers involved had to be astronomical.
"You're wrong about one thing, Mr. Dragonetti."
Gitano raised an eyebrow, more curious than offended.
"You believe your immortality research has yielded no results. That all those billionaires funding vampire genetics projects have been wasting their money." Luke paused for effect. "But I have information suggesting otherwise."
The atmosphere in the room shifted. Several of the purebloods leaned forward almost imperceptibly.
"A vampire named Damaskinos has already succeeded."
"Grand Duke Damaskinos?" Gitano's tone sharpened.
"He's used genetic engineering to create a new breed of vampire. They're called Reapers." Luke watched their faces carefully as he continued. "Stronger than purebloods. Faster. Their hearts are encased in protective bone. They're immune to silver—only sunlight can kill them reliably."
The silence that followed was deafening.
If this was true—and Gitano's expression suggested he was taking it very seriously—then how did this stranger know something even the pureblood council hadn't discovered?
"I see," was all Gitano said. But his eyes had gone cold and calculating.
Luke didn't mind sharing the information. Let the vampires tear each other apart over it. Internal conflict would keep them distracted, divided, weak. And if Gitano chose to ally with Damaskinos instead?
Even better. Gather all the monsters in one place, then eliminate them together.
One net. All the fish.
One month later.
Los Angeles gleamed under the California sun, a sprawling metropolis of ambition and illusion. Somewhere in the hills, movie stars were pretending to be other people for obscene amounts of money. Somewhere downtown, tech bros were disrupting industries that didn't need disrupting.
And in a nondescript office building that had recently changed hands, Luke Foster was surveying his new empire.
The structure itself was unremarkable. Thirty-something floors, modest footprint, the kind of building you'd walk past a thousand times without ever noticing. There were countless similar structures scattered across America's urban landscape.
The sign on top read a single word: UMBRELLA.
Sixty billion dollars in startup capital, and this was the headquarters? To outside observers, it probably seemed almost... underwhelming.
But appearances were deceiving. They usually were, in Luke's experience.
Beneath the building—accessible only through heavily secured elevators and a labyrinth of checkpoints—lay ten floors of underground facilities.
The property had originally belonged to the US military. Specifically, to one General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross, a man whose obsession with the Super Soldier program had driven him to some questionable real estate decisions. This had been one of his secret research sites, excavated deep into the California earth to hide projects that couldn't withstand public scrutiny.
The military had vacated years ago, taking their sensitive equipment and classified research with them. But the infrastructure remained. Power systems capable of running a small city. Climate control that could maintain clean room conditions. Security frameworks that would make Fort Knox jealous.
All of it now belonged to Luke.
He stood in the building's lobby, staring at the elevator that would take him down to the underground levels. Ten floors of infrastructure, waiting to be filled with purpose.
A headquarters. A research facility. A fortress, if necessary.
And most importantly, a home for the characters he'd eventually summon. Riven and Skadi were just the beginning.
Not bad, he thought, for a month's work.
From broke transmigrator to billionaire CEO. Isekai protagonists everywhere would be jealous.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.
300 , 500 , 1000 for each milestone 1 Bonus Chapter.