Elida Maginos, the self-proclaimed Grand Duke and supreme ruler of the New York Vampire Court, was a living testament to the corrupting influence of power—and the consequences of defying natural law. He was not the handsome, melancholic, Byronic aristocrat romanticized in human fiction. He was, in fact, terrifyingly grotesque, a portrait of physiological decay.
His skin had withered into a pallid, almost pale-blue husk, stretched taut over bone and prominent, serpentine veins that stood out like river valleys across a ravaged landscape. He was completely hairless, lacking even the vestiges of eyebrows or lashes, and a perpetually nauseating, faintly metallic fluid seemed to seep from the pores of his ancient epidermis.
This was the price of his extended reign; he was an Elder Vampire who had consciously resisted the life-preserving hibernation cycles dictated by pureblood tradition, choosing instead to cling to his throne and watch over his empire for over three centuries. His immense power had waned, replaced by political cunning and ruthless authoritarianism.
Elida had carved out his domain through sheer, desperate ambition. He had orchestrated the exodus of his clan from Europe—a move disguised as a strategic retreat from the Church and rival werewolf packs—to the relative anarchy of the developing Americas.
His drive was absolute: any opposition to his rule was met by the indiscriminate slaughter of the Vampire Guard, a force he personally established to ensure his absolute, unquestionable dominance. This willingness to collaborate with human authorities and butcher his own kind solidified his reputation as the most ruthless schemer in vampire history.
Propped up on his throne, his repugnance was amplified by the proximity of his daughter, Nisha Maginos, a stunning, flawless specimen of pureblood lineage.
With Nisha supporting his frail, decaying weight, the old man leaned forward, his focus fixed on the grainy surveillance footage of Chadnorma—the Ragnar—that continued to replay the slaughter.
"Asa," the Duke rasped, his voice brittle, a dry whisper barely above the sounds of his chaotic, labored breathing. "Can your best trackers pierce the shadow this creature casts? We require his location immediately."
Asa, the dark-skinned vampire Elder who had served Elida since the colonial era, bowed deeply, his loyalty immutable.
"I regret to inform you, Master, that the creature is exceptionally adept at obscuring its trail. Our hunters are attempting to map its escape route through the neglected storm drains and tunnel systems. It will require considerable time. It seems to possess an ancient knowledge of evasion."
Elida waved a dismissive hand, a gesture of brittle annoyance. "Time is the one commodity we can no longer afford. Change the subject. Tell me about the… converts."
The Duke's clipped tone immediately signaled the gravity of the query. Asa understood: he meant the unfortunate vampires who had survived the initial encounter with the Ragnar, only to be subjected to its contaminating influence.
"The situation is deteriorating rapidly, Master," Asa replied, his tone laced with professional disgust.
"The infection has caused a repulsive, unpredictable mutation among our surviving brethren. They have become violent, uncontrolled, and biologically unstable. They are not simply rabid; they are mutating into something like him, a truly disgusting state. I have reluctantly ordered the destruction of all infected subjects to prevent the spread of the contagion."
Elida nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with a satisfaction born of absolute control. Asa's unwavering obedience over two centuries had cemented their implicit covenant: immortality and security for unwavering loyalty.
"You acted correctly, my faithful servant. There is no need for further sacrificial lambs among the Guard. The nature of this threat requires a more surgical solution. We must contract this problem out to professionals."
Asa hesitated, the loyalty momentarily struggling against a deep, ethical revulsion. "You refer to the… 'hunters'?"
"Indeed. The very men sworn to drive a stake through our collective heart," Elida confirmed, resting his decaying head against his fist.
"We will buy their service. This creature—this Ragnar—threatens the very foundation of our existence in this city. I will make a temporary truce with the Devil himself to preserve our hierarchy."
This declaration stirred the first significant dissent. Reihart, the leader of the Vampire Guard, stepped forward, his face contorted in aristocratic rage.
"My Grand Duke, with respect! You would summon those damned humans? Those who have spent centuries draining our strength? We are the Vampire Guard! We can hunt this beast. Why cede such a display of weakness?"
"You dare question the High Duke's strategy, Reihart?" Asa instantly snarled, baring his fangs and challenging the warrior's authority.
"Enough!" Elida shouted, the sound echoing unnaturally in the vaulted chamber, carrying the immense weight of his ancient will. "My command is absolute. Asa, show them the latest observation. Let Reihart see the true nature of his proposed enemy."
Asa bowed, pressing a key on his pad, and the screen instantly shifted to horrific, high-resolution footage from a hidden lab.
The scene was stomach-churning. A man—or what had once been a man, and then a vampire—was strapped to an operating table. His body was a chaos of bizarrely colored, impossibly shaped viscera and twisted musculature.
Though brutally dismembered, cut open, and rendered unrecognizable, the creature was still overwhelmingly aggressive, thrashing against the restraints with enough strength to shake the entire surgical bay.
"Turn off the display," Asa commanded in a tone of cold finality.
"What you witnessed," he explained, turning back to the horrified council, "was a vampire who survived contact with the Ragnar. He underwent this complete, violent transformation into a repulsive, aggressive flesh-eater in less than twelve hours. We lost two of our most powerful hunters trying to contain him."
Elida took over, his voice regaining a semblance of power. "They multiply too quickly. They shake the core biological security of our race. This threat is existential. We will cooperate with the hunters. I declare a temporary, strategic truce with them. This is my absolute decision."
He then turned his gaze to his daughter, Nisha, who stood passively, her face betraying only the subtlest shock.
"My daughter, Nisha. You will personally contact the man who successfully raided our base weeks ago—the one who appeared and vanished like a ghost. Inform him of the truce and our urgent need for his assistance."
Nisha looked up in surprise. "Father? You task me with this? I am bound by oath not to betray our kind to him."
"Yet he released you unharmed once, did he not? And that oath does not prevent you from seeking him out for a shared purpose," the Duke said, a razor-thin smile crossing his pale blue lips, dripping with cynical disapproval of her lingering sense of honor. Nisha, bound by filial duty and the deep, dark laws of her bloodline, reluctantly agreed to obey.
"Asa, you will contact Blade. Bring the Daywalker here. And Reihart, mobilize the Guard. You will prepare your forces to cooperate with these hunters, however distasteful the task."
With a series of precise, calculating commands, the Grand Duke wove a vast, unprecedented web of conspiracy and temporary alliance, aiming to catch the dangerous creature that threatened his decaying empire.
Having survived a day of psychological torture and ostentatious excess aboard the Dream, Zhou Yi had returned to the subterranean simplicity of his personal research and development laboratory.
The air conditioning hummed, circulating air purified to a surgical level, a stark contrast to the humidity of the yacht and the filth of the vampire's lair.
The object of his attention was the Adamantium—the material that, for centuries, had remained a closely guarded military secret.
Zhou Yi understood that its rarity was less about complex physics and more about luck, logistical control, and the inherent difficulty of processing the ore found only in certain meteorite fragments.
For him, however, the process was simplified to a technological certainty. With access to Stark's proprietary family data and, more crucially, the immense, reality-warping energy of his Infinity Stone powers, the forging of Adamantium was a matter of controlled, supernatural manufacturing. The formula was available; the energy required was his own.
Under the cold, watchful glow of the lab lights, the Adamantium alloy ore and various necessary stabilizing agents were placed into a custom-built, high-frequency induction crucible.
The temperature rapidly soared, reaching a critical 1500 degrees Celsius. At this temperature, the Adamantium liquefied into a pool of glowing, boiling steel—the elemental, workable state of the metal.
"Maintain the thermal envelope, Medusa," Zhou Yi commanded, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. "Prepare the kinetic stabilizer array for immediate application upon pour."
The alloy's defining characteristic was its instantaneous and permanent solidification upon cooling. Once poured and set, the resulting metal would be virtually indestructible, mutable only by molecular recombination—a process so energy-intensive it was often considered easier to throw the object into the sun than to reshape it.
Zhou Yi contemplated his requirements. With his high-level psychic and kinetic abilities, firearms were functionally redundant; few conventional bullets could harm him, and none could withstand his telekinetic output.
His preference was always for cold weapons—tools that allowed him to express his mastery of martial arts and close-quarters combat. He needed an indestructible extension of his own will, a counter to threats like the savage resilience of Logan (Wolverine), whose bones were already laced with this very material.
The major constraint, however, was the raw material. The twenty pounds (approx. 9 kg) Tony had surrendered was a generous gift, but it was far too little to create a truly massive weapon, such as the legendary Ruyi Jingu Bang—the Monkey King's enormous, weighty staff. Any weapon of lesser density would feel like a toy in his hands.
After careful calculation and compromise, he decided on a specialized, high-density Spearhead—a single, focused, lethal mass.
The crucible tilted. The glowing, brilliant white-hot liquid Adamantium poured smoothly into the prepared, heavy-duty graphite mold. The cooling process was immediate and absolute. Within seconds, the mold was opened, revealing a single, massive piece of lethal art.
The design was ancient, simple, and utterly brutal. It was a spearhead of massive dimensions—thirteen inches long and five inches wide at its broadest point. The blade was not a delicate diamond-shape, but a thick, straight-edged design, tapering sharply to a curved, piercing tip.
A deep blood groove ran down both sides to reduce surface tension and ensure efficient penetration. At the base, a vicious, hook-like protrusion of Adamantium extended backward—a blade designed not only for thrusting but for slicing and tearing on the withdrawal.
This single, dense spearhead had consumed nearly every ounce of the Adamantium alloy, yet it resulted in an unparalleled weapon of pure, focused kinetic destruction. In the age of cold weapons, this tip could pierce any armor. Even now, it was a terrifying object.
But as Zhou Yi picked up the heavy, cold metal piece—a silent testament to Tony's involuntary generosity—he knew it was not yet ready. It was a masterpiece of materials science, but it was still an unfinished product.
It lacked the final, most crucial element that would transform it from an unbreakable metal tip into a truly Supernatural Weapon—the shaft, and the final infusion of arcane and kinetic power that only he could provide.