Elara Vance's life was not tragic. It was not epic. It was, by all accounts, a beige cardigan of an existence.
She was twenty-four years old, worked as a junior data analyst for a logistics company that specialized in shipping cardboard boxes to other companies that made cardboard boxes, and her greatest ambition for the looming weekend was to successfully descale her coffee maker without voiding the warranty.
She did not believe in destiny. She believed in rent control, two-for-one coupons, and the distinct possibility that the office printer was possessed by a minor demon of inconvenience.
"Elara, the spreadsheet," her manager, Gary, droned, leaning over her cubicle wall. Gary had the personality of a damp sponge and smelled vaguely of ham, regardless of the time of day.
"Sending it now, Gary," Elara said, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with the practiced apathy of the corporate enslaved.
"Great. Also, someone is in the lobby for you." Gary frowned, adjusting his glasses. "He looks… theatrical."
Elara paused. "Theatrical? Like, a singing telegram?"
"Like he's lost his way to a My Chemical Romance reunion concert," Gary clarified. "He's scaring the receptionist. Go deal with it."
Elara sighed, saving her work. She pushed her rolling chair back, the wheels catching on the cheap gray carpet. "If it's the guy serving me a summons for that unpaid library fine from 2018, tell him I'm dead."
"Just go, Elara."
She grabbed her ID badge and walked toward the elevators. Her life was normal. Boring. Safe.
She had no idea that forty-six versions of herself had died violently before this moment. She had no idea that her soul was a cosmic battery keeping reality from imploding. She just wanted the elevator to arrive before Gary asked her about the pivot tables again.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.
And chaos walked in.
The lobby of Henderson Logistics was designed to be unoffensive. Beige walls, a potted ficus that was slowly dying of despair, and a glass front door that looked out onto the gray bustle of downtown Seattle.
Standing in the center of the lobby, looking like a ink stain on a blank page, was a man.
He was tall. Unreasonably tall. He wore a three-piece suit that cost more than Elara's entire college education, cut from a fabric so black it seemed to absorb the fluorescent lights. His skin was the color of moonlight, his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass, and he was wearing sunglasses. Indoors. On a cloudy Tuesday.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was that he was holding a bouquet of roses. Not red roses. Not pink. These were jet-black, looking like they had been watered with darkness and despair.
"Elara," the man said. His voice was like velvet dragged over gravel—deep, resonant, and echoing with an accent that sounded vaguely British, but from a century where people still challenged each other to duels over handkerchiefs.
Elara stopped ten feet away. "Can I help you?"
The receptionist, sweet old Mrs. Higgins, was hiding behind her computer monitor, clutching a stapler like a holy relic.
The man removed his sunglasses with a slow, dramatic sweep of his hand, revealing eyes that were a piercing, unnatural shade of crimson. He stared at her with an intensity that made Elara want to check if her fly was down.
"I have found you," he whispered, stepping forward. The movement was fluid, too smooth to be human, like liquid smoke pouring across the tile. "Forty-seven lifetimes. Four hundred years of silence. And yet, your soul burns as brightly as the first night we met under the blood moon of Wallachia."
Elara blinked. She looked at Mrs. Higgins. Mrs. Higgins shook her head frantically.
"I'm sorry," Elara said, taking a step back. "I think you have the wrong person. I'm Elara. I work in logistics. I've never been to… Wallachia? Is that near Portland?"
The man looked pained. A tragic expression crossed his face, the kind usually reserved for the climax of a soap opera. "Do not mock our history, my love. The curse has wiped your memory again. It matters not. I am here. Aldren. Your eternal night. Your shadow king."
He thrust the black roses toward her. "I brought you these. They were grown in the soil of my ancestral crypt, watered with the tears of my enemies."
Elara stared at the flowers. "That is… incredibly unsanitary."
Aldren, the Vampire Lord, faltered. His brow furrowed. "They are symbolic of my undying devotion."
"They're dead flowers, buddy. And you're scaring the receptionist." Elara crossed her arms. "Look, are you with that improv troupe my cousin joined? Because if this is a prank, it's not funny. I have reports to file."
Aldren looked affronted. He straightened his spine, radiating an aura of cold power that actually caused the temperature in the lobby to drop ten degrees. The ficus plant shriveled visibly.
"Improv?" Aldren hissed, his fangs lengthening slightly, glistening under the office lights. "I am Aldren Valcour, Lord of the Crimson Court, Scourge of the West, and Keeper of the Void! I have slaughtered armies for a single lock of your hair! I have waited centuries for your reincarnation cycle to align with the stars!"
"Okay, wow, keep your voice down," Elara hissed, glancing at the security guard, who was pretending to be very interested in his phone. "Reincarnation? Scourge of the West? Listen, Mr. Valcour, you need to leave. Or I'm calling the police."
Aldren stepped closer, invading her personal space. He smelled of expensive cologne, ozone, and old iron. "The police? Those mortal insects cannot stop me. Come with me, Elara. The Awakening is beginning. He is coming."
"Who is coming?"
"The Bamboo Stick," Aldren spat, the name dripping with venom. "The Self-Righteous Tea-Drinker. If he gets to you first, he will bore you to death with lectures about 'The Dao' and 'Balance.' Come to my chateau. I have a Ferrari."
Elara pinched the bridge of her nose. "You have a Ferrari, but you think my name is... whatever you think it is. Look, I'm going to count to three. If you aren't out that door, I'm hitting the panic button."
"Elara—"
"One."
Aldren looked genuinely hurt. The terrifying aura vanished, replaced by the look of a kicked puppy in a designer suit. "But... I prepared a speech. I rehearsed it in the mirror."
"Two."
"I even compelled the florist to dye these. Do you know how hard it is to find black dye at 3 AM?"
"Three!" Elara reached for the desk phone.
"Fine!" Aldren threw his hands up, the roses scattering across the floor. "I shall retreat! But I will not yield! I will wait for you, my love. I will wait in the shadows! Or in the parking lot! Probably the parking lot, the valet service here is atrocious!"
With a dramatic swirl of his coat, which billowed as if caught in a non-existent windstorm, Aldren turned and marched out the glass doors. He shoved them open with enough force that the glass spiderwebbed.
Elara stood in the silence of the lobby.
"Mrs. Higgins?" she said softly.
"Yes, dear?" the receptionist squeaked.
"Call maintenance about the door. And… maybe call the non-emergency line."
Elara looked down at the black roses scattered on the cheap tile. She picked one up. It was cold to the touch, like ice.
"Crypt soil," she muttered. "Great. Now I have to wash my hands."
Elara left work early. She told Gary she had a migraine, which was technically true, induced by the sudden appearance of a goth billionaire stalker.
She drove her 2014 Honda Civic onto the I-5, merging into the sluggish artery of rush hour traffic. The rain had started, a miserable Seattle drizzle that turned the world gray.
She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white.
Reincarnation. Wallachia. Shadow King.
"Lunatic," she said aloud to the empty car. "Total lunatic. Just some rich guy off his meds."
She turned up the radio. A pop song blasted, something about dancing until the world ended.
Traffic came to a grinding halt.
Elara sighed, leaning her head back against the headrest. "Come on. Move."
She looked out the windshield. The cars ahead weren't just stopped; people were getting out of their vehicles. They were pointing at something in the sky.
Elara rolled down her window.
"Is it a drone?" someone shouted.
"It's a guy!" another voice yelled. "Is he... floating?"
Elara's stomach did a somersault. No. Not again. Not twice in one day.
She opened her door and stepped out into the rain.
Hovering about twenty feet above the highway, defying gravity, physics, and several FAA regulations, was a man.
If Aldren was darkness and sharp angles, this man was light and fluidity. He wore flowing white and azure robes that looked like they belonged in a historical drama set in the Tang Dynasty. His hair was long, black, and tied up with a jade hairpin. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his expression was one of supreme, untouchable calm.
Beneath his feet, keeping him aloft, was a sword. A literal, glowing, steel sword.
He descended slowly, landing on the hood of a Ford F-150 three cars ahead of Elara. The truck's suspension groaned, but the man touched down as lightly as a feather.
He scanned the crowd of confused commuters. His eyes, dark and ancient, locked onto Elara instantly.
"Found you," he said.
He didn't shout, but his voice carried over the sound of the rain and idling engines as if he were whispering directly into her ear. It was a calm, steady sound, like a temple bell.
He hopped off the truck and walked toward her. He didn't walk around the cars; he simply stepped into the air, walking on invisible steps until he stood before her Honda Civic.
"You," he said, nodding respectfully. "You are late."
Elara stood by her open door, getting soaked. "Late? Late for what? Who are you?"
The man bowed deep, clasping his fist in his palm. "I am Li Wusheng. Disciple of the Cloud Peak Sect, Master of the Void Sword, and Guardian of the 47th Cycle." He straightened up. "You must come with me immediately. The karmic balance is shifting. If we do not align your chakras within the hour, the city may suffer a tribulation."
Elara stared at him. Then she looked at the people filming with their phones. Then she looked back at him.
"You're walking on air," she said flatly.
"Qi manipulation," Li Wusheng explained, as if explaining how a toaster worked. "Basic foundation establishment technique. Now, please. My sword can carry two if you hold onto my waist, though strictly speaking, intimate contact is forbidden by my sect. We shall make an exception for the apocalypse."
"Apocalypse?" Elara squeaked. "Buddy, I'm trying to go home to feed my cat. I don't know what kind of Comic-Con flash mob this is, but get away from my car!"
Li Wusheng frowned. "Cat? A spiritual beast? Is it a tiger?"
"It's a tabby named Mr. Whiskers!"
"A tiger spirit. Good. We will need its strength." Li Wusheng reached out to grab her wrist. "There is no time for idle chatter. He is near. I can smell the stench of rotten blood and cheap hair gel."
Before Elara could scream, a roar echoed through the highway.
It wasn't a car engine. It sounded like a jaguar crossed with a jet turbine.
A sleek, black sports car—low to the ground and looking aggressively expensive—came tearing down the shoulder of the highway, scraping against the guardrail, sending sparks flying.
It screeched to a halt parallel to Elara's Civic. The driver's door flew open.
Aldren Valcour stepped out. He had ditched the flowers but kept the attitude.
"Get your hands off her, you dusty relic!" Aldren shouted, pointing a gloved finger at Li Wusheng.
Li Wusheng didn't look surprised. He looked disappointed. "Bat demon. I sensed your pollution from three miles away."
"Pollution?" Aldren scoffed, adjusting his cuffs. "This is custom Italian silk, you walking museum exhibit. Step away from my bride."
"She is not your bride," Li Wusheng said calmly. "She is the Key to the Heavenly Gate. And she requires meditation, not your parasitic affection."
"Parasitic?" Aldren's eyes glowed red. "I loved her when you were still meditating on a rock, trying to figure out how to have a personality!"
Elara looked between them. The goth billionaire and the flying monk. Standing on I-5. In the rain.
"Okay," Elara said, holding up her hands. "Both of you. Stop. Right now."
They ignored her.
"You ruined her 34th life," Aldren snarled, stepping closer. His fingernails elongated into razor-sharp claws.
"I failed to save her because you tried to turn her into a creature of the night," Li Wusheng countered, his hand drifting toward the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. The air around him began to shimmer with heat.
"I was trying to give her immortality!"
"You were trying to make her a snack!"
"Gentlemen!" Elara shouted. "I am right here! I am not a snack, and I am not a key! I am a junior analyst!"
Aldren looked at her, his expression softening for a split second. "My love, step back. I must dispose of this trash. It will only take a moment. Then we shall fly to Paris."
"Paris?" Li Wusheng scoffed. "Vulgar. We are going to the hidden peaks of Mount Kunlun to cultivate your core."
"Paris!" Aldren roared.
"Kunlun!" Li Wusheng shouted.
"Enough!" Aldren lunged.
He didn't run; he blurred. One second he was by his car, the next he was a black streak aiming for Li Wusheng's throat.
Li Wusheng didn't flinch. He raised two fingers.
CLANG.
The sound was deafening, like a church bell being struck by a sledgehammer. A shockwave ripple out from them, shattering the windows of the three nearest cars.
Elara screamed and ducked behind her door.
When she looked up, Li Wusheng had blocked Aldren's claws with a glowing, translucent barrier of golden light.
"Is that all?" Li Wusheng asked dryly. "Your cultivation has stagnated, leech."
"I'm just warming up," Aldren grinned, revealing a mouth full of fangs.
Aldren spun, delivering a kick that should have broken Li's ribs. Li teleported—literally vanished and reappeared ten feet in the air—causing Aldren's kick to hit the front of a Toyota Camry instead.
The hood of the Camry crumpled like tin foil. The engine exploded.
"HEY!" the owner of the Camry yelled. "My insurance!"
"Silence, mortal!" Aldren shouted, throwing a ball of condensed shadow at Li Wusheng.
Li slashed his sword. A beam of white energy cut through the rain, slicing the shadow ball in half. The stray energy hit a billboard for a personal injury lawyer, setting it on fire.
"You fight without elegance!" Li Wusheng critiqued, diving down, his sword leading the way.
"And you fight like a virgin!" Aldren retorted, catching the sword blade between his palms.
The impact cratered the asphalt. Cracks spiderwebbed under Elara's feet.
"My car!" Elara shrieked. "You're too close to my car!"
They were moving too fast for the human eye to track properly now. It was just flashes of red and gold, accompanied by the sounds of metal tearing and sonic booms.
Aldren slammed Li into the side of a semi-truck. The trailer buckled. Li recovered instantly, chanting a mantra that caused the rain to freeze into ice daggers, launching them at Aldren. Aldren dissolved into a swarm of bats to avoid the ice, reforming behind Li to suplex him onto the roof of a minivan.
It was magnificent. It was terrifying. It was the most expensive traffic accident in the history of Seattle.
Elara fumbled for her phone. She needed to call... who? The Ghostbusters? The Avengers? Animal Control?
She dialed 911.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Hi," Elara said, her voice trembling. "There are two men fighting on the highway."
"Sir, road rage incidents should be reported to—"
"No, not road rage! One of them is a vampire and the other one is... a wizard? A jedi? I don't know! One threw a fireball and the other one just ate a Kia Sorento!"
"Ma'am, are you intoxicated?"
BOOM.
Aldren had thrown Li Wusheng into a fuel tanker. Miraculously, it didn't explode, but it tipped over, spilling gasoline everywhere.
The fighting stopped abruptly.
Aldren stood on top of a crushed sedan, panting, his suit torn. Li Wusheng hovered in the air, his robes singed, hair messy.
They both looked at the gasoline pooling around Elara's car.
"Oops," Aldren said.
"A miscalculation," Li Wusheng admitted.
Elara stood frozen. The gasoline was inching toward her tires.
"You..." Elara pointed a shaking finger at them. "You absolute idiots."
Aldren looked at her. "Elara, run! The combustion point of—"
"I KNOW!" She scrambled into her car, jammed the key in, and reversed so hard she scraped the guardrail.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Blue and red lights flashed against the rainy sky.
Aldren looked at the approaching police cars. " The authorities. How tedious."
Li Wusheng sheathed his sword. "They cannot hold us, but they are annoying. We should retreat."
Aldren looked at Elara, who was currently hyperventilating in her driver's seat.
"We cannot leave her," Aldren said.
"Agreed," Li nodded. "For once, your brain functions."
Before Elara could put the car in drive, both doors were ripped open.
Aldren slid into the passenger seat. "Drive, my love! I shall navigate!"
Li Wusheng squeezed into the back seat, folding his legs into a lotus position despite the lack of space. "Go North. The spiritual pressure is lower there."
"GET OUT OF MY CAR!" Elara screamed.
"Elara, the constabulary is arriving!" Aldren pointed at the SWAT team deploying from a van. "Drive, or I will be forced to hypnotize the entire precinct, and that gives me a headache."
"If you do not drive," Li Wusheng added calmly, "I will lift this vehicle with my mind. But the suspension on this... Honda... seems fragile."
Elara looked at the police, who were raising rifles. She looked at the vampire in her passenger seat trying to fix his hair in the vanity mirror. She looked at the immortal in her backseat who was judging the cleanliness of her upholstery.
"I hate my life," Elara sobbed.
She slammed on the gas.
The Honda Civic swerved around the burning billboard, narrowly missed the overturned tanker, and shot down the highway shoulder, carrying the Reincarnation of the Eternal Key, a Vampire Lord, and a Daoist Immortal.
Behind them, a teenager lowered his phone. He had recorded the whole thing.
He looked at the screen, typed a caption: WTH just happened on I-5?? #VampireVsMonk #TrafficSucks, and hit post.
Within ten seconds, it had a thousand views.
The chaos had officially begun.