A rough landing.
Alan surveyed the ruins. Time had eroded the site, leaving only a few scattered stone pillars to hint at the palace that once stood here.
"Commander, the Sahara was once an ocean," Unita explained, her hologram serving as a tour guide.
"I know. Is it far from the prison of the Lost Race?" When choosing his recruits, Alan had considered three candidates in the Sahara: the Vampire Progenitor, Drake; the Ocean Master, Orm; and the Mummy Pharaoh, Nick. Ideally, he would recruit all three. Of course, they might not even listen to him, so he conservatively estimated he would recruit one. When Alan saw the Mummy Pharaoh, Nick, he was taken aback. He was Tom Cruise from The Mummy. He had to call him out and have him make an appearance.
"Five hundred kilometers away, there's an entrance to a settlement of the Lost Race," Unita replied. "Shall I deploy the drones for a scan?"
"Scan it, and while you're at it, find out what Tom Cruise is up to," Alan said, pursing his lips. "Speaking of which, aren't there a few too many immortals?" Deadpool, Dracula, Drake, Nick… it made immortality seem cheap.
Several spherical, floating drones flew out from the side of the helicopter and headed into the desert.
"I found something!" Cobblepot shouted. He brushed away the sand, revealing a stone slab covered in carvings. In the center was a small hole. Alan blew into it, clearing out the sand. It was uniquely designed to prevent the hole from being completely blocked.
Alan looked at Arthur. "Give me your hand."
"What do you want?" Arthur's heart tightened, and he nervously stepped back, as if he knew what Alan was about to do.
"Hold him down." At Alan's glance, Edward and Cobblepot immediately sprang into action. If they didn't cooperate, they would be next. Better to sacrifice Arthur than themselves.
"You're insane!" Arthur tried to flee, but he ran straight into Nanaue and fell to the ground. Edward and Cobblepot pounced on him.
"Stop! We're on the same side! Hehehehe…" Arthur tried to plead, but his manic laughter only made them more determined.
"Don't be afraid. I'm very big… I'm very fast…" Alan frowned, feeling there was something wrong with his words but unable to pinpoint it. "Don't struggle. It'll be over in a moment. It's normal to bleed a little the first time."
Seeing Alan pull out his butcher knife, Arthur thrashed and screamed, "Let me go, you animals! Ahhh…!"
Slice…
The blade cut across his fingertip. Red blood welled up.
"It's bleeding! Quick, stick it in the hole!" Alan shoved Arthur's bleeding finger into the hole, letting the blood drip down. The scene was truly unbearable: three burly men and a non-human holding down a mentally ill man, committing such a heinous act.
"Why is there no reaction? Is there not enough blood?" After a long time, there was still no movement from below. Alan began to doubt if he had the right location, or if Drake was already dead.
"Hold him down. I'll get his blood flowing." Alan squeezed Arthur's arm, trying to force the blood out faster, like squeezing a tube of toothpaste.
"Boss, Arthur's face is pale," Edward said, horrified to see Arthur's face as white as a sheet.
"He's wearing his Joker makeup. It's just foundation," Alan said nonchalantly, not stopping his squeezing.
"No, Boss, Arthur's eyes are rolling back," Cobblepot couldn't help but point out.
"Rolling his eyes is his attitude towards life. Can't you see he's a man of strong character?" Alan retorted.
"Arthur is unconscious! If you keep squeezing, he's going to die!"
Seeing that Arthur was truly unconscious, Alan finally stopped. "Such a weak body. He must have been rewarding himself a lot at night. I'll make him two cups of brown sugar water later to replenish his strength."
Thump!
Thump, thump!
Thump, thump, thump!
The ground began to tremble, as if something was about to burst forth. Everyone stepped back, waiting for the Progenitor to reappear.
Boom!
The stone slab shattered, and a sinkhole of sand and rock formed. Suddenly, a withered, skeletal hand reached out from the ground, grasping for a foothold. The next moment, Alan grabbed the hand and, with a mighty heave, pulled a desiccated corpse from the earth.
Hah…
A low, guttural breath. A pair of ruby-red eyes scanned the group.
"Don't get too excited about dinner yet," Alan said, stepping in front of Drake. "Let's be reasonable. You wouldn't kill your saviors, would you?"... "Saviors?" Drake sneered. "Do I need food to save me?"
Shing!
Alan, without a shred of honor, swung his butcher knife, splitting Drake down the middle like a Venus flytrap. Before he could recover, Alan planted a remote-controlled bomb inside his body.
Soon, Drake's upper body slowly closed, regenerating completely. "Now we're even," he said angrily. He then demonstrated his own ability, tearing open his own stomach and pulling out the bomb.
"Tough guy." Alan tossed the remote aside. "Do you want to fuse with the power of the Blood God?"
"The Blood God!?" Drake, who had been about to attack, immediately calmed down. "Tell me more." The Blood God ritual was a taboo among pure-bloods, but for half-bloods, it was a way to obtain ultimate power. The details of the ritual were mostly destroyed by the pure-bloods, making it incredibly rare. Drake was intrigued. His regenerative abilities were good, but he was only at the level of a pure-blood count. His greatest assets were his immunity to sunlight and his ability to form a blood-flesh armor.
"Have you heard of Dracula?" Alan asked first.
"The Impaler. I've heard of him. A lucky fellow." Drake's origins predated Dracula by several hundred years. He had heard of the rising star among the half-bloods. He was jealous of Dracula, who had received the true blood of a prince. He often fantasized about what he could have become with such a gift.
"Dracula is preparing for the Blood God ritual. Imagine a vampire with the power of a prince, combined with the power of the Blood God. Even the progenitor, Lilith, would probably throw herself at him, crying, 'Oppa, saranghae!'" Although Drake didn't understand the last part, he understood Alan's meaning: a new progenitor would be born.
"Take me to Dracula! I want to steal the Blood God ritual!" he urged impatiently.
"Steal, steal, steal! What are you going to steal?" Alan slapped Drake's hand away. "The pure-bloods are already after Dracula. Do you want to go back underground?"
At the mention of the pure-bloods, Drake fell silent. He had been sealed away by them. And after nearly a thousand years, countless new powerful nobles had surely been born. A pure-blood marquis was already a formidable foe. Dukes and princes were on another level entirely. He considered himself stronger than a pure-blood duke, but against a pure-blood prince, his only option was to flee.
"Let me introduce myself. I am the guardian knight of Gotham, the Hilarious Bat. And these are my Robins," Alan said sincerely. "This is a bit complicated. We can talk on the way. But I can promise you, if you help us, the Blood God ritual is yours."
It was common knowledge that the more sincere Alan appeared, the less sincere he was. He had made similar promises to Ra's al Ghul, Apocalypse, and Hydra, and he had betrayed them all without hesitation. Of course, it all depended on whether the other party was cooperative. If they got along, Alan was more than happy to create a half-blood progenitor to wreak havoc on the vampire world.
They boarded the helicopter and headed for their next destination.
The Sahara Desert was not just a vast expanse of sand; it was rich with human history. When it emerged from the ocean, it was covered in vegetation, and nomadic tribes established one glorious dynasty after another, leaving behind countless civilizations. But as the vegetation withered, the sands reclaimed the land, burying the abandoned cities.
And there were always thieves. The United States, a nation only two hundred years old and lacking a deep historical foundation, was notorious for using its military to plunder artifacts for its museums. With their powerful military, the nations that actually owned the Sahara Desert could only watch in silent rage, or even collude for a share of the profits.
Nick Morton, a former Navy SEAL, was well aware of the military's shady dealings, having participated in them himself. He lay buried in the sand, watching as a group of desperate men violently excavated the tomb of an ancient pharaoh. He remembered how he had become the emissary of Set, the Egyptian god of power, war, desert, and storms. Set had tasked him with protecting the pharaohs' tombs from the modern world.... As far as Nick knew, there were two other emissaries of the old gods in the world today. The emissary of Khonshu, the moon god, was Moon Knight. Some speculated that the other was the Black Panther, the king of Wakanda. In truth, that was not entirely correct. Bast, the panther god, did have an emissary in the human world, but it was not the king of Wakanda. It was Catwoman, who had a long and complicated relationship with Batman. Bast, the cat god of ancient Egyptian mythology, considered cats her children. When Catwoman died saving a cat, she had caught Bast's attention and was resurrected as her emissary. The Wakandan royal family had received Bast's blessing, not her divine power.
Just then, a helicopter appeared on the horizon…
[Chapter Complete]
***
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