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Chapter 1 - Chapter One: Blood and Moonstone

Crescent City, midnight.

The heart of this city did not cease to beat with the coming of night; instead, it erupted with an even more mysterious and extravagant vitality. Atop the city's pinnacle, towering above thousands of lights, the "Celestial Dome Club" hosted an auction recorded in no public registry, proceeding in absolute secrecy.

The air here was thick as molten gold and aged blood. The light refracted by crystal chandeliers was greedily devoured by heavy velvet curtains, reflecting only glimmers of cold radiance from the jewels worn by attendees, their indifferent eyes, and the edges of glasses filled with crimson liquid. They were the city's true masters—ancient bloodlines walking in shadows, the "Night Walkers" possessing eternal life and supernatural power, along with those human elites who shared their secrets in symbiosis.

Elian sat in a private booth on the second floor, his slender fingers resting lightly on the velvet armrest, fingertips pale as translucent porcelain. His eyelids drooped slightly, long curved lashes casting faint shadows beneath his eyes, like a marble statue that had slumbered for millennia, showing no interest in the greed and desire surging in the hall below.

He had lived for three hundred and seventy-two years, witnessed treasures more abundant than any museum's collection, experienced conspiracies more twisted than any epic. Tonight, if not for the Council of Elders issuing a death order in the name of "clan duty," he would rather remain in his penthouse apartment overlooking the city's nightscape, listening to a 19th-century vinyl record, or doing nothing at all—simply immersing himself in eternal, boundless emptiness.

The clamor below decomposed in his ears into countless fragmented sounds—the suppressed excited heartbeats of hypocrites, the gurgling of blood accelerating through their warm veins, and the scent mixing top-grade perfume with the stench of ambitious decay. Everything filled him with disgust.

Only one sound, like a discordant, jarring note, forcibly intruded into his peaceful sensory world.

It was a kind of... overly vigorous life force.

Burning, wild, unashamed in its presence, like an uncontrolled wildfire bursting into this palace built of ice and elegance.

Elian finally raised his eyes, his indifferent gray-blue gaze precisely targeting a corner of the main hall below.

There, Rafe was irritably tugging at the collar of his handmade suit. This expensive restraint made him deeply uncomfortable, far less pleasant than his old leather jacket worn for years. He surveyed his surroundings, amber eyes flashing with wolf-like vigilant sharpness, utterly at odds with the vampires' hypocritical smiles around him.

He hated this place. Hated the cold atmosphere mixing dust and death that permeated here. Even more, he despised those self-proclaimed elegant "immortals" who looked at people as if appraising replaceable furniture.

"Young Master, stay calm," his lieutenant whispered beside him. "We have only one goal tonight."

Rafe emitted an almost inaudible grunt in response. His gaze swept the venue, finally drawn by some invisible magnetic force, snapping upward to collide boldly with those cold gray-blue eyes in the second-floor booth.

In that instant, the air seemed to freeze.

Elian's gaze was calm as still water, yet carried a kind of all-seeing arrogance, like examining an uncouth beast that had wandered into his territory. Rafe's eyes burned with primitive, unconcealed hostility and defiance, as if ready to bare fangs and claws at any moment.

They were natural enemies.

Vampire and werewolf. Night and day. Order and wildness. One controlled the city's financial lifeline and high society, the other ruled the gray zones and underground kingdom. For centuries, a fragile "Moonlight Covenant" barely maintained peace between the two races, but everyone knew this peace was thin as gossamer.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer's voice rang out at the perfect moment, breaking the silent confrontation. "Tonight's final lot is about to be presented!"

As the red cloth was pulled away, a fist-sized stone emitting gentle silver light appeared before everyone's eyes. It was the "Moonstone"—a legendary mineral born on the night of the first lunar eclipse, containing mysterious power capable of altering the balance between supernatural beings. For vampires, it could enhance their resistance to sunlight; for werewolves, it would allow partial transformation even on non-full moon nights, greatly increasing their power.

This was the key capable of shattering the balance.

"Starting bid, ten million."

"Fifteen million." Elian didn't even raise a paddle; his attendant beside him calmly announced the price.

Rafe grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth. "Twenty million," he called out roughly, deliberately ensuring everyone could hear, his gaze shooting straight toward Elian's booth.

A smokeless war began.

The price soared wildly between them, each bid like a silent declaration of war. The surrounding crowd fell silent, watching in awe as the two young masters faced off. This was no longer a contest of money, but a direct collision between clan and tribe, honor and power.

"Fifty million." Elian's attendant announced again.

"Fifty-five million!" Rafe showed no weakness, even standing up, his robust frame casting an oppressive shadow.

The corner of Elian's mouth finally curved into an almost imperceptible, cold arc. He no longer let his attendant speak but activated the booth's microphone. His voice, deep and elegant as a cello yet tinged with lazy mockery, resonated clearly throughout the entire venue:

"One hundred million."

The hall erupted in gasps.

This figure far exceeded the moonstone's actual value. This was no longer bidding—it was humiliation. With the unfathomable wealth accumulated by his ancient family, Elian casually informed everyone that the strength and wildness they took such pride in was worthless before absolute capital.

Rafe's face instantly flushed red, his fists clenching with audible cracks, veins bulging on the backs of his hands. The blood within him roared, primitive impulse nearly making him transform into wolf form on the spot to tear that high-and-mighty vampire to pieces.

At that moment, disaster struck suddenly.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

All the crystal chandeliers around the venue simultaneously shattered, countless glass fragments raining down like a storm. The entire Celestial Dome Club plunged into impenetrable darkness.

Screams, exclamations, and the sound of overturning furniture mixed together. But the Night Walkers present all keenly sensed a murderous intent that belonged to neither faction—cold and pure.

Elian's pupils instantly contracted to thin lines in the darkness, his vision becoming clearer than daylight. He saw dozens of figures in black tactical gear with silver masks flooding in from all directions like phantoms. Their movements were synchronized and well-trained, weapons glowing faintly—specially crafted ammunition laced with silver and holy water.

"Purifiers!" someone cried out in alarm.

This name was the nightmare of all supernatural beings. An extremist human organization dedicated to hunting all non-human creatures. They should have been rats hiding in sewers—when had they gained such audacity to launch an assault in the Night Walkers' stronghold?

In the chaos, Elian had only one goal—the moonstone on the display platform.

However, a figure faster than him, carrying scorching wind, had already rushed forward. It was Rafe! The werewolf's astonishing explosive power was fully displayed in this moment.

But the Purifiers' goal was equally clear. A silver net descended from above, instantly enveloping Rafe.

Rafe roared, muscles swelling as he tried to break free. But the silver wire touching his skin immediately produced sizzling burns, causing him excruciating pain.

At that moment, a black shadow flashed by like lightning. Elian didn't rescue Rafe but moved with surgical precision straight toward the platform. His fingertips were about to touch the moonstone—

"Boom!"

A tremendous explosion shattered the platform. The moonstone was hurled into the air by the massive impact.

A Purifier leader leaped like a hawk, precisely catching the moonstone mid-air.

"Retreat!" he issued a calm command.

The Purifiers withdrew in well-trained alternating cover, clearly having rehearsed countless times. Their tactics were precise, coordination seamless.

Both Elian and Rafe broke free from their respective predicaments, charging toward the leader in unison. The enemies' tacit understanding was strangely achieved in this moment.

Elian ghostlike sealed all the opponent's escape routes, fingertips extending razor-sharp nails. Rafe, like an out-of-control heavy truck, launched a furious frontal assault.

Facing the pincer attack, the leader remained remarkably calm. He suddenly smashed a silver orb on the ground.

"Hiss—"

Blinding light accompanied by high-frequency sound waves exploded violently. This was a specialized flash-bang designed specifically for vampire and werewolf senses.

Elian's vision went white, the sharp ringing in his ears causing him to feel dizzy for the first time. Rafe cried out in pain, covering his ears and eyes, temporarily losing combat ability.

By the time their senses recovered, the Purifiers had vanished without a trace, leaving only devastation and the lingering smell of gunpowder.

The moonstone was gone.

The vast venue fell into deathly silence.

Elian slowly straightened up, adjusting his wrinkle-free collar as if what had just occurred was merely a harmless farce.

Rafe gasped heavily, amber eyes burning with rage as he glared at Elian, growling: "If you hadn't wasted time with your disgusting aristocratic tricks, the moonstone would never have been lost!"

Elian brushed away nonexistent dust from his mouth corner, responding lightly with his elegant, cold voice: "If a certain wild dog hadn't tried to think with its muscles and attempted brute theft, how would they have had the chance to create chaos?"

Hatred, contempt, and... a trace of irritation from their shared failure that neither had yet recognized collided violently between them.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The vampire clan's "Shadow Guard" and werewolf tribe's "Earth Walkers" were converging from all directions.

But at this moment, at the center of this wreckage, only the two of them remained.

Without knowing who moved first, they both turned simultaneously, standing back to back, warily scanning the surrounding darkness. Though still despising each other, before confirming that more dangerous enemies had departed, entrusting their backs to their sworn enemy was the safest choice.

Cold silk pressed against scorching leather.

One like eternal ice, one like undying lava.

The night in Crescent City had only just begun.

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