Selene stared at the scouter reading, her breath held. Fifty points. In the original timeline, Marcus had single-handedly defeated both the evolved Selene and the hybrid Michael. Only a lucky helicopter blade had ended him. Without that freak accident, he would have been unstoppable.
"Fifty points," Selene said, her voice quiet in the vast, cold hall. "Elder Marcus, your combat power is fifty points."
Marcus's thin, pale lips curved into a satisfied smile. His chin lifted. Among a vampire clan where the average warrior measured between ten and twenty points, his strength was absolutely, divinely overwhelming.
Selene's expression, by contrast, fell into one of careful regret. "But unfortunately, I'm the only one who can participate in the Dragon Ball battle. Unless the organizers also give you a ticket."
Disappointment flickered across Marcus's ancient face, but he recovered instantly. "If I cannot participate, then you must win."
He stepped closer, his presence commanding, his shadow stretching long in the torchlight. "I will mobilize the full power of our clan to support you."
"Your power still has room for improvement," he continued, his tone clinical. "The bloodline in Siberia possesses evolutionary abilities. The results aren't particularly consistent and carry some randomness, but it can still significantly enhance you."
Selene had read about the Siberian bloodline in the clan's historical archives. The transformation process was dangerous, unpredictable, and steeped in cold, dark magic, which was why it required elder approval. She'd planned to undergo it after fully inheriting her position anyway.
"That was already my intention," Selene said, meeting his gaze. "After the succession ceremony, I'll travel to Siberia. Once I've completed the enhancement, I'll go directly to New York for the Dragon Ball competition."
Marcus nodded, a short, sharp gesture of approval. "Then we proceed with your plan."
He paused, his head tilting slightly, his expression shifting to something more calculating. "By the way, in the previous century, Victor secretly constructed a special prison. Do you know its location?"
Selene's blood ran cold. Her heart gave a single, hard thump. She knew exactly what Marcus wanted. Through Victor's memories, she'd seen the prison clearly. A frozen, desolate place. It held William, the first werewolf, Marcus's brother. The mad, howling beast who had spawned an entire race of monsters.
Marcus had no idea where Victor had hidden the prison or how to access it. But he clearly intended to free his brother.
Selene met Marcus's gaze without flinching, keeping her face a smooth, respectful mask. "I'm sorry, Elder Marcus. I'm not aware of any special prison."
Marcus studied her face for a long, silent moment. His ancient eyes searched for any tell, any flicker of deception. The only sound in the hall was the distant, guttering hiss of a torch. Finally, he looked away.
"Very well. Begin preparations for the inheritance ceremony."
Over the Atlantic Ocean, the steady whump-whump-whump of the rotors was the only sound. Yelena guided the helicopter to the exact coordinates displayed on the Dragon Ball Radar.
"We're directly above the target location," she called back to the passenger compartment, her voice crisp over the headset.
Bulma jumped up, her eyes bright. She dragged a large, heavy-duty equipment case from the corner. She popped the latches, the clicks sharp and loud. Inside, nestled in foam, were two diving suits complete with oxygen tanks and powerful underwater lights.
"Brother Smith, let's suit up and go find the Dragon Ball."
Smith could have simply flown down and retrieved it himself in seconds. But that would ruin Bulma's excitement, and honestly, this was supposed to be a fun outing. He wasn't about to spoil it with excessive efficiency.
He stood and pulled on the specialized deep-sea diving suit, the neoprene smooth and tight. He strapped on the heavy oxygen tank. Bulma did the same, her movements quick and practiced.
Once they were both equipped, Yelena skillfully lowered the helicopter until it hovered just one meter above the ocean surface. Gray-green waves lapped at the landing skids, sending fine spray into the air.
Bulma grabbed Smith's gloved hand and gave him a thumbs-up. Together, they flipped backward through the open hatch. The ocean swallowed them in a sudden, cold rush of bubbles and a muffled splash.
The water was clearer than Smith had expected. Sunlight penetrated deep, filtering down in shifting green and blue rays, illuminating a stunning underwater landscape. Bulma activated the waterproof Dragon Ball Radar and pointed downward. They kicked, descending into the cool silence.
Smith gestured toward the scenery as they sank. Colorful fish darted between long, swaying seaweed. Coral formations created natural architecture in vibrant shades of pink, orange, and purple. A school of bright yellow fish swirled around them like a living, silent tornado.
A curious, striped fish approached Bulma and nudged her hand. It swam over to a cluster of spiky sea urchins growing on a rock, then came back and bumped her again.
Bulma's laugh was a cloud of bubbles escaping her regulator. She understood. She carefully used a small tool to crack open a few of the urchins, revealing the soft flesh inside. The fish eagerly ate the offering, along with several of its friends who appeared from nowhere.
Smith watched Bulma feed the fish, her eyes bright with joy behind her diving mask. Moments like this reminded him why he bothered with all the assassination and power-playing. There had to be something worth protecting.
They continued their descent, the pressure building in their ears, following the radar's insistent signal. Finally, nestled against a large, ridged brain coral, they found it.
The Two-Star Dragon Ball.
Bulma grabbed it triumphantly and held it up for Smith to see. The orange sphere caught the filtered sunlight, its two red stars clearly visible, glowing with a soft, internal light.
They checked their oxygen levels. Still plenty of air, but no point pushing it. They began their ascent, rising slowly through the water column.
When they broke the surface, the sound of the helicopter's rotors rushed back. Smith didn't bother with the ladder. He wrapped an arm around Bulma's waist and simply flew up into the helicopter, water streaming from their suits and puddling on the floor.
Back inside the aircraft, Smith stripped off the heavy diving gear. "Yelena, take us home."
Bulma quickly changed into dry clothes and immediately launched into an animated retelling of everything they'd seen underwater. Yelena listened with obvious envy, asking questions about the coral and the fish. The two women chattered away as the helicopter banked, leaving the empty patch of ocean behind and heading toward London.
Smith settled back in his seat, the Two-Star Ball secure in its case. Five Dragon Balls accounted for now. Two more to find.
At the Fraternity's London headquarters, Mr. X and Alexei were preparing to depart when the secure phone on the desk rang, its chirp piercing the quiet.
Alexei picked up, leaning against the desk. "Yeah?"
The front desk attendant's voice came through, formal and polite. "Your Excellency the Judge, an officer is here. He wishes to speak with you and the elder."
Alexei glanced at Mr. X, who nodded.
"Alright. Take him to the reception room."
The call ended. At the front desk, the attendant turned to the waiting visitor. "Sir, please follow me. Our people will escort you to the reception room."
The visitor was Commander Volley Roche, his Royal Marines uniform immaculate, his bearing rigid.
In the reception room, Roche waited, standing perfectly still until Mr. X and Alexei entered. He stood at attention.
"Gentlemen, I'm Major Volley Roche of the British Royal Marines." His voice was clipped, professional.
He clasped his hands behind his back. "My unit primarily handles matters related to werewolves and vampires. My general wishes to meet with you both."
Alexei raised an eyebrow. A Marine general involved in supernatural affairs? That was interesting.
Mr. X leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression casual. "Can you tell us what this is about?"
Roche shook his head, his face impassive. "I'm afraid not. I'm simply here to extend the invitation."
Alexei looked at Mr. X, who gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. They'd been expecting this.
"We'll come with you," Mr. X said.
Mr. X had briefed Alexei before they'd even arrived in London. Alexander Corvinus, the immortal father of both vampire and werewolf progenitors, was still alive. He wielded enormous, hidden power in Britain, operating in the shadows to protect and control his sons' legacies.
The reason werewolves and vampires could operate without public exposure wasn't just vampire political connections or nobles seeking immortality. Alexander's network provided the real shield. His people monitored communications, suppressed evidence, and silenced witnesses. The vampires had also helped by developing synthetic blood, adhering to a code against killing humans. But Alexander's protection was the foundation everything else rested on.
Mr. X wanted to meet the man. There were things that needed to be discussed.
Mr. X and Alexei followed Roche out of the Fraternity building and into a waiting, black sedan. They drove through London's busy streets to a nondescript office building with a private rooftop helipad.
An armed, military helicopter waited, its rotors already spinning with a low thwack-thwack-thwack.
They climbed aboard, buckling into the webbed seats. The aircraft lifted off, banking hard toward the English Channel. In the gray distance, an aircraft carrier sat anchored in international waters, a fortress of steel on the water.