24.1

March 2, 2070, at 0207

Otherworld Seattle, Outer District

Crystal’s vampiric senses were like a bloodhound. It helped that the air grew thicker with the scent of blood the closer to the scene of the carnage she came. Her senses sharpened beyond human limits, guided her through the dimly lit Outer District rooftop zones. Neon light died into flickering pools of protective warding as she sped among the roofs. The blood scent, fresh and pungent, wafted through the air, growing more intense with each bounding leap she took. The distance covered had been immense, even for her speed, taking several hours to complete. Her inner vampire had admittedly also gotten lost a few times as the blood scent mixed with butcher stalls, organ trafficking operations, and a sausage factory.

These were all locations she planned on visiting at a later date.

As she neared the source, the night air was scented with the smells of combat yet drowned in silence. Crystal's eyes, glowing faintly in the darkness, scanned the area from above. Within a main street below, a violent struggle had occurred. Blood spattered the walls and pooled on the ground, with unmoving corpses strewn like a child’s discarded dolls.

Crystal’s street-born intelligence kept her from dropping down to street level. This was not gang warfare; it was corporate clean-up. The meticulousness of the scene, the calculated brutality, it all pointed to a deliberate act, not a frenzied attack.

Someone was sanitizing a problem, erasing an obstacle.

Crystal crouched, her vision examining the traces left behind with inhuman prowess. Multiple attackers had struck what appeared to be a convoy, one guarded by professionally geared mercenaries. Most of the guards had gone down in the first few seconds, but the dead were trained experts. The few survivor’s retaliation had ripped apart the attackers without mercy. Her eyes followed the leaking trail that led into an alley.

The doomed defense gained enough time for a few to flee.

Crystal's crimson eyes flickered with a predatory gleam as she analyzed the specks and drops of blood. The traces of the elite group that had fled were clear to her vampiric senses. She noticed further subtle signs – disturbed debris, faint footprints in the blood-soaked ground, and the lingering scent of fear and adrenaline. Crystal paused; she could walk away here, and no one would know. The cameras around wouldn’t catch her, and she didn’t leave magical traces behind to be tracked.

Crystal’s mind ran scenarios before she decided to pursue it.

It wasn’t out of altruism. Instead, it was cold practicality that moved her. In this altered world, a shadowed mirror of her own, she needed either an identity beyond reproach or a reputation without a peer. A target rich and protected enough to afford a convoy like this would be a valuable patron. With reflexive grace, she moved swiftly, her vampiric agility allowing her to navigate the treacherous rooftop terrain of the Outer District easily. Each leap and bound brought her closer to her current quarry, her senses honing in on the fleeing individual's bloody traces.

As she delved deeper into the slums of the Outer District, the sounds of the city faded, replaced by the quiet rustle of her movements and the distant scent of her prey. The alleyways were a labyrinth, a perfect place to shake off pursuers. But Crystal was no ordinary tracker. The thin, almost invisible traces of blood were better than a floodlight to her mind’s eye. Her pointed ears picked up the faintest sounds – the soft panting of breath, the scuffle of a foot against concrete. Those who had fled were close now.

Suddenly, ahead in the dim light, she spotted them in the alley below her perch. A group of four, moving with haste, their eyes darting around with brutal efficiency. They were well-armed and trained but also hasty, out of their element in these twisting alleys. Clearly, they had been forced to cut off access to the Matrix, meaning they didn’t have a map.

She positioned herself above, on the rooftops, stalking them from the shadows above.

Before she could create an introduction, there was a flicker of movement, and several enemy combatants in the same gear as the convoy’s ambushers appeared. Crystal could see no path of escape. The group of four was surrounded.

Optical camouflage kept the ambush team from being visible until the trap was well and sprung. Crystal dropped low, crawling on her belly and noting the complete lack of any drones. It was apparent this operation was off the books. A drone would leave a path for someone to hack in and view the encounter. It's not something a kill team like this wanted in the least.

Crystal’s ears twitched as a voice from a thick, well-built slab of muscled male specimen among the ambushers spoke out, “Nadja Daviar, it’s over.” The speaker’s suit looked out of place in the filthy alleyway like a sparkling oil-slicked coin in a garbage dump.

A quick check to Fluffyfeathers let Crystal know the speaker’s suit was a well-known Japanese brand even as he continued, saying, “Hand over the codes to the Dragon Foundation’s AI core, and I’ll let you die with an intact corpse.”

Crystal twitched as a female figure shed her optical cloak to say, “Shawn Kanematsu, how utterly expected. I’ll need to take more steps to remove Midori from the board. Did you plan this assassination alone, or did your mother have a hand in it?” Crystal took stock of how the voice of Nadja Daviar echoed eerily into thin air. The vampire's face twisted in confusion as her inhumane senses hadn’t warned an iota about the elf's existence. The newly appearing elven figure between her four defenders had a regal mien that invoked a sense of graceful majesty.

“The latest armor from AZTechnology is immune to your pathetic attempts to twist minds, Daviar. Blood Magic is beyond the pale clutches of a dragon’s little toy.” Kanematsu crooned as Crystal watched the elf’s eyes narrow. The draconian, for that was what Shawn appeared to be, had given a vital clue away for free.

Crystal’s mind reached out to the enemy armor, recognizing the blood used in forging it. “Waste not, want not.” She thought as she flexed her power. In this world, like all worlds, Crystal imagined her race ranked in the upper echelons of blood magic. She stripped the protective runes off the AZTechnology armor with a smooth, almost transcendent feel.

Naja Daviar’s eyes widened briefly as she noticed the change.

Crystal realized the unfolding scene below was more than a mere corporate skirmish; it was a high-stakes play for power involving the Dragon Foundation's AI core, a coveted world-class asset. With her untraceable link to Fluffyfeathers, the chicken cyber-sleuth explained the Foundation’s nature in-depth. Crystal noted it was created after one of the American-aligned Dragons died.

The ruler of the entire Foundation was the pure high elf below.

As Crystal perched atop the rooftop, her gaze fixed on the tense standoff below, she contemplated how to approach. Her blood manipulation abilities could turn the tide of this confrontation, allowing her to hinder the targets without direct physical contact. But that would be abysmally boring. She could see the blood within their veins, ripe for reallocation, a hidden banquet only she could consume.

A tragedy that it appeared Blood Magic was forbidden.

Fortunately, she was not just a vampire but an alchemist of the nocturnal variety. With subtle gestures, she began to weave the ambient mana of the upper air, focusing latent power that lurked in the atmospheric reaches above, barely noticed among such a forgotten corner of the Outer District. These energies coalesced around her, ready to be unleashed in a maelstrom of arcane power. Bound by her vampiric control, they were tied in intricate patterns neither faction detected below. In addition, Crystal’s sword, a blade forged from eldritch empowerment of the darkest materials, slipped into existence, a sliver of shadow given form. It was an extension of her will, honed to lethal perfection through the crucible of combat.

Violent limb removal had a place in any negotiation.

“It is the purview of the young and aging to believe technology will solve all their problems,” Nadja said with a sickening sweet smile. “Sadly, that never seems to be the case. New technologies always bring new problems to the table.”

“Kill her,” Shawn said with a dismissive wave.

Crystal smirked as the conversation below reached a critical juncture. Nadja Daviar, the elf of aristocratic mien, seemed unfazed by Shawn Kanematsu's dismissive command. Crystal could sense the tension, a palpable force in the air, ready to explode into violence at any moment. Her eyes narrowed as she realized the elf had somehow shrouded her mana, like she had erased her presence. “An innate talent or something more sinister?” Crystal thought.

The vampire’s senses indicated there was a good reason the elf wasn’t afraid. She likely had the magical might to take all the enemies down with power to spare. Even as Crystal made the realization, the elf blazed into action. Like a darkened lamp being opened to the night’s shadowed layer, the magical strength of Nadja erupted into focus.

“Die,” Nadja whispered, her hair bleaching into aged whiteness in a flash. Crystal’s eyes widened in horror as she realized the elf below was what her escorting mascot had alluded she was.

A true-born Banshee.

As a majority of the attackers collapsed like puppets with their strings cut, Crystal was met with a choice. The exchange between Shawn Kanematsu and Nadja Daviar, cloaked in the language of espionage and treason, unraveled a deeper narrative. Clearly, the Dragon Foundation's AI core was a phenomenal prize, a digital behemoth birthed from the legacy of geopolitical machinations.

A literal treasure from a scaled titan’s hoard.

Crystal wasn’t sure if she should intervene in the fight below. Even perched unseen and unheard, she had difficulty processing the situation. Fluffyfeathers, her trusty digital informant, fed her bite-sized information about the Foundation. It was no small-time megacorp holding a miniature fief. No, the Foundation was a behemoth rising from the ashes of a fallen Dragon of American slant. This was no gang squabble but a game of kings and pawns, where the lines between predator and prey were razor-thin.

After letting the information flow into her mind, a single piece of data that swayed the balance stood out. “No matter how it happens, Nadja Daviar is known to stand by her word. Even her most hated opponents admit publicly that any agreement she makes is stronger than space-spun steel.” Crystal thought.

With that finality, Crystal had Fluffyfeathers extend a mercenary contract to the Banshee below. It was verified in a fraction of a second, and payment arrived in her account. A thin smile of edges and angles flashed across the vampire’s face as she rolled off the rooftop to freefall into the alley below. Blood pumped in her veins with inhumane pressure as the most basic vampiric speed was pushed to a whole new level. Adrenaline and other chemicals were delicately balanced, creating a self-curated combat drug. Crystal’s first strike was a masterful blend of swordsmanship and vampiric speed, aimed not to kill but to cripple. There was no need to waste resources by providing the kindness of death’s release.

“Who the fuck is that?” Shawn spat in anger even as he thrust his hand forward, materializing a softball of acid that flew at Crystal.

Crystal flicked her sword casually, deflecting the acid orb and several others into the draconian forces. If her sword could be besmirched by mere acid, it wouldn’t be worth being her weapon of choice. With lazy grace, she moved through the enemy combatants with a bloody smile, each movement a choreograph of deadly precision. Her blood manipulation abilities flared, seizing control of the battlefield and turning the enemies' life force against them in subtle but incapacitating ways. In a high-speed fight, a second’s distraction was all it took for the reaper’s blade to slice the thread of life short. It wouldn't be decent to rip the blood out of her enemies. That would be too blatant a manipulation to cover up.

Crystal remained a whirlwind of controlled fury as the fight turned into a massacre. Her alchemical energies swirled within her blood, augmenting her physical prowess and boosting her atrocity-inducing limits. She was everywhere and nowhere, a phantom image darting through the melee.

It took the combined talents of the final four, boosted by their partially broken armor, to hold Crystal at bay. The Kanematsu heir no longer looked arrogant; instead, an expression of fury mixed with growing terror appeared on his countenance.

Silver eyes opened in the darkness behind Crystal like obscene wings of eldritch augmentation.

The true-born Banshee was the first to recognize the eldritch energies swirling around Crystal. A glance from the death-aura-cloaked elf showed the situation was in her favor; thus, she immediately struck at the Kanematsu heir with the full might of an elemental elvish bloodline. Death-tainted air ripped and screamed as the mixed element struck with the force of a steel hammer.  The Kanematsu heir, Shawn, flew into the alley wall, creating a spider web of cracks before he crumpled to the ground.

With the delicate balance of four opponents that had been holding Crystal back shattered, it created predictable results. Her sword swung in three separate flashing motions, lopping a limb, severing a head, and chopping a foot.

Suddenly, the sounds of combat went silent. Crystal was impressed at the armor; if nothing else, it was an incredible piece of stealth. It was deathly quiet, even with the partially maimed enemies in the surroundings. From the helmets, not a single uninteresting noise arose.

“Welcome to Seattle.” Nadjar Daviar said as Crystal rose smoothly from her final striking pose.

Crystal glanced around and then looked at her new employer before saying blandly, “I took a right turn at Albuquerque, my mistake.”