Chapter 144 – Allen's New Team, First Member

Chapter 144 – Allen's New Team, First Member

A rough landing.

Allen began surveying the ruins.

Time had eroded the place, and only a few scattered stone pillars remained, hinting that this had once been a grand palace.

"Commander, the Sahara used to be an ocean."

Allen put on a holographic projector. With it, Unita's projection could accompany him, serving as a virtual tour guide.

"I know. Are we far from the Lost Tribe's prison?"

Allen had three candidates in mind when choosing potential recruits from the Sahara.

First, Drake.

Second, Ocean Master Orm.

Third, the Mummy Pharaoh, Nick.

In an ideal outcome, he would recruit all three.

Of course, that was wishful thinking. Realistically, he'd be lucky to get one of them onboard.

Back when Allen first saw the Mummy Pharaoh Nick, he was floored.

He looked exactly like Tom Cruise from The Mummy. Allen had to call that out.

"There's a Lost Tribe outpost about five hundred kilometers away."

Unita asked, "Should I deploy drones for reconnaissance?"

"Do it. And while you're at it, find out what Tom Cruise is up to."

Allen curled his lips and muttered, "Isn't it getting a little ridiculous how many immortals there are?"

Deadpool, Dracula, Drake, Pharaoh Nick… It was like immortality wasn't even special anymore.

Several orb-shaped hover drones flew out from the helicopter's side, streaking off into the depths of the desert.

"Found something!"

Coblepot shouted as he brushed away the sand with both hands, uncovering a slab covered in carvings.

On its surface was a socket-like opening. Allen blew into it, clearing the sand trapped inside.

It was a clever design—sand couldn't completely clog the opening.

Allen turned to Arthur. "Give me your hand."

"What for?"

Arthur tensed and took a step back, clearly sensing Allen was up to something.

"Hold him down."

At Allen's glance, Edward and Coblepot immediately sprang into action.

If Arthur didn't cooperate, they'd just become the next target. Better him than them.

"Are you all insane?!"

Arthur tried to flee, only to run headfirst into Nanaway and collapse to the ground.

Seconds later, Edward and Coblepot tackled him.

"Stop! We're on the same team—kekeke…"

Arthur tried to plead, but the crazed grin on his face only made them act faster.

"Don't worry. I'm big—uh, I'm fast…"

Allen frowned. Something about that didn't sound right, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He comforted Arthur, "Don't struggle. Just grit your teeth and hang in there. It's normal to bleed the first time."

He pulled out a butchering knife, and Arthur screamed, thrashing wildly. "Let me go, you freaks! Aaaagh—"

Sssshht—

The blade sliced his fingertip.

Blood welled up, bright and red.

"He's bleeding! Stick it in the hole!"

Allen grabbed Arthur's bleeding finger and jammed it into the socket, letting the blood flow in.

The scene was… disturbing.

Three brawny men and one non-human pinning a deranged man to the ground to commit an unspeakable act.

"Nothing's happening. Is it not enough blood?"

After a long wait with no reaction from below, Allen began to wonder if they had the wrong location… or if Drake was already dead.

"Keep holding him—I'll help get the blood flowing."

Allen began squeezing Arthur's arm like a tube of toothpaste, starting from the shoulder and working toward the hand to speed up the bleeding.

"Boss, Arthur's face just turned white," Edward said nervously.

"He's wearing clown makeup—he caked on foundation."

Allen kept squeezing, unfazed.

"Boss… he's rolling his eyes."

"That's just his worldview. Can't you tell he's got a bold personality?" Allen retorted.

"Arthur's passed out. Keep going and you'll kill him."

Seeing that Arthur had gone completely limp, Allen finally stopped. He muttered, "What a weakling. Must've been overindulging lately. Better brew him some brown sugar water later."

Thump!

Thump-thump!!

Thump-thump-thump!!!

The ground trembled, as if something massive was about to burst through.

Everyone backed away a few steps, watching the earth closely.

Crash!

The slab shattered. Broken stones and sand collapsed into a pit.

Suddenly, a shriveled hand burst through, clawing around for leverage.

Allen stepped forward and yanked with all his strength, pulling out a mummified corpse.

Haaah…

A low, heavy breath echoed. Two eyes, red as rubies, scanned the group intensely.

"Easy now, don't start eating just yet," Allen said, stepping in front of Drake. "Let's be reasonable. You wouldn't try to kill your savior, would you?"

"Savior?"

Drake let out a cold laugh. "You think I needed a snack to save me?"

Shing!

Allen showed no mercy and slashed him in two, splitting him down the middle like a Venus flytrap.

Before Drake could regenerate, Allen stuffed a remote bomb inside him.

Soon, Drake's upper half reconnected, fully restored. He growled, "We're even now."

Then, without hesitation, Drake demonstrated his regenerative prowess by cutting himself open again and pulling the bomb out of his body.

"Savage," Allen muttered, tossing the remote.

He then asked solemnly, "You interested in fusing with the power of the Blood God?"

"Blood God?!"

Drake had been about to attack again but froze, intrigued. "Tell me more."

Among pureblood vampires, the Blood God ritual was a taboo. But for hybrids, it was a path to supreme power.

Purebloods had long worked to erase knowledge of the ritual, making it incredibly rare.

Drake was clearly tempted.

His regeneration was decent, and as a pureblood count, his greatest advantages were his immunity to sunlight and his ability to manifest a suit of flesh-and-blood armor.

Allen asked, "Ever heard of Dracula?"

"The Impaler? Yeah. Lucky bastard."

Drake predated Dracula by centuries and naturally knew of the rising star among hybrids.

Just hearing Dracula's name made Drake burn with jealousy. Dracula had inherited a full vial of royal blood, and Drake often fantasized about what he could've become if he'd been the one to receive it.

"Dracula's gone big. He's prepping the Blood God ritual. Imagine a vampire with royal-level strength and the Blood God's power. If Lilith herself showed up, she'd probably throw herself into his arms squealing, 'Oppa, saranghaeyo~'"

Drake didn't understand the last bit, but he got the point: it meant the birth of a new vampire progenitor.

"Take me to Dracula. I'll steal the ritual!"

"Steal? Steal my ass."

Allen slapped Drake's hand away. "The purebloods are watching him like hawks. You wanna get buried again?"

The moment he heard "pureblood," Drake fell silent.

He'd been sealed away because of them.

And after nearly a millennium, who knew how many high-ranking pureblood nobles had risen?

Pureblood marquises were already a major threat. Dukes and princes were far beyond his league.

Drake knew he might be stronger than an average marquis, but when it came to princes, he'd stand no chance.

"Let me introduce myself. I'm Gotham's Knight of Justice, the Comedic Bat. These are my Robins. It's a long story, but here's the deal: help us, and the Blood God ritual is yours," Allen said with a look of utmost sincerity.

Which, as everyone knew, was a red flag when it came from Allen.

Just ask: — Ra's al Ghul, When Allen made promises? — Apocalypse, when Allen offered advice. — Hydra, when Allen swore allegiance.

He'd flip on you in a heartbeat—if you weren't playing along.

But if the chemistry was right? Allen would happily help create a new hybrid progenitor to screw with the vampires.

They boarded the chopper.

On to the next location.

The Sahara Desert may look like a wasteland of sand, but it's steeped in human history.

Once an ocean, later covered in vegetation, its migrating nomads built one glorious dynasty after another.

They left behind countless brilliant traces of civilization.

Sadly, time rotted that verdant landscape. The sands returned and buried their cities beneath the earth.

But there's no shortage of thieves in the world—take America, for example.

A nation barely over 200 years old, short on historical depth, they love sending troops disguised as grave robbers to steal relics for their museums.

Backed by national power, no Sahara-bordering country dares challenge them. Some even collude, profiting from the theft.

Nick Morton, former Navy SEAL.

He knew the military's dirty secrets all too well—he'd taken part in many of them.

Usually, mercenaries did the digging. The military handled transport, avoiding public backlash.

Now, buried deep in the sand, Nick watched as these thugs violently excavated an ancient pharaoh's tomb.

His thoughts drifted to how he became Set's chosen one.

Set, one of Egypt's Ennead, god of power, war, desert, and storm—an Old God.

Set had tasked him with protecting the resting places of pharaohs from worldly intrusion.

Among today's Old God emissaries, Nick knew of at least two others.

Khonshu, god of the moon. His emissary? The Moon Knight.

Some speculated Wakanda's Black Panther was another.

Technically… not wrong, but not right either.

Wakanda's Panther Goddess Bast did have a human agent—but not the royal Black Panther line.

It was Catwoman, who'd long had a complicated, flirty relationship with Batman.

In Egyptian myth, Bast is a cat goddess, guardian of all felines.

Catwoman's self-sacrifice to save a cat drew Bast's attention—and the goddess revived her, making her an emissary.

Wakandan royals are blessed by Bast… but not empowered by her.

Just then, a helicopter approached on the horizon—