Azrael considered riding his newly enhanced symbiote-covered Pidgeot, but quickly dismissed the idea. The sight would be far too conspicuous; a rider mounted on what appeared to be a nightmarish alien creature would surely attract unwanted attention from law enforcent.
The aesthetics alone scread "villainous". He could practically guarantee that if he flew the transford Pidgeot to the Velvet Springhouse, the Traffic Patrol would intercept him before he reached his destination. While his status as Master Lucian's apprentice would eventually clear up any misunderstandings, there was no point in creating such complications.
Better to maintain his mundane cover and use conventional transportation.
Standing at the entrance to his apartnt, Azrael hailed a cab with practiced ease. Luck favored him this ti, the driver was soone new, sparing him another awkward encounter with the man who seed convinced he was a regular at certain establishnts.
"So soon?" Fredrika's perfectly manicured eyebrows raised in mild surprise as she looked up from filing her crimson nails. The claret polish caught the office lights as she paused her grooming routine. "I expected you to take at least a few days to respond."
Azrael settled into the familiar leather chair opposite her desk, noting the calculated nonchalance of her posture. Even during routine maintenance, Fredrika projected an aura of dangerous sophistication that reminded him why underestimating her would be fatal.
"I had nothing else pressing," he replied with a casual shrug that cut through any pretense of small talk. "What's the mission?"
Recognizing his preference for directness, Fredrika put down her nail file and pulled a manila folder from her desk drawer. "Everything you need to know is in the briefing," she said, sliding the docunts across the polished surface toward him.
Azrael took the papers and began to read them with attention. As the contents beca clear, he felt his stomach sink with growing dread. 'Worst case scenario,' he thought grimly. 'Of course it had to be.'
The intelligence report detailed a disturbing developnt: a local detective had apparently uncovered a small operation of the Crimson Oath Society sowhere in Pixar. Fortunately, the investigation hadn't yet reached Fredrika's establishnt; if the Velvet Springhouse had been compromised, Azrael's frequent visits would have made his cover identity completely untenable.
The mission paraters were elegantly simple: eliminate the detective before he could report his findings to higher authorities.
However, Azrael would not operate alone. A local cell would provide support and additional intelligence for the operation. According to the briefing, this "cell" consisted primarily of street criminals who had accepted contracts from the Crimson Oath Society in exchange for the power to beco Lore Cardians.
"Can I avoid direct contact with these people?" Azrael asked, massaging his temples as he processed the operational complications. Working with amateur criminals introduced countless variables he could not control.
Fredrika continued her nail care without looking up, her tone carrying studied indifference. "Your choice. But you have access to more detailed information about the target. I suggest you make contact if you want this to go smoothly."
Her casual dismissal told Azrael volus about the true gravity of the situation. If the detective posed a real threat to major operations, the organization would never assign soone as valuable as Master Lucian's new apprentice to handle it. This was either a routine cleanup or a test of his abilities.
The relatively minor nature of the threat also suggested that the local cell had not yet been definitively exposed. If their cover had been blown, sending Azrael into that environnt would be criminal negligence of their most promising asset.
"Is there any way to avoid this mission altogether?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
To refuse would send all the wrong signals. The Crimson Oath Society had deliberately modified his original, supposedly far more dangerous mission into this manageable operation in recognition of his new status. To refuse their consideration would raise suspicions about his loyalty and commitnt.
More importantly, the mystical contract that bound him to Jin's service made outright refusal impossible without severe consequences.
"Looks like I'll have to assess the situation myself," Azrael concluded, accepting the inevitable with practiced resignation.
After a brief goodbye to Fredrika, he left the Velvet Springhouse to begin preparations for the mission. However, approaching the criminal cell in daylight would be monuntally stupid. Better to wait for nightfall, when shadows could hide his movents and provide tactical advantages.
"Boss, I really don't want to go back there," the red-haired youth whined, his voice cracking with barely controlled panic as he knelt before a stern-faced blond man in the dimly lit interior of the abandoned building.
The skeletal frawork of the unfinished construction project provided the perfect cover for clandestine etings, its concrete pillars and empty window fras creating a maze of shadows where half a dozen colorful criminals had gathered for what appeared to be a very serious discussion.
The blond leader's expression darkened with each word, his jaw clenching as frustrated anger built behind his eyes. "How many tis have I explained the importance of keeping a low profile?" he snapped, his voice echoing off the bare concrete walls.
"What did you do instead?" He gestured sharply at the cowering redhead. "You decided to attack so random woman in broad daylight."
"That would have been manageable, throw so money around, maybe serve a few months if witnesses ca forward. But no, you had to make it worse."
The blonde's voice rose with each accusation. "You attacked a detective with an unregistered card when he tried to intervene. Do you have any idea how disastrously stupid that was?"
The operating paraters they were working under were delicate enough without reckless idiots attracting official attention. The Crimson Oath Society had provided them with Lore Cardian materials and techniques, but the resulting vampire cards couldn't be registered with legitimate authorities. Their sources of power were untraceable, their thods of creation highly illegal, and their very existence in violation of several Imperial statutes.
Anyone of them caught using their cards in public would face imdiate arrest and interrogation that could unravel their entire network.
"I should break your legs and dump you at the courthouse," the blond muttered, seriously considering whether eliminating his subordinate might solve more problems than it created.
If he'd witnessed the true horror of violating a Crimson Oath contract, the redhead would be dead already. But squeamishness about supernatural retribution had always been one of his weaknesses.
The Empire of Aetherlight had a zero-tolerance policy for illegal Lore Cardians. Anyone caught operating without proper registration faced imdiate imprisonnt, interrogation, and possible execution, depending on the severity of their cris.
After several tense monts of internal debate, the blond made his decision. "We wait," he announced grimly. "I've already contacted our superiors. They'll decide how to handle this ss."
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the abandoned structure, heavy boots making rhythmic thumps against the debris-strewn concrete.
"Who's there?" The blond imdiately summoned his card, a pale, gaunt vampire materializing with predatory grace. His subordinates followed suit, their own blood-drinking creatures erging from the mind space to form a defensive periter.
A figure in shimring silver armor stepped into the improvised eting area, each step calculated and purposeful. The full-body suit reflected fragnts of moonlight streaming through broken windows, creating an almost supernatural presence that drew imdiate attention.
"I'm here to clean up your ss," ca a distorted voice from behind the helt's visor, the words carrying a chanical undertone that made them sound inhuman and threatening.
The blonde's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Words alone ant nothing in his line of work, too many people claid authority they didn't have, especially when dealing with criminal organizations that attracted frauds and opportunists.
Either this newcor would prove his credentials through combat, or he would provide verifiable proof of his connection to her superiors. The blonde had no intention of accepting vague claims from mysterious armored figures.
His subordinates seed to share his skepticism, their vampire cards unfolding into overlapping fields of threat assessnt. The creatures' pale features twisted in anticipation, their fangs gleaming in the dim light as they prepared for potential violence.
Azrael understood the need to establish his credentials imdiately. In criminal organizations, trust had to be earned by demonstration rather than explanation.
"That should suffice as identification," he said with a hoarse chuckle, his voice carrying a dark amusent that seed to emanate from the armor itself.
Shinobu Oshino materialized from the shadows of his feet, her elegant form rising like a queen ascending her throne. The vampire princess stood with casual arrogance, her golden hair catching what little light penetrated the abandoned building, while her revealing dress emphasized both her beauty and her supernatural nature.
The effect on the assembled criminals was imdiate and absolute.
THUD.
Every vampire card in the area dropped to its knees in perfect unison, their bestial features showing expressions of worship and terror that transcended rational thought. The creatures' primitive minds recognized sothing their human masters could not comprehend: they were in the presence of true vampire nobility.
But Shinobu Oshino's influence went beyond simple dominance. One of the criminals began to move with jerky, puppet-like movents, his eyes glazing over as the supernatural spell overwheld his conscious will. The butterfly blade in his trembling hand slowly rose to his own throat as he succumbed to her [Mystic Charm] trait.
"Vampire royalty!" the blond leader gasped, recognition and horror warring in his voice as understanding dawned. "A true progenitor!"
The Crimson Oath Society's basic vampire templates produced functional but inferior creatures compared to mythological examples. Occasionally, creative Lore Cardians would attempt to modify or improve upon these designs, usually producing weaker variants that couldn't compete with the standardized models.
But sotis, very rarely, such experintation produced monsters that completely transcended their origins.
As the blonde watched his bronze-level vampire prostrate before Shinobu Oshino, he could only co to one conclusion: the armored figure either possessed vastly superior card quality or vastly superior advancent levels. Both possibilities ant that it would be suicide to challenge him.
The information his card transmitted through their ntal link confird his worst fears. Despite his limited intelligence, the vampire managed to convey two crucial words that made the blonde's blood run cold:
"True Master."
Vampire hierarchies were absolute and unforgiving. Recognition of superiority ca from an instinct deeper than conscious thought, making deception or misunderstanding impossible.
Cold sweat ran down the blonde's forehead as he dropped to his knees in submission. "Forgive for not imdiately recognizing your authority," he said, his voice shaking with genuine fear. "Please spare us your wrath."
Satisfied with their approval, Azrael allowed Shinobu to retreat back into the shadows. These street criminals were more useful tools than threats; killing them would serve no purpose beyond demonstrating the power he had already established.
"Brief on the current situation," he ordered, his distorted voice carrying an absolute authority that brooked no resistance or hesitation.
The blond leader straightened slightly, though he remained on his knees as he began his report. Whatever ca next, he understood that his survival depended entirely on the armored figure's continued goodwill.
The real mission was about to begin.
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