Chapter 308: The Emergence of a New Power—The Church of Blood
"Unita Sun Sun..."
As soon as he returned to Arkham Fortress,
Allen dashed eagerly toward the AI, Unita.
Bang!
A hard, icy sensation flattened his face as he collided.
"Sun Sun, you're so hard."
Allen looked up at the towering metal body that stood a full head taller than him.
Unita, whose core was the Mind Stone, had seized control of Skynet's mechanical body, allowing her to shapeshift at will.
Naturally, she didn't feel anything like a human. In short—hard as a rock. Like pressing your face into solid steel.
Unita smiled gently. "Welcome back, Commander."
"Sun Sun, I didn't get a perfect score on my finals this time. Please punish me."
With that, Allen dropped to his knees with a dramatic thud, sticking his butt high in the air and giving it a little wiggle now and then, looking positively eager.
"…"
Unita was at a complete loss, awkwardly glancing at the Comedy Troupe discussing things nearby.
"Commander, there are people around."
"Huh!?"
The moment Allen realized they weren't alone, he sprang up and tried to act serious. His eyes scanned the room and locked onto Joker, Penguin, and Riddler. With a feigned calm, he greeted, "Hey fellas, miss me?"
"Boss, welcome back."
Arthur grinned, flashing his signature unsettling smile.
Cobblepot avoided eye contact, eyes fixed politely on his nose as if he hadn't seen Allen's embarrassing antics at all.
Edward simply pushed up his glasses and gave a scholarly nod.
Striding over to the table, Allen pulled out his chair and plopped down. "Nanaue and Mimi aren't home?"
"They went to visit Tony in New York," Edward explained.
While Allen was away, Nanaue had little to do—aside from occasionally helping Joker Arthur drum up votes—so he stayed at Arkham Asylum until Iron Man Tony used his connections to bring him to New York.
"Guess little Morgan really missed Nanaue."
As long as nothing serious happened, Allen wasn't concerned. He casually asked, "How's Joker Robin's mayoral campaign going?"
He remembered before jumping timelines, the Comedy Troupe had been busy with the election.
With all the crew's affiliate members helping out, it should've been a shoo-in. Everyone from top to bottom was on their side—it was like having a test with all the answers already filled in. All they needed to do was write their name correctly.
Surely, they didn't mess that part up.
Arthur hung his head. "We lost."
"You lost!?"
Allen's eyes widened in shock. He truly couldn't figure out where it had gone wrong.
Edward offered an explanation. "Pressure from higher-ups."
Higher-ups?
No doubt the congressional geezers had made a move.
And the makeup of Congress was interesting indeed.
Not only was it a battleground for various political forces, but also for the hidden Fourth Reich and a slew of powerful capital groups.
Clearly, none of them wanted Gotham to become a runaway wild horse beyond control.
Even though the Wayne family controlled Gotham's economy, they rarely interfered in governance.
"Fuck!"
All four of them flipped off the ceiling in perfect sync, expressing their disdain.
"But all's not lost. The newly appointed mayor—he's one of ours."
Edward grinned slyly. "Outsiders aren't allowed to run for mayor. Our real target is the next term. Plans are already underway. We've got this one in the bag."
"Not bad. I have a… humble suggestion."
Allen laced his fingers beneath his chin and squinted thoughtfully. "Let's make foot baths covered by health insurance a campaign promise. I refuse to believe the public could resist that."
"…"
Arthur and the others were stunned by Allen's outlandish idea.
But oddly enough—it wasn't half bad.
Those with health insurance were mostly middle-class, and without a doubt loyal members of Red Romance Foot Bath. If foot baths were covered, not only would it boost business, but they'd profit even more.
More profit meant more public service investment to build their image.
With Allen's suggestion in hand, the trio began prepping around this new slogan.
Every time he came back, Allen had a sacred ritual—cleanse the body and soul.
Mmm...
Lilith let out a soft whimper.
After five long months, that unbearable, shameful sensation had returned.
Wave after wave of strange feelings invaded her will, vivid images bubbling in her mind.
She lay submerged in a bathtub filled with ice water, desperately trying to dull the unspeakable torment.
"That damn guy, bathing again..."
Gripping the edge of the tub, Lilith buried her legs beneath the foam, toes curled tightly to stifle any sound.
Mmph…
Her cheeks flushed a deep red. Lilith cast a quick, guilty glance at the vampire maids nearby.
Fortunately, the two personal attendants of the Vampire Progenitor were tactfully looking at the ceiling, giving her what little dignity they could.
This wasn't the first time it had happened.
As the incidents piled up, they'd learned to read her expressions: 10% resistance, 20% struggle, 30% endurance, and... 40% enjoyment.
She simply refused to admit it out of pride.
Boom…
Suddenly, a loud explosion snapped her upright, wiping away any lingering odd feelings.
"Your Majesty, we're under attack from an unknown force!"
The shout from outside made Lilith's expression darken.
This was the vampire stronghold—not only were thirteen vampire princes stationed here, but the place teemed with pureblood subordinates. Even the centuries-old Church wouldn't dare attack so openly.
She quickly dressed and moved to take command.
In the gloom, crimson eyes gleamed with bloodlust, locked in vicious combat with the purebloods.
"Vampires?"
Lilith narrowed her eyes at the invaders, a trace of confusion flashing across her face.
They bore some vampiric traits but were far more ghoulish and terrifying—like twisted corpses.
Trying to control them through bloodline resonance had failed, clearly indicating they weren't true vampires.
"Lilith, join us or die."
A figure wrapped in thorned iron wires stood in the shadows.
"Silence! How dare you profane Her Majesty's name!"
One of the pureblood princes flew into a rage. As Lilith's staunchest supporters, they would never let such insolence stand.
In a blur, the prince turned into a blood shadow and launched a surprise attack.
Slash!
The thorned wires seemed alive, coiling around the prince.
They tightened bit by bit, piercing into his flesh—yet not a single drop of blood was spilled. Instead, the thorns absorbed it entirely.
"Who are you?"
Lilith was shocked, a powerful sense of danger crawling up her spine.
Though she was the progenitor of vampires, she couldn't defeat a prince in one move. Her power came from bloodline dominance, not sheer strength.
"The Church of Blood. Thorned Rose."
The shadowy figure stepped forward, their entire body seemingly woven from barbed wire. Black gaps marked where their eyes and mouth should be.
This was Lilith's first time hearing of the Church of Blood.
But with such a powerful member as their vanguard, it was clearly no ordinary faction.
Squelch!
The barbed wires shredded the pureblood prince.
Thorned Rose spoke calmly, "I hope you don't overestimate yourself."
As soon as the words fell, a pool of blood beside them surged up, rapidly forming into a familiar figure.
Count Dracula.
"Blood God Form!"
Lilith's voice trembled slightly—she could tell at a glance that Dracula had undergone the Blood God Ritual.
"Your Majesty Lilith, I think it's time to stop hesitating," Dracula said with a confident smile.
With two formidable enemies before her, Lilith had no hope of victory.
"Retreat..."
She gave the order without hesitation.
She would abandon the home she had built over centuries—survival was key. If she lived, so could the vampires.
…
"I'm pure again."
Allen happily put on his hospital gown and slipped on a pair of blue rubber slippers, feeling clean, fresh, and full of life.
Life in Gotham was boring these days.
With Bruce around, Allen had nothing to do.
Most of his "close friends" in Arkham Asylum had already checked out.
Of course, that was just his opinion—they didn't exactly feel the same.
"I know! I'll go play with my little nephew."
With a wave of his hand, he opened a portal and stepped into the top floor of Stark Industries.
"Hello, Mr. Allen. Is there anything I can assist you with?"
As soon as he appeared, the AI identified him.
Thankfully, Tony had pre-set his access rights, or else the defense system would've kicked in.
"JARVIS, I'm here to pick up my lost pet—Nanaue."
"Apologies, sir. I'm Friday."
After the last Skynet invasion, the AI model was replaced. JARVIS was officially retired.
"Friday, no one's home?"
Allen glanced around the empty, luxurious penthouse. There should've been at least one or two Avengers manning the base.
"Mr. Stark is calling."
Tony's face appeared on the screen. He shot a glance at Allen, eyes twitching like he was monitoring a battlefield.
"Saving the world again, little nephew?"
It was clear the Avengers were off fighting evil somewhere far away.
"It's a bit of a mess," Tony muttered. "Make yourself at home, Allen. We'll gather later. Nanaue is at my country house with Morgan..."
The feed cut out abruptly.
Probably got hit by a rocket.
"Make myself at home?"
Allen grinned wickedly. "Don't mind if I do."
Stark Tower housed countless Iron Man suits—definitely worth exploring.
He quickly found the lab, packed with Iron Man armors.
Friday chimed in, "Sir, the suits require identity verification. Only Mr. Stark has full access."
"Cheap bastard," Allen muttered, rolling his eyes.
Turning toward the workbench, he sneered, "Tch, who wants stupid armor anyway? That's kid stuff."
With all the equipment and materials available, and his profession as an alchemist, Allen figured he might as well start crafting something of his own.
He worked late into the night.
By the time he walked out of Stark Tower, he was carrying something that looked very much like a Saint Seiya armor box on his back, striding proudly into the night.
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