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"Soul, life, spirit, will... give me everything you have!"
[Soul Harvest!]
Luke's hand closed around the vampire's skull. Demonic energy surged from his palm in a torrent of dark power.
The pureblood convulsed like a frog touched by lightning, body spasming uncontrollably. Then something impossible happened—he began to melt.
Not into blood or gore, but into a crimson liquid that seemed paradoxically clear despite its vivid color. Skin, muscle, bone, blood, essence, soul—everything that comprised a living vampire compressed and condensed under forces that defied physics.
What remained in Luke's palm was a crystal.
Blood-red, multifaceted like a diamond, it gleamed with an inner light that had nothing to do with reflection. And if you looked closely, a twisted face was visible within—the final expression of a creature that had lived for centuries, reduced to a gemstone.
A Red Orb.
The product of demonic soul magic, identical to what Dante collected from slain enemies in the games. In reality, it was something far darker—a philosopher's stone made from living essence, a concentrated crystal of life force and spiritual energy.
It contained memories. Obsessions. The accumulated experience of an immortal predator.
Luke examined the soul stone thoughtfully.
In Devil May Cry, red orbs were just currency. Collect enough, buy upgrades, get stronger. The game abstracted away what the process actually meant.
Now he understood.
Demons grew powerful by consuming souls. By stealing the life force of others and adding it to their own. The red orbs weren't metaphorical—they were literal crystallized existence, ready to be absorbed.
"Eating this will give me his memories and life force," Luke murmured. "Use it to strengthen my own power."
He swallowed the crystal.
The effect was immediate. Magic surged through his body, life force expanding at a visible rate. The increase wasn't dramatic—one vampire's worth of power—but it was real. Tangible. Measurable.
No wonder Vergil ate the Qliphoth fruit.
In DMC5, Vergil had consumed the life energy of an entire city, channeled through the demonic tree. That single act had elevated him to True Devil status, matching Dante's own awakened form.
Demons didn't need training or meditation to grow stronger. They just needed victims.
The similarity to the Blacklight virus was uncomfortable. Alex Mercer had gained memories and abilities by consuming people too. But Blacklight came with risks—memory contamination, identity dissolution, the gradual replacement of self with something that only thought it was human.
Luke's demonic absorption was cleaner. His mind was strong enough to process foreign memories without losing himself. The vampire's knowledge integrated smoothly, becoming accessible without overwhelming his own personality.
I could probably drink G-virus like a smoothie now, he thought, then immediately decided not to test that theory. Even if his demonic physiology neutralized it, what happened when he metabolized the remains? Demonic waste products containing weaponized retrovirus seemed like a bad idea.
The vampire purge continued through the night.
Luke didn't just kill them anymore. Each pureblood became a soul stone. Each soul stone became power and knowledge.
Centuries of accumulated wealth. Financial networks spanning continents. Property holdings. Investment portfolios. Corporate shells. Trust funds. Bank accounts in countries that didn't ask questions.
The memories told him everything.
Passwords. Account numbers. Contact names. The intricate web of vampire finance, built over millennia of compound interest and strategic acquisition.
By morning, Umbrella Corporation's assets had multiplied several times over.
Companies across multiple industries suddenly announced mergers with Umbrella. Medium enterprises. Large enterprises. Subsidiaries and holding companies that traced their ownership back through layers of obfuscation to creatures that no longer existed.
Luke couldn't claim everything—some assets required in-person verification or specific knowledge he hadn't absorbed. But what he did acquire was staggering.
Oil fields. Real estate. Manufacturing. Shipping. The accumulated treasure of pureblood families who'd been hoarding wealth since before the fall of Rome.
This is what they mean by overnight fortune, Luke thought, reviewing the portfolio. Literally overnight.
Nick Fury's suspicions crystallized into certainty.
The sudden expansion of Umbrella Corporation's holdings couldn't be coincidence. Assets appearing from nowhere, companies merging without explanation, wealth that materialized as if by magic.
Only one explanation made sense: the mysterious organization behind Luke Foster had been operating for far longer than Fury had assumed. These weren't new acquisitions—they were existing assets being consolidated under a public-facing entity.
The frustrating part was jurisdictional.
Luke Foster wasn't an American citizen. His registered nationality—some obscure country that wasn't even a UN member—put him outside SHIELD's official authority. The Security Council couldn't authorize action against someone who technically wasn't subject to international oversight.
Fury could imagine the conversation:
"There's a shadowy organization threatening global stability."
"Evidence?"
"Well, they have a lot of money and advanced technology."
"That's not a crime."
"They might be planning something!"
"Might be. Come back when you have proof."
Without concrete evidence of wrongdoing, SHIELD's hands were tied. Going dark—operating outside official channels—was possible, but risky. If they moved against Umbrella without justification and it went public, the political fallout would be catastrophic.
Better to wait for Black Widow's infiltration to produce results.
With the vampire threat eliminated, Luke faced a new problem.
He'd lost his primary source of enemies.
The gacha system required kills. Vampires had been convenient—dangerous enough to trigger drops, numerous enough to farm, isolated enough to eliminate without attracting attention.
Now they were gone. He needed new targets.
"What else can I hunt in the Marvel universe..."
His mind ran through possibilities.
Kingpin? Wilson Fisk's criminal empire was substantial, but the man himself was just human. Would low-quality enemies produce low-quality drops? Luke didn't know the system's mechanics well enough to risk it.
The Hand? The ninja organization from the comics. Immortal warriors who could resurrect after death—perfect for farming if they existed in this timeline. But the Hand was tied to the Netflix shows, which might or might not be part of this universe's continuity.
Ghost Rider? The Spirit of Vengeance hunted sinners, which Luke technically qualified as given his recent activities. But tangling with Ghost Rider meant attracting Mephisto's attention.
Luke had no desire to engage with a literal devil.
I'm a demon now, he reflected. But Mephisto is a DEVIL. Different weight class entirely.
Devils were tempters. Manipulators. They didn't fight fair—they corrupted, bargained, twisted desires into traps. Luke wasn't worried about himself, but Skadi, Tifa, Riven... if Mephisto decided to use them as leverage...
Better to avoid that entire mythology for now.
But the thought led somewhere interesting.
"If Ghost Rider exists, then Hell exists. Which means demons exist. Real ones, not half-breeds like me."
Demons could be hunted. Demons could be soul harvested. Their essence would strengthen him far more than human vampires ever could.
And their souls could be forged into something more.
Devil Arms.
In the games, weapons like Beowulf and Agni & Rudra were created from defeated demons—their souls bound into physical form, their power preserved as equipment. If Luke could do the same thing in reality...
Summon demons, he thought. Kill demons. Absorb their power and craft weapons from their remains.
The plan had a certain elegant brutality to it.
He just needed to figure out how to contact Hell without inviting Mephisto to dinner.