Svetlana took well to her nautical duties, even swapping out her FSB uniform for an eccentric captain's. The Kommuna had fully finished her camouflaging. The hull was previously painted blue and white to appear as a standard civilian cargo freighter, in addition to constantly misidentifying herself on AIS as the "MV Crimson Shamrock". Now, the ship had also completed installation of numerous faux panel assemblies that hid the massive gantry that dominated the midsection of the vessel. A raised superstructure was added aft to give the illusion of a raised bridge. They even went so far as to forge the ship's owner and operator paperwork and register the vessel as a Panamanian flagged merchant.

  This all worked to conceal her true purpose. As in her previous life, the vessel served as a mothership for deep diving submersibles and recovery of objects from the ocean floor, but now she served as the beating heart of the most devastating weapon available to vampire kind. With a crew of loyal thralls and occultic individuals, they had mastered their ability to control long dormant sea monsters and stir them into wrathful fits.

  Svetlana received her guests in the foreman's office, of which she grown comfortable in. Her brother, Dmitri, stood silently at her side. Across from them Queen Persephone's executor, Vespera, and her own useful thrall, Ren.

  "I hope the journey to Europe wasn't too rough on you?" Svetlana said politely to her counterpart. It was entirely a fa?ade. The two women hated each other.

  Vespera cut right through it with a dismissive wave. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries. I don't have long."

  "This is about our Queen, then?" Svetlana smirked, enjoying herself.

  "It is about... leadership." Vespera intoned carefully. "You of all people understand the implications and strategic order of power."

  "Big words, Vespera. You've been studying haven't you?" Svetlana said cheekily.

  The executor frowned. "Don't patronize me, lowlife." She made clear that she was above the Russian vampire's station. Svetlana held up her hands and flashed an innocent smile.

  Vespera continued. "Much like my former master, Queen Persephone does not seem to understand power. She is powerful, yes, but she has not garnered the support of any clan but her own, which is now dead in a jungle, whereas I have sown seeds that will bear fruit by next year. And yet, Persephone is recognized over me? Because she is one of the Black Sun's original creations? Because the council prefers its own? If we are to achieve our goals, we must have vision."

  "You aren't suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?" Svetlana coyly raised an eyebrow, cautious but sensing a juicy opportunity.

  "The Council of Equals will meet in Italy in two weeks. I intend to prove myself to the council and depose Persephone. Naturally, I will need backing."

  "I'm in." Svetlana replied quickly. Dmitri shot her a look. "I mean, we're in." She raised a finger. "On one condition. Co-executor status for me and my brother and sovereignty over one of your new North American cells. Think of it like a fief." She pointed between them.

  "Granted." Vespera smiled while clasping her hands behind her back. "A pleasure to have your support."

  Ren shifted nervously as the meeting concluded; as he had done a dozen other times that week.

  Cassino, Italy

  Ever loyal and ever ready, Ren stood by his vampiric master. Ever since he had been abducted off of the Los Angeles battlefield and denied his glory on said battlefield in the name of the gumi, he had attended his master's every need. His time in Italy was no different. Ever since he had met Vespera, when he was just an underboss of the Yakuza, he knew she was a woman with grand ambitions. And so, he hitched himself to her. And in doing so he would, and had, been granted immortality.

  It came with certain drawbacks. He was, essentially, an eternally indentured servant. Immortality was a double-edged sword, as he had learned. For Ren, the decision to become a thrall wasn’t born out of weakness or desperation or fear of death. His life in the Los Angeles underground had been one of violence, blood, and betrayal of his mentor. It had cost him everything that once tethered him to humanity, including the death of his brother.

  Akio’s death had been Ren’s fault. That much he was certain of, even if no one else had the courage to tell him outright. A reckless power grab within the clan, a miscalculation of alliances, and Akio had paid the price with his life. From that moment, Ren became a man haunted by ghosts of his own making.

  When he first met Vespera, he thought he would crush her underfoot as he done to many on his way up the Inazumi's ladder. She had stepped into his world with an air of unearned authority that he hoped to wipe away with the cut of a blade, or a burst of machinegun fire. But there was a menace lurking behind her eyes, and Ren had found that she was unlike anything he had ever seen. She saw the world differently, like a chessboard where she was already three moves ahead of everyone else. Including his old mentor.

  When Vespera revealed her true nature, it had shocked him to his core. But it had also intrigued him. Here was a woman unbound by mortal constraints, unshackled by the fleeting whims of time. She offered him a chance—not at redemption, but at something more permanent. “Serve me,” she had said, “and you will never have to run again. You will have all the time in the world to rewrite your story.”

  And so, Ren had hitched himself to her ambitions, binding his fate to hers. Becoming her thrall had meant relinquishing his autonomy, trading one master for another. But in doing so, he had gained a purpose greater than himself. Vespera’s goals were grand, her vision unflinching. She wasn’t content with petty schemes or territorial disputes. She sought to reshape the world, and Ren would be at her side when she did. Now, as he bore witness to the true scale of her ambitions, he found his faith strengthened.

  The Council of Equals gathered in an underground complex in the heart of Italy, under the Cassino Mountain. The ancient tunnels had been long lost to history. But for a sect that feared the light, they were the perfect venue. The vampire clans wielded considerable wealth and the underground ruins quickly became a modern complex with many amenities and services.

  The main chamber was where they met. A circle of finely carved wooden chairs and a desk for each with a seal bearing the corresponding clan's insignia. They occupied a raised platform at the center of the chamber, where each leader leader would sit. Behind and below them their servants and thralls would gather. A single dim light lit the center of the room. Vampires could see plenty clearly in the dark.

  Vespera stood by Queen Persephone, who sat rigidly straight and with an heir of quiet confidence. Vespera stood with hands clasped behind her back, obedient to her Queen.

  Ren looked around the room. There were five on the Council of Equals. They represented highly varied backgrounds and philosophy's. Their only unifying trait being their existence as vampires and their willingness to bring forth the dark machinations of the Black Sun.

  Short and positively ancient in her appearance was Chairman Sangdara Khamphong. She was not the chairman of the council, but of her own clan of Maoist-communist vampires. She had cultivated a political backing and philosophy using her powers. She preached that for a true communist utopia to be brought about, that vampirism was the solution. Once all would be made immortal they would be made equal and without fear of death they would usher in the people's utopia that Mao had promised. In truth, it would mean enslaving all to her will. She controlled the largest vampire clan in terms of numbers, the Shining Fang.

  Then there was the European branch, under Lord Charles Wentworth of the British crown. Young and sociopathic with delusions of grandeur, he believed himself ordained by a higher power to rule all under a reestablished British monarchy that would control the world. He ruled over several small and disparate clans, unorganized but highly lethal. It was his Eastern European venture, the Red Wind, that Vespera had coopted, much to his chagrin, to carry out the Kotlin Island operation. He glared murderously at the executor from his seat. His primary clan was the Blood Lions.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  There was also the king of North America. Perhaps the most ruthless of them, and the only one besides Wentworth who had a celebrity reputation. The CEO of a vast tech conglomerate, Mister Preston Krate. Krate had started his business on a ground breaking patent for a room-temperature superconductor. Said product did not come to fruition due to "resource limitations" as he called it, though some say it never existed, but it had garnered himself enough wealth to pursue other ventures that rapidly stacked into an empire of building blocks, from autonomous cars to web browsers to AI data processing centers and a sizable cheesy sandwich franchise that he derived much joy from. His clan shared the name of his corporation, Nyx Dynamics. Unlike Wentworth, Vespera's operation in his territory was endorsed. For a not insignificant sum, he had sold mercenaries and resources to her. Her coopting of the territory after the fact was unplanned, but Krate only saw this as another opportunity to strike a lucrative deal.

  And lastly was the most feared among them, Cloak. No one knew his true name or from whence he hailed, or even anything about him really. But the mysterious black-cloaked figure wielded considerable financial power. Such that he had even brought the likes of the communists to heel on certain disputes. His clan, the Gold Coin, was the smallest, and was represented by the smallest contingent of only three other vampires besides himself.

  Queen Persephone was at this point, seen as an outsider, although she had never been particularly liked by any of them. Her clan, The East India Clan, had retreated deep into the jungles of South America and was seldom heard from. With her power of clairvoyance, she only interacted on matters of grave importance. And with the toppling of her clan by the vaunted Terra Vanguard, her position on the Council was at risk. But when she spoke, the others listened. Indeed it was the power of her word and only her word that had brought them all here today.

  Outside of the vast tunnel complex, two men in hiker's gear observed from a concealed position. They had on them a set of acoustic sensors and high-powered optics that a pair of innocent hikers would probably not have. The one manning the binos had a rosary wrapped around his left hand. The other, manning the mic, concealed a crucifix.

  They observed the entrance to the complex. It was unassuming and unlit, but large and cavernous; big enough to taxi an airplane into. Barbed wire fence cordoned off the area and a fortified shack controlled access. People with guns patrolled the area. A convoy of black armored cars sat parked outside. They had seen even more disappear into the entrance.

  One man spoke into a radio. "Searzant Kraft reporting. Flash priority. Have located enemy base of operations. Number of attendants unknown, suspect over 100. Armed guards. Light weaponry. Armored wheeled vehicles. Coordinates to follow."

  The message was transmitted to a deep and secret operations room deep within the Vatican. There, members of the Pontifical Swiss Guard received the message and the information was prepared to be brought before the Pope.

  Queen Persephone rose to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. Her raven-black hair fell over her shoulders, highlighting a pale face. She tapped the wooden table before her with a single, slender finger, and the sound echoed like a judge’s gavel in the dimly lit chamber, attracting the attention of the gathered vampire lords and queens.

  “I suppose,” Persephone began, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable weight, “We shall get started. I'm sure you all would certainly love to discuss my somewhat recent... loss.” Her tone betrayed neither shame nor regret, only a cold indifference that irritated her detractors.

  Lord Wentworth was the first to strike, as she expected. “Loss?” he spat, leaning forward in his seat. “You mean obliteration. The East India Clan, one of the oldest and most respected, torn asunder by mortal hands. How does a queen who cannot even protect her own deserve to sit among us, much less lead us?”

  The chamber rumbled with murmurs of agreement, a low growl of discontent that danced through the gathered thralls and vampires alike. Vespera cast a sharp glance at her queen, her confidence visibly shaken. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, but Persephone remained unmoved, her expression serene as if she were humoring a child’s tantrum.

  “Lord Wentworth,” she said, her voice like a blade slicing through the room, “your concern is duly noted. But before you finish composing my obituary, perhaps you’d like to hear why I called this council in the first place.”

  “Enlighten us, clairvoyant,” sneered Sangdara, her withered bureaucratic frame somehow exuding menace. “What possible revelation could justify your continued presence here?”

  Persephone smiled faintly, the kind of smile that could chill blood. She extended her hand, and from the shadows, one of her thralls—a pale man with empty eyes—approached and placed a weathered envelope in her palm. She held it up for all to see, its surface adorned with the unmistakable seal of Terra Vanguard.

  “This,” she said, “was found on the corpse of one of your operatives in Los Angeles.” She tore open the envelope and extracted a simple piece of parchment. With deliberate slowness, she unfolded it and read aloud:

  "We are going to kill you.

  —Terra Vanguard."

  The room erupted into chaos. Wentworth slammed a fist on the table, while Sangdara muttered curses in her native tongue. Even Krate, usually composed and calculating with a cocked eyebrow appeared concerned. Only Cloak remained silent, his form shrouded and his intentions unreadable.

  “Arrogant fools,” Sangdara hissed. “They think they can challenge us? They are but insects.”

  “Are they?” Persephone countered, her voice rising above the din. “Did your arrogance not lead to the collapse of your South Asian foothold, Sangdara? And you, Wentworth—how many of your ‘Red Wind’ operatives have vanished without a trace, courtesy of these same insects?”

  Wentworth’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Persephone continued, her gaze sweeping across the council. “They are not merely mortals. They are a force driven by purpose, by conviction, by unity—traits we seem to lack as we bicker and squabble like children. If we do not adapt, we will fall, just as the East India Clan did. But unlike my detractors here, I see the board for what it is. I see the moves they are making.”

  “And what moves are those?” Krate interjected, his voice oozing skepticism. “Your clairvoyance did not save your clan. All we see is a queen on the brink of irrelevance.”

  Persephone’s smile widened, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. “You assume that because you cannot see, there is nothing to see. Allow me to correct your ignorance.”

  She gestured toward the chamber’s entrance, and the air seemed to grow heavier. “Even now, we are being watched. There are mortal spies just outside this complex, transmitting information to their masters. Would you like me to name them?”

  Vespera stiffened, her confidence further rattled. “You’re saying we’ve been compromised?”

  “I’m proving it,” Persephone replied. “And while you all wallow in self-pity or indulge in delusions of grandeur, I am the only one who has maintained a shred of strategic foresight.”

  "That's impossible. My company engineered this bunker to be impenetrable and invisible. The only way anyone could know it is here, is if someone, one of you, perhaps? Leaked it."

  Ren, ever observant, noted the cracks forming in Vespera’s composure. Her ambitions, so carefully cultivated, seemed at odds with the woman she had chosen to follow. For the first time since pledging his fealty, Ren wondered if he had backed the wrong horse.

  Through it all, Persephone remained seated, exuding an aura of unshakable confidence. She allowed the council to devolve into a maelstrom of petty grievances and insults, knowing full well that the seeds of discord would only strengthen her position.

  When the shouting reached its peak, she leaned back in her chair, her voice cutting through the cacophony like a dagger:

  “Perhaps socialism truly is the solution to our woes,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “After all, isn’t that the answer, Chairman Sangdara? Equality through servitude? No leaders, no clans—just an immortal proletariat toiling endlessly under your banner?”

  The room fell silent, all eyes on the ancient communist. Sangdara’s withered lips twisted into a scowl, but she said nothing.

  Persephone smirked. “No? Then perhaps you’d like to explain how your utopia will fare against an enemy that does not care for ideology, only results.”

  As the council members exchanged uneasy glances, Persephone’s gaze shifted to Vespera. Her executor stood rigid, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  “Do you see now, Vespera?” Persephone asked, her voice softer but no less commanding. “Power is not about who sits on the throne. It is about who controls the board.”

  Vespera's jaw clenched, even as she stood by her master, her own mind was reshuffling her own treacherous plans. She expected Persephone to be easily deposed by the council and then she would have her chance to challenge her. But Persephone was playing them like a fiddle. Her only saving grace was the fact that these meetings would go on for days. She had time to adjust her timeline. And when Persephone slipped up, she would make her move.

  Salvo Island

  Before the information sent off by the Swiss Guardsmen could even make it into a fully briefable format, it was intercepted. An intelligence analyst, sitting at her station amongst a hundred other operatives, held up her hand urgently, getting her supervisor's attention. "Soup I got a live one." She said while adjusting the settings on her headset.

  The supervisor rushed over, datapad in hand. He jacked into her station with his own headset. The operative briefed him, "Active signal intercept. Picked up by an AWACS operating over the Med. Assessed to be a Swiss Guard unit transmitting to their command center. Looks like they found our target before we did."

  The supervisor listened intently to his analyst and then to the recording of the transmission. "Alright, I'll send up a flare. Over-Commander's gonna wanna know about this."