Tony shook his head vigorously, trying to sober up as much as possible. He quickly donned his Mark suit and raised his hand, aiming at the strange figure standing next to Duncan.
"So, you're the one who broke through my walls and barged into my territory? Another weird guy in ancient clothing—don't tell me you're from Asgard too."
But Tony's drunken warning was nothing more than a joke to Dracula.
"No matter how much time passes, humans remain the same. They love using various tools as extensions of their power, yet they mistake those tools for their own strength, giving birth to overwhelming confidence."
Dracula completely ignored the energy cannons forming in Tony's hands. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Duncan before lowering to the fleshy goblet Duncan held out.
His nose twitched, and a deep look of intoxication appeared on his face.
"This blood possesses powerful corrosiveness, yet it doesn't erode your own flesh? How fascinating. I didn't expect that the moment I was awakened by those foolish descendants, I would encounter something this intriguing. When did a species like yours appear in this world?"
Without hesitation, Dracula reached out and took the grotesque goblet from Duncan's hands. His crimson eyes lowered as he examined it—
Then he actually drank it.
Forget normal people—even the drunkards in the room couldn't help but rub their eyes in disbelief, stunned by his insane actions.
This was Xenomorph blood. Everyone knew how terrifying its properties were. A single drop could rival humanity's most sophisticated lethal weapons.
Yet this guy just downed it in one gulp?
Even more absurd was the fact that he did so with such an air of nobility. The angle of his fingers as he held the grotesque goblet seemed refined to perfection.
Elegant. Too elegant.
"This guy isn't normal. I never thought I'd see a vampire actually drink Xenomorph blood."
War Machine, Rhodey, revealed an arsenal of weapons—rifles, cannons, and more—though he didn't fire immediately. He knew this guy was in for a bad time.
No one here had seen such a self-assured and regal vampire before, nor did they know who he was. But this sheer madness was enough to leave them all speechless.
And sure enough—
Sizzle!
The moment the Xenomorph blood entered Dracula's mouth, a horrifying sound erupted. Everything it touched was instantly corroded.
Even Dracula, the so-called progenitor of vampires, could clearly feel his mouth disintegrating. As the blood flowed through his body, his throat, esophagus, internal organs, and stomach all began to dissolve.
"How... marvelous..."
Dracula mumbled, his voice barely resembling language. Yet, everyone present understood exactly what he meant.
His body was rapidly dissolving, yet his face—what remained of it—held an expression of utter ecstasy.
It was as if the horrific dissolution happening to him had nothing to do with him at all.
Among the crowd, only Duncan remained unfazed. While everyone else gawked in shock, he merely observed with a knowing look, as if this was exactly what he had expected.
"Interesting. So you really can extract nourishment from Xenomorph blood—though not enough to offset your injuries," Duncan mused.
Dracula, now missing a significant portion of his body, acted as if nothing had happened. He simply waved his hand, his crimson eyes glowing even brighter, his ruined face filled with satisfaction.
Then, he reached out, grabbing at Duncan's chest—clearly, he wanted another taste.
Boom!
Duncan caught Dracula's wrist and, with a swift turn, slammed him into the bar counter with a back throw.
"Vampire, you interest me. Since you love Xenomorph blood so much, I have a proposition. Join me—become a part of me."
Duncan slowly straightened up, watching Dracula rise unhurriedly from the wreckage.
The vampire's wounds were healing at an astonishing rate.
"Not bad, but I have a better proposal—you become a part of me, and I'll rule over these Xenomorphs in your place. You're no vampire, so you can't perceive their beauty the way I do. I've never tasted blood this exquisite."
Despite the brief exchange, Dracula had already regenerated and regained his speech. He bared his sharp fangs and performed a courteous gesture.
"Allow me to introduce myself—Vlad Tepes Dracula. Summoned by my foolish descendants and servants, I've come specifically to deal with you."
With that, Dracula leaped forward, his razor-sharp claws slashing toward Duncan's throat.
Duncan remained indifferent, taking only a slight step back.
Dracula grinned wickedly and immediately lunged, mouth wide open, aiming to sink his fangs into Duncan's shoulder.
He intended to turn Duncan into a vampire.
Dracula wasn't like ordinary vampires. Ordinary ones were nothing more than livestock before Duncan. Even if they bit him, their feeble vampiric virus would be powerless against him. They could only submit to their humiliating fate.
But Dracula was different.
Just as his fangs were about to sink in—
A massive energy blast struck him, sending him flying.
Then came a barrage of machine-gun fire.
"Buddy, I don't know which grave you crawled out of, and I don't care whether you're really Dracula or not. Normally, this wouldn't concern me, but you barged into my turf and wrecked my party—that's where you crossed the line."
"That's right. No one ruins a Tony Stark party."
Tony and Rhodey exchanged words.
Dracula, however, didn't even spare them a glance. His eyes remained locked on Duncan—until, in the next instant, his vision was consumed by a flash of cold, piercing light. A set of razor-sharp claws stabbed through his body with brutal force.
Like an iceberg devoid of emotion, Deathstrike showed no reaction. Her claws had sunk deep into Dracula's flesh.
Adamantium claws—razor-sharp and unforgiving.
Blood gushed from Dracula's wounds, yet he still didn't die. Instead, he curled his lips into a twisted, knowing smile. Even now, he maintained that timeless, eerie elegance.
Riiip!
Deathstrike's hands moved, pulling in opposite directions, shredding Dracula's body into a mangled mess.
And that was just the beginning.
Abomination-Xeno and Gilgamesh-Xeno—both creatures with monstrous physical prowess—charged in and pounded what remained of Dracula's body into fragments.
Everyone present watched as Dracula collapsed.
"This vampire is ridiculous. Is he really Dracula? I've never seen such a fearless bat before."
Tony stepped forward, his mind sobering up as he focused on the data Jarvis was displaying inside his helmet.
"Step back, Tony. He's not dead yet. If Dracula were that easy to kill, he'd be a joke," Duncan warned.
"You're telling me he's still alive after that? I'm starting to believe he really is Dracula."
A flicker of shock crossed Tony's face. Even though the alcohol hadn't fully worn off, he understood the implications.
"Looks like you really pushed the vampires too far. Even their so-called progenitor has shown up."
"Or… there's another possibility." Duncan's gaze darkened. "Dracula has never cared about the survival of other vampires. He came here for one reason—me. As long as he exists, vampires will never truly disappear. New ones will keep appearing."
Dracula's virus was highly infectious.
"What I'm curious about is why he chose this moment to challenge me. Where's your confidence coming from?" Duncan muttered, looking down.
Dracula chuckled darkly. "Isn't it obvious? Right now, you're at your weakest. This is the best opportunity to strike—so here I am."
He spoke again—still alive. His body, which had been reduced to a mass of shredded flesh, suddenly and seamlessly reassembled, as if spliced together from different frames of reality.
"Such insane regeneration… no, this isn't just healing."
Tony's expression grew grim as Jarvis continued scanning at full speed.
"Of course," Duncan said, his tone calm. "This guy drank Varna's Blood of Immortality. He's not just hard to kill—he's practically unkillable. And thanks to certain… anomalies, he's gained true immortality."
Duncan's excitement grew.
Interesting. Very interesting.
He hadn't expected to be this lucky. In this universe, Dracula possessed an unkillable trait—an incredibly rare phenomenon. Across the multiverse, very few beings were outright rejected by Death itself.
In other words, no matter how many times Dracula was slain, the cosmic entity of Death would never claim him. He was doomed to exist forever.
"You all underestimate vampires."
Dracula stood up effortlessly, brushing the dust off his pristine attire with exaggerated grace. His long white hair fell over his shoulders, and with careful precision, he gathered and tied it into a ponytail.
His gaze swept across the room before finally landing on Duncan. "Do you truly believe that vampires are just mere hosts or food for Xenos?"
Duncan smirked. "Aren't you?"
Dracula's smile faltered for a split second.
And then, he got serious.
A deafening crack echoed from above. Out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning slashed through the sky, striking Stark Tower with devastating force.
In an instant, the high-tech fortress—protected by layers of security—was reduced to wreckage.
Entire floors crumbled. Advanced technology short-circuited and exploded under the sheer power of the lightning.
"What the hell?! A vampire that wields magic?! This is just like—"
"—Thor."
Duncan's blood boiled with excitement. Yes, this was the Dracula he was waiting for—the Dracula who could summon lightning like a god of thunder. The true progenitor of vampires.
Of course, across the multiverse, Dracula's combat track record was abysmal. He rarely won fights. His greatest feats were looking intimidating and making grand entrances.
But right now, Stark Tower's defenses had been critically damaged, and more powerful vampires stormed inside. These were Dracula's elite guard, each possessing unique abilities.
The most dangerous among them had the power to create illusions.
"I will turn you all into vampires—especially you, Duncan. The strongest vampire hunter, right? You love hunting vampires, don't you? Well, your reckoning has come."
The vampire confidently cast an illusion, but only a handful of people fell for it. Every single Xenomorph ignored the illusion entirely.
"What… how is this possible?" He was stunned, and before he could react, an Ajak Xenomorph pounced on him, biting through his throat in an instant.
Using illusions against Xenomorphs should have been a brilliant strategy, but unfortunately, it was already outdated. Duncan's side had evolved too quickly.
The battlefield descended into chaos. Duncan personally joined the fight, wielding Mjolnir and summoning lightning to battle Dracula.
The Deathstrike and other Xenomorphs showcased their combat prowess with ruthless efficiency, swiftly scaling walls and tearing through one vampire after another. They were all too familiar with vampires, and even when facing ones with unique abilities, their slaughter remained precise and deadly.
Dracula summoned a bolt of lightning, aiming to strike down Deathstrike.
However, what should have reduced her to a charred corpse merely stripped away some flesh and skin. In an instant, her wounds regenerated completely.
"Adamantium skeleton, super regeneration, complete immunity to illusions, masterful combat skills… Duncan, where on earth did you find this freak? Why don't I have one?"
Dracula was momentarily dumbfounded. Bracing against the other attacks with his undead resilience, he lunged at Deathstrike, attempting to bite her. Every vampire he bit would become his ally, and eventually, Duncan would be left all alone. He wasn't concerned about whether adamantium would break his fangs.
Deathstrike, moving like a skilled butcher, expertly dismembered Dracula.
Duncan raised Mjolnir high, bathing in the storm of lightning. With a single thunderous strike, he smashed Dracula's head. Divine lightning surged into Dracula's body, unleashing pure destruction.
At this level of divine power, every cell should have been annihilated.
Yet Dracula refused to die. He only howled in pain, and when he saw his army decimated, his expression darkened.
He had chosen a moment when the Sentinel and the Druid were absent, yet he still failed to defeat Duncan. His handpicked guards were all dead or dying. He had no choice but to retreat.
If he couldn't win in a few minutes, he had to escape—otherwise, once the Sentinel returned from thousands of miles away, it would be over for him.
Dracula tried to flee, but Duncan wasn't about to let that happen.
"Stay. Becoming a glorious Xenomorph is an honor," Duncan declared, hurling Mjolnir at Dracula's retreating form. The hammer struck him mid-roll, pinning him to the ground.
"I don't particularly like using Mjolnir, but it helps me connect with divine power—and in certain situations, like this one, it proves quite useful."
That brief moment of delay was enough. At Duncan's command, the Xenomorphs restrained Dracula.
"I shouldn't have been so hasty. If I had prepared more adamantium nets, the outcome would have been different," Dracula muttered, though his frustration was fleeting.
Laughable. He wasn't even afraid of death. Ever since drinking the immortal blood of Varna in the 15th century and becoming a vampire, he had never truly been defeated, even against enemies stronger than mere mortals. Dracula feared nothing.
Every so-called method to kill him merely forced him to take a few extra seconds to regenerate. This time would be no different. No matter what they did to him, he would recover, return as the progenitor of vampires, and continue expanding his race.
And once he drained the Xenomorphs' blood… oh, the thought was intoxicating.
"There are too many vampires," he admitted, "which reduces both the quality and quantity of our food. But you slaughtering us like this isn't ideal either." He bared his fangs.
Duncan smashed his head again, then ordered the swift Xenomorphs to bring a Xenomorph egg.
"So this is a Xenomorph egg. I've never seen one up close before," Tony remarked, quickly gathering data. Soon, the oversized egg unfurled like a blooming flower, and from within, a Facehugger sprang out, latching onto Dracula's head.
"Is this how parasitism works? Shouldn't take long before we see a Chestburster… But I wonder, since all vampires are bound to Dracula, will all vampire-Xenomorphs be bound to this one?"
"That depends entirely on my mood," Duncan said casually, taking a sip from an unbroken wine glass.
He hadn't felt this delighted in a long time. "I've been struggling to find a way to create a stable, powerful breed of Xenomorphs. Now the problem is solved. The undying Dracula will be the perfect incubator, giving birth to an endless army of blood-Xenomorphs for me."
Everyone waited in anticipation. Fury and others sent inquiries, but Tony ignored them.
Eventually, Dracula opened his eyes, looking down at the strange movement in his chest. He sneered. "A Chestburster? So my fate is the same as any other vampire. I heard your Xenomorphs can even steal their host's regeneration ability."
He was lying. He knew full well that Xenomorphs couldn't steal his immortality—it wasn't a simple genetic trait.
What he didn't know was that Duncan understood his undead nature perfectly. Even one of the cosmic creators, Death herself, had rejected Dracula's soul. No matter how strong Xenomorphs evolved to be, they hadn't yet reached the level of replicating or stealing cosmic or multiversal laws.
Soon, the Chestburster emerged.
Dracula convulsed in agony, drenched in his own blood. "Fine. You win. But the vampire progenitor will never truly die. Before long, someone bearing my name will rise again. And next time, they'll come prepared—with plenty of adamantium nets to capture all of you creatures and use you as blood farms."
"Brilliant idea," Duncan mused. "How about we work together? I capture you now, you breed Xenomorphs for me, and in return, I make sure the ones that burst from you keep you alive by giving you fresh blood."
"You think I'm an idiot? Or do you take me for a perpetual motion machine?"
"Impressive. A vampire who understands the concept of perpetual motion."
Duncan almost applauded. Without further ado, he dragged Dracula's seemingly lifeless body back to Weyland Tower.
He wasted no time inserting a second Facehugger into Dracula.
At last, Dracula realized what Duncan was trying to do. Now, even feigning death was no longer an option. This was not the script he had envisioned.
He had studied the grim fate of countless vampires who fell to Duncan. After a Chestburster emerged, Duncan would either feed the corpse to Xenomorphs or dispose of it entirely.
Either way, Dracula was confident in his eventual escape. All he had to do was suppress his presence and play dead. But now?
A second parasitism—immediately?!
Damn it! How did Duncan know he wasn't truly dead?!
The Druid wasn't even here, yet Duncan didn't hesitate or check—he just went straight for another Facehugger?!
Dracula began to struggle, but a Xenomorph approached and smacked him hard across the face.
Staring at the creature in disbelief, he recognized it instantly—it was the very same Xenomorph that had burst from his own chest.
"So, you knew all along… That's why you're doing this to me. You know that I am an immortal being..."
Dracula's expression flickered between emotions, but no one was paying attention to him anymore.
Dozens of Facehuggers had already lined up in front of him, and even more Xenomorph eggs were being placed nearby.
Seeing this, even Dracula, who had always remained indifferent to everything in the world—even in the face of cosmic deities—couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine.
In the past, many had tried various ways to deal with him. They had burned him with fire for extended periods, thrown him into molten lava, or buried him deep underground in an attempt to seal him away.
But no matter what they did, it only delayed his revival. Against the forces of time and immortality, all restraints were ultimately meaningless.
"No one can kill me! The torment you inflict on me now, I will repay a hundredfold upon you and your bloodline!" Dracula snapped, his voice laced with forced bravado, though his composure was beginning to crack.
Losing a battle wasn't unusual—he had suffered many defeats before, being slain in various gruesome ways.
But the truth was clear: compared to Duncan, all his past enemies were like children playing games.
Now, in Duncan's hands, Dracula was nothing more than an incubation chamber, forced into a perpetual state of reproduction. No matter when or where, a Facehugger was always waiting in line, eager to latch onto him. Just as one Xenomorph burst from his chest, another Facehugger immediately pounced in to take its place.
Over time, as the cycle repeated endlessly, Dracula began to lose his mind. He had never imagined himself falling into such a predicament, subjected to eternal, unrelenting agony.
What could he do now? Endure it? Wait for Duncan to grow old and die? Wait for the Xenomorphs to be wiped out? That might take an impossibly long time, but Dracula had no other choice.
Looking up, he saw the Xenomorphs born from his body had already formed an entire squad.
"Hah! This guy is fascinating… How does he do it?"
Even Mister Blue was intrigued. He had come upon hearing the rumors and marveled at Dracula's bizarre condition.
"Ordinarily, a Xenomorph would completely consume the genetic material of its host. But this guy… How is he continuously generating new genetic material out of thin air? No matter how many times he's wounded or killed, he just keeps coming back, as if injury is merely a transitional state for him—only perfect health is his true form."
"Maybe it has something to do with Death itself. Who knows what exactly caused Death to despise him?" Duncan replied casually.
Death?
Mister Blue, his oversized head resting on his shoulders, fell into deep thought. He understood that Duncan wasn't referring to the concept of death but rather the cosmic entity that embodied it.
Instead of fear, this revelation only fueled his curiosity.
And so, Mister Blue joined in, experimenting alongside the endless swarm of Facehuggers, subjecting Dracula to every imaginable method of parasitic infestation.
Dracula's agonized screams echoed through the air. At times, his voice went hoarse, but he always healed, regaining his strength just in time for the torment to begin anew.
Over time, a terrifying urban legend began to spread: people whispered that the Weyland Tower was haunted, that a vengeful ghost roamed its halls, luring the unsuspecting with its ceaseless, nightmarish wails.
But Dracula's suffering was not in vain. With each curse and plea he uttered, he was, in a way, singing the most beautiful hymn to the birth of a new generation of Xenomorphs.
"Although this version of Dracula isn't the most powerful, he's certainly not weak. His physical abilities far surpass those of ordinary vampires."
Duncan evaluated the situation, estimating that Dracula could produce twelve to fifteen Xenomorphs per day.
"I initially expected a higher output," Mister Blue noted. "But considering that after each Chestburster emerges, he enters a weakened state, his recovery period directly impacts the incubation rate. His weakened body can't sustain optimal production until he fully regenerates."
The key factor was that these Xenomorphs were flawless. Each one was nearly identical to the next, as if they had been perfectly cloned. Their combat capabilities were remarkable—not quite at the level of a Proto-Celestial, but more than sufficient to lead an elite strike team.
Duncan had no interest in unraveling the mysteries of why one of the five abstract beings, Death, despised Dracula, nor why the avatar of Death in this universe had specifically rejected him.
For now, all that mattered to him was that he had gained a stable method for mass-producing powerful Xenomorphs.
Aside from the specialized breeds—like Abomination Xenomorphs, Speed Xenomorphs, and those derived from the Eternals—Dracula's line of mass-produced Xenomorphs was proving to be the most valuable of them all.
Compared to even the most well-nourished and evolved mutant Xenomorphs, Dracula's offspring were in a league of their own.
"Hmm, with this new wave of reinforcements, I'll soon have enough mid- and low-ranking officers to fill out my army. Even against the Frost Giants, we'll be able to go head-to-head in battle."
Dracula's presence had significantly accelerated Duncan's army-building efforts. Additionally, countless mammals—whether they soared in the skies, ran across the land, or swam in the seas—were captured and repurposed as hosts whenever they were deemed suitable.
In no time, a force of 15,000 Xenomorphs was rapidly assembled and promptly dispatched to Asgard by Duncan.
But that wasn't all. This time, Duncan himself took action, bringing along many of his most powerful combat units.
Countless eyes were fixed on Duncan's every move. Even though they had mentally prepared themselves, nothing could have readied them for the sheer number of Xenomorphs swarming throughout Weyland Tower. They weren't just confined to highly classified floors—everywhere, from the first-floor lobby to the very edges of the building, was teeming with them. They clung to the walls, pressed together on the ceilings, and filled every available space.
Even the rooftop and the surrounding plaza of Weyland Tower had become a writhing sea of Xenomorphs.
The overwhelming sight left anyone who witnessed it breathless.
"How has he managed to amass such an army in such a short time…?"
"Trust me, this is Duncan holding back. If he really went all out and spread just a few more Xenomorph Queens across the world, their numbers would skyrocket exponentially. Don't forget—we can't even maintain perfect control over the land, let alone the vast and unfathomable depths of the ocean. Who knows how many Xenomorphs are lurking beneath the waves? Let's just hope the Atlanteans can hold their own."
Anyone who harbored ill intentions toward Duncan was now consumed by despair. How the hell were they supposed to deal with a freak like this?
Throughout Earth's history, even if one included the Eternals and the Mutants, had there ever been anyone like Duncan?
No. Not even close.
Duncan was one of a kind, an anomaly beyond comparison. No existing strategies or historical precedents offered any clue on how to permanently eliminate him or neutralize the terrifying threat posed by his Xenomorphs.
But this absolute dominance also had another effect—more and more people abandoned resistance altogether and instead chose to worship Duncan.
If they couldn't defeat him, then why not join him? After all, becoming part of his army required practically nothing. The transformation from an ordinary human to a superhuman was absurdly simple.
What could be more rewarding than joining them and instantly gaining immense power?
Aside from Dracula, everyone regarded Duncan with deep reverence.
The Asgardians were no exception. They had spent considerable effort gathering their forces and carefully preparing for battle.
But when they saw the sheer number of Xenomorphs arriving, they fell into stunned silence.
The Xenomorphs shifted aside, parting to form a path.
Then, a voice rang out:
"I have arrived! As the God of Thunder, I shall bring an end to this long and bitter war!"