My Bad Boy Werewolf Quadrillionaire Space Lord

Ultramarine

Nothing made a man feel smaller, even a man six thousand years into undeath, than witnessing something descend from the heavens.

The air turned to fire, and illumined the ground miles below as brightly as the sun. The sky howled in a wounded fury the imagined deities of the ancient world could not possess. The erupting force of stone and iron sublimated by temperatures only slightly cooler than the surface of the sun could explode in spectacles of untamed power that thermonuclear weapons could only imitate.

Everything that had been built could be unmade by the meagrest application of such power.

That Alcuard could see it happening in the sky above him left the millennium-old vampire more than a little uncomfortable.

"That's coming in way too fast for a shuttle," the mercenary captain Lanval said, re-holstering his weapon as he gestured for one of his soldiers to do something. Surprisingly, that mercenary took a small collection of observation equipment out of his pockets and began setting them up.

Alcuard looked about, searching for a sign that someone else was less than startled by what he saw in the sky. Fabulo and the other fledgeling fools now holding Isabella had turned, pointing and gawking, up at the sky. The assortment of lackeys and floozies that made up the billionaire's retinue were all equally enamoured by the spectacle in the air.

But Luca, alone of everyone standing in the streets of Alcuard's city, looked up at the sky with a knowing grin, and a twinkle in his eyes. Seeing Alcuard's questing gaze, the only quadrillionare in the solar system chuckled and shook his head. "Not a meteor, but it is coming for us," Luca said in a whisper.

"What is it?" Alcuard asked.

"Viviana. Coming down with the second most expensive piece of clothing she owns," Luca said cryptically.

"She's wearing something she can drop from space in?" Alcuard asked in astonishment.

"Yep," Luca said simply. Alcuard was surprised to see his friend looked somewhat unhappy with what he was seeing. "For a girl who prefers to work behind the throne, she really knows how to make an entrance."

"That's a man-made object, sir," one of the mercenaries shouted to Lanval. "Decelerating too quickly to be a meteorite. The expected landing site is..."

"Spit it out," Lanval barked.

"A hundred meters up the road," the mercenary finished lamely.

"You're with me," Lanval said, and he kicked at a nearby box. The crate opened with the sullen servility of a teenager at his first summer job, and Lanval pulled a massive rifle out of it. "Everyone else hold your positions."

"Excuse me, Adama-" Fabulo interjected with the grace and subtlety of a drunk with a foghorn.

"Adams, you pasty parasite," Lanval corrected tersely.

"Adams, whatever. What the hell are you doing? We're in the middle of something important!" Fabulo exclaimed in what Alcuard suspected was supposed to be an expression of dignified indignation. The results were slightly less mature than a child's tantrum in a candy store.

"Facilitating your midnight blood ritual is beyond the bounds of my contract. I'll require a twenty per cent increase just to not shoot you for breach of your obligations. And your people will have to restrain the girl themselves," Lanval said. "And even then, it will have to wait until we neutralize this potential incoming threat."

"Twenty? That's highway robbery. I'll give you ten per cent," Fabulo countered.

"Twenty-five," Lanval said.