Back at the Fraternity's headquarters, Smith was reviewing the latest intelligence reports when a soft chime sounded in his earpiece.
"Master, there's an incoming video call from Mr. X." Puar's voice was clear and professional.
"Put it through."
A holographic display flickered to life in the air before him, coalescing into X's face. The image was sharp, and behind him, Smith could clearly see Alexei and the high-tech background of the aircraft carrier's operations room.
"Chief, the werewolf leader Michael and the vampire elder Selene wish to pledge their allegiance to you. They want to bring their entire clans into the Fraternity and serve as our guardians."
X delivered his report concisely, summarizing the meeting with Alexander Corvinus and the immortal's desire to hand off his burden.
Smith listened, his expression unchanged. So, Alexander was giving up too. It made sense. The man had lived over a thousand years cleaning up after his sons' mistakes. He was exhausted, just like the Ancient One and Odin in the original timeline. All of them, in their own way, wanted to retire, to finally rest.
The difference was that Alexander lacked their overwhelming power. In the original timeline, he'd essentially committed suicide, taking his aircraft carrier with him. That desperate, final decision had completely exposed both supernatural races to the world.
But things had changed significantly. Michael was now leading the werewolves. Selene had become an elder. The timeline was definitely diverging.
"X, I accept their allegiance." Smith's voice was firm, leaving no room for discussion. "But the vampires need to wait until after the Dragon Ball competition."
"Michael and the werewolves can come to New York immediately for the formal ceremony and assignments."
Smith ended the call without mentioning Alexander.
On the aircraft carrier, X looked down at Michael and Selene, who both remained kneeling on the metal deck. "You heard the leader."
He gestured to Michael. "Michael, bring your werewolves to New York with us."
The matter was settled. Alexander promised to provide significant support to the Fraternity and the Assassin's Brotherhood within England, then arranged for his people to escort the four visitors off the aircraft carrier.
As the helicopter carrying them lifted off, its rotors beating against the wind, Alexander remained on the flight deck. He watched it disappear into the gray, overcast sky.
"Finally," he muttered to himself, the wind tugging at his uniform. "Finally rid of those two troublesome races. I can rest now."
Roche approached from behind, his footsteps quiet. "Sir, should we continue monitoring information related to the two tribes?"
Alexander nodded, his gaze still on the horizon. "Continue as before. Once both tribes are fully integrated into the Fraternity, they'll no longer be our responsibility."
Three days blurred by in a rush of logistics and planning.
X and Alexei organized the werewolves' departure from London. They chartered several commercial flights, booking them under shell companies, to transport Michael and the entire werewolf clan to New York.
The successive wars had decimated the werewolf population. Combined with their underground lifestyle, they'd accumulated far less wealth than the Fraternity. There were no businesses, no stock portfolios, no real estate investments. Just a few hidden, damp bases, some pallets of cash, precious metals, and a collection of hoarded antiques.
They packed everything in three days. Personal belongings, weapons, and whatever valuables they'd managed to stash over the years. This was a complete relocation.
Not all the werewolves had agreed with Michael's decision initially. Leaving London meant abandoning everything familiar. But a tense confrontation in their main sewer hub, with Michael's fists backed by a squad of Alexander's stone-faced, heavily armed soldiers providing "encouragement," had convinced the holdouts to comply.
The werewolves who'd pushed Michael into leadership weren't sure if his transformation into a decisive, authoritative leader was good or bad. But one thing was certain: when they reached New York, they'd finally escape the dripping sewers and cold underground tunnels they'd been forced to inhabit.
Across the Atlantic, Bruce Banner had successfully evaded the military's pursuit. He'd traveled by night, hitchhiking, and hopping freight trains until he finally reached Culver University in Virginia.
He walked through the familiar campus, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The air smelled like cut grass and old brick. Memories flooded back. Every building, every pathway reminded him of his old life. Of Betty.
As he crossed the main lawn, he froze.
There she was. Betty Ross, sitting on a bench beneath a large, shady oak tree. But she wasn't alone. A man sat beside her, leaning in close, their body language intimate. Her new boyfriend.
Banner's heart clenched. He stopped breathing for a second, then forced himself to look away, turning his head sharply. He felt a wave of disappointment, but he couldn't blame her. Not really. He is a dangerous monster now. She'd moved on. That was the smart, normal thing to do.
His hand drifted to his pocket, his fingers brushing the smooth, warm surface of the Dragon Ball. As long as he could collect all seven, he could eliminate the Hulk permanently. Become normal again. Maybe then...
No. He shook his head. Better not to think that way.
Banner focused on his immediate objective. He found his old friend who owned a pizza shop near campus and convinced him to let him pose as a delivery driver. A box of free, hot pizza was enough to bribe the bored building security guard, and Banner slipped into the research laboratory.
The lab was quiet, smelling of ozone and floor wax. He accessed the computer system, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Nothing. Every record of his gamma radiation research had been scrubbed clean. General Ross must have seized everything.
He tried to access the equipment bay where the sensitive instruments were stored. The console flashed ACCESS DENIED. The bay was locked behind a heavy security door that required an active faculty ID card. Without it, he couldn't reach the detection equipment he needed to track the Dragon Ball's energy signature.
Banner walked out of the building, his jaw tight, his steps heavy with frustration.
Someone blocked his path, a dark silhouette against the evening light.
Banner looked up, his body tensing, and recognized the man immediately. He'd seen him on the news during his time in Brazil. Smith Doyle. The so-called god.
Banner's first instinct was to run, but he held his ground, his voice tight. "Did General Ross send you to capture me?"
Smith shook his head and pulled something from his pocket. A heavy, gold coin with unusual markings. It glinted under the campus lamplight.
"Bruce Banner, current possessor of a Dragon Ball. I, representing the Fraternity, am issuing you an entry ticket to the Dragon Ball competition."
He held out the coin. "Ticket holders will compete for the Dragon Balls. The winner, after passing my evaluation, will be granted the right to make a wish, provided that wish doesn't involve destruction or evil intent."
Banner stared at him, his mind racing to process the information. "You're saying... the Dragon Balls belong to the Fraternity?" His voice rose slightly. "You released such a powerful artifact and you're holding a tournament for it?"
Smith smiled, that same unsettling, calm expression Banner had seen on the news footage. "Nothing is real, everything is permitted."
He pressed the coin into Banner's hand. "Here's your ticket."
Banner closed his fingers around the gold coin. The metal was heavy, solid. Relief washed through him. He wouldn't need to build detection equipment from scratch. He wouldn't need to search the entire planet blindly.
Then a new worry crept in. What kind of people would be competing in this tournament? What kind of strength would they have?
Banner looked up, new questions forming on his lips, but the man was already walking away, disappearing into the evening shadows of the campus as if he'd never been there at all.
Banner looked down at the coin in his palm. The metal felt warm, almost alive.
One Dragon Ball in his possession. A ticket to compete for the rest. And somewhere out there, other contestants were preparing for the same battle.
He closed his fist tightly around the coin and started walking. He had a lot of preparation to do.