The First Kryptonian in Marvel

Some days later...

Illyana sat at the head of a large, ornate round table, surrounded by a group of vampires who looked more like a council of shadowy executioners than mere soldiers. The dim lighting of the room barely illuminated their faces, casting deep shadows that danced like restless spirits. Across from her stood a vampire clad in dark leather, his posture rigid with barely contained energy as he addressed the room with fervor.

"Since our factions merged, the conflicts within our ranks have disappeared," he began, his voice sharp with authority. "However, the 'Daywalker' has intensified his assaults against us. I've received word—Frost and his elders are dead, likely killed by him. I propose we fortify our defenses, set traps, and wait. When the Daywalker falls into our snare, we take him out. His death will elevate our status, allowing us to form a new clan and declare war on anyone in our way."

As his speech concluded, murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Heads nodded, and sharp-toothed grins spread across pale faces. Illyana leaned back in her chair, the faint tapping of her fingers on the table the only sound that broke the silence. Her golden hair gleamed faintly in the low light. After a moment, she leaned forward, her elbows resting on the polished wood.

"Not a bad idea," she said, her voice smooth and confident. A sly smile crept across her lips, but her eyes gleamed with something far colder. "But waiting makes us look weak. We need to strike first. Gather our best, arm them to the teeth, and hit him hard before he knows what's coming."

The room erupted into action. Vampires stood as one, their movements sharp and disciplined. "Yes, Mistress," came the unified response as they dispersed to carry out her orders. Illyana watched them go, her smile lingering.

…

While Illyana and her followers plotted Blade's downfall, they didn't realize someone was already discussing them. Far from the chaos of New York, in an ancient stronghold carved from the shadows, a meeting was taking place.

The room had no lighting; only the faint glow of crimson emanated from the ornate ring worn by the figure at the head of the table. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his voice a deep, deliberate rumble. "So, that lowly group has all united?"

"Not all of them, Father," a soft, measured female voice replied from the darkness. Her tone was deferential yet firm, a perfect balance between respect and authority.

"Hmm." The figure's eyes glinted as his thoughts churned. "Test them."

"Shall I bring my forces?" she asked, stepping forward just enough for the faint light to catch the edge of her sharp, poised features.

"Yes. I won't risk your safety."

"Understood. I'll make preparations now." Her words were decisive, each one laced with purpose.

"Go, my daughter," he commanded, his voice softening, though the authority remained absolute.

With that, Nyssa bowed and left the room, her strides purposeful. As she walked through the dim, labyrinthine corridors of the fortress, her mind raced.

So, she's another female leader like me. But unlike her, I'm still under my father's protection. This mission will prove to him that I'm ready to lead—not just a squad, but an empire.

The thought ignited a small flame within her, one she refused to extinguish. Her father's shadow was vast, but Nyssa had no intention of staying within it forever. This was her chance to carve her own legend.

Her steps quickened as she approached the training grounds. The squad was in the middle of a sparring session. Blades clashed, and the sharp scent of steel filled the air. Vampires moved with preternatural speed, their strikes lethal, their movements efficient. Nyssa's gaze swept across the room, noting every detail, every weakness.

"Gather up," she called out, her voice cutting through the din like a blade. The sparring stopped immediately as the squad turned to face her. "We have a mission."

Reinhardt, the bald, cocky vampire, leaned lazily against a weapons rack, twirling a dagger in his hand. He smirked. "What kind of mission, Nyssa?"

"We're heading to New York."

"New York?" Reinhardt scoffed, pushing off the rack and crossing his arms. "For something small like this? We're supposed to exist for one reason: killing the Daywalker." His tone was defiant, and challenging.

"Enough, Reinhardt," growled Snowman, his icy demeanor matched by his cold gaze. He stepped forward, positioning himself subtly between Nyssa and Reinhardt. "If Nyssa says we go, we go."

"Snowman, you've got a lot to say today," Reinhardt sneered, his fingers twitching toward the blade at his side. He thought of himself as the rightful leader, always chafing under Nyssa's command. But a glance around the room told him he was alone in his defiance. The rest of the squad, seasoned and loyal, stood unwaveringly behind her.

"Fine," Reinhardt muttered, his bravado slipping just enough to show he knew he was beaten. "When do we leave, Nyssa?" He rubbed his nose, the gesture more habit than necessity.

"Now," she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Bring only what you need. We'll resupply at the New York outpost."

The squad scattered to prepare, each member moving with the efficiency of seasoned warriors. Only Snowman lingered, his piercing gaze fixed on Nyssa.

"Snowman, why aren't you packing up?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Reinhardt is getting bold. Do you want me to teach him some manners?" There was no malice in his tone, just a cold pragmatism that mirrored her own.

Nyssa shook her head. "Let it go. He's a blunt instrument, but useful. Besides, only you and Asad know who I truly am. To them, I'm just their commander. And I intend to keep it that way."

Snowman's lips curled into a wry smile. "As you wish. But if he crosses the line—"

"I'll deal with him myself," she interrupted, her eyes flashing with resolve. "Now go. Prepare."

"Understood." Snowman bowed his head slightly, then turned and strode off, his movements as sharp and calculated as his words.

…

The private jet touched down in New York under the cover of darkness, its engines purring to a halt as the city skyline loomed like a shadowy sentinel. As the cabin doors opened, Nyssa and her team emerged, all clad in black. Their movements were fluid, efficient, and silent. They slipped into a line of waiting SUVs, their presence marked only by the gleam of tinted windows disappearing into the night.

Across the street, two NYPD officers leaned against their cruiser, watching the convoy glide past.

"These guys are trying way too hard to look cool," muttered the younger officer, adjusting his cap. "Sunglasses at night? Who do they think they are, rockstars?"

"Forget them," said his partner, who'd seen more than his fair share of New York's weirdness. "Focus on our route. Let the feds deal with whatever secret squirrel stuff this is."

The SUVs navigated the city's maze of streets, arriving at a nondescript warehouse in the industrial district. The team quickly entered the safehouse, a space stripped to essentials but outfitted with state-of-the-art weaponry and tech. Nyssa surveyed her squad as they moved with practiced precision, preparing for the mission ahead.

"Is everyone ready?" she asked, her voice cutting through the low murmur of activity.

A chorus of affirmations followed as they donned their gear. Black tactical suits, body armor, and weapons designed for precision and lethality.

"Let's move out," Nyssa ordered, leading the way to the SUVs waiting in the garage. Engines roared to life, and the convoy vanished into the labyrinth of New York's streets.

Inside the lead vehicle, Nyssa sat beside Asad, who studied a tablet displaying the team's intel.

"Asad, where is she?" Nyssa asked in a sharp tone.

"According to the latest intel, she's still holed up at Neir's Tavern in Queens," he replied without looking up.

"Neir's Tavern? Interesting," Nyssa mused, her lips curling into a faint smile.

Reinhardt leaned forward from the back seat, his impatience palpable. "Let me guess. You're sending me to do the dirty work."

Nyssa didn't bother turning. "Reinhardt, Priest—check it out. Subtlety would be a pleasant surprise, but I won't hold my breath."

Reinhardt's smirk was audible. "Subtlety's overrated."

The two men exited the SUV as the convoy parked a block away from the dimly lit bar. The "Closed for Business" sign hung crookedly on the door, but neither of them hesitated. They pushed inside, the door creaking in protest.

The interior was paradoxical. Despite the sign, the bar was full. Every table was occupied, and clusters of patrons hunched together over drinks. The atmosphere was too quiet, too tense. A bartender in a stained uniform approached them, trying to block their path.

"Sorry, gentlemen," the man said, his voice flat but firm. "We're closed tonight."

Reinhardt sneered, his impatience snapping like a rubber band. He shoved the bartender aside with a single hand, sending him stumbling into a table. "Come on, it's not rocket science. This place stinks of your kind."

The tension in the room shattered like glass. Every patron rose in unison, their movements synchronized and predatory. Fangs flashed in the dim light, and a low growl rippled through the room.

"Kill them!" someone shouted.

Chaos erupted. Vampires lunged, knives gleaming, bullets firing. The air filled with the sounds of shattering glass, gunfire, and guttural snarls.

Reinhardt sidestepped a blade and drove his boot into an attacker's chest, sending them crashing into a table. Priest, ever composed, ducked a flying chair and tapped the alert button on his wristband, sending a signal to the rest of the squad.

"They're purebloods!" shouted one of the attackers as bullets zipped past Reinhardt, close enough to part his hair. "Get the submachine guns!"

Outside, the signal was received. The SUVs screeched to a halt, and the rest of Nyssa's team burst from the vehicles, storming the bar's front doors. Asad led the charge, his massive axe cleaving clean through the first vampire to cross his path. Blood sprayed in arcs, painting the walls in violent streaks.

"They're all pureblood!" Axel yelled as he clashed with Asad. His serrated blade met the vampire's axe with a shower of sparks.

Axel's experience told him something was off. These weren't ordinary vampires. The precision of their movements, the cold detachment in their eyes—it all screamed pureblood.

Asad knocked Axel back with a brutal swing, but before Axel could recover, a calm, authoritative voice echoed through the chaos.

"Enough. Summon your leader."

The command cut through the noise like a blade, freezing Axel mid-movement. He turned toward the source and found himself staring at Nyssa, who had entered the bar with unhurried grace. Her presence was undeniable, her calmness more intimidating than any roar of rage.

"Noble, proud," Axel muttered, his fangs bared as he adjusted his stance. "And with this scent… looks like pureblood."

Axel, one of Illyana's most experienced subordinates, felt a chill crawl up his spine. Despite his confidence as a seasoned vampire, he recognized the subtle but overwhelming pressure radiating from the pureblood's presence. High-blooded and proud of it, he thought grimly. "Yup, this is going to be a problem."

"I'll fetch her," Axel said, his voice a measured blend of caution and deference. "But I hope you and your team will refrain from causing any… unnecessary incidents."

Nyssa's expression didn't so much as flicker. "I'll keep my people in check," she replied coolly, her tone carrying an unspoken warning. "You'd do well to ensure yours do the same."

Axel nodded, retreating into the depths of the bar. He descended a concealed staircase, entering the hidden second basement where Illyana held court. Dimly lit by flickering candlelight, the chamber exuded an air of eerie elegance, the walls lined with ancient books and relics that whispered secrets of the ages. He approached a heavy wooden door and knocked lightly.

"What is it?" Illyana's voice carried through the door, calm and composed, with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel.

"Ma'am, there's a pureblood upstairs," Axel replied, keeping his tone steady despite the unease that gnawed at him. "She's brought some high-tier vampires and wants to speak with you."

There was a pause before the door creaked open. Illyana stepped out, her piercing gaze locking onto Axel. Her expression was one of mild curiosity, though her presence radiated a power that made even the most seasoned warriors hesitate.

"Let me guess," she said dryly. "They didn't hand you a business card, did they?"

Axel allowed himself a strained chuckle. "No, ma'am."

With a faint smirk, Illyana brushed past him and ascended the staircase. Her steps were silent, her movements fluid as smoke. When she reached the main floor, she moved with such startling speed that she seemed to materialize behind the bar counter.

Nyssa instinctively tensed, her eyes narrowing. Fast. Too fast, she thought, forcing herself to remain composed despite the flicker of shock she couldn't quite suppress. I didn't even see her move.

What Nyssa didn't know was that Illyana had deliberately slowed her approach, just enough to give the room a false sense of security—or, perhaps, discomfort. Snowman and Asad, Nyssa's ever-loyal guards, shifted imperceptibly closer, their bodies taut with readiness.

"You're here to talk," Illyana said smoothly, her voice as unruffled as still water. "Then sit. Have your people take a seat as well."

Nyssa's eyes narrowed, measuring Illyana's tone for signs of mockery. Finding none, she nodded curtly. "Everyone, find a spot," she commanded, her words leaving no room for hesitation.

Chairs scraped against the floor as Nyssa's team obeyed. Once everyone was seated, Nyssa leaned forward, her eyes locking onto Illyana's with steely intensity.

"I've heard rumors," she began, her words sharp and deliberate. "They say you were involved in Frost's demise. And his elders. Is that true?"

Illyana's lips curled into a faint smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Frost? Him? Oh no," she said lightly, her tone laced with disdain. "That wasn't me. That was Blade and his mysterious ally—a chick cloaked in red. For all I know, it could've been the Red Reaper." She sipped her blood, watching Nyssa with an air of detached curiosity. "Or maybe just someone with a flair for drama."

Nyssa's gaze tightened as she tried to parse the meaning behind Illyana's words. Her instincts told her Illyana was holding something back, but pressing further risked derailing the already-tenuous conversation. Her strength matches mine, maybe even surpasses it, Nyssa mused, her thoughts razor-sharp. But she doesn't seem like someone who'd bother with Frost.

Deciding to drop the pretense, Nyssa straightened. "I've come with an offer," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "By the decree of Eli Damaskinos, Supreme Overlord of our kind, I am here to request your allegiance."

The room fell deathly silent.

Illyana's hands, which had been casually polishing a wineglass, paused. With a sharp snap, the delicate crystal shattered in her grip. The oppressive weight of her power surged through the air, saturating the room with an overwhelming sense of dread. Her death energy seeped out in palpable waves, corroding everything it touched. The table in front of Nyssa blackened and cracked, the wood splintering under the corrosive force.

Snowman and Asad dropped to one knee without hesitation, their instincts for survival overriding any sense of pride. Around the room, vampires crumpled to the floor, some crouched, others sprawled as though gravity itself had turned against them. Even Nyssa, for all her strength and poise, felt the primal urge to yield. Her confidence wavered, her survival instincts screaming warnings she couldn't ignore.

Through it all, Illyana remained composed, as if the chaos around her was nothing more than an afterthought. "Impressive," she said finally, her voice deceptively calm as she reined in her power. The suffocating pressure eased, though the air remained thick with tension. She poured two glasses of crimson blood, offering one to Nyssa with a faint smirk. "Still want my allegiance?"

Nyssa took the glass, steadying her breath despite the lingering unease in the room. "You're strong, no doubt about it," she began, her voice firm but laced with calculated flattery. "Not quite on par with my father or brother, but enough to be a serious threat. None of us here could stop you if you chose to act."

Illyana's faint smile widened, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Go on," she said, gesturing elegantly with her free hand.

Nyssa straightened her shoulders, regaining her composure fully. "We're prepared to reward your loyalty," she said. "In exchange for your fealty, my father will grant you the title of Countess. New York will be yours to rule, unchallenged. Any dissenters among the local vampire population? We'll deal with them for you. We'll provide weapons, funds—everything you need to solidify your position."

"Sounds generous," Illyana remarked, swirling the contents of her glass before taking a sip. Her tone was light, but skepticism danced beneath her words.

"To show our sincerity, here's a gift," Nyssa said, sliding a small envelope across the counter.

Illyana raised an eyebrow as she opened it, pulling out a crisp check. Her lips twitched with amusement. "A million dollars," she observed. "Not bad for a first meeting."

"Consider it a gesture of goodwill," Nyssa said smoothly. "Whether or not you accept, the money is yours."

Illyana chuckled softly, a low sound that sent a ripple of unease through the room. She finished her drink in one smooth motion, setting the empty glass down with a deliberate clink. "Fine," she said, her voice carrying an air of indifference that didn't quite hide her amusement. "I'll await my official appointment, along with the signet ring and seal. But I've got other matters to attend to, so if you'll excuse me…"

Nyssa rose to her feet, maintaining her composure despite the weight of the interaction. "You'll have your documents soon," she replied, her tone cool and professional. Without another word, she turned and strode toward the exit, her guards close behind.

The chill night air greeted her as she stepped outside. Climbing into the waiting SUV, Nyssa's mind raced, piecing together what she'd learned. "Head back to the airport," she instructed curtly. "I need to see my father, Damaskinos."

"As you wish," Asad replied from the driver's seat, his tone steady and respectful.

Reinhardt, seated in the back, stiffened slightly at the name. Damaskinos' daughter? Just my luck. He suppressed the urge to groan, instead shooting a glance at Priest, who merely shrugged.

Sensing the ripple of unease, Nyssa glanced over her shoulder, her voice calm but edged with authority. "Don't worry, Reinhardt. I value competence. Prove yourself useful, and you'll have no reason to regret this arrangement."

Reinhardt dipped his head slightly, muttering, "Understood," though the words felt heavy in his mouth. Damaskinos' daughter. Fantastic.

The convoy pulled away from the tavern, engines humming softly as they disappeared into the night. Inside, the once-rowdy "Neir's Tavern" returned to its previous peaceful silence.