The True Heiress: A Powerful All-Rounder

Chapter 7: The Bloodline Code

Lower Manhattan, "Helheim Underworld" Black Market

Lynn’s iris scanner blinked, displaying an account balance: $562.80. She plugged the neural interface into the ATM, and suddenly, the encrypted account of the Vatican Bank from 1945 activated. The balance fluctuated wildly, reaching a nine-digit sum before abruptly resetting to zero.

"Interesting," she murmured, pulling out the blood-stained data cable.

"So, the Knights Templar gold reserves were shorted into Bitcoin?"

Winchester Manor, Command Room

The holographic surveillance feed suddenly flickered with static. Mrs. Winchester slammed her wine glass onto the floor.

“She hacked into the quantum satellite again?!” she hissed.

“Activate the Loki Protocol now!”

The AI butler’s eyes flashed red.

"Warning: X-23 Experiment subject accessing the ‘World Serpent’ main server.”

"Valkyrie" Bar

Alexander was wiping the rune-engraved glass with a cloth when he suddenly crushed the handle with his fingers. The holographic projection at the bar displayed a familiar figure entering the black market’s entrance. He pressed a button on his watch, activating his voice-print disguise.

“Babies, tonight’s special is Ragnarök.”

Twelve agents, disguised as regular patrons, simultaneously pressed their earpieces.

“Target entering the Odin’s Eye trading zone.”

Black Market Core Area

Lynn walked across the rainbow bridge created by the holographic projections, stopping in front of the titanium doors etched with the World Tree symbol. A guard with a mechanical prosthetic eye scanned her with red light.

“Identity?”

“Daughter of Jörmungandr,” she replied, pulling back her collar to reveal her glowing tattoo.

“I’ve come to retrieve the Apocalypse Horn your father left here.”

Suddenly, alarms blared. Alexander’s voice crackled through the ventilation system.

“Darling, you slipped out just to attend a Ragnarök-themed party?”

Secret Vault

Lynn placed her palm against the liquid-nitrogen-frozen giant wolf relief. The vault triggered a holographic record from 1945—there, the Winchester patriarch in military uniform was placing an infant into a lead container. The label on the container read: “X-gene Original Host.”

“So, my birthday gift was nuclear radiation,” she said flatly, pulling out the inhibitor chip embedded in the back of her neck.

“Time to unwrap it.”

The entire black market suddenly shook as the frozen Fenrir wolf statue’s electronic eyes flickered on.

“Odin’s bloodline detected. Initiating Ragnarök Protocol.”