The auctioneer maintained his poised smile as he congratulated Harlan Brune, casting a quick glance around the room. One hundred billion, he thought with satisfaction. This was exactly the kind of show he had hoped for—a fierce battle among powerhouses, concluding with an astronomical price that set a new standard. He had driven their desires to a fever pitch, and each one of these elites had shown their hand tonight.
Tony, leaning back in his seat, watched as Brune accepted his win with an expression that was as impassive as it was self-assured. But Tony knew better. BlackRock wasn't interested in curiosities; they would have no qualms about deploying this butler's talents wherever it benefited their far-reaching goals.
The implications sent a faint chill down Tony's spine. He couldn't let them get away with it unchallenged, but for now, he would play it cool. There's always a backdoor, he thought, already calculating ways to get close to SAI-662 if it ever became necessary.
Across the room, Evelyn Crawley watched with narrowed eyes, a touch of resentment evident as she assessed Brune. Forson's expression remained hard and calculating, though he gave Brune a polite nod, his jaw tight with concealed annoyance. Roxxon's Jared Caine shot a dark look at Brune but said nothing, his expression as unreadable as ever.
The auctioneer sensed the room's charged atmosphere and decided it was time to move forward, capturing their attention once more. He gave a slight bow toward Harlan, then returned his gaze to the guests.
"And with that, my esteemed guests," he announced, allowing his voice to settle the crowd's murmurs, "we have only just begun tonight's offerings. But as I'm sure you're now keenly aware, each item holds power and potential unlike any other."
The auctioneer gestured toward the side of the stage, where the next item was discreetly wheeled forward, hidden beneath a deep crimson cloth. His fingers lingered over the cloth for just a moment, drawing the crowd's anticipation to a peak before he unveiled the piece.
"Allow me to present our next artifact," he said, his voice low and filled with reverence, "SAI-738, more commonly referred to as 'The Devil's Deal Desk.'" He pulled away the cloth to reveal an ornate mahogany desk, its surface polished to a flawless sheen that gleamed under the lights, as though beckoning those who dared to approach. Intricate carvings wound along the edges, patterns that seemed to shift under the gaze, depicting scenes that felt both ancient and otherworldly.
The crowd leaned forward, intrigued by the desk's unnerving allure. Even Tony, who had heard rumors of its power, felt a twinge of apprehension.
"This desk," the auctioneer continued, "is unlike any other in this world. It offers the user their deepest, most impossible desires… at a price." His eyes scanned the room, gauging the mixture of curiosity and hesitation among the guests. "Those who sit at this desk and make a request will find that their wish is granted. Wealth, power, influence—anything you can imagine can be yours. However, it requires an equivalent exchange, something just as valuable. The desk's sentience ensures that the deal is… fair, though not always in the way one might hope."
The room buzzed with whispers as the weight of his words sank in. Vincent Blanc's eyes gleamed with fascination, his mind already racing through possibilities. Gregori Forson, ever the practical strategist, looked at the desk with both interest and skepticism, his brow furrowing as he considered what such power could mean—and what it might cost.
Tony leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the desk. Anything at a price, he thought, his mind calculating the potential and the danger. This wasn't just another artifact. This was a piece that could change the game for whoever possessed it, but he knew that the deals it made would come at a steep and often unforeseen cost.
From the back of the room, Evelyn Crawley raised her hand, her voice steady. "Is there any limit to the type of wish it can grant?"
The auctioneer inclined his head. "The desk is bound only by the limits of the wish-maker's mind. It can fulfill almost any request, provided it has the right price to demand in return. However," he added with a grave smile, "it's known for a certain… flair in interpreting one's desires. It grants exactly what is asked, but rarely what is truly wanted."
This brought a hush over the crowd as each guest weighed the risks. Vincent Blanc raised his hand next. "Has anyone survived an encounter with this desk without regret?"
The auctioneer's smile grew, a touch of mischief in his eyes. "Regret, Mr. Blanc, is the price of ambition. Many have found satisfaction in their requests; others have… reconsidered their choices afterward." He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the room. "But for those with clear resolve and an understanding of their own limits, SAI-738 can be an unrivaled asset."
There was a long pause, the crowd nearly holding its breath. Then, with a subtle smile, he announced, "We will begin the bidding for the Devil's Deal Desk at two billion."
Immediately, hands shot up, the tension of the previous bids spilling over into a new frenzy. Zhao Ming started with three billion, a slight smile on his lips, as if the risks intrigued him as much as the possibilities. Gregori Forson countered swiftly, bringing it to five billion, his eyes narrowed with the confidence of someone willing to gamble.
Tony watched the scene unfold, quietly deciding whether this particular artifact was worth getting involved for. It wasn't the kind of tool he needed—there were already far too many deals he'd had to balance in his life—but the allure of the desk, the sheer potential it promised, was undeniable.
"Eight billion," came the voice of Vincent Blanc, his eccentric enthusiasm mingling with a newfound determination.
Forson countered with ten billion, his eyes fixed intently on the desk, already envisioning the possibilities it would unlock.
Evelyn Crawley's hand rose again. "Fifteen billion," she called out, her gaze never wavering from the desk.
The numbers continued to climb, each bid a reminder of just how much power the desk offered—and how much each of these titans was willing to risk. Finally, with the crowd holding its collective breath, Zhao Ming raised his hand once more.
"Thirty billion," he said, his voice calm but resolute.
The room fell silent, every eye trained on the auctioneer, who looked out over the room with quiet satisfaction. The power of SAI-738 loomed heavily over each guest, the allure of unlimited wishes—and their hidden costs—driving the bids to an almost unfathomable level.
Given that the last item with far more limited wish granting ability had gone for a full one hundred billion, this item was projected to go for much more. After all, it potentially had infinite value.
The auctioneer's eyes sparkled as he observed the guests digest this insight, their expressions flickering between awe and trepidation. He allowed a beat to pass, giving his words room to settle, before he gently leaned into the lectern, invitingly opening his hand.
"We stand at thirty billion," he intoned, his voice calm but weighted with expectation. "Shall we continue?"
Evelyn Crawley raised her card with a decisive nod. "Forty billion."
Gregori Forson's hand shot up immediately after hers. "Fifty billion," he countered, his voice resolute, as if sealing an investment deal rather than bidding for an item of such supernatural risk. Zhao Ming, not one to back down easily, lifted his hand as well.
"Sixty billion," he declared, his eyes never leaving the desk. His face, usually a mask of composure, betrayed a glimmer of fascination as he considered the implications of owning an artifact that could bring any wish to life. Each bid seemed to deepen the intensity in the room, drawing all attention to the mahogany surface of the Devil's Deal Desk.
From his VIP booth, Tony studied the fervor with a faint smile, the sheer volatility of the bidding war adding to the allure of the night's offerings. He knew he was watching as much a psychological battle as a financial one; each bidder was pushing their limits, testing how much they were willing to risk to satisfy ambitions they had likely never voiced before.
As the numbers climbed, Vincent Blanc raised his hand, adding his own price. "Seventy billion," he called, his eccentric enthusiasm tempered with a calculating gleam in his eyes. There was no mistaking his intentions; he wanted the power of SAI-738, even if it meant outbidding some of the world's most powerful players.
Evelyn Crawley immediately countered. "Eighty billion," she announced, a slight smirk on her face as she observed the tightening expressions of her competitors. She wanted this as much as the others, and the stakes were too high to let a fleeting hesitation hold her back.
A pause lingered over the room as the auctioneer's gaze shifted from face to face, measuring the tension in each glance, each clenched jaw. Then, almost casually, Zhao Ming lifted his card once more. "Ninety billion," he said smoothly, his voice quiet but commanding, as if issuing an unspoken challenge to those around him.
The room held its collective breath, anticipation thickening as it became clear that only a few would dare reach for the desk now. Finally, the tension broke as Harlan Brune, the BlackRock representative, made his move. Raising his hand with calm assurance, he called, "One hundred billion."
The crowd gasped, eyes darting to Brune; having just spent one hundred billion, they were surprised to see him willing to spend that much again, though clearly, he must be regretting the first item, given the look on his face.