Unwritten Mythos

"Sweet snack?" the man echoed with a raised brow.

"A-type blood?" he guessed.

"No, no," the handsome man replied with a smirk. "Human sweet snacks."

The man frowned in disbelief. "What's so special about that? It's just a pile of burnt flour and sugar."

"Don't dismiss it," the handsome man said casually. "You grew up eating that stuff, too."

"Maybe," the man said with a shrug. "But for us now, it's just junk food."

"Exactly," the handsome man nodded. "A lot of snacks are junk, but it doesn't stop people from wanting more. Same for him."

"You're telling me the True Ancestor is childish?"

"Depends on who you're talking about," the handsome man mused, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

The bartender, who had been silently listening, placed a fresh glass of wine in front of the man and picked up a lighter to ignite his own cigarette. With a long exhale of smoke, his eyes gleamed, revealing a sudden flash of crimson.

"The Empress loves her guns and sweets," the bartender muttered. "The Emperor only lives for the hunt."

"And the Son," he continued with a sharp smile, "is best left alone."

For Vampires, 008—the True Ancestor—was not one entity but three distinct forms. The Empress, in her mature female form, was powerful yet reasonable. The Emperor, in his male form, was the fearsome True Ancestor himself, ruthless yet just. But it was the juvenile form—the Son—that none of them dared cross. His unpredictable nature made him the most dangerous of all, a creature whose whims could turn deadly in an instant.

"Once you see the Son," the bartender warned, his voice lowering, "you run. Far, far away."

The Empress, though dangerous, was known to be fair and could be negotiated with. The True Ancestor, though cold and decisive, had never harmed one of his own. But the Son? His wrath knew no bounds, and no one could predict what might set him off. Should his mood sour, he wouldn't hesitate to carve someone up simply for existing in his presence.

The man took a deep drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he muttered, "If the True Ancestor actually tried, I don't doubt he could handle that angel."

The handsome man let out a cold chuckle. "The True Ancestor? He's just like us, really. Wrapped in a monster's skin."

Just as the conversation grew tense, the tavern doors creaked open, and a disheveled man sauntered inside, his clothes tattered and unkempt.

"Are you all here?" he called out, his voice slightly hoarse.

The group glanced at him warily, and he didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Listen, there've been a lot of new faces showing up in the city recently."

The handsome man raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "GPA's people?"

The slovenly man shook his head. "Not just them. I'm seeing signs of someone else… someone from the other side."

A hush fell over the group.

"Kitsune?" someone whispered cautiously.

"No, no," the disheveled man said quickly. "This isn't Asia. Kitsune doesn't have a grip here."

"Then who else?" another voice asked. "Other than Kitsune and the GPA, what other organization could it be?"

The slovenly man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well... there's that group of fanatics from the Church of Light."

The man scoffed. "Those zealots? They're just money-hungry idiots."

"Exactly," the slovenly man nodded, then leaned in closer, his tone darkening. "But if it's not them, and it's not Kitsune, have you heard of an organization called the Chaos Insurgency?"

"Chaos Insurgency?" someone murmured.

"I've heard rumors," the handsome man said, eyes narrowing. "They've been fighting with Kitsune back in Asia."

The slovenly man sat down heavily, his face grim. "I've got a bad feeling about this. If we don't act carefully, we're going to bring down a world of trouble."

"You're saying New York is becoming a battleground for these major powers?" someone finally asked.

"CI, Kitsune, GPA, and us," the disheveled man listed, counting on his fingers. "If it keeps up like this, it could evolve into a four-way conflict."

"No," the handsome man said grimly, eyes gleaming with understanding. "They're not just after the city. Their target is us."

"And if you're right," the man with the cigarette added darkly, "we're about to face an assault from three sides."

...

As tension mounted in New York, the various factions began to converge, each making their own strategic plays. The Global Paranormal Agency (GPA), issued a direct and public challenge to the Vampires. Their target: 008, the True Ancestor.

In a grand display of confidence, the GPA made their intentions clear:

"We demand the True Ancestor be contained by us immediately. If not, our angels will descend from the heavens and rain down judgment upon your so-called Vampires."

There was no response from the Vampires or 008, but the provocation was clear. Shortly after, Kitsune, the shadowy organization from Asia, made their own bold announcement: they too would be participating in this event.

The GPA's dissatisfaction was immediate. This wasn't Kitsune's jurisdiction, and the encroachment stoked the flames of rivalry.

"Go back to your own territory," one GPA spokesperson jeered. "Don't get greedy. Stay out of this, or you'll be ambushed."

But Kitsune's response, delivered by the ever-cool Zero, cut through the taunts with precision.

"You clearly lack the ability to contain 008," Zero retorted. "Every bit of intel you have on 008 and other supernatural Objects came from us. Your knowledge is on par with a child trying to comprehend world law."

"We possess Mithril and the tools necessary to handle Vampires. You? You rely on angels and your fragile faith. If your angels were enough, the GPA wouldn't even need to exist. And as you've said, all we do now is for the sake of humanity. Laws are meaningless if we fail."

The GPA and Kitsune sparred verbally, but the lines of battle had yet to be drawn. Both sides knew the real enemy was the Vampires. They grudgingly agreed: whoever could first contain the True Ancestor would claim 008 for themselves.

But why the obsession with 008?

The answer was simple: immortality. Vampires, eternally young and powerful, held the secret to defying death. To unlock their genetic code was to unlock the doors to eternal life, a prize far too great to be ignored.

But Zero's interest in 008 was for a different reason entirely. Kitsune had learned a painful lesson from their past mistakes.

Once, they had extracted the cells of 002—the Fish-Man—and used them to create a serum, a drug meant to strengthen their forces. They had injected the cells into nearly a thousand soldiers, calling them Delta soldiers. The results had been promising, at first. But they had made a critical error: They didn't kill 002.

As long as 002 remained alive, the Fish-Man stem cells were unstable. When 002 eventually escaped, every single one of those injected soldiers transformed into Fish-Men themselves. Kitsune's entire armed forces base collapsed in the chaos. It had been a catastrophic failure—a bitter, costly lesson.

Zero couldn't risk the same happening with 008. He knew that if the GPA succeeded in capturing the True Ancestor, they would undoubtedly extract his blood to create an elixir of immortality. And when that happened, the 002 disaster would repeat itself.

He had no doubt that the GPA, with their hubris and short-sightedness, would follow the same tragic path.

Because the only lesson humanity ever learned from history was that they never learned any lesson at all.

...

Meanwhile, a figure cloaked in purple descended from the sky.

"Naira Sorkin, A-level employee, has successfully arrived in New York."

Behind him, two old men walked at a leisurely pace.

"Hm, looks like we're in the right place," one said.

"And it's just the three of us?" the other inquired, glancing around.

"The Priest and the Master of Flesh stayed behind to guard the base," Naira replied coolly.

This time, Kitsune had sent fewer than a hundred reinforcements to New York. Zero knew better than to waste manpower. Sending more soldiers would only mean sending them to their deaths. The real strength of Kitsune lay not in numbers but in the elite few. And among them, the true main force stood: The Sinner, Balance, and Swordsmith.