Such is the mission

Kitsune Headquarters.

A group of vampires moved with silent precision, slipping through the shadows of the sprawling fortress. To their confusion, the headquarters seemed eerily under-guarded.

"Can you sense the True Ancestor?" one whispered.

"Nothing… I can't sense him," another replied, his voice laced with unease.

"Could they have moved him?"

"Impossible. We felt the True Ancestor's aura here just yesterday. We waited an entire day, and the Kitsune didn't show any signs of movement. When would they have had the time to relocate him?"

A commanding presence entered the room, his crimson gaze sharp as a blade. Nord, a royal vampire, stepped forward. "Still no trace of the True Ancestor?"

The others bowed slightly. "No, Nord-sama. We can't sense him at all."

Nord's brow furrowed. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his bloodline senses, but even his connection was severed. This wasn't merely incompetence from the others—something was wrong.

"We tracked the bloodline to this very location. After weeks of waiting, we finally infiltrate, only for the bloodline to grow weaker the closer we get. Now, it's vanished altogether."

At that moment, Shar burst into the room, her expression grim. "All five high-ranking Kitsune managers are dead. We searched them thoroughly—no useful information."

Nord's eyes narrowed. "Dead? This doesn't add up."

Shar hesitated before speaking. "If the True Ancestor hasn't been moved, he must be contained in a Mithril-sealed chamber. Only Mithril can disrupt our connection to the bloodline."

Nord's mind raced. "But we sensed the bloodline briefly just now. Is it possible…" He froze mid-sentence. "Could they have let us sense the True Ancestor intentionally?"

Shar stiffened. "If that's true, then—"

A sudden, rhythmic pounding echoed through the halls. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nord spun toward the noise, unleashing blood threads in the direction of the sound.

But as a squad of Kitsune soldiers appeared, the threads dissolved upon contact.

"Mithril!" Nord snarled, recognizing the glinting necklaces worn by the soldiers.

The Kitsune soldiers raised their weapons, their voices calm and unwavering. "The bait strategy was a success. All targets are inside. The facility is sealed. Begin extermination!"

Nord's eyes widened. "It was a trap!"

Before he could react, Shar grabbed his arm, pulling him away. "Their weapons are Mithril! Don't engage—retreat immediately!"

Nord's mind reeled. Where did the Kitsune acquire such a vast supply of Mithril?

The air erupted with gunfire, Mithril bullets tearing through the ranks of lesser vampires. Explosions followed as Mithril Fragment Grenades detonated, filling the corridors with choking white smoke.

The vampires stood no chance. Those struck by the Mithril weapons fell instantly, their bodies blackening as if consumed by fire.

Amid the chaos, Nord clenched his fists. The Kitsune's stockpile of Mithril was unprecedented. The material was notoriously deadly to process; even its dust was lethal if inhaled.

But these Kitsune soldiers—who could they be? How had they survived the processing?

Then the truth struck him: 012, the Master of Flesh.

The Kitsune's Mithril workers weren't human. They were clones, designed by 012, created solely for these deadly tasks. Even the soldiers—Guinea Pigs, as they were called—were disposable creations. Their lives were sacrificed in the name of intelligence and suicidal missions.

This was why Zero kept 012 safeguarded at all costs. He was irreplaceable.

...

Zero had anticipated this moment. The vampires had been circling the Kitsune headquarters for too long, a growing threat that could no longer be ignored.

So he devised a plan, one that would solve two problems at once.

He weakened the headquarters' defenses, creating a calculated vulnerability. He exposed 008, allowing the vampires to sense the True Ancestor's aura, luring them in like moths to a flame.

Both the external vampires and internal traitors took the bait, rushing headlong into the trap. Once inside, the doors sealed, and the Kitsune unleashed their full arsenal.

The result was devastating. The lesser vampires were obliterated, and two royal vampires, including Shar, were captured and contained.

With this decisive blow, the external vampire threat was crippled.

Among the remaining royals, Shino's whereabouts were still unknown, and Lilith had ascended to become the second True Ancestor. Now, only one other royal vampire remained in the shadows.

...

Click.

The heavy gates of the Kitsune headquarters creaked open, the stale, metallic scent of blood rushing out like a storm.

Zero stepped inside. The scene before him was carnage. The hallways were painted in crimson, the bodies of both vampires and Kitsune scattered like discarded dolls.

His boots splashed through the pools of blood as he made his way down the corridor, deeper into the fortress. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of his deliberate steps. He finally arrived at the meeting room, pushing the door open with a soft creak.

Inside, the bodies of his clone and the three other managers were arranged with unsettling precision, laid out in a neat row.

A Kitsune soldier approached, saluting with grim determination. "Chief, we've confirmed that all the vampires have been eliminated."

Zero didn't respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the lifeless faces of his comrades.

The soldier continued. "In addition to the complete loss of the Guinea Pigs, we've suffered close to a hundred casualties among our main forces."

Zero gave a curt nod. "Understood. Compile a list of the fallen. Contact their families and ensure they receive second-class work compensation and martyr benefits."

Behind him, 012, Master of Flesh, followed silently, his face a mask of disapproval. Finally, he spoke. "Chief, was it really worth sacrificing so many people just to deal with these vampires?"

Zero turned, his expression hard. "When you begin calculating whether something is 'worth it,' human lives turn into nothing more than gambling chips."

His voice was cold, resolute. "If you want to measure worth, let me ask you this—how many people does one surviving vampire kill in a single day? Multiply that by the years they roam unchecked."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Everyone dies eventually. But if one life can save a hundred others, isn't that worth it?"

012 hesitated before nodding slightly. "That's a broad perspective, Chief. But from a personal one—do you ever wonder how the people see you? They might think you're… cruel."

"Cruel." Zero closed his eyes, as if retreating into himself for a moment. When he opened them, his gaze was steady. "Someone has to do it. Someone has to sacrifice themselves, to be the villain, the scapegoat, the one who carries the weight of every decision."

He folded his hands behind his back. "When the time comes for me to sacrifice myself, I will embrace it without hesitation. This is my mission."

His voice softened, though the steel remained. "I will bear the responsibility. I will shoulder the blame. I don't care about personal gains or losses."

...

Far beneath the ocean, in the lightless depths of the abyss, a figure rested in eerie stillness.

Chino lay dormant, his eyes closed as if lost in a dream, his immense body seemingly part of the ocean itself.

He dreamt.

The dream spanned eons—his birth in the primordial depths, his rise as the lord of the seas, and the grim days of the future age when gods and monsters clashed in endless strife.

The dream was filled with chaos, an eternal struggle for survival. No force could truly control this world, and every being, no matter how mighty, faced trials that whittled them down to nothing.

Some beings perished at the moment of their ascension, their brilliance snuffed out like a candle. Others crumbled to dust, worn away on the path to dominion. Even monsters, thought to be eternal, would meet their ends.

In the distant future, humanity—struggling for survival—had begun forging mechanical lifeforms from the flesh and blood of these dying titans.

In his dream, Chino saw one of these creations: a light blue, tentacled figure glimmering with an otherworldly sheen. It was called holy armor, a weapon born of despair, crafted from the remains of gods.

But even in this vision of a dying world, Chino saw hope, however fleeting.

There was a time, long before humanity's near extinction, when a mortal—a fragile, fleeting existence—had risen to seal away the gods themselves.

This mortal had forged an era of prosperity, a brief age of peace where humanity thrived under the light of their own will.

But the dream ended in tragedy. The era was short-lived, just as the mortal's life had been—a spark of hope extinguished too soon.