Kiss of the vampire
"The Girl with the Sharp sword"
Mission 32 : Sin series user(Pride)
The carrier jet cut through the night sky like a silent blade. Below, the sprawl of the city glittered faintly, but their eyes were fixed on one destination—a sprawling estate perched like a king on a hill. The senator's mansion. A man of wealth, influence, and—if their intel was correct—a traitor.
Inside the cabin, tension hung thick. The hum of engines was the only sound until Ethan broke it.
"Alright, listen up." His voice carried the weight of command. "Target is Senator Aldrin Cortez. We have reason to believe he's funding and sheltering the cult. Red-eyed cloaks were seen on his property three nights ago. Our job is simple: get in, confirm, extract any evidence, and get out. If he resists… you know what to do."
Deyviel sat quietly, staring at the floor but hearing every word. Something gnawed at him. Another change. Cortez hadn't been involved last time. And cult movement this early? It wasn't supposed to happen yet. His hand unconsciously brushed the faint heat on his arm where the crimson tattoo—Greed—was etched like a secret no one else could see.
Denver leaned in close, whispering, "Man, you're pale again. Don't tell me you're about to hurl before a raid."
Deyviel smirked faintly but didn't answer. Instead, his eyes shifted toward Christine, Emily, Yumi—faces he knew, faces he swore to protect. This wasn't just another mission. If Cortez really was tied to the cult, tonight could be another timeline fracture.
Mizuno spoke next, his voice calm but sharp. "Cymac and I will handle surveillance and extraction. Hunters, check your comms. Black Order's emblem means nothing if you don't come back alive."
"Copy," Christine replied, loading her sidearm.
Andrew adjusted his rifle, Kliev checked his blade, and Alicia quietly recited what sounded like a prayer.
Ethan's voice cut through one last time. "Remember, this isn't just about raiding a mansion. This is about leverage. We find out who's really pulling strings behind this cult, we start taking control of this war. Don't underestimate what's inside those walls."
The jet dipped lower, the rumble deepening as the estate came into view. Searchlights swept lazily over perfectly trimmed gardens and high fences.
Deyviel's jaw tightened. He could feel it again—that itch in his chest. The same one he felt when something was about to break.
Something's wrong.
The night air was sharp and still, the moon veiled by heavy clouds that turned the landscape into a canvas of shadows. The Black Knights moved like phantoms, their dark uniforms melting into the darkness as they approached the enormous mansion that loomed ahead—a fortress disguised as luxury, with marble pillars and sprawling wings.
Ethan Allen crouched behind a line of hedges, his golden irises glinting faintly in the gloom. "Stay low. Light sensors on the east wing," he murmured, raising two fingers. A subtle glow gathered at his palm, shaping into a small orb of radiance that darted ahead like a firefly. It swept the path, revealing faint tripwires laced along the garden.
"Traps," Ethan noted. "Christine, disable."
Christine stepped forward, her movements sharp but silent. She knelt, tools in hand, and began cutting the nearly invisible threads.
Behind them, Mizuno Martine adjusted the katana strapped across his back. A soft ripple of water shimmered across his blade as he whispered a prayer in his native tongue. "South wall has drainage access. I can use the water flow to mask our entry," he said, his tone calm, almost serene.
Denver smirked and cracked his knuckles. "Finally, something fun. Thought we were going to waltz through the front door."
Deyviel stayed silent at the rear, Yamato sheathed, his focus sharp and heavy. He scanned the upper balconies, catching faint movements—a patrol, lightly armed but numerous.
"Timing is everything," Mizuno added. He extended his fingers toward the drainage trench, summoning water to rise like a living rope. It coiled, slid across the stone, and seeped through the grates, carrying their scent and muffling the sound of their steps.
"Move," Ethan ordered. The squad broke into pairs: Ethan and Mizuno taking point, Christine and Andrew covering the rear, Yumi and Emily watching the flanks, Alicia and Kliev handling the gadgets, Cymac with Denver, and Deyviel holding the center like a silent blade.
They reached the side wall, smooth and nearly twenty feet high.
"Alicia, Kliev, hook."
A cable shot upward with a muted thud, the anchor biting into stone. One by one, the Black Knights ascended, boots barely tapping the surface. At the top, Ethan extended his light ability to form a faint, thin barrier, bending the moonlight to cloak them as shadows.
Inside the mansion grounds, the true challenge awaited: corridors of silent guards, hidden passages, and the unknown target they had come to claim.
The group split as planned—Deyviel and Denver moving quietly down the west wing, the polished marble floors reflecting faint glimmers from the sconces. The air carried that stale, old-book smell mixed with something metallic underneath, like the mansion itself was hiding secrets too long buried.
Their footsteps were barely whispers, every creak of the floorboards causing Denver's hand to twitch near his blade. Deyviel, however, seemed unnervingly calm, his crimson eyes scanning the walls with an almost bored precision.
"Place feels like it's trying too hard," Deyviel muttered, brushing a gloved hand across a row of dusty books. "These guys think they're clever."
Denver paused mid-step. "Hey. Look at that—" He crouched, pointing to faint scuff marks on the floor by an ornate bookshelf. The grooves curved slightly, like something heavy had been moved more than once.
They exchanged a glance.
"Man, this is a secret door," Denver said, his voice low but tinged with excitement. He pressed two fingers to the small comm in his ear. "Ethan, you're gonna want to hear this. We've got something—possible underground access hidden behind a shelf."
"Copy that," Ethan's voice crackled back, calm and sharp. "Stay on it. Mizuno and I will cover the south wing. Watch your backs."
Deyviel smirked, stepping closer to the shelf. His fingers ran along the edges, feeling for uneven gaps. "Yeah, do these guys not watch movies? This isn't exactly subtle. A bookshelf? Classic villain move. Might as well put a neon sign on it."
"Less talking, more finding," Denver said, though he couldn't hide a grin.
"Relax. I've got it." Deyviel crouched low, eyes narrowing. His hand hovered over the spines, pressing one, then another. "There's always a switch. Let's see… maybe this fake leather volume…"
A faint click sounded, mechanical and promising.
Deyviel smirked slightly. "Danger's a given. Let's see how cliché these guys are."
He pressed against the seam, feeling nothing. Denver leaned closer, shining a small flashlight along the edges. "No latch, no keyhole… must be a trigger."
Deyviel scanned the shelves more carefully, running a hand over the spines. His finger stopped on an oddly clean leather-bound volume, no dust on it, unlike the rest. "This one's too neat. Watch this."
He pulled the book gently. There was a soft click, followed by a low grinding noise as gears shifted inside the wall. The entire bookshelf shuddered and slid back with a muted groan, revealing a dark stairway descending into the earth. Cold, stale air drifted up to meet them.
"Well," Deyviel said with a grin, "guess they really don't watch movies."
Denver adjusted his grip on his sidearm. "Alright, going in quiet. Ethan, we're about to descend."
"Understood. Stay connected," Ethan replied.
Deyviel stepped to the edge, peering into the shadowed stairway. "Let's find out what these bastards are hiding."
Mizuno and Ethan pressed forward, the stench of blood and smoke heavy in the air as they followed the faint traces of footsteps leading away from the chaos. Their instincts proved right when they stumbled upon a narrow tunnel hidden behind a collapsed section of wall. The senator's escape route—discreetly built and almost impossible to detect—stretched ahead, lined with old stone and faint torchlight flickering in the distance.
Meanwhile, Kliev, Yumi, Emily, Alicia, Andrew, and Cymac weren't as lucky. The moment they regrouped in the open courtyard, they were swarmed. Dozens of aswags, a new breed of vampires, emerged from the shadows. Unlike typical vampires, these creatures were leaner, faster, and their pale skin glistened as if coated in a thin layer of oil. Their eyes burned crimson, and their snarls were a chorus of hunger.
Swords flashed, arrows whistled, and spells cracked through the night as the group fought back-to-back, the circle tightening around them. The aswags weren't mindless—they moved with terrifying coordination, forcing Kliev and the others to expend more energy with every strike just to keep them at bay.
Mizuno's sharp eyes traced the floor as he and Ethan moved quickly through the debris-strewn hallway. There—almost hidden under a collapsed wooden beam—was a steel hatch with a biometric lock. Mizuno knelt, fingers brushing away the dust. "Found it. The senator had a contingency," he muttered. Ethan's jaw tightened. "Then we make sure he doesn't slip through." They could hear the faint hum of machinery below; the route was active.
Meanwhile, on the west wing, Kliev's blade gleamed under the pale torchlight as the group formed a tight circle. Yumi's bow was drawn, the string trembling slightly with tension, Emily's hands already glowing with protective runes. Alicia and Andrew covered their flanks, and Cymac's greatsword rested on his shoulder like a slab of iron.
The aswags emerged from the shadows—thin, angular creatures, like twisted cousins of vampires, their skin a patchwork of dark, leathery plates. Their eyes burned crimson, and their mouths split wider than human jaws, revealing needle-like fangs. Unlike ordinary vampires, they moved low and fast, almost crawling on all fours, their limbs jointed wrong, giving them an unsettling, spiderlike grace.
One hissed, saliva sizzling as it hit the stone floor. Then they surged.
Kliev stepped forward, intercepting the first with a cleaving strike, but the aswag twisted unnaturally, bending back like a broken puppet before lunging again. "These things aren't normal!" he shouted.
"Focus fire!" Yumi yelled, loosing an arrow that pinned one through the eye. Emily threw a barrier spell, but the creatures didn't hesitate, throwing themselves at it like rabid animals. Alicia and Andrew flanked left, blades cutting arcs of steel, while Cymac's sword came down with a brutal crash, splitting the floor and sending two of the creatures tumbling.
But more kept coming, the sound of claws scraping stone echoing louder, closer.
Ethan and Mizuno moved through the underground corridors, their boots splashing quietly in the shallow water pooled on the stone floor. The air was damp and smelled faintly of rust and mildew. HQ's voice came through Ethan's earpiece, calm but urgent:
"Target's route should lead to the old service tunnels beneath the east wing. Expect heavy resistance—thermal scans show multiple hostiles converging."
Mizuno kept her rifle raised, scanning each corner as they advanced. "Hostiles could be aswangs. The senator's not just running—he's being shepherded. Someone wants him out alive."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Or baiting us into a trap."
They reached a junction where three tunnels branched off. A faint light flickered in the middle one. Mizuno knelt, inspecting the damp ground. "Fresh prints. Two sets—one heavier, the other lighter. Could be the senator and a guide."
"Or the senator and whoever's selling him out," Ethan muttered. He adjusted his grip on his weapon, then nodded toward the lit path. "We follow. Stay sharp."
They moved quickly but controlled, every sound amplified in the narrow passage. Somewhere ahead, the echo of hurried footsteps and the faint clink of metal reached their ears. Mizuno raised a fist, halting them.
"There," she whispered, pointing to a rusted service hatch half open. "Escape route. But it's too obvious. Cover me."
Ethan crouched, rifle aimed, scanning the shadows. Mizuno approached the hatch slowly, her movements precise, then tapped the side with her knife—checking for traps. A faint click answered her.
"Tripwire," she said flatly. "They weren't planning to leave quietly."
Ethan's lips curled in a humorless smile. "Guess we just confirmed they're not scared of cleanup."
Mizuno cut the wire carefully, then pushed the hatch open just enough to peek through. The tunnel beyond was narrow and sloped upward, faint daylight spilling through at the far end.
"They're almost out," Mizuno said. "We move now, or we lose them."
"HQ," Ethan said into his mic. "We've got eyes on the route. Pursuing. Lock down the perimeter topside."
"Copy," HQ replied. "Units are closing in. Do not lose that target."
Ethan and Mizuno exchanged a quick nod. Then they slipped into the hatch, silent and fast, shadows chasing the light.
Ethan and Mizuno moved like shadows, clearing the dimly lit corridor of traps and aswang interceptors. Every step was precise, every strike decisive. The first wave of aswangs lunged from the ceiling, their elongated claws gleaming in the faint light. Mizuno's blade whispered through the air, severing limbs before they could land. Ethan's silenced pistol barked once, twice—each shot clean, each monster collapsing without a sound.
The further they went, the more desperate the attacks became—floor spikes triggered, gas vents hissed, more twisted creatures crawled from hidden panels—but nothing slowed them. They dismantled everything with cold efficiency. By the time they reached the end of the escape route, the path behind them was littered with broken traps and dead beasts.
And then they saw him.
At the end of the corridor sat Senator Aldrine Cortez, perfectly calm, lounging in an ornate chair. A glass swirled lazily in his hand, its contents thick and red—not wine, but blood. He looked almost amused as he raised it in a mock toast.
Ethan stepped forward, voice sharp and commanding, gun leveled. "Aldrine Cortez. Hands where I can see them. You're under arrest for conspiracy, illegal bio-weapons, and treason."
Aldrine Cortez rose from his seat, his suit pristine, his presence heavy like a man born to command. The screens behind him flickered with grainy footage of the battlefield—Deyviel, Maya, Catherine, Ethan, Mizuno. He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing with slow, deliberate steps, voice calm yet carrying an undercurrent of arrogance.
"Do you see it? This chaos… this power? It's proof. Humans have always been the weaker race—fragile, short-lived, easily broken. But with the right alliance… with evolution itself bent to our will… we can transcend that weakness. The vampires understand this. Lancer understands this. While the world clings to its outdated morals, I am building something greater. An empire where mortality is obsolete, where strength is the only currency. Do you know what happens when humans are freed from the fear of death? They become gods."
He turned, eyes cold and bright. "And I will be the one to lead them. Not as a mere politician, but as the architect of a new era. This world will kneel—human and vampire alike—because power is not given, it is seized."
Mizuno leaned toward Ethan, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. "Bruh's currently at his ultimate supervillain monologue. Can I shoot him now?"
Ethan didn't take his eyes off the senator, jaw tight. "Not yet. Let him keep talking. The more he says, the more he gives away."
Instead, a faint glow sparked at his neck. A strange, crimson mark burned to life on his skin—a sigil shaped like a brand, pulsing with power. It wasn't just a tattoo; it was alive. The glow intensified, spreading like molten veins under his skin.
Mizuno's expression hardened, but Ethan, unaware of what it truly meant, kept his weapon steady.
They had no idea this wasn't an ordinary man.
Aldrine Cortez was branded with Pride—the mark of a Sin Series user.
To be continued...