He sprang to his feet—then immediately slumped back down, defeated.
His expression… was one of utter bewilderment.
"I've tried everything. Played every trump card."
Hunching forward, he curled up in the round chair, muttering in despair:
"So this is it? I’m just supposed to sit here and wait for death?"
He was drowning in hopelessness.
He no longer dared to face Seraphine.
Not even a sliver of courage remained.
"Only one option left..."
With great effort, Monroe forced himself upright, dragging his feet step by step out the door.
He didn’t bother gathering any of the important technical documents, nor did he retrieve the holy spirit armor hidden in the secret vault.
None of it mattered anymore. None of it was needed.
After living this long, he realized—he still didn’t want to die.
So now, all that was left was to find a way off Earth.
Even if it meant resorting to his most desperate—yet most certain—method.
A few minutes later—
Monroe arrived at a modestly sized laboratory.
Nearly half of the room was consumed by a massive, tangled machine.
Wires, cables, and parts were strewn across the space in complete chaos.
At a glance, it looked like pure disarray.
At the heart of the setup stood a three-meter-long, two-meter-wide reinforced iron coffin.
It bristled with cables and conduits.
This crude-looking apparatus had only one purpose.
Or rather—one mission.
To flawlessly replicate and upload a digital copy of Monroe’s consciousness, including his emotional modules and memory data.
The entire system only functioned in conjunction with his consciousness digitalization superpower.
Without it, the result would be nothing more than a cold, useless pile of fragmented data.
The replication process would take more than a full day to complete.
Once finished, the machine would compress all the integrated data into a single information packet and transmit it via radio waves to a hidden location in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter.
There lay Monroe’s final escape mechanism—
A hyper-miniature spacecraft, just one meter long and half a meter wide, designed to store only electronic data.
Just enough to house the entirety of his consciousness.
Though tiny, it contained everything necessary:
Self-repair modules, external resource acquisition functions—even basic defense and counterattack capabilities.
Once transmission succeeded, Monroe’s physical body and soul would enter a long dormant state—completely defenseless.
That little ship, carrying his mind, would then travel at sub-light speed, leaving the Solar System behind and drifting into the vast unknown of deep space.
Monroe was afraid.
Utterly terrified.
He had no faith that he could truly escape Seraphine’s infernal grasp.
Not in flesh, nor in spirit.
This base, this body, and this soul—he was ready to give them all up.
A temporary tribute, for being allowed to live.
As for Earth? Let whoever wants it have it.
With a long sigh, Monroe lay down inside the iron coffin.
He activated the consciousness-replication sequence, and slowly drifted into a deep slumber.
At the same time—
Night had fallen over Beaconreach’s capital city. Inside the Grand Museum’s main reception hall, Leader Tom stood center stage, passionately delivering a pre-written speech.
Down below, rows of impeccably dressed nobles and top officials looked on with elegant smiles and practiced politeness.
They appeared deeply engaged, occasionally offering soft applause.
The mood was tranquil, refined, and ceremonious.
Meanwhile, far from the reception, deep within the museum's artifact evaluation wing, two scholars stood chatting idly while inspecting an ancient coffin.
One was a folklore and antiquities expert. The other, a naturalist.
“Mr. Holst.”
The elderly scholar of legends, magnifying glass in hand, was carefully studying the inscriptions on the coffin.
Without lifting his gaze, he spoke softly:
“Are you familiar… with vampires?”
The naturalist, Holst, glanced over. “Of course. I’ve read The Twilight Saga.”
“Oh?”
Gulliver, the folklore scholar, gave him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t take you for someone who reads books meant for teenagers.”
The latter pushed up his glasses and grunted,
“I don’t consider myself old, you know. But Gulliver—what are you getting at?”
The folklore scholar paused, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said slowly:
“Have you ever thought about where vampire legends actually come from?”
Holst shrugged, replying casually,
“Sure. Count Dracula, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Interview with the Vampire—I’ve seen them all.”
Gulliver smirked.
“Dracula... is certainly one origin. But he’s not ancient. The idea of bloodsucking entities predates him by quite a bit.”
Still flipping through a set of documents, Holst replied idly, “Cain, then?”
He was only half-listening—just making conversation.
“Hmph, I’ll give you this—Cain does share many traits with vampires. You could call him a mythic precursor, at least in some later interpretations.
But the idea of Cain being the first vampire? That’s a modern invention.
It actually came from a video game.”
“No kidding?” Holst blinked, finding that oddly amusing.
Gulliver nodded.
“Indeed. A surprising number of so-called ‘ancient references’ in the Holy Scripture were borrowed—or rather, inspired—by older myths from elsewhere.”
“Ah… That’s one of the reasons I’ve never been religious,” Holst said with a chuckle.
“Too… imprecise.”
Gulliver gave him a sideways glance and grinned.
“Religion fills the void in people’s hearts.”
“My heart’s already full—with facts. No room left for superstition,” Holst scoffed.
Gulliver pursed his lips and continued: “Mentions of vampire-like beings in the Holy Scripture were most likely inspired by Egyptian mythology.
But honestly, that’s not even the beginning.
The concept of vampirism has existed for millennia.
In Mesopotamian, Semitic, Hebrew, ancient Greek, and Roman cultures, you’ll find tales of soul-sucking demons. They’re considered the true origins—or perhaps the progenitors—of the vampire mythos.”
“That’s not right.”
Holst frowned.
“Vampires drink blood. What does soul-sucking have to do with it?”
“In ancient belief systems,” Gulliver explained patiently,
“the soul and blood were often seen as one and the same.
It was believed that to drain someone’s blood was to consume their soul.”
With that, he raised his hand and pointed to the massive stone coffin beside him.
“This sarcophagus, excavated from beneath the Pyrenees Mountains by an archaeological team, may contain one of the earliest figures in the vampire mythos—Mattu Erice.”
“An ancient Greek general,” he continued, stepping closer to the stone, “who descended into madness and became a bloodthirsty tyrant.”
He pressed his palm against a faint emblem carved into the surface of the coffin and let out a soft sigh.
“Legend says Erice practiced a form of malevolent soul-theft sorcery. He could hijack the bodies of ordinary citizens at will… and commit acts of slaughter simply for amusement.
Supposedly, some of the more infamous execution rituals—‘Rat Form’, ‘Impaling Form’, ‘Molten Gold Form’, ‘Human Candle’, and the ‘Blood Eagle’—were invented by him.”
Hearing this, Holst grimaced.
“Now that’s a demon.”
“A demon?”
Gulliver turned to face him, voice lowering.
“According to the legends, the people of that era, consumed by horror and revulsion, gave him a name…”
“Primordial Demon.”
He continued, voice grim:
“It’s said that when the ancient Greek city-state had finally suffered enough, they sent emissaries across the known world to gather a team of more than a dozen warriors—each one possessing extraordinary talents.
After losing over half their number, and paying a dreadful price, they managed to seal Erice inside this very coffin—with the aid of a hero from the distant East.”
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Holst raised a brow.
“This so-called Eastern hero… Any records?”
Gulliver thought for a moment, then replied in halting Emberlight dialect:
“Human face… tiger’s body… tiger teeth, leopard tail… a roar that splits the sky… and hair shaped like the head of a bird.”
Holst blinked.
“…That sounds like something out of a bad Hollywood fantasy movie.”
“Speaking of movies…”
Something seemed to occur to Holst, and he smiled.
“I heard that after our celebrity leader’s speech ends, he’s planning to visit the backstage staff.”
“Oh?!” Gulliver’s eyes lit up.
“Leader Tom is coming here?”
“Should be.”
Holst shrugged, returning to his documents and scribbling notes.
“Well then!” The old scholar straightened his coat.
“My nephew’s a huge fan of the leader. I must get an autograph for him.”
“You’re not going to join us?”
Holst shook his head.
“Nope. I need to finish transcribing the coffin’s inscriptions. Gotta submit them to the archives.”
“Suit yourself. Just don’t take too long.”
With that, Gulliver gave a quick nod and stepped out.
“I’ll go check if he’s arrived.”
“Bye~”
Holst waved lazily over his shoulder.
Creak…
The heavy door shut behind Gulliver, leaving Holst alone in the room.
Just then, the faintly carved emblem on the ancient coffin—the very one Gulliver had casually patted—began to shimmer with a subtle light.
Slowly, it shifted… morphing into a savage, wide-mouthed visage with tightly shut eyes.
That humanoid face then began to stir.
Its eyes opened—glowing faintly with an ancient, bone-chilling malice.
“Hum~~”
From within the depths of the ancient sarcophagus, a sinister and primeval mental force stirred—awakening after an eternity of slumber.
Clap clap clap clap clap clap clap~~
In a quiet corridor behind the Grand Museum’s main exhibition hall, the sound of crisp, polite applause echoed.
Gulliver, briskly following the sound, turned a corner—and there, roughly twenty meters ahead, stood a round, suit-clad man with neatly styled blond hair, surrounded by a small entourage. He was smiling, waving, saying something to those around him.
Gulliver’s eyes lit up instantly.
He quickened his pace, weaving into the gathering crowd, wearing a warm and eager smile as he gazed at the blond-haired man with the layered, complex hairstyle—
Beaconreach’s Grand Leader: Tom.
“Hmm~”
Tom glanced over lazily and asked the man next to him, “Who’s this fellow?”
The short, balding man with glasses standing at his side replied enthusiastically:
“This is Professor Gulliver—renowned scholar of ancient civilizations, mythology, and folklore at Apollo University.
He also serves as the museum’s chief special advisor on heritage appraisal and archaic studies.”
“Ahh~~”
Tom nodded in mild understanding, a practiced, affable smile spreading across his plump face as he extended a hand.
“An honor, esteemed archaeologist Mr. Gulliver. I’ve heard much about your work.”
“Uh…”
Gulliver hesitated, nearly correcting the title—not an archaeologist—but after a pause, decided not to bother.
Instead, he stepped forward, gripping Tom’s hand with both of his.
“It’s a great honor to meet you as well, Leader Tom!”
“Mmhmm~”
Tom’s lips curled into a gentle smirk.
“We should talk sometime.
No one—and I mean no one—knows archaeology better than I do.”
“Ah… yes, of course.” Gulliver forced a polite laugh.
Just then, the short man’s gaze shifted—his eyes lighting up as he noticed something behind Gulliver. He turned to Tom excitedly:
“Leader, I would like to formally introduce someone to you!”
“Oh?” Tom’s golden eyebrows arched slightly. “And who might that be?”
The man gestured toward someone approaching from around the corner.
“Dr. Holst—former chief curator of ancient relics at multiple major museums, and head of the Emberlight Cultural Heritage Division.”
He leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially:
“He also holds senior clearance in the abnormal materials testing division of Area 51… and is a leading authority on human biology.”
“Ah~!”
Tom’s eyes widened with fascination. He scanned the approaching figure with renewed interest, then extended his hand warmly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Holst.”
Gulliver, meanwhile, blinked in surprise as Holst stepped up beside him.
“Wait—didn’t you say you weren’t coming?”
Holst offered him a smile that felt… strangely unfamiliar.
“I changed my mind.”
Then, with an uncharacteristic laugh, he stepped forward and clasped Tom’s hand with both of his.
“Haha! Delighted to finally meet you, Leader!”
“Uh…”
As Holst’s hands closed around his, Tom’s large frame abruptly convulsed—his pupils contracted, his body stiffened, and for a moment, his vision blacked out.
Less than a second later—
His eyes flared open again, faint rings of white glowing at their edges.
He grinned wildly, glancing around with sudden, manic energy.
Then, raising his voice, he declared:
“Gentlemen! I must say… what a glorious age to be alive! Hahahahahaha!”
He burst into raucous laughter, clapping enthusiastically—seemingly at his own declaration.
The Grand Leader’s sudden and bizarre outburst drew stunned looks from the surrounding staff and officials.
But they quickly forced smiles and began clapping along, exchanging uncertain glances as they did so.
Even Professor Gulliver—his brow furrowed slightly—and Dr. Holst, his face drawn and stiff, joined in.
Leaning closer, Gulliver whispered to Holst, his voice low:
“…You copied all the inscriptions off the coffin already? That fast?”
Holst cracked his neck and turned to face him, speaking in a flat tone: “It’s done. Everything is done.”
Gulliver narrowed his eyes, scanning him from head to toe. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “You… why do you feel off somehow?”
Holst’s face remained completely expressionless. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”
Just then, a burly man in a black suit approached Tom and leaned in close to whisper something in his ear: “Leader, there’s something going on at the Hexagon building…”
“Oh?”
Tom gave him a glance, calm and indifferent. Then, with a gentle smile, he turned back to the group. “Gentlemen—brilliant minds all—unfortunately, something urgent has come up.”
The short old man quickly said, “Of course, Leader. Duty comes first.”
The others smiled and nodded in agreement.
“Heh heh ~”
Old Tom gave the group a polite nod, then turned and briskly followed the man in the black suit.
As the Leader’s figure disappeared down the hall, Gulliver felt a strange sensation bubbling up inside him.
If he had to describe it—
The current Tom gave him the impression of a figure from an ancient Greek fresco, awkwardly dropped into modern-day society.
A jarring dissonance.
“Ancient… Erice…”
The old professor frowned deeply, glancing at Holst’s dazed expression before turning to look in the direction Tom had left.
Suddenly, a terrifying, bone-deep thought struck him.
“Erice! Soul-stealing witchcraft!”
His whole body jolted. His eyes flew open, and he instinctively stepped forward, blurting out: “Uh—!”
Tom, already dozens of meters away, abruptly turned his head.
A mysterious, cruel smile crept across his face.
Hum~~
Before Gulliver could even finish speaking the name, an ancient and malicious wave of mental power surged forth—easily shattering his fragile consciousness.
The professor’s body went rigid. His face froze, empty and lifeless, no different from the vacant-eyed Griffin beside him.
Tom saw it all.
His expression turned cold once again. Without another word, he turned and exited the museum swiftly alongside his bodyguard.
Beaconreach. The Hexagon Building.
Inside a sprawling military-grade weapons lab.
From behind thick blast-resistant glass, Leader Tom stood with narrowed eyes, silently observing the enormous electromagnetic weapon glowing with a fierce, blue light.
He could feel the tendrils of his mental power—normally ethereal and untouchable—being worn down, even corroded, by the weapon’s extreme electromagnetic field.
He muttered to himself, low and amused:
“I didn’t think mental power could be damaged by man-made weapons.
Haha… These fragile humans always manage to come up with something interesting.”
A glint sparked in his eye.
And it only grew brighter.
At that moment, a familiar voice rang out behind him.
“Leader. It’s been far too long!”
“Hm?” Tom turned his head.
Striding toward him was an old general—average height, stern face, unmistakably military.
A smile bloomed on Tom’s face. He stepped forward, extended his hand warmly, and said:
“Indeed, General Benede. Far too long.”
“…!”
Benede’s sharp gaze faltered for a second.
Then, a mechanical, deferential smile spread across his face.
“Your will… is my only purpose.”
Tom chuckled softly, eyes narrowing as he spotted the approaching crowd of high-ranking military officials behind Benede.
Eagerly, he strode forward, shaking hands with each one.
And with each touch, quietly activated his soul-stealing, mind-controlling ability.
Hum——
A faint, but profoundly wicked force of mental energy began to twist and coil through the vast laboratory hall.
With each new handshake, with every fleeting contact, the power radiating from Tom grew stronger, spreading farther, seeping deeper.
As he looked into the lifeless expressions and glassy, unnatural stares of the generals—men who formed the very core of Beaconreach’s military command—
Tom let a wicked grin spread across his face.
“Now this… this is what it means to be king.”
“Checks and balances… Hah. What a joke.”
He turned his head, and under the fervent, reverent stares of everyone present, cast his gaze toward the reinforced glass encasing the new weapon. A low chuckle slipped from his lips.
“Primitive society. Slave society. Feudal society. Industrial society…”
“Machine guns. Black powder. Cruise missiles. Hydrogen bombs…”
“Steam engines. Radio. The internet…”
Tom’s mouth stretched open—unnaturally wide, all the way to his ears. Yellowed teeth crammed his jaw in a grotesque, feral grin as he went on:
“Cities beyond counting. Billions of naive little humans, warm, clothed, well-fed.”
“Everything so peaceful. So serene. As if it could last forever.”
He slowly shut his eyes, as if listening—no, sensing—some unseen, intangible current flowing through the world.
“Blood. Suffering. Death. Disaster. Chaos.”
“These... these are what give me power.”
Tom’s eyes snapped open, gleaming. He bared his teeth again, laughing quietly:
“Boring. It’s all so boring!”
“I want to see devastation!”
“I want to see… rivers of blood!”
Emberlight Empire.
Sapphire Research Institute.
Selene and Serena were descending in an elevator.
Bright white lights lit the interior. Selene—who once wore layers of machinery on her body—now looked almost human again. Her silver twin pigtails remained, but all that marked her cybernetic nature were the luminous bluish cracks etched across her face, neck, and the backs of her hands.
Less a machine now, and more a person.
Hum——
After descending a hundred meters, the elevator stopped at a massive laboratory resembling a full-scale industrial plant.
The two women stepped out, and the first thing they saw was an enormous cylindrical biochemical nutrient tank, situated about a hundred meters ahead. The tank was colossal—fifty to sixty meters in diameter and rising more than five hundred meters high.
Within the slow-churning yellow nutrient fluid, a vague silhouette floated in suspension.
A brain.
A massive, grotesquely oversized brain—at least forty meters across.
Its pale, bloated tissue was studded with thousands of precision-engineered electronic modules, embedded directly into the folds of its flesh. Fiber optic cables and thick wire bundles, both wide and narrow, were connected across every surface, feeding into the pale matter like veins and arteries.
Even more unsettling—
Two silvery metallic pipes, each three meters in diameter, extended horizontally from either side of the nutrient tank, piercing through the half-meter-thick glass and tunneling directly into the brain itself.
Selene and Serena stepped closer, curious.
They noticed that both iron tubes had staircases spiraling upward along their length, allowing technicians to ascend to the pipe openings—situated dozens of meters above the floor.
Serena, clutching a folder of documents, tilted her head and murmured in slight astonishment, “This design… it really looks like it’s meant for someone to enter that brain.”
“You’re not wrong, Director Serena.”
A calm voice cut in.
Seraphine—now clad in a pristine white lab coat—had appeared quietly beside them. Hands in her coat pockets, she stood gazing up at the massive brain, still gently floating in the tank.
Her tone was cool, almost serene:
“This is the 【Jade Resonator】 Sentience Realm Transducer. It’ll be a key component in our next research phase.”
She turned her head slightly and glanced at the folder in Serena’s hands.
“Have the investigator assignments been finalized?”
No sooner had she spoken than her form shimmered—splitting cleanly into two identical figures.
One remained behind, continuing the conversation.
The other gave Selene a light pat on the shoulder, motioning for her to step aside.
Neither woman reacted much. They’d seen this kind of thing many times before.
“The three-ring criteria Your Highness set—after much effort, we’ve only managed to find fifteen candidates. We’ll need to wait for the final round of testing over the next few days to determine the confirmed selection.”
Serena handed over the document folder, her expression tense with frustration.
“Mental power must not be too strong—(it’ll cause instability inside the Sentience Realm);
They need acute perception—(to detect faint clues or hidden paths);
An unshakable mind, calm in crisis—(to raise survival odds);
Advanced investigative instincts—(to navigate and escape unpredictable threats);
Cognitive frameworks vastly stronger than the norm—(so they don’t collapse when faced with impossible or surreal experiences);
And most importantly: born with extraordinary luck—(luck is strength… more important than all five of the above combined).”
She shook her head and sighed quietly. “Your Highness, each of those six traits alone is rare enough… but to find someone with all six? That’s nearly impossible.”
Seraphine took the folder, casually flipping through its contents. “The Sentience Realm is far too chaotic. Without all six of these base conditions, entering it won’t just mean death—it’ll be far worse. No need to rush… we’ll wait. The right ones will come.”
Not far away—
Seraphine glanced over at Selene, who was still standing silently. “Regarding the hidden stronghold of the PsyBro Syndicate—Vale has already led a sweep. They’re operating out of a place called BlackRock City, in Eliondra.”
At the mention of that name, Selene’s entire body tensed. She dropped to one knee, her voice clear and resolute:
“Selene understands Your Highness’s intent. But as Your Highness’s blade—no matter how deep my brother’s blood-debt runs—I cannot place it above Your Highness.”
Seraphine chuckled lightly. “Haha, you still remember what I once told you? That I would give you the power to take revenge with your own hands.”
She eyed Selene with faint curiosity. “Are you comfortable with the virtual-space Armament Box and the upgraded engine?”
Selene nodded firmly. “Selene feels excellent.”
Seraphine nodded in approval. “Good. There’s nothing urgent here for the moment. Go. Seek your revenge.”
Selene, suppressing the burning storm within her, gave a deep bow: “As Your Highness commands. Selene won’t take long.”
She was about to rise and depart when Seraphine suddenly added:
“Judging by your expression… were you planning to go in and slaughter your way through?”
Selene tilted her head slightly, surprised. “Huh?”
Wasn’t that the plan?
Seraphine gave a soft nod. “You may be unmatched now with the 2.0 enhancements. But PsyBro is a different kind of enemy. They move fast. They're shadow-based and mobile. There are definitely high-tier spatial manipulators among them. A frontal assault will only tip them off.”
She raised a finger and lightly tapped the air in front of Selene’s forehead.
Hum——
A torrent of data surged into Selene’s mind.
[...BlackRock City...]
[...The Port...]
[...Fu’an Gang... operating from 13th Street to 17th Street...]
[...Primary operations: detergent cover trade, firearms smuggling, black-market antiques, underground bars, brothels, human trafficking...]
[...Majority population: early Emberlight immigrants...]
[...Gang members wear signature ghost-head tattoos on their necks or jaws...]
[...Gang is currently serving as PsyBro’s temporary asset extraction base...]
[...They regularly rotate safe houses and black sites to avoid tracking...]
[...Current hideout will only be active for two more days...]
[...Only one man—Wu Fu—knows the precise location...]
[...Elusive, highly mobile target—known to vanish at will...]
[...Their primary node is disguised as a weapons shop. Infiltration can begin there, progressing outward step by step...]
Selene’s golden-red eyes flickered open, glowing faintly as the streaming data reflected within.
She understood immediately.
“Your Highness wishes for Selene to act with precision. So that Lucian cannot escape.”
Seraphine gave a faint smile. “That’s… one way of interpreting it. The intelligence is yours now. The revenge is yours too. How you carry it out is entirely up to you.”
Selene gave a solemn nod. “Yes.”
“No time to waste.”
Seraphine clapped her hands once.
Hum——
The Real Number Channel tore open beside them—its edges shimmering with alien code—and in an instant, swallowed Selene whole.
She vanished.