Unwritten Mythos

The sound of crackling tension filled the room as the lights flickered in the underground containment area. Moon, now imprisoned in a soundless room on the third floor of the GPA's containment facility, lay still. Her massive, pure white wings cocooned her in a deep, unnatural slumber. The room was engineered to keep her submerged in this quiet—forever if possible.

Through the surveillance feed, a group of high-ranking officials observed her unmoving form. The man who once called her his daughter stood at the front, his face twisted in anguish. He hadn't looked away from the screen for hours, as if watching her sleep would protect her from the horror of her new reality.

One of the officials spoke up. "We deeply apologize for your loss."

"Thank you for your understanding," another added solemnly, though the formality barely masked the ulterior motives beneath.

The middle-aged man's jaw tightened as he spoke. "All I ask is that she sleeps forever. No one should wake her. That is my only request."

The officials exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable with the restriction. One cleared his throat. "We understand your feelings, but... we would like to ask your daughter a few things."

The father clenched his fists. "She won't answer you. She's not like that anymore."

"Even so," the lead scientist persisted, "we'd like to conduct a small experiment—"

"You will **not** experiment on her!" His voice, choked with emotion, echoed in the sterile room.

"Please, try to see it from our perspective," another official interrupted. "We need to understand what changes have occurred in her body, especially given her... unique nature."

Before the father could respond, another voice cut through the rising tension.

"We don't have time for this," one of the senior directors said, shaking his head. "For now, we should focus on other pressing matters. The 'Angel' hasn't exhibited any immediate threat, so we can delay research on her until more urgent situations are handled."

"Exactly," a different voice chimed in. "We have a serious issue brewing in North America. The entire containment team sent to investigate has been completely wiped out."

The room grew silent for a moment. Faces turned grim as the severity of the situation settled in.

"North America?" the father asked, momentarily distracted from his daughter's fate.

"Yes," an official confirmed. "It appears that North America has become a hotspot for… unusual activity. The team we sent encountered **thousands** of vampires. They were annihilated before they could send back meaningful data."

Another voice rose in panic. "Asia isn't faring any better! The investigation team sent there three days ago—gone. No contact, no reports. It's like they vanished into thin air!"

The officials began to argue, voices rising in heated debate.

"North America is the priority! The situation is spiraling out of control!"

"No, you don't understand! Asia is worse—Fish-Men in the tens of thousands, entire populations under the influence of Object 004!"

"We can't deal with Asia right now!" one man shouted, his face flushed with anger. "The monsters there have been embedded for far too long. We need more time and resources. North America is the immediate threat!"

"Can you kill a vampire?!" a scientist retorted, his voice shaking with frustration. "We barely understand how they operate, and now you want to throw more resources at them?!"

The argument escalated as the two officials faced off, their foreheads nearly touching as they yelled at each other. The remaining members of the group shook their heads, tired of the endless bickering.

Finally, a calm but authoritative voice broke the shouting match. "Enough! Arguing like this is pointless. We need a decision."

The lead official stood, taking command of the situation. "The facts are clear: North America's situation, while bad, is still more manageable than Asia's. The vampires can be contained if we move quickly. Asia is too entrenched, too complicated to tackle at the moment."

One man raised his hand in objection, but before he could speak, another snapped, "You motherfucker, shut up!"

"Alright, it's settled," the lead official declared. "The operation to contain 008 in North America is approved."

...

The streets of a so-called free country were deceptively quiet, a brief calm masking the chaos that lurked beneath the surface. A white-haired girl strolled leisurely along the pavement, her pale skin glowing faintly under the morning sun. Her steps were unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world.

Suddenly, a man burst out from the shadows, panting heavily as he pointed a crossbow at her. His face twisted with desperation, eyes wide with the frenzied ambition of a man who believed his fortune was just a trigger pull away.

"As long as I kill her," he muttered under his breath, "I won't have to worry about food or drink for the rest of my life!" His voice wavered, betraying a tinge of fear beneath his bravado.

Every underground network, every official bounty board in the world, had plastered this girl's face on their wanted lists. The target in front of him wasn't just a human. She was far worse, far more dangerous—a living Vampire.

The man steadied his breathing, gripping his crossbow tightly. "I have the Church of Light's holy water, and this is a special sterling silver crossbow. I can definitely kill you!" His voice rose with a delusion of certainty.

He aimed and fired. The silver arrow shot forward, whistling through the air. The girl barely moved, yet the arrow missed its mark as though it had hit an invisible barrier. Her disinterested eyes flicked toward him, a trace of amusement playing on her lips.

Panic spread across the man's face. He hastily reached for another arrow, but before he could even raise his hand, he heard the unmistakable click of a shotgun being cocked.

Bang!

The crack of a gunshot echoed in the empty street. Blood sprayed from the man's skull as he collapsed to the ground. The girl lowered her M1887 shotgun, the spent shell casing spinning to the asphalt in a hollow clang.

"Seriously?" She scoffed, wiping imaginary dust from her shoulder. "What year is it? Who still uses a crossbow?"

Her sharp gaze wandered to the now lifeless body at her feet. "And they're still coming for me like it's some B-movie. Crossbows, silver swords, garlic necklaces… I mean, really?" Her voice carried a tone of disbelief, mixed with a touch of boredom.

The truth was, 008—as she was known—wasn't your average vampire. Silver, garlic, and cold steel were laughably ineffective against her.

"All of this is completely pointless," she muttered, walking past the corpse. Memories of a recent encounter flashed in her mind: a group of so-called 'hunters' had drenched her in holy water while reciting verses, convinced they could exorcise her.

"That was fun," she snickered to herself, recalling how she'd washed her face with the so-called holy water and kindly informed them that their sacred liquid was nothing more than cheap, salted tap water. She didn't even have the heart to tell them they could've at least sprung for mineral water.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Lots of them.

Sighing, she turned her head and saw the advancing soldiers, fully armed and ready for battle. "So much for a peaceful breakfast," she muttered. "You know, this is why it's a pain not being able to just… talk."

The moment they saw her, the soldiers began to shout. "Detected 008! Begin capture!"

008 rolled her eyes. "Capture, huh?"

A bullet whizzed toward her head, but before it could make contact, she casually caught it between her fingers. She examined the projectile with mild interest. "How about I lend you my gun instead?"

As she spoke, her body shifted. Her slender form broadened, muscles rippling under black clothing. Her delicate features sharpened into a rugged masculine appearance, and two massive wings unfolded from her back. Her once serene eyes turned blood-red, burning with a predatory hunger.

Another round of bullets fired from the soldiers, but 008 snapped his fingers.

Poof!

The soldiers burst like fireworks, blood painting the street in arcs as their bodies detonated. In a matter of seconds, the entire squad had been reduced to red mist and torn limbs.

008—now back in his feminine form—brushed off her clothes, surveying the carnage with a pleased expression. "Hmm, not bad. A little messy, but not bad."

Her gaze turned skyward as the morning sun gleamed overhead. She stretched lazily, flicking a strand of white hair over her shoulder. "What a beautiful day," she mused. "I think I'll get some breakfast."

And with that, she continued her walk, leaving behind a blood-soaked street and a trail of death, as casually as if she were strolling to a café.

...

In the heart of GPA's grand headquarters, a storm of frustration rippled through the tense air.

"Mission failed."

"Damn it!" A fist slammed onto the table. "I told you, 008 can control blood! Why do you keep throwing bodies at her? No matter how many you send, they'll die in an instant. Are you incapable of learning? Can't anyone here act like professionals?"

"There's nothing else we can do," came the retort, voice laced with resignation. "We've exhausted all options."

A sigh echoed across the room. "If nothing works, throw a missile."

"I think it's worth considering," someone else chimed in, coldly calculating. "The area's mostly cleared of civilians anyway."

"Agreed. Use it."

A hand slammed the table in protest. "Wait, is that not a bit too rash?!"

"It's fine," came the dismissive reply. "Your country's never cared much for details."

"Asia Director, please," a calm voice interjected. "Let's keep personal grievances out of the conference."

The argument spiraled into chaos. "Look, we can't beat 008. I say, forget the missile. Drop a nuke."

"You're insane!"

"Am I? What other option do we have? Tell me. If you've got a better idea, let's hear it!"

"I…"

"Exactly. So if you've got nothing, sit tight and wait."

As the room echoed with tension, a wry smile twisted across a few faces. This kind of conflict wasn't new, especially between the North American and Asian directors. The clash of egos was almost routine.

"Everyone," another voice broke through the din, smooth but sharp. "What if we use the Angel?"

"Are you mad?!"

"I'm not," the speaker's eyes gleamed with conviction. "I think the Angel could defeat 008."

"Absolutely not!" The refusal came quickly, sharp as a blade. "Because it's your child, is that it?" The mocking tone stirred a ripple of tension.

"No." A solemn pause. "It's inappropriate. If the Angel loses control, we'll only make things worse."

"Then what do we do?" the frustration in the room was palpable, questions with no answers bouncing off every wall.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of a phone shattered the heated atmosphere. All eyes turned as one of the officials picked up the call.

"Hello?"

A voice crackled from the other side, calm and deliberate. "Are you troubled by how to deal with 008?"

The official narrowed their eyes. "Who's asking?"

"I am Zero," the voice answered, a chilling clarity in every word. "Supreme General of the Kitsune. And I have a suggestion."