Chapter 425: Updates

The world… didn’t go back to normal after Walpurgis. Well, considering everything that’s happened in the last twelve months, it’ll never go back to normal.

In fact, it gets worse every day with every little thing involving supernatural races.

The cracks that year left in the current world still bleed in subtle ways. In fact, the creatures lurking in the shadows now seem bolder, more… aware of the world’s problems, and that was dangerous.

Let’s start with an old friend of ours who is getting a lot of attention now that he has been seen… Alucard.

Yes, he has been found. Wandering, aimless… in Yemen. More specifically in Xibam, the legendary city of clay skyscrapers, where time seems to stand still and the whispers of the desert hide forgotten secrets.

The Demon Intelligence, with all its technology, contracts, and eyes scattered across the globe… was unable to capture him. Not even track him. The traces of the Ancient Vampire King dissolve like mist at dawn, and every attempt at tracking ends in failure… or madness.

But he is still alive. And that is ambiguous news.

By all accounts, Alucard has spread his blood across certain forgotten regions of the world. A new cycle of vampirism has begun, and with it, a new type of creature… something older, purer. More loyal to him. The entire supernatural world is on alert, because now he is not just an isolated entity. He is creating.

And worse: he seems to have a goal. Revenge.

But not against humanity, at least not yet. Not against the hunters, or even against Hell. Alucard is after a group. A name we already know well because of the Excalibur incident where Viviane was seriously injured and almost died… The organization called: 9.9.9.

The same group that Spectre claimed to lead… or at least represent.

Only now it’s clear: Spectre was never the owner of that. Just a pawn. A puppet of something much older, more meticulous.

And this revelation takes us behind the scenes of Hell.

The Empresses have been freed. And the names behind this liberation are beginning to surface.

With Amon and Astaroth confirming that it was a man Vergil met during his struggles… unsurprisingly… currently, the Leader of 999 must be Dante.

A renegade demon who until recently was infiltrated on the surface, collaborating directly with Spectre in the search for Ex-Calibur. Now, it is known that he is more than an executor. He is a leader. The current commander of the demonic division of the 9.9.9 organization.

And with that, the game changes again.

The eyes of everyone… Witches, angels, demons, werewolves, fairies, yokai, and all other species with Great Leaders… now turn to a single word. A single piece.

Behelith.

The item that this organization seeks. Or perhaps… worships.

Its purpose is still unknown. No one dares to theorize with conviction. But there is a consensus among those who investigate: whatever its function, it involves convergence. An end, or perhaps a new beginning.

And that is enough to alarm even the oldest among us.

The curtain has fallen, yes. But the stage is still set. And the actors—ah, the actors are just warming up.

The sky was too calm for such a strange day.

Floating upside down on his golden cloud, the ever-irreverent Wukong nibbled on a piece of heavenly peach as he surveyed the landscape with the boredom of a god who has seen it all—too much of it. His gaze now fixed on a woman sitting on a black rock, her crimson dress contrasting with her fair skin and hair as dark as the shadow of an eclipse.

Morrigan, Goddess of War and Prophecy, queen of bad omens, muttered irritably, her jaw clenched and her eyes lost in some impossible calculation.

“Two dragons,” she muttered, staring at the horizon as if she could find answers in the clouds. “Two celestial dragons, disappearing from the material plane without even leaving a trace…”

She rubbed her temples in frustration.

“And we were expelled from Hell. Literally kicked out, as if the plane had panicked. This has never happened before.”

Wukong slowly spun in the air, crossing his arms behind his head and letting his tail swing freely.

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, “some higher entity interfered. Maybe the bigwigs up there decided to do some cleaning up and forgot to tell us.”

Morrigan turned her face toward him slowly, like a storm brewing. Her green eyes flashed with something between sarcasm and menace.

“You talk as if this were a joke, monkey.”

Wukong laughed, of course. “Everything is a joke. Life, death, chaos, the gods freaking out because two giant lizards are missing…”

He pirouetted in the air and landed lightly beside the rock. Morrigan just sighed deeply, trying to maintain her composure. As annoying as it was, she knew that Wukong rarely spoke without thinking. He just made it seem that way.

Nearby, the steady footsteps of a woman echoed among the rocks. Susano’o, goddess of storms and sister of the radiant Amaterasu, walked with serenity and an almost lazy elegance, her bare feet touching the hot ground of the spiritual desert. Her sapphire blue kimono, embroidered with a white dragon entangled in waves, fit perfectly on her ivory-sculpted body. A deep neckline revealed part of her breasts, and each movement made the sheath of her sword tinkle softly.

She stopped beside Morrigan and Wukong, observing them both with the neutrality of a storm about to decide whether or not to rain.

“You argue about hypotheses while the world moves on without explanation.” Susano’o pulled a fan from inside her kimono, fanning herself lazily. “I’ll ask my sister directly. Amaterasu may have seen something of the solar plane.”

“Do you really think she’ll say anything?” Morrigan crossed her arms. “The Celestial Empress rarely shares knowledge without a price.”

Susano’o shrugged. “And what else do we have but coins and debts?”

Wukong stretched exaggeratedly.

“In the meantime, let’s pretend we’re not facing a new apocalypse,” he commented, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Two dragons disappearing. Hell in a state of panic. The sky too quiet. And you think this won’t lead to a Global Conference?”

Morrigan looked up, serious.

“It will. It will.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Only the wind whispered among the dunes, carrying with it echoes of broken worlds.

Susano’o put away her fan and sighed deeply.

“Those two walking chaos…” she said in a low voice. “Crimsarya and Nivara…”

Wukong frowned.

“If they’re gone… how is the underworld still intact?”

“That is the question.” Morrigan rose slowly, her hair fluttering around her like the feathers of an angry raven. “There was no battle. There was no rupture. They just… disappeared.”

“As if they had been removed,” Susano’o added. “Precisely.”

Wukong fell silent for a moment, and it was noticeable.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes now more serious, staring cautiously at the horizon.

“There is someone who would do that,” he muttered. “Someone who has enough power to interfere without causing an immediate reaction.”

“Someone outside the cycle?” asked Morrigan.

“Perhaps.”

“Or someone inside… who has stopped playing by the rules.”

Susano’o turned, ready to leave.

“In any case, I’m going to talk to Amaterasu. And if she doesn’t know anything… maybe it’s time to call a Meeting. Even if it’s problematic, but that boy… There’s something wrong with him.”

Morrigan nodded. “Yes, definitely… The fifth Demon King has something strange about him…”

“I wouldn’t get involved,” Wukong added, without his usual banter. “I feel like there’s something protecting that boy.”

Silence returned, but now there was weight to it. Unspoken words trembled beneath the surface like muffled thunder.

Susano’o was gone, walking on the sand as if floating. Morrigan stood there, staring at the sky, feeling the omens whisper louder each day.

Wukong finally floated upside down on his cloud again, muttering to himself.

“Two of the most temperamental entities in the cosmos disappear without a trace. And only now you say there’s someone, or something, protecting that boy?”

He took another bite of peach and smiled. “It’ll be fun when we find out, right?”

The breeze of the spiritual desert changed.

Not in direction, but in intention. As if some invisible force had taken a deep breath. Morrigan did not move, but her eyes narrowed as if she had heard something the others could not hear.

She spoke softly, almost to herself:

“They’re listening to us now.”

Wukong, still hovering in the air, raised a golden eyebrow. “They, who?”

Morrigan responded only with a glance. And that was enough.

From the calm sky came a muffled sound, like thunder swallowed by the earth. A tremor ran through the ground, subtle but steady, and grains of sand danced like needles on the hot rock. A tiny crack appeared under Morrigan’s feet, dark as fresh ink, pulsing with a crimson light from underground.

Wukong floated higher, instinctively. “Okay, this isn’t funny anymore.”

The crack closed on its own.

Morrigan took a step back, staring at the ground with restrained anger.

“They don’t want us talking about the boy anymore.”

“Are you saying… he’s listening?”

“Or something connected to him. Something that protects their secrets with divine zeal.” Morrigan turned to Wukong, her tone now more urgent. “This is bigger than we expected.”