The wild chaos that once reigned in Dark Fang’s gang froze the mont the soldiers of the Xaos Kingdom began marching into the underground stronghold. n and won clad in sleek black armor, their faces emotionless, advanced with a precision that bordered on machine-like. The gangsters—thieves, murderers, and degenerates—stood stunned, their bravado drained by the sheer presence of this disciplined force.
There was sothing terrifying in the way these soldiers moved—synchronized, efficient, and utterly devoid of fear. Their eyes didn’t dart in panic like those of the gang mbers. Instead, they radiated conviction, as though they had been forged by years of suffering, training, and unwavering belief in a cause far greater than themselves. It was a kind of strength that no bandit, no matter how cruel or violent, could replicate.
Instinctively, the gang mbers turned their desperate gazes toward their leader, hoping that Dark Fang’s brutal strength might sohow tip the scales. But what they saw shattered their morale.
Dark Fang was dead.
His massive body lay slumped before the throne he once ruled from—lifeless and broken. And sitting upon that throne now was a young man, eerily calm. His white hair flowed like starlight, and his golden eyes glead with the cold brilliance of a winter sun. There was no rage on his face, no smug satisfaction—only focus, and sothing colder: inevitability.
The man’s eyes passed over the gang mbers like a judge weighing unworthy souls. Then, with a voice as sharp as a blade, he gave a single command.
"Kill them all."
The words had barely left his lips when the soldiers of Xaos moved.
There was no roar of war cries, no dramatic charge—only the silent precision of trained killers. Spears thrust, blades sang through flesh, and spells rained down in waves of fire, ice, and lightning. Within seconds, the underground city was bathed in blood. Bandits scread and tried to flee, but the exits were already sealed. Every tunnel, every breach, every escape route was covered by overlapping formations of soldiers who didn’t flinch or falter.
Despite the brutality, there was no chaos in their actions. The Xaos soldiers remained in formation, communicating silently through subtle hand signs and nods. Each step forward was asured. Each enemy was cut down with ruthless efficiency. No one broke rank. No one lost focus.
From the throne, Vlad watched the scene with quiet intensity.
Five figures appeared beside him in a ripple of energy—Freya, Jormungandr, Ouroboros, Fafnir, and Overlord. The generals and Legends of the Xaos Kingdom. Each one was powerful enough to eliminate the entire gang on their own, and yet none of them moved. They stood silently, watching, their eyes calm.
The reason was simple.
With Dark Fang dead, there was no real threat left in this hideout. The battle had beco a rite of passage—a blood-soaked initiation. Though these soldiers had trained for years under beast generals, had learned formation drills and combat tactics with near-computational precision, many of them had never killed another human before. Monsters, demons, even corrupted angels—yes. But humans? That was different.
The Xaos Kingdom did not take the killing of human beings lightly. It was part of their cultural doctrine to understand the weight of such actions. Soldiers were taught to value life—human life, at least—while also learning that sotis taking a life was necessary to protect many others.
That’s why this first mission had been chosen with care. These gang mbers were no innocents. They were rapists, slavers, murderers—scum. Killing them wasn’t just strategic—it was justifiable. And for soldiers standing on the edge of moral hesitation, this made all the difference.
The massacre lasted less than thirty minutes.
Over five thousand gang mbers were exterminated. None escaped. Not a single soul lived to tell the tale.
Vlad allowed himself a small smile as the final screams died out. Thanks to interference from the Depravitas’ A.I. Chips, no signal had been transmitted from the stronghold. The purge had occurred in absolute secrecy. To the outside world, Dark Fang and his entire gang still existed—at least for now.
Because Vlad had no intention of erasing the gang entirely.
With a glance toward Overlord, the A.I. Chip Clone nodded, understanding the plan without a word. The Dark Fang gang may have been slaughtered, but their infrastructure, networks, and reputation would now serve a new purpose: infiltration.
anwhile, many of the soldiers stood catching their breath—not due to physical fatigue, but the psychological impact of what they had just done. Killing wasn’t natural, even for the trained. But the mont their space rings glowed, each soldier straightened, receiving silent commands from the Overlord’s network.
Without hesitation, they resud action.
The bodies of the dead were thodically collected and stored in dinsional rings for later disposal. No evidence would remain. After that, they dismantled every structure, every foul altar and den of sin the gang had built, cleansing the underground fortress down to its foundations.
Then ca the reconstruction.
Engineers among the soldiers began placing tallic cubes at key structural points. These cubes, once infused with energy, unfolded and expanded, transforming into prefabricated military buildings—barracks, training halls, armories, command centers. Within hours, the filth and chaos of the forr stronghold had been replaced with the clean lines of a Xaos military outpost.
Overlord observed the progress with his usual expressionless calm. Once satisfied, he moved to the heart of the cavern and pulled a set of heavy tallic plaques from his spatial storage. Channeling divine power, he began constructing a tower—tall, sleek, and humming with arcane circuits and divine glyphs. The materials were so rare and valuable that only he was trusted to handle them.
By nightfall, the tower stood tall and unyielding, surrounded by hundreds of fully functional structures. The once-vile lair of Dark Fang had beco a self-sufficient, high-tier military installation. Sensors, communication arrays, divine shielding—all were in place.
It was more than a base.
It was a foothold.
A symbol that the invasion had begun.
Vlad stood before the tower, watching the soldiers carry out their tasks with efficiency and renewed vigor. The first step of their conquest had been executed flawlessly. Not a single casualty. Not a whisper of resistance. The Xaos Kingdom had struck, and the world had not even noticed.
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