Chapter 384: The Culling Of The Cullers

The surface of the sea appeared calm, a serene facade that concealed the chaos brewing beneath.

Somewhere hidden away, beneath an artificial island that has never been marked on any map, a secret gathering is taking place.

As the elevator glided downward through sleek metal and dark stone, it felt as if time itself was elongating, five minutes stretching out until it finally halted with a soft hiss.

The doors slid open to reveal a vast chamber, a space shaped by historical hands and refined by advanced technology.

In the center of this expansive room floated a circular table crafted from black glass, its surface lined with delicate golden veins that pulsed like lifeblood.

Eleven chairs encircled the table,each uniquely designed, each emblazoned with the crest of families that had operated from the shadows for centuries. The Whitmore chair sparkled subtly under the lights, carved from obsidian.

The Valerian chair glinted with gold and sapphire, radiating an aura of regal arrogance.

The Caelthorn chair stood stark in industrial steel, its sharp angles alive with a low, magnetic hum. These were not mere kings; they were something much more ancient.

They were the eleven who maintained the delicate balance of the world: deciding when to forge empires, when to dismantle them, and when to thin the human population itself.

Archibald Whitmore was the first to appear. As the oldest and the unspoken leader of this assembly, he still loomed large even in his later years,his silver hair slicked back and eyes sharp as daggers.

He took his place at the head of the table as the others arrived in turn, each a projection of power cloaked in the fragility of human form.

Lord Darian Valerian entered next, robed in royal blue and adorned with rings on every finger.

Following him was Lady Caelthorn; her white hair tightly pulled back into a bun, her body draped in jewelry that glimmered as she moved.

The Kryvos Patriarch then made his entrance,pale and gaunt, leaning heavily on his bone cane.

Close behind, Eleanor Lysander appeared; matriarch of a lineage older than many nations and her expression as cold and unyielding as stone.

Emerging from the east was Lord Renan Leyron,youthful yet ancient at the age of eighty. The Serenholts entered next, ensconced in a heavy silence before Mordain, Ravencroft, and Ashwyn took their seats with the grace of deities masquerading as mortals.

Once everyone was settled, Archibald placed a hand on the surface of the table; the golden veins glowed brighter in response to his touch.

“Recording disabled,” a mechanical voice announced. “Signal shielding activated.”

Archibald took in the faces around him. “It’s been fifty years since we had this kind of meeting,” he stated quietly but with authority. “I wish we were convening under better circumstances.”

The Valerian Patriarch leaned forward, his voice low and charged.

“Better circumstances? Our entire operation has been decimated, Whitmore. Every lab, every node, every scientist,gone or missing. How did this happen?”

The Caelthorn Matriarch’s voice was sharp as a knife. “Impossible! VULTURE had twelve layers of anonymity. Even the World Council couldn’t track them.”

With a firm thud of his cane on the floor, the Kryvos Patriarch interjected, “Yet someone managed to.”

An uneasy silence fell over the room. Lady Lysander let out a slow breath, her demeanor serious.

“All facilities,from Verdania to Noctis,are in ruins. Digital archives obliterated. Our contingency nodes are inactive; not a single backup survived. Whoever attacked us knew precisely where to strike.”

Archibald agreed, nodding. “Indeed, their strike was well-calibrated. This wasn’t an accident or an insurrection; it was a calculated move.”

Across the table, the hands of the Mordain Royal Elder trembled slightly as he spoke up. “Reports mentioned soldiers clad in black without insignia, moving like phantoms. Our orbital surveillance detected nothing; our satellites picked up no trace.”

The Serenholt representative interjected quietly, saying, “Someone took our satellites offline thirty seconds before the first attack.”

Archibald looked up, clearly taken aback. “So we agree on one thing: whoever did this is no amateur. They wiped VULTURE from existence.”

A heavy tension enveloped the table, like fog creeping in at twilight.

For these individuals, who prided themselves on being invulnerable, the destruction of VULTURE was more than a mere setback; it was a challenge to their authority.

“There must have been a leak,” Kryvos muttered gloomily. “The Lysanders always have too many eyes in research.”

Lady Lysander met his gaze with unwavering confidence. “Be careful with that line of thought, my old friend; it might not end well for you.”

“Oh come on,” Lady Caelthorn interjected with a mocking tone. “We all poured money into it and profited from it! Don’t act like your family wasn’t developing their own version!”

“That’s enough!” Archibald said sharply, cutting through the squabble with authority.

“Pointing fingers doesn’t change anything.”

He stood tall, placing his hand on the sleek black glass table,a representation of their collective power, now also a symbol of their shared vulnerability. “VULTURE was our disguise and now someone has seen the reality behind it.”

A heavy silence settled over the room, his words hanging in the air: someone seen the blood behind it.

For centuries, they had concealed themselves behind organizations like VULTURE, manipulating crises, pandemics, wars, economies,all under the pretense of maintaining order. Each century brought its own wave of cleansing; every generation its own challenges. Yet never had their mechanisms been dismantled so swiftly and so entirely.

“Without VULTURE,” Lord Leyron whispered, “our entire cycle comes to a standstill. The Culling Program will freeze. Populations will grow uncontrollably. Resources will diminish.”

“And our power will slip away,” Lady Ravencroft added quietly, her eyes scanning the room. “Chaos can be lucrative, but uncontrolled growth? That leads to revolution.”

They all knew she was right, and a heavy stillness settled upon them. For the ruling families, the Culling was not seen as evil,it was viewed as a grim necessity, a belief justified in their minds.

They perceived humanity as a herd that needed culling to maintain their dominance. But now, something had disrupted their meticulously arranged system. A war had been declared against them.

Lord Mordain broke through the tension with urgency. “My agents have detected interference,advanced AI-level encryption and digital ghosting. The data wipes were conducted by something… not human.”

“An AI?” Lady Lysander asked skeptically.

“Possibly,” Mordain replied cautiously. “But not one logged within any known network.” Archibald furrowed his brow. “An artificial intelligence capable of dismantling VULTURE’s infrastructure? That certainly narrows down our suspects.”

“Maybe it was someone from the Osborn Family?” suggested Caelthorn hesitantly.

The mention of the name carried a heavy weight; it had been decades since it was last spoken.

Kryvos dismissed it with a scoff. “The Osborns are gone; we made certain of that.”

Archibald studied Kryvos, but didn’t say anything.

“Whoever is behind this didn’t just erase data; they erased history itself. Even our observers can’t find any trace of bodies.”

“Then we’re facing shadows,” Lady Serenholt said grimly. “An enemy that thrives in silence.”

Archibald leaned back slowly, contemplating their dire situation. “And shadows are dangerous because they see what the light cannot.”

Just then, the room dimmed slightly, leaving an unsettling hum of uncertainty hanging in the air.

It was at that moment that Ashwyn

Patriarch finally spoke, his voice gravelly yet commanding,”What about the directive?” he asked pointedly. “Should we consult The One Above?” His question sent a chill through the entire room.

Each head of the family turned his way, eyes filled with apprehension; even Archibald, usually so composed, showed a moment of hesitation.

Lady Ravencroft leaned in, her voice a low urgency. “You know we never call Him unless there’s a valid reason.”

“Maybe this is a good enough reason,” the elder said thoughtfully, his voice reverberating in the dim room. “VULTURE was His creation, not ours; we simply carried out His wishes. Shouldn’t He be made aware?”

An uneasy silence enveloped the space; everyone remained silent, hesitant to speak up.

The lights flickered uneasily, as if the very room disapproved of the ideas hanging in the air.

At last, Archibald spoke, his voice firm. “We don’t mention His name here. You all know what happens if we do.”

The tension was palpable; even the act of breathing felt intrusive.

Lady Lysander clasped her hands together in contemplation. “Then what do we do, Chairman?”

Archibald’s gaze intensified. “We bide our time. The one who brought down VULTURE will eventually show their face. When that day arrives, we will rebuild, better and smarter. Humanity tends to forget quickly; another facade will surely emerge.”

The Valerian Patriarch added gravely, “But what if this cycle fails? Famine will return.”

Lady Caelthorn smirked knowingly. “And when famine strikes, we’ll profit by providing the solution.”

Kryvos muttered ominously, “Until another shadow creeps out from the darkness to devour us.”

Archibald looked around at the faces before him,those who had led empires and shaped destinies and felt an overwhelming weariness settle in.

He lifted his gaze to the steel ceiling overhead to the world beyond and murmured softly to himself, “Shadows… you think you can wipe us out? But we existed long before light ever touched this world.”

—

Above the ocean, a ripple of energy shimmered across the waves, a distortion barely noticeable to human eyes.

And deep within this chamber of power and intrigue, unnoticed by those present, a solitary recording device blinked once in blue light. A symbol reminiscent of a phoenix wrapped in flames flickered momentarily.

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