Chapter 591: Division of Teams
In that instant, the atmosphere inside the Whitmore family shrine dropped to freezing.
"Matriarch..." Markham began, his voice hesitant.
"Hmph! Director Vaughn was the supreme law enforcer of this country’s supernatural community. You killed him without evidence or justification, and now you dare to destroy the Ninth Division? Ethan, you’re rebelling against humanity itself! What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"
Matriarch Whitmore’s cold snort cut him off. Markham flinched, lowering his head and falling silent.
Celeste stepped forward, ready to defend Ethan, but he raised a hand, his sharp gaze warning her back.
"You say I have no evidence?" His tone was like ice. "Then do you have proof of his innocence? As for what I intend to accomplish... heh... anyone who crosses me dies."
Fury sharpened his words. With that declaration, a murderous aura erupted from him, suffocating and violent, as if forged from mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
The Whitmore family’s Hidden Territory seemed to twist beneath the pressure. Shadows writhed in the corners. The wailing of ghosts and the howling of wolves rose from nowhere, filling the air.
"You... cough..." Matriarch Whitmore faltered. Her aura, so firm and commanding only moments ago, shattered beneath Ethan’s killing intent. She staggered, clutching her chest, her face paling with sudden injury.
"Young man... please... help..."
The voice was faint and weak, drifting in from the doorway. Everyone turned at once.
Three figures stood there. Markham’s mother and Dr. Aldric were half-carrying a man between them, his body thin to the point of frailty. His skin was waxy, his lips drained of all color.
"Father..."
The cry came from both Markham and Maria, their faces lighting with astonished joy as they rushed forward. Their voices alone revealed the man’s identity.
"Father, you’re awake! This is wonderful, father’s awake!" Maria exclaimed, nearly in tears with relief.
"Maria..." The man raised a trembling hand, brushing her hair with unmistakable tenderness. This was Markham’s father, the one who had lain bedridden in the cottage for so long.
Ethan had always wondered about him. The strange illness had piqued his curiosity more than once. He had even considered trying to heal him with the restorative power of his Tree Form, but the Whitmore family had refused to allow it.
The man lowered his hand and turned his gaze to the matriarch. Though his body was frail, his eyes burned with clarity and a sharp intelligence that silenced the room.
"Aunt," he said steadily, "this young man is right. Do you know why I fell gravely ill long before reaching the cursed age?"
He did not wait for an answer. Instead, he extended his hand. Dr. Aldric stepped forward, placing a golden needle into his palm. Skewered upon the tip was a small insect, dark and twisted, its shell glistening faintly. A Ghost Parasite.
"This," Mr. Whitmore said, his voice hard, "is what your beloved Director Vaughn left inside your nephew’s body. Because of this creature, I lost control, biting whoever came near, forced to drink human blood just to stay alive."
His expression hardened. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the needle flying toward the matriarch. She caught it instinctively, her eyes widening as she stared at the squirming parasite impaled upon the gold.
"This vile thing—I spent a year trying to corner it with golden needles, but it always evaded me. Whenever it sensed danger, it burrowed straight into my heart, leaving me helpless. A disgrace... a humiliation. And yet today, for reasons I cannot explain, it suddenly went still, and I was able to draw it out with a single strike."
Dr. Aldric nodded gravely, adding his confirmation.
"A Ghost Parasite... it truly is a Ghost Parasite..."
Matriarch Whitmore trembled, her composure cracking. Her nephew’s illness had always been strange. And now, faced with the undeniable proof in her hands, she could no longer deceive herself.
Normally, when the Whitmore men reached eighteen, the family curse would awaken, slowly draining their Energy until they weakened and withered away. But her nephew’s case had been different. He hadn’t just declined—he had become deranged, driven to feed on human blood as though it were the only thing keeping him alive.
When Dr. Aldric examined him, he explained that this wasn’t merely the curse. A parasite had been implanted in his heart. Whoever had done it possessed strength far beyond ordinary comprehension, able to keep such a creature alive inside a man without killing him. It was an insidious technique, one few could even imagine.
Matriarch Whitmore’s hand trembled as she stared at the wriggling parasite pinned to the golden needle. Slowly, she lowered herself into the high seat behind her, dazed. The words echoed in her ears: your beloved Director Vaughn.
Everyone in the shrine exchanged looks. That single phrase carried more than accusation—it revealed a hidden history between the matriarch and the man Ethan had crushed to death.
Seeing her slump into silence, Ethan no longer pressed the matter. He allowed her to sit in her fog of shock while he turned to the others.
"Enough. Time to reorganize the teams," he announced. "Dragon Child, you’ll go with Maria. Ryan, with Uncle Jed. Evelyn, with Ormund. Aunt Melinda, with Hank. And you—" he turned his gaze on Starfall, "—I take it you can handle yourself alone?"
Starfall blinked, then gave a faint, knowing smile. "Alone? That’s fine."
Ethan studied him for a moment. Starfall carried himself with the ease of an ordinary man, but his aura hinted at something much deeper—like Regis, deceptively unremarkable on the surface but hiding immense strength. Ethan couldn’t fully gauge his strength, which was enough proof that it was formidable.
"Good. Then we split up. I trust everyone understands why I’ve grouped you this way," Ethan continued. "Victor, your team is responsible for guidance and navigation. If there’s danger, don’t play heroes. Leave the fighting to those equipped for it."
He paused, his tone sharpening. "This operation must be swift. Kill them all. Leave no survivors. But remember one thing—no innocent civilians are to be harmed."
The Sea of Death fighters he had brought weren’t enough to handle everything alone, not under Earth’s suppressive rules. Pairing them with locals and dividing into specialized teams was the best way forward.
"Don’t worry, boss," Blackie said, rubbing his hands with enthusiasm. "We’ll clean house. Not a single rat will get away."
Ethan nodded. Even weakened under Earth’s restrictions, every fighter he had brought back far outclassed Matriarch Whitmore. She was considered the pinnacle of Earth’s supernatural world, yet compared to his people, even Ormund could sweep through the enemies on their list without resistance.
"Ethan... what about me?" Lyla’s voice broke into his thoughts. She stood a little apart, looking at him expectantly.
"You..." Ethan faltered. He hadn’t planned on involving her at all. The question left him at a loss.
He had originally meant to pair Dragon Child with Lyla, but after reshuffling, that spot had gone to Maria. Now Lyla had no team.
"How about... hmm..." Ethan hesitated, about to suggest she come with him. But before he could speak, a figure moved between them.
"I... together..." The words were halting, almost childlike.
Ethan blinked. It was Astrid, standing there with her distant, vacant eyes, looking straight at him.
"You? You can speak now?" His surprise was genuine.
"Fine, then I’ll go with Astrid!" Lyla declared before Ethan could respond. She snatched a name list from the table and tugged Astrid toward the shrine doors, not waiting for anyone’s approval.