Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 407: Guardians of Earth

While the Shadowmires ran the darkness—like, managed it, distributed it, sat in the backroom with cigars and said "this goes here, that goes there"—the Dravens? They were the darkness behind the darkness. The real shit.

The stuff even shadows didn't like to whisper about.

Philosophically?

If the Shadowmires were the chaos dealers, the ones who stirred the night and made sure the blood kept moving quietly through society's cracks, then the Dravens sat above that—guardians of the balance itself. Not to stop darkness. But to make sure it didn't leak into places it wasn't meant to.

That was the job of the Shadow Army.

The Dravens weren't just enforcers. They were the line. The code. The reset button.

Every supernatural in the Ether community—vamps, witches, cursed kings, walking gods with attitude issues—they all ultimately fell under the domain of the Draven family. The Shadowmires handed out assignments, gave orders, managed zones like nightshift supervisors. But when shit hit the fan? When a supernatural went rogue, stepped out of line, or tried to burn the contract?

That was Shadow Army territory. Draven territory.

Execution territory.

And that's why every major city in the world—every real one, the kind that mattered—had a Draven Club in it. Not clubs like drinks and DJs, though sometimes it was exactly that on the surface. Nah, these were lowkey fortresses. Power nodes. Surveillance hubs. And guess what?

Scarlett ran one.

Her own private version. Not tied to the family chain of command. Independent. But still Draven-born, which meant it commanded respect... and fear.

The Dravens were also the ones who brought in new blood. Literally. They decided who awakened, who got a power-up, who even got to exist in the supernatural food chain. They handed out abilities like silent gods with a clipboard—and when someone fucked around too much?

They took it all back. Like repo demons.

No warnings. No second chances. You blink, and boom—no powers, no name, no trace. Clean wipe. Like you never even breathed magic.

So yeah. To sum it up in the messiest but realest way: the Dravens controlled everything and every supernatural even the Leaders themselves in the Ether community.

All of them.

And their name alone carried enough weight to twist a war. Whenever a Draven vampire walked into a scene, people didn't ask questions. They didn't even breathe wrong. 'Cause everyone knew what was coming. Something cold. Something final.

A blood birth.

They weren't seen often—not like the other Origin Families who liked to be flashy and loud and play divine celebrity. No. The Dravens were rare. But when they did appear?

Something always died.

Parker narrowed his eyes, processing all of it. "Wait... something's off."

Noctavine tilted her head.

"Oh, right," Robert mumbled, rubbing his neck. "You forgot the last part."

Parker looked at him, annoyed. "What last part?"

Azrakar smirked.

"They're also the cleanup crew."

"The what?"

"They're the ones who wipe out anyone who finds out about the Ether community. You know, humans who accidentally peek behind the veil, journalists who dig too deep, TikTok witches who record the wrong ritual... poof. Gone. The Dravens handle that."

Parker blinked.

"Damn."

[Yeah,] Levi added with a hum. [Imagine being a vampire hitman with a privacy clause.]

Parker nodded slowly, a quiet hum slipping out of him. Yeah… it all made sense now. All the shadows, the whispers, the vanishing anomalies. He never really got the full depth of the Ether Community before—he always assumed it was just a supernatural hidden society vibing behind the curtain of human life. But now? Now he saw it for what it actually was.

A global firewall. A supernatural militia. A kingdom behind the kingdom.

And as the one who stood above it all—the anchor, the Prince, the damn blueprint—he finally understood where the real power on Earth lived. Spoiler alert: it wasn't with humans.

It never was.

Azrakar, hands folded like a patient devil, nodded like he could see Parker's thoughts connecting.

"Most don't realize," he said calmly, "there are forces beyond Earth—creatures, beings, entire damn species—that see this planet as... tempting. Some come in peace, looking for refuge. We let them in, house them, regulate them."

Then his voice dipped lower. "But there are others. The ones who come to conquer."

That's when Tessa flinched, visibly this time. And she wasn't the type to flinch for nothing.

Presidents playing god in their red, white, and navy blue houses—starting wars over oil and paper—while completely clueless that something bigger was protecting their greedy asses. Shit they couldn't even pronounce. Beings that could snap cities into silence. Entire pantheons of outsiders trying to make Earth their new plaything.

And humans? They never even knew.

Parker didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. Just rubbed his thumb against his jaw.

"It's better that way," he muttered. "The more clueless they are, the safer they've been. Let 'em argue over borders and GDPs while the real fight stays behind the veil. Until the Awakening Era kicks in, and they finally stop being passengers."

Azrakar gave a subtle nod. "That's the second core purpose of the Ether Community. Protect the planet. Eliminate outsiders."

And now the Zhangs stepped forward, posture straight as ever, aura coiled with that silent battlefield authority. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

They didn't talk much—but when they did, it hit like command lines being uploaded into a war machine.

The Zhangs were the generals. The real frontline. When shit went loud and the outsiders came knocking, it was the Zhangs who rallied the other families, built the strategies, and dragged the Ether Community into coordinated formation.

But they didn't do the assassinations.

No.

That was the Dravens' territory.

If the Zhangs were the sword, the Dravens were the dagger. Sharp. Quiet. Lethal. The Draven Vampires didn't fight battles—they ended them before they began. Their role was to find the leaders of invading forces, the alphas, the masterminds… and make sure they never saw tomorrow.

One second you had an army.

Next second?

Your general's a puddle of blood, and no one even saw who did it.

Parker exhaled slowly, glancing around at the names, the legacies, the powers standing around him.

It was fair—hell, accurate—to say the Dravens were the next family after the Nyxliths. Second only to him.

And for the first time in a while?

That wasn't intimidating.

It was reassuring.

Because Earth? Earth might've been messy and reckless and full of clueless little humans doing dumb shit for likes and legacy, but behind the scenes?

She was being watched.

She was being protected.