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As soon as Greed turned on her cell phone, a call came through. She had no choice but to answer it, knowing it was from the people she needed to speak to about the crisis they were facing.

"Hello?" Greed answered the call and fell silent for a moment before responding again. "Yes, I\'ve already seen the news. Don\'t worry, everything is under control. They just took advantage of this opportunity for a sneak attack, trying to gain an advantage. It\'s nothing major." Greed reassured the person on the other end of the line.

"Who\'s that? The president?" Envy\'s curiosity piqued as she glanced at Greed, her eyes narrowing with intrigue.

Greed nodded slowly, a hint of weariness tainting her expression as she responded to the call. "Yes," she replied, her voice carrying a weight of responsibility mixed with resignation.

It\'s crucial to understand that both the American Congress and even the President are under Greed\'s influence. However, Greed doesn\'t bother with owning these political entities outright; it goes against her nature as she finds it more trouble than it\'s worth.

However, given that 25% of the USA\'s tax revenue comes from Greed, specifically her Golden Empire group, it\'s challenging to overlook her role as a major financial contributor to the country. This financial clout grants her considerable sway over various policies that both the President and Congress are set to enact, including matters concerning national security.

As a result, many members of Congress and even some Presidents, lacking the courage to resist her influence, mistakenly perceive Greed as the true power behind the nation, when in reality, she\'s not.

"Would you like me to lend a hand?" Daniel offered, although he wasn\'t entirely sure how he could assist her. However, considering he arrived with Oceanos and nearly his entire army, he believed he might be able to provide some help.

"Thank you, I\'ll gladly accept your assistance," Greed responded, but before they could proceed, Envy interjected.

"Danny, before you go full boom boom and trigger happy, please keep in mind that while the Hightower may seem vulnerable at the moment, we mustn\'t openly reveal magical phenomena. If absolutely necessary, I can utilize nearby Hightower facilities to cloak any magical events and prevent people from noticing them," Envy explained.

"So, raining down missiles is not off the table then?" Daniel, let out a playful jab.

Envy smirked. "As long as it doesn\'t trigger a nuclear winter or rearrange the local geography, I\'m flexible," she countered, her voice laced with amusement.

Daniel grinned, his eyes gleaming with a cold glint. "Understood," he replied.

— Secret Military Base - Night —

Beneath the inky cloak of night, a sliver of forbidden territory emerged from the forest\'s depths, a mere stone\'s throw from Washington D.C. The moon, a watchful eye in the velvet sky, cast an eerie glow, illuminating the dense canopy that choked the forest floor. Shadows danced, twisting and contorting, fueled by the restless wind that whispered secrets through the ancient trees.

Nestled within this shadowy embrace lay a hidden military base, a testament to human ingenuity and paranoia. Its structures, a symphony of reinforced concrete and steel, mimicked the natural landscape with an almost unsettling perfection.

Foliage, meticulously placed, draped itself over the buildings, while strategically positioned trees stood like silent guardians, their branches reaching towards the star-dusted heavens.

The only sign of life came from the occasional soft hum of unseen vehicles traversing a hidden dirt path. Even this path, a scar upon the forest floor, was temporary – a team would soon erase the tracks, ensuring the base remained a phantom in the wilderness.

A lone figure, clad in the obsidian garb of a shadow warrior, materialized from beneath the cloak of foliage. A glint of icy blue, the only hint of life against the black, betrayed her presence. Her keen eyes scanned the perimeter, searching for any sign of entry.

The black figure uttered an arcane phrase, her voice a low murmur swallowed by the rustling leaves. Her form shimmered, becoming a near-transparent echo against the dancing shadows. With silent grace, they darted through the dense foliage, their movements a whisper against the sighing wind.

Inside the base, the woman, cloaked in darkness, moved with practiced efficiency. Bypassing locked doors and watchful patrols was child\'s play. A whispered word, a brush of her hand, and the obstacles dissolved with an almost inaudible hum. But a pang of guilt gnawed at her with each bypassed security measure. Was it the act of taking a life, or the knowledge that such measures were necessary?

The woman reached a specific building, its single entrance leading deep into the earth. A lone elevator, its metallic gleam is a target she needs to enter. Two soldiers, their faces etched with vigilance, stood by the entrance. Any movement of the elevator would shatter the silence, alerting the two soldiers and then they will surely alert the entire base.

The woman hesitated, the weight of her mission pressing down on her. With a silent sigh, she resigned herself to the task at hand. In a blur of motion, she became a phantom of death. The soldiers barely registered a whisper of movement before a searing pain lanced through their necks. Blood welled from clean cuts as they crumpled to the ground, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"I\'m sorry," she whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow, as she gently closed the lifeless eyes of the fallen soldiers. The weight of their deaths hung heavily on her mind, but it was a choice between her survival and theirs.

The infiltrator stepped into the elevator. A lengthy incantation tumbled from her lips, each word woven with power. It was a shield, a fortification against the unknown dangers lurking beneath the base. As her senses sharpened and strength surged through her because of the spell she used to enhance herself, the elevator doors hissed open, revealing a scene both horrific and fascinating.

A long hallway stretched before her, lined with walls of what appeared to be special glass cages. Within, a twisted menagerie writhed and paced – the unholy offspring of science and cruelty. Some creatures bore a warped resemblance to humanity, their forms grotesquely augmented with fangs, claws, and even thorns that sprouted from their flesh.

Others were even more alien, their bodies encased in an unnatural, stone-like hide.

She walked toward the deepest part of the base, clutching a lock of black hair in her hand. This hair belonged to the person she had come to rescue, and the spell associated with it acted as a faint guide, indicating their general location but not the exact spot. That\'s why she spent a considerable amount of time searching for the entrance to the basement.

With each step deeper into the base, the sensation from the spell in her hand grew stronger until she finally reached her target. Sitting in a small cell was a man in his late forties, his hands cuffed, bearing clear signs of torture and interrogation.

"Father!" The infiltrator spoke with concern, her teeth gritted in anger at the sight of her father\'s injuries. She swiftly cast a spell to summon a flaming sword and attempted to cut through the glass barrier holding him.

Clank!

The flame blade clashed against the glass, leaving only a faint scratch and a burnt mark. The man inside the cell noticed the sound from the wall. He was familiar with the spell that had just been cast on the other side. The cell\'s wall was one-way glass, allowing only those outside to see in, but they could hear what was happening outside.

"Sera! Is that you?" The man called out, urging his daughter to run as he sensed danger.

"This is a trap!" He shouted as the infiltrator continued to chip away at the glass wall with her flame blade, albeit slowly.

"Sera! Run!" Her father bellowed "This is a trap!"

A spear hurtled through the tense air, aimed squarely at the infiltrator\'s head. With a dancer\'s agility, she dodged the deadly projectile. But its cruel tip snagged the cloth shrouding her face, tearing it away in a vicious rip. A cascade of light blue hair tumbled down, framing features as flawless and delicate as a porcelain doll sculpted by a master\'s hand.

Revealed under the harsh fluorescent lights stood Seraphina Aldenmere, or Pride, the witch of Pride, one of the witch of the seven deadly sins. Her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, narrowed as she scanned for the source of the attack.

The culprit emerged from a nearby hallway. A young man in his twenties, with scruffy stubble and long brown hair haphazardly tied back. A few strands escaped, framing a face both rugged and strangely alluring.

He swaggered into the scene, bare-chested and barefoot, his well-muscled physique spoke of a life spent more in combat than comfort. A faint, yet unmistakable scent of another woman clung to him – the lingering echo of a hasty retreat from fleshly heaven.

He flashed a charming smile at Pride, completely at odds with the tense situation. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth as honey. "Seems like we have a bit of a situation here, don\'t we? My apologies, ma\'am, but you\'ll have to stay here."