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SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 138
The FalloutJulian sits across from me, shackled to the steel table, but his posture is relaxed—too relaxed. His wrists, bound by cold iron cuffs, rest lightly on the table’s surface, fingers tapping an aimless rhythm as if he’s merely biding his time. His smirk is subtle but infuriating, and his dark eyes gleam with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from watching someone realize they might have made the wrong move.“Told you,” he murmurs, leaning forward just slightly. His voice is smooth, eerily calm, almost amused. “The world is eating itself alive. You just handed them the knife.”I exhale slowly, my hands clenched beneath the table.Outside this dimly lit interrogation room, the world is unraveling. I saw it firsthand before coming here—streets flooded with rioters and looters, civilians screaming for justice, others scrambling for power. The fragile infrastructure of global control is collapsing, and I was the one who struck the match.I burned The Oath to the ground.I f
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 139
The Cost of FreedomThe air is thick with smoke, the remnants of fire and destruction clinging to the city like a sickness. I step over shattered glass, my boots crunching against the debris of a world that no longer knows what it is. The streets are unrecognizable—graffiti stains the walls, old monuments have been defaced, and the distant wail of sirens is swallowed by the sound of a city tearing itself apart.I freed them.But at what cost?The Oath is gone. The files I released spread like wildfire, toppling the pillars of control that once held the world in place. Corrupt politicians, corporate overlords, and secret society members were exposed for what they truly were—monsters hiding behind polished boardrooms and carefully curated personas.But without them, something worse is brewing.I expected rebellion. I expected chaos. But not this.A group of men shove past me, their faces wrapped in cloth, their eyes hungry, desperate. They're armed—military-grade weapons in civilian han
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 140
The End of The OathI stand motionless, the weight of the city pressing down on me like an invisible force. The flickering screen before me is the only source of light in this dark, ruined street, casting eerie shadows across the wreckage. The news anchor’s voice drones on, the words barely registering in my mind."And now, the world watches as the remnants of The Oath crumble. With no central leadership, power vacuums have begun forming in key territories. The question remains—who will take control?"I already know the answer.The image shifts and my breath catches. A face I never thought I’d see again fills the screen. Not Julian. Not one of the nameless figures who once sat in The Oath’s high councils. No, this is someone different. Someone I trusted. Someone I believed was gone.Yet here they are, standing before a podium, eyes sharp and calculating as they address a city that’s barely had time to process its so-called freedom. Their voice is steady and confident, threading promis
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 141
A Message from the PastThe room is dark, save for the glow of the screen in front of me. The grainy video flickers, static crackling like an old memory fighting to stay alive. Then, my own face appears.I don’t remember recording this.The version of me on the screen looks different—leaner, sharper, eyes burning with something raw. I lean in, pulse hammering against my ribs, as my past self speaks."You were right to betray The Oath."My breath catches."Finish what you started."The video ends abruptly. The silence that follows is deafening.My hands tighten around the edges of the desk, knuckles pale. A slow exhale escapes me, but it does nothing to settle the storm churning in my gut. My past self—this version of me—was certain. Unwavering. But I don’t feel that certainty now.I hit replay.Once again, the same flicker, the same voice. The same message."Finish what you started."I rub a hand down my face. The weight of my choices settles deep in my bones. The Oath—the organizatio
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 142
The Weight of ChoiceI hit replay.The screen flickers, static crackling like a whisper in the dark. My own face stares back at me, eyes hollow, voice steady."You were right to betray The Oath. Finish what you started."The video cuts off. The silence that follows is unbearable.I hit replay again."You were right to betray The Oath. Finish what you started."Again."Finish what you started."Again.The words loop, burrowing into my skull like a parasite. There’s a finality in my own voice, a certainty I don’t recognize. A conviction that should be mine but isn’t. Not anymore.Was this really me? Or was it just another manipulated memory, another carefully crafted lie buried in my subconscious?I press my fingers against my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. My mind feels like it's fracturing under the weight of everything—past, present, future—all folding in on itself. If this is real, then I once believed without question that destroying The Oath was the only path forward. But if it’
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 143
The Oath Strikes BackThe first bullet misses me by half an inch.The second one doesn’t.It tears into my side, a burning-hot bite of lead carving through flesh and muscle before ripping out the other end. The force sends me staggering back, slamming into the desk, and my breath punches from my lungs. I barely have time to register the pain before the next wave of gunfire explodes through the room.Shadows move in the darkness. Silent. Precise.They don’t hesitate.They’re here to kill me.I dive sideways as bullets shred through the space I occupied a second ago. My laptop explodes in a flash of sparks, the recorded video—my voice from the past—dying in a burst of static. The warning, the message, everything I needed—gone.I hit the ground hard, rolling behind the overturned desk as another round of gunfire tears through wood and glass. My breathing is sharp and uneven, my fingers slick with blood as I clutch my side. It’s bad. The pain is hot and searing. But pain means I’m still a
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 144
The Final Conversation with RileyRiley’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade."The world deserves to know the truth, Nathan."She stands in front of me, unwavering, her hands clenched into fists. There’s a fire in her eyes, a raw, burning intensity that demands action. We’re both covered in blood—some ours, some not. The last remnants of the battle still linger in the air, gunpowder, and death woven into the fabric of this moment.I should answer her. I should tell her I agree. But I don’t. Because I don’t know if I do.The Oath was never just a name. It was a system. A machine built in the shadows, feeding on control, secrecy, and power. It didn’t just exist—it wove itself into the cracks of the world, slipping between governments, corporations, and whispered conversations behind closed doors.And if I destroy it—if I tear it into the light—what rises in its place?Riley steps closer. "You hesitated back there, Nathan. When you had Lucas at gunpoint."I exhale sharply, dragg
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 145
The Temptation of PowerJulian’s office is a tomb.I step inside, and it’s as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. The room is untouched—books still aligned perfectly on the shelves, a glass of whiskey half-finished on the mahogany desk, the chair turned slightly as if he’d just stepped away for a moment. As if he might walk back in, smirking, spinning another one of his mind games.But Julian is gone.And his throne is empty.The remaining leadership of The Oath stands before me—men and women who have survived the bloodshed, the betrayals, the culling. They look at me with something between wariness and expectation.One of them steps forward. An older man, silver-haired, sharp-eyed. Malcolm Roarke. He was always a shadow in the background, a quiet hand that moved the pieces while Julian played the game in the spotlight."You have a choice, Nathan," he says, voice smooth, practiced. "Walk away, and chaos will swallow everything we built. Or…" He gestures toward the chair.
Latest Chapter
CHAPTER 220
The Last ThoughtI stare at my reflection, my breath uneven, my eyes hollow. The glass is cracked—thin fractures running like veins across the surface, distorting my face. Fitting.The overhead light flickers, casting brief shadows across the room. It’s cold. Not the kind of cold that bites at your skin, but the kind that settles in your bones, that tells you something is coming. The kind that makes you wonder if it’s always been there, waiting.I press my palms against the sink, fingers curling against the porcelain. The weight in my chest isn’t fear. It isn’t regret. It’s something worse. A question with no answer.Behind me, the door creaks open. A slow, deliberate sound. My hand moves instinctively to my gun, but I already know who it is."That the last time you’re gonna check yourself out, Nathan?" a voice teases, rough with amusement.I smirk, though it feels foreign on my face. "Figured I should see what’s left of me before I walk out that door."Jackson leans against the doorf
CHAPTER 219
The End of the LineThe city is quiet. Too quiet.Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace, but the kind that signals something is about to break. It settles over the skyline, heavy, waiting. The streets are empty, but the ghosts of what I’ve built, of what I’ve destroyed, linger in the alleyways and shadowed corners.I stand at the edge of it all, watching from the rooftop of an old high-rise, the cold wind whipping against my face. Below me, the pieces are moving, each player stepping into position, some thinking they’re the ones holding the strings. They aren’t.They never were.Jackson shifts beside me, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He’s restless. Always is before things go south.“You sure about this?” he asks.I don’t answer right away. Because there’s no easy answer. No right one, either.He sighs, shaking his head. “You always do this. Get in too deep and think you can control every variable. But this—” he gestures to the streets below, to the quiet before the storm
CHAPTER 218
The Final MoveThe city is waiting.It doesn't know it yet, but the tides are shifting. Power doesn’t disappear; it transforms and morphs into something new, something unrecognizable until it’s already taken hold. I’ve seen it happen too many times to count. This time, I’m the one pulling the strings.This time, it ends on my terms.I stand in the shadows of an empty warehouse, the scent of oil and dust thick in the air. The city hums outside, its lights flickering through the gaps in the rusted metal walls. Jackson stands beside me, his body tense, arms crossed. He’s waiting for me to explain, to tell him what comes next.I let the silence stretch before I finally speak.“We’re not burning it down.”Jackson’s head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. “What?”I meet his stare, my voice steady. “We’re not wiping the board clean. We’re flipping it.”For the first time in a long time, Jackson looks unsure. He shifts his weight, jaw tightening as he processes my words. “You said yourself—this
CHAPTER 217
The Final CrossroadsThe city hums beneath me, restless and alive. From this rooftop, I see everything—the neon glow stretching into the horizon, the winding streets below, the fractured heartbeat of a place that never stops moving. A world of light and shadow, built on secrets, power, and debts that can never truly be repaid.The air is thick with the scent of rain and asphalt, the faintest trace of gasoline lingering in the wind. It’s the smell of something on the verge of combustion, of a city always teetering on the edge of chaos. I tighten my grip on the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ember glow in the dark, a tiny heartbeat against the cold night. I don’t smoke. Not really. I just like the way it feels—holding something that’s burning, something that’s alive for just a little while before it fades into nothing.I should walk away.I should let it all burn.But I don’t.Because no matter how much I tell myself that I don’t care anymore, that none of it matters, the tr
CHAPTER 216
The Last Time He Sees RileyThe air is colder than I expected. Maybe that’s fitting. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.She’s already there when I arrive, standing near the edge of the pier, arms folded tight against the wind. The city sprawls behind her, all light and noise, but out here, it’s just the quiet lapping of the water and the space between us.Riley doesn’t turn when I approach.“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice carrying over the water, calm but unreadable.I stop a few feet away. Close enough to feel the weight of her presence. Far enough to know I shouldn’t get any closer.“Neither was I,” I admit.She exhales a slow, steady breath. “You look the same.”“So do you.”A lie.There’s something different in her now. Something more guarded, more distant. Like she’s finally built the walls she should’ve had when we were younger.Like she’s learned.She turns, finally meeting my gaze, and for a moment, it’s just us. No past, no future. Just this one sliver of t
CHAPTER 215
The Fall of KingsThe thing about power is that it never learns.It moves through different hands, dresses itself in new suits, and speaks in fresh voices. But underneath, it’s always the same: greed, arrogance, and the inevitable mistake of thinking you can control what was never meant to be tamed.Ronan believed he could do it differently.I watch from the shadows as he proves himself wrong.---The city is quieter these days. Not because the storm has passed, but because it’s waiting to break.I see it in the way people move, the way deals are whispered instead of spoken. Ronan’s reign is still fresh, but already, the cracks are showing.And he doesn’t even realize it.Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just too proud to admit it.I’m standing outside a high-rise downtown, watching from across the street. Up there, behind floor-to-ceiling windows, Ronan is playing king. A meeting’s in progress—his men, his allies, his problems.He thinks he has time. He thinks he’s in control.He doesn’t
CHAPTER 214
The Last WarningThe city breathes differently when men like Ronan step into power.It’s a slow shift, subtle. The same streets, the same lights flickering over cracked pavement, the same late-night murmurs of business and betrayal. But there’s a tension now, a new weight pressing down like the first signs of a storm.I know it because I’ve felt it before. I did it before.Which is why I know exactly how this ends.---I picked the place. Neutral ground. A quiet, high-end bar tucked away in the heart of the city, the kind where power plays out in whispered deals and expensive whiskey. A place where men like Ronan feel at home.I sit in a booth at the far end, back to the wall, watching the entrance. He’s late. Not long enough to be disrespectful, just enough to establish control. Classic move.When he finally steps inside, he moves like he owns the place.Not in the way Cormac did, with brute force and intimidation. No, Ronan is more refined. His presence doesn’t demand attention—it i
CHAPTER 213
The New ProtégéThe city doesn’t rest, and neither do the people hungry for its power.Cormac is gone. Locked away, his empire dismantled, his influence reduced to nothing but whispers in the dark. And yet, before the dust has even settled, another one steps forward. It always happens this way.A cycle. A curse.I watch from the rooftop as the meeting below unfolds. A dozen figures sit around a long table in a high-rise suite, their silhouettes blurred by tinted windows. But it’s the one at the head of the table that has my full attention.Young. Too young.Sharp suit, sharper eyes. He moves like he owns the room—because he does. The way they lean in when he speaks, the way they nod, hesitant but obedient. He’s already in control.He reminds me of someone.Me.I exhale slowly, pressing my earpiece. "Evelyn, you getting this?"Her voice crackles through. "Loud and clear. Looks like we found our new kingpin."I don’t respond right away, just watch as he steeples his fingers, listening i
CHAPTER 212
The War That Never EndsThe Oath had fallen, but the world didn’t change. Not really.Power is a living thing—it doesn’t disappear; it mutates. It slithers, molds itself into new hands, new faces, new kings and queens who claim they’ll do better. I watch from the shadows as history repeats itself, over and over, like a bad song stuck on a loop.I blend into the dimly lit alleyway, my coat pulled tight against the cold bite of the city. Rain drips from the rusted gutters, forming puddles at my feet, but I barely notice. Across the street, men shake hands under the glow of a flickering street lamp, sealing deals in the same way their predecessors did—with quiet, well-dressed ruthlessness. Different players, same game.I should walk away.I promised myself I would.But ghosts don’t rest easy, and the ones I carry are especially loud.A gust of wind blows through the alley, ruffling my hair as I step back into the shadows. My ribs still ache from my last fight, and my knuckles are a canva
