2023-07-06 14:25:16
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4-57
The air in the grand hall of the Smith mansion fractured."Kill him!" Orlando shrieked, backing out of the doorway. He didn't even look like a corporate tycoon anymore; he was a terrified child hiding behind a wall of hired muscle. "What are you waiting for? He doesn't have his full strength! Look at him, he’s shaking!"The dozen mercenaries raised their submachine guns, their laser sights painting red dots across Andrew’s chest and shoulders.Before the first trigger could be pulled, Andrew moved.He didn't have the god-like, effortless speed he once possessed—the seal on his meridians was still fighting him, making his movements jagged and heavy—but his mind was perfectly clear. He dropped low, his boots sliding through the slick mixture of spilled champagne and rain water, just as a hail of lead tore through the space where his head had been.The shattered glass from the crystal chandeliers rained down like a frozen storm.Andrew drove his fist into the floorboards. He didn't chann
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Andrew reached the side entrance, a heavy mahogany door that led into the servant's pantry. He knew the layout from the blueprints he had studied back when he was William’s right hand. He pulled a small set of lockpicks from his tactical vest. In his previous life, he would have simply melted the lock with a flare of energy or ripped the door from its hinges. Now, his fingers were stiff from the cold and trembling from the lingering effects of the toxin.Focus, he told himself. The lock is just a mechanism. You don't need magic to beat a machine.It took him three agonizing minutes, but finally, the tumblers clicked. He eased the door open and slipped inside, moving through the shadows like a ghost. The interior of the mansion was silent, save for the distant hum of the security monitors and the muffled explosions coming from the west gate where Viper was still keeping the mercenaries occupied.He reached the doorway leading to the main hall. He could hear Orlando’s voice clearly now.
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The flickering neon lights outside 'The Rusty Anchor' reflected off the rain puddles, creating distorted shadows on Andrew’s face. He pulled his hoodie lower. It felt strange walking among the people he usually ignored. Now, he was one of them—the invisible debris of the city.His back still throbbed from the strikes of Orlando’s silver cane, and every step he took sent a jolt of pain through his fractured ribs. However, that physical agony was nothing compared to the cold, frozen rage solidifying in his chest.Andrew stopped in front of an old electronics shop displaying a dozen televisions in the window. Every single one broadcasted the same face: Elena."Further evidence has been uncovered regarding Andrew’s involvement in money laundering through his humanitarian foundation," the news anchor’s voice echoed through the quiet street. "Orlando Smith, currently serving as interim CEO, has promised full transparency. Meanwhile, Andrew’s whereabouts remain unknown. Police warn that he i
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The rain over the industrial zone was thick with the scent of rusted metal and sea salt. Inside the warehouse, the air was stagnant, smelling of antiseptic and decay. Andrew stood before a cracked mirror in the small bathroom of the bunker, staring at the stranger looking back at him.His face was a map of purple bruises and jagged cuts. His ribs were bound so tightly with bandages that every breath felt like a shallow struggle. But it was his eyes that troubled him most. The vibrant, electric blue that usually pulsed with the energy of the necklace had faded into a dull, flat grey. He reached for his chest, touching the blackened stone. It felt like a cold piece of coal, dead and unresponsive."Boss, the van is ready," Viper’s voice echoed from the hallway. "But I still think this is a mistake. You’re in no condition to be on the streets."Andrew stepped out, leaning heavily against the doorframe. He was wearing a grease-stained hoodie and oversized cargo pants—the kind of clothes he
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Viper pushed the black van through the outskirts of the city, weaving through traffic and mounting curbs whenever necessary. In the back, Andrew lay sprawled on the floor, his breath coming in jagged hitches. His chest felt like it was being hollowed out by fire. Every time he tried to tap into the energy of the necklace, a cold, viscous pain stabbed at his heart. The seal was absolute."Hang on, Boss," Viper growled, swerving the wheel toward a derelict industrial zone near the docks. "We’re almost at 'The Hole'."'The Hole' was an old warehouse Andrew had converted into an emergency medical bunker years ago. He had built it using untraceable cash—no bank records, no digital footprints, and completely hidden from Elena’s oversight.As the van’s sliding doors hissed open, two medics in nameless black scrubs immediately pulled Andrew onto a gurney."Status?" one of the medics asked sharply."Internal bleeding, fractured ribs in three places, and... something supernatural has choked his
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The heavy oak doors of the Chief Surgeon’s office felt like the gates of a tomb. Inside, Andrewlay collapsed on the floor, his fingers twitching toward the obsidian-black pendant resting on hischest. Every breath was a jagged blade in his lungs. The Essence of the Black Shackle,activated by Elena’s herbal "vitality" drink, was doing its work—weaving a web of necroticenergy around his meridians, strangling the very source of his power.Orlando stood over him, his expensive Italian leather shoes inches from Andrew’s face. Hereached down and gripped Andrew’s hair, forcing his head up."Look at you," Orlando sneered,, his eyes dancing with a manic light. "The great Andrew. TheKing of the City. The man who thought he could erase the Smith name with a few signaturesand a flashy suit. You look like a dying dog, Andrew."Andrew tried to speak, but only a thick, metallic-tasting bile rose in his throat. He looked pastOrlando to Elena. She stood by the window, her silhouette sharp again
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