Few days later The skyline of Harmonfield was veiled in smog, the air buzzing with static from overloaded grids. Sirens wailed in the distance—relentless, chaotic. The smell of burnt metal and chemicals clung to everything.Jack Parker stood atop the eastern ridge overlooking the city. Beside him, Sarah wiped ash from her face, while Emily pulled her coat tighter against the biting wind. Lisbon felt a world away now.They’d landed in Harmonfield at dawn. Two commercial flights, one forged identity, three lives rewritten on paper. But no amount of disguise could hide the target on Jack’s back. Or the fire in his veins.The Dragon’s Mark glowed faintly through his bandages.Sarah stared down at the chaos blooming below. “It's started.”Jack nodded grimly. “He’s not just punishing us. He’s burning the board.”Emily’s voice trembled. “My father’s released them. The Shadow Council agents. All of them. Sleeper units across Harmonfield.”“They’ve been in place for years,” Jack muttered. “Wa

The firelight cracked low in the silence as Old Joe’s hand lingered on Jack’s shoulder. It wasn’t comfort. It wasn’t approval. It was something heavier—acknowledgment.Jack didn’t say a word. His jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the rising column of smoke spiraling into the sky from the west end of Harmonfield. Somewhere in that direction, George was tightening his noose.“I trained you for this,” Joe said softly, his voice just above a whisper. “But I never told you why.”Sarah shifted beside them. “Why now?”Joe hesitated, then nodded toward the subway wall, its old bricks blackened by soot. He limped over, dragging his cane, then knelt slowly—too slowly for someone once feared in six boroughs.He unfastened the leather pouch from his belt and unfurled a tattered scroll. Faded, ancient, ink etched in symbols not even Sarah recognized.“What is that?” she asked, stepping forward.Joe looked up, eyes distant. “The truth about the Mark. Why only three ever bore it at a time. Why its power

George knelt in the broken sanctuary, eyes closed, blood dripping from his lip. The shattered vial at his feet gleamed faintly under the dim lights. Jack stood over him, Vincent by his side, both breathing hard, wounds fresh. Joe leaned against the doorway, his frame trembling, supported by Sarah.“I said live,” Joe growled. “Not rot.”But then George’s lips curled.He looked up—and smiled.“You never understood,” he whispered. “I always planned to.”Joe’s eyes narrowed. “What?”George raised his sleeve. Beneath the torn fabric of his suit, his veins pulsed—black, glowing faintly.“I injected it all,” George said. “Every drop. While you fought your little war up top.”Sarah’s face paled. “All of it?”“You mad bastard…” Jack stepped back.“Thirty-two years of research,” George continued. “Merged. Refined. Perfected. In me.”Then he screamed.His back arched. Bones cracked. Skin tore. His body convulsed as the serum took hold.Jack and Vincent flinched as tendrils of dark energy burst f

Jack's fingers trembled as he ran them over the faded map, tracing the curling paths and ancient symbols inked in a language that pulsed with forgotten fire. The scroll's seal—the crest of the Eastern Dragon Clan—had unraveled something inside him. This wasn’t just a piece of parchment. It was a call.“When the true flame awakens, the God of War returns.”Sarah sat across from him in the candlelit vault, her brow furrowed. “Do you think this ‘God of War’ is… real?”Jack exhaled, the weight of legacy pressing deeper into his shoulders. “If it’s tied to the Dragon Clan, then yeah. It’s real. And probably buried beneath this city.”She leaned closer. “That message—it wasn’t just for you. Joe knew something was coming.”Jack nodded. “He always did.”His eyes lingered on the scroll before reaching for a stack of faded letters tucked behind the map. The handwriting was unmistakably Joe’s—rough, deliberate, almost angry with purpose. One envelope had Jack scrawled across it in bold ink.He o

He stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door Olivia had just walked through. His pulse pounded in his ears, her words echoing like a curse.“You’re not the only heir still breathing.”Behind him, Sarah’s footsteps padded softly across the wooden floor. “Jack,” she said again, more firmly. “Who was that woman?”He turned, face still hard, unreadable. “She called herself Olivia West.”Sarah’s brow furrowed. “The Olivia West? From the embassy fire?”Jack gave a tight nod. “The very same. Except… apparently, she didn’t die. She’s been alive, orchestrating things from behind the scenes. And now she wants us to join her.”Sarah shook her head in disbelief. “This doesn’t make sense. Why now? Why come here?”The front door clicked again.Both turned sharply.Olivia stepped back inside, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax,” she said smoothly. “If I wanted anyone dead, they’d be gone already.”Jack’s jaw tensed. “You always this dramatic?”Olivia ignored the jab and turned to Sara