The underground chamber breathed like a living thing. Shadows stretched long and jagged against the walls, thrown by the eerie crimson glow pulsing from the obsidian altar at the room’s center. Chike’s pulse echoed in his ears, steady at first, then quicker as the circle of hooded figures closed in on him.The initiation had begun.“Step forward, Forgotten Heir,” the robed master intoned, his voice vibrating like it came from the stone itself. His skeletal hand extended, veins glowing faintly red under pale skin. “Your blood marks the threshold. Without it, the Vault will never answer you.”Chike’s jaw tightened. He’d fought men, beasts, even his own doubts, but this this was a trial of will. One wrong move, and the Crimson Circle would crush him like an insect.The System flickered to life in his mind’s eye.[System Alert: Crimson Vault Initiation Protocol Detected.][Warning: Failure will result in permanent expulsion—or termination.][Hidden Condition: Betrayal is closer than you

The city never truly slept, but tonight, Lagos pulsed with an unease that mirrored the storm gathering in Chike’s chest. From the glass walls of the penthouse, the skyline shimmered like a thousand unblinking eyes, watching, waiting.The Crimson Vault the heart of The Red Ledger’s power was no longer a rumor whispered in back alleys or encrypted dark web threads. It was real, and it was stirring.Chike stood at the head of the war table, the digital map flickering with red nodes that pulsed like malignant veins across the globe. His allies sat around him, silent, tense. Malik leaned forward, his hands clasped, his jaw tight. Ifeoma scrolled through intercepted transmissions on her tablet, her brow furrowed. Even Naomi, usually quick with a sharp retort, was subdued.“We’re not ready for this,” Malik finally said, his voice gravelly. “The Crimson Vault isn’t just a stronghold it’s a living system. Every transaction, every contract, every bounty runs through it. It’s the spine of the Le

The chamber beneath the Crimson Vault was unlike anything Chike had seen before. It wasn’t the gleaming sanctum of secrets he had expected. Instead, it looked like an ancient ruin swallowed by darkness—pillars cracked and carved with symbols of forgotten gods, flames burning in braziers without smoke, and a floor made of volcanic glass that reflected every step in strange, warped shadows.At the center stood an altar of obsidian, etched with red-gold veins that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Chike could feel the pull of it deep in his chest, as though the altar itself recognized him or hungered for him.“Step forward, Heir of Forgotten Blood,” intoned one of the Vault Keepers, cloaked in ash-gray robes. His voice was like gravel dragged across steel.Chike moved closer, every nerve on edge. He knew what this was. The Initiation. The Oath of Ashes. A ritual that bound the chosen to the Crimson Vault not just in loyalty, but in flesh, bone, and soul.Behind him, Ngozi’s sharp eyes tra

Dawn came to Lagos like a slow exhale, the sky rinsed clean and colorless after a night that had run ragged with thunder. From the nineteenth floor of the Obsidian Tower, the city’s arteries began to thrum: danfos honking, vendors shouting, generators growling back to life. But inside the war room, time moved differently measured not in minutes, but in risks.Chike stood alone at the window, one hand braced against the cold glass. The city looked close enough to pocket. He didn’t feel victorious; the Ledger book weighed in his mind like a second skull. Power had a gravity of its own. Even now, with the book locked in a biometric case and hidden three floors below, he could almost hear the rustle of its iron bound pages, feel the drag of the oath chain coiled somewhere under his ribs. The system’s earlier warning life force bound, lifespan reduced hadn’t faded. It was a subtle tug, a coolness at the edges of his pulse, like standing in a room with an open window you couldn’t find to cl

The city felt restless. Even in the dead of night, when the world was meant to sleep, Lagos vibrated with an undercurrent of tension. Neon lights reflected on the wet asphalt, car horns blared distantly, and the air was thick with the promise of chaos. Chike stood at the edge of the abandoned industrial yard, his hands balled into fists, his eyes scanning the shadows where enemies could hide. He had been betrayed enough times to know that silence was never safe.Beside him, Ifeoma adjusted her leather jacket and let her gaze sweep across the compound. Her sharp eyes glimmered with suspicion. “They’ll come tonight,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”Chike didn’t answer immediately. His system interface flickered before his eyes — translucent golden scripts feeding him streams of data:[Threat Level: Rising][Surveillance Activated][Incoming Hostiles: 12]Twelve. And that was just the first wave. The Red Ledger never came small. They wanted him broken, piece by piece, until his name was