All Chapters of The Blood Oath : Chapter 101
- Chapter 110
240 chapters
Chapter 102
The desert wind howled against the metal siding of Yusuf’s mountain fortress, a former NATO outpost-turned-nerve center of his expanding empire. From the outside, it looked like a relic of a forgotten war. But inside, beneath the camouflage netting and polished steel, it pulsed with technology and betrayal.Kabri walked through the command corridor with a practiced ease, flanked by two of Yusuf’s newer recruits—sharp-eyed, too quiet, and likely watching his every move. He made note of the surveillance blind spots, the gaps in foot patrols, and the unmistakable hum of the main server room beneath the concrete floor.The heart of Yusuf’s operations.Where he would strike.But not alone.Earlier that day, beneath the flicker of a power outage that lasted just six seconds—long enough to send the guards grumbling but not long enough to trigger protocol—Kabri had met with her.Naira.Yusuf’s logistics engineer. A quiet, observant woman of few words and subtle bitterness. Years ago, Kabri ha
Chapter 103
The castle was older than the wars that had birthed the men gathered within it. Perched atop the jagged cliffs of the Scottish Highlands, with a cold mist curling along its grey stone walls, it had once been a fortress, then a monastery, and now—under Fred’s command—a war room. Reborn, just like him.Sir Malcolm Price. The name now echoed in the halls of parliament, across investment boards, and within the darkest corners of the international web. But here, in this conclave of criminals, spies, and ex-generals, he shed even that mask.Here, he was Fred once more.Inside the great dining hall, every seat had been handpicked.At the head of the long oaken table sat Fred, his silver hair slicked back, his lips curled in permanent disdain. To his left: Oleg Baskov, the Russian ex-financier turned arms dealer, whose drones had scorched half of Moldova. Next to him, Teresa León, Spanish AI magnate and silent broker of border manipulation programs.There were fifteen in all—cartel lords, rog
Chapter 104
The torches burned low in the ancestral corridors of Dunmarch Castle, their golden light flickering across stone walls and oil portraits. A thousand years of silent blood soaked the granite beneath, but none of it compared to what Kabri planned to leave behind.He walked the servant passage with a tray of bottles—aged Bordeaux, thirty years sealed, each cork infused with microdoses of a neurotoxin engineered by defectors from a closed Soviet lab. Odorless. Tasteless. Timed.Kabri wore no mask tonight.Not one for his face, at least. Only the uniform of a Highland butler, face shaven, hair dyed and slicked, his eyes dulled with grey contacts. Untraceable. Forgettable. Ghostly.The type of man no one would remember serving the wine that would mark the beginning of the end.Down in the hall, Fred continued his toast."To our alliance. To silence louder than bombs. To victory written in lines of code."Crystal goblets clinked. Twelve hands raised. Twelve enemies.Kabri moved like mist bet
Chapter 105
The room was dim, bathed in the cool glow of LED screens stacked across the walls. Cables ran like arteries along the floor. Kabri sat at the center of it all, still wearing the battered diplomat's suit he used to walk past MI6 agents unnoticed. But now the mask was gone. His eyes were hard. His hands were steady.Beside him, in a corner, a young hacker named Jaro — barely twenty and already blacklisted in three countries — typed in complete silence.“We're ready,” Jaro muttered.Kabri nodded. His fingers hovered over the spacebar.“Once I hit this,” Kabri said, “there’s no walking back. Fred’s entire house of lies... it burns.”Jaro grinned. “Then let’s set it on fire.”Kabri pressed the key.Across the digital underworld — from encrypted messaging apps to closed hacker forums to whistleblower channels — the video began to spread.It opened with Fred’s face. Young, arrogant, unguarded. The footage was a decade old. His voice was sharp, but unaware that the camera hidden in his office
Chapter 106
The hall at Glenmaddoch Castle shimmered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung like suspended galaxies, their golden hues casting regal reflections across the vaulted ceilings. Velvet drapes in royal green muffled the wind that howled outside, somewhere beyond the Scottish moors. Long mahogany tables bore silver goblets, rare venison, and the finest Bordeaux wine. The conclave had begun.Seated around the table were the surviving heads of the world’s dirtiest syndicates. They came cloaked in the illusion of civility—Romanian smugglers in tuxedos, Nigerian tech lords in polished loafers, a Chinese ex-general swirling aged whiskey with a casual menace. In the center seat, where Fred once held court, now sat “Sir Malcolm Price.” His new persona bore the air of legitimacy—well-groomed, knighted, and dripping with MI6 whispers.Kabri stood to one side of the room, his new alias—Saeed Al-Rai—still unknown to most of the gathering. His skin-tight diplomatic blazer hid more than etiquette;
Chapter 107
The castle was still. What had been moments of chaos—gunshots, splintered screams, blood pooling across stone floors—had fallen into a heavy silence. Only the wind remained, humming softly through the broken stained-glass windows of Glenmaddoch’s eastern wing. It carried the bitter breath of Scotland’s winter into the now-abandoned conclave hall.Yusuf’s body lay motionless where Kabri had left it. A red tide slowly spread beneath his once-polished shoes. The others—the warlords, tech brokers, and drug princes—had already fled or been escorted out by Kabri’s makeshift unit. Fred, now fully exposed as “Sir Malcolm Price,” had vanished moments after the final shot, slipping into the castle’s underground escape routes before Kabri could press a second trigger.But Kabri hadn’t moved. He stood in the center of the destruction, a statue carved from pain. His hands hung limp by his sides, the gun still warm in his grip. Smoke curled faintly from the barrel. His eyes were fixed ahead—not on
Chapter 108
The smell of old stone and vintage wine was still thick in the air when Kabri stepped out of the dining hall, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors. Behind him, the lifeless body of Yusuf still slumped over the long oak table, blood soaking the velvet tablecloth beneath him. Fred’s voice echoed somewhere deeper in the castle, barking orders as chaos erupted among the guests—powerful criminals, warlords, and double-faced diplomats now scrambling like trapped rats.Kabri didn’t flinch as alarms began to howl. He pressed two fingers to the small device tucked inside his breast pocket, feeling the silent vibration.“Ignite.”Outside, the night air over the Scottish Highlands was abruptly torn by the buzz of miniature drones. Five of them, fast as hornets, zipped low across the castle grounds. They weren’t ordinary surveillance machines—they carried fire.The first explosion ripped through the east wing, where Fred’s crypto servers and communications hub were hidden beneath stone floo
Chapter 109
London was gray that morning—rain hanging just above the skyline, refusing to fall. A low fog crawled along the Thames as the city moved in its usual rhythm, unaware of what now stirred beneath it.The man who stepped out of the black cab near King’s Cross bore no resemblance to the fire-eyed operative who had burned a Scottish castle to the ground three nights ago. His hair was shorter, darker. The slight Arabic tattoo that once curled near his ear was gone—laser-burned to the past. A neatly pressed grey coat concealed his lean frame. His gait was slower, not out of weakness, but discipline. Precision.The world knew him now as Malik.No surname. No identity. Just whispers on encrypted servers. Screenshots from destroyed cameras. Heat signatures that vanished without trace. An entity whose origin was fire and whose motives were unreadable.He walked into a rented co-working space on Pentonville Road, greeted the receptionist with a nod, and moved past biometric doors with perfect aut
Chapter 110
The night had fallen in Marrakech like a velvet curtain—dark, soft, and deceptive. The dim light from the lanterns in the riad's courtyard barely touched the thick shadows that clung to the walls. Kabri, now going by Malik, sat cross-legged on a Berber rug, his face scarred and shaded beneath a black keffiyeh. The city outside was humming with low life—bargains, lies, footsteps—but inside the riad, silence was a god.Evelyn entered through the arched doorway, her movement silent except for the rustle of her linen shawl. Her face looked older than it should’ve. Something behind her eyes had frayed.Kabri looked up. He’d known she was coming—he’d watched her plane land, her driver change lanes three times to avoid being followed, the rhythm of her walk through the medina. He always watched now.But when she met his gaze, there was no accusation. Just weight. A burden she hadn’t brought before.She stood before him for a beat longer than necessary, then sat opposite him.“I found him,” s
Chapter 111
The Mediterranean breeze carried the scent of lemon and salt into the secluded villa. Evelyn stood near the window, her face half-lit by moonlight, watching the waves roll endlessly beneath the cliffs of Cinque Terre. In the distance, the lights of a quiet fishing village twinkled, unaware of the war that moved silently beneath their feet.Kabri, now Malik in both name and reputation, sat at the stone table in the center of the room, shirt unbuttoned, his shoulder wrapped in gauze from a recent brush with death. His hands rested on a thick folder marked with the insignia of a private courier service. Dried blood stained one corner.“I didn’t come here to reminisce,” Evelyn said without turning around.“You came because you always come,” Kabri replied, his voice low, worn. “Even when you shouldn’t.”She finally turned, her eyes fierce but softened by something deeper. “I came because your ghost is about to kill thousands.”Kabri arched a brow. “Fred?”Evelyn crossed the room and droppe