All Chapters of The Blood Oath : Chapter 171
- Chapter 180
240 chapters
Chapter 172
Rain slicked the city like oil.Kabri leaned against a streetlamp in Montmartre, Paris, the glow of passing cars flashing in his eyes, but none of it touched him. Not anymore. The world had grown thin. The air no longer felt real—like a sheet of glass between him and the living.He had seen Jamil.He had read the letters.And now, a new puzzle piece had surfaced—a sealed envelope left inside a hidden drawer of Evelyn’s childhood cottage in Normandy. A place he never knew existed. A place with no birth certificate, no photographs older than age twelve, and no trace of a family name.The envelope bore one thing:E.V. File – Do Not Open Unless He Asks. J.M.Inside, not just words.Proof.The Journal EntryThe handwriting was unmistakable. Jamil’s. Neater here. As if writing to someone he adored.Evelyn turned seven today. We kept the candles low. She asked who her mother was. I told her: “A ghost with green eyes.” She laughed. That laugh is mine. The world can take everything, but it wi
Chapter 173
The rain had stopped, but the chill remained.Deep in the Ardennes forest, under a sloping ridge that had once hidden Nazi intelligence bunkers, Kabri followed a decrypted GPS signal to a narrow hatch buried under moss and iron roots. The soil had been disturbed recently. He didn’t need a second confirmation.This was it.Jamil’s ghost nest.The last chamber.He forced the rusted hatch open, descended the metal rungs, and entered a world that had been watching him long before he ever suspected.The BunkerThe lights still worked. Somehow.Inside the subterranean room, computers hummed like sleeping serpents. Maps littered the wall—of Beirut, Riga, Marrakech, Tbilisi. Pins and threads crossed paths like a spider’s nightmare.At the center?A long table covered in folders. Digital logs. Videotapes. And something more chilling:A wax figure.His own face. Half-finished. Like a mannequin of his death.Kabri stepped closer, staring at the thing’s hollow eyes.It wasn’t just a likeness.It
Chapter 174
The wind carried no name, no mercy, no direction.It howled like an orphan over the jagged cliffs of Croatia’s Dalmatian coast, where Kabri walked barefoot, unshaven, unshowered, and untethered to any remaining thread of reality. His coat, once stitched with Kevlar, hung loose like a war banner soaked in rain. His eyes—hollow. Like the world inside him had already died.He hadn’t slept in three days.He hadn’t eaten in two.He hadn’t spoken aloud since he left the Ardennes.His mind was a shattered cathedral echoing only with betrayal.Evelyn’s voice haunted him like a hymn:“You were the test subject.”Jamil’s video looped in his thoughts:“You were the ink. Nothing more.”And Amir’s last question struck the deepest:“Did he ever love you?”The Town of SilenceHe wandered into a nameless fishing town, the kind that didn’t exist on tourist maps. Just stone homes, cracked docks, and elderly women who spoke with their hands more than their lips.A boy offered him bread. Kabri shook his
Chapter 175
The vault was nearly soundproof, buried deep beneath the chapel’s old stone cellar. Kabri had cleared it by hand, brick by brick, after recovering from his collapse. He worked mostly at night, lit by oil lanterns and the ache of betrayal.He called it The Room of Silence.There were no prayers in it.Only memory.Memory—and records.Each wall bore names, dates, voice notes, and hidden betrayals etched into sheets of lined paper taped with surgical precision. A map of lies.At the center sat a single iron desk. A black journal lay open on it, titled:TRUTH BEHIND LOVE: KABRI vs. THE WORLDOn page 1, he had written:"You faked a heartbeat, Evelyn. You made me love a ghost."The DeliveryIt came at dusk.An old nun knocked—Sister Reina. Her hands trembled as she passed him a letter. She didn’t ask questions, just said, “It came for you. No return address.”The envelope was matte black. Sealed with wax—an ornate "E" etched in crimson.He didn’t need to open it.His hands knew the scent be
Chapter 176
The rain didn’t stop for two days.Portugal disappeared in the rearview as Kabri crossed into Spain, forged a trail through Andorra, and vanished into the cold heart of southern France. He moved under aliases now. Malik Nouri. Idris Fahad. Even Vincent Erodi, a name stolen from a dead customs officer in Trieste.He didn’t sleep. He didn’t trust maps.Only the voice in his head mattered—the one that whispered, “Jamil is still ahead.”The Mansion in the WoodsNestled in a stretch of untamed forest north of Annecy, France, Jamil’s so-called safehouse was anything but humble. Kabri had seen satellite images, heard whispers from former cartel runners and betrayed warlords. It was a myth made stone.Locals called it Le Fantôme Vert—The Green Ghost.Three stories. Reinforced walls. An underground panic tunnel that vanished into the Rhône.The compound was built like a chessboard: each corridor mirrored, each door meant to confuse intruders. It was once a resistance hideout in the 1940s. Now
Chapter 177
The forest still smoldered behind him. Kabri didn’t look back.He had no home. No compass. Only smoke in his lungs and Jamil’s twisted words tattooed into his brain. You were a test tube...And then—cutting through the fog like a blade— A sound. A scream.High. Desperate. A child’s voice.Kabri’s heart stopped. Then pounded.“Amir?”It came from beneath the ruins of the mansion. Beneath the collapsed stones and seared foundation—below what should have been death.Another scream.“BABA!”The DescentKabri dropped to his knees, scraping away ash and broken timber. His fingers bled as he pulled at splintered beams, scorched insulation, shattered concrete. Every slab lifted tore flesh from bone.His vision blurred.Then he heard it again—closer now.A muffled sob.Alive.There was a grate. Twisted but open. Behind it: a narrow tunnel leading beneath the estate. The air was thick, hot, toxic—but Kabri pushed through.He dropped ten feet into darkness.His boots landed in shallow water,
Chapter 178
The snow crunched under Kabri’s boots—slow, deliberate, soaked with the stains of violence.He didn’t run anymore.He walked.Each step was a verdict. Each breath a countdown.The coordinates he’d extracted from the intercepted message traced Amir’s forced relocation to a black site buried in the Belarusian marshlands. A former Soviet missile silo, now scrubbed from all satellite maps. No name. No road. No salvation.It was surrounded by frost-bitten pine and barbed fences. And by men.Armed men. Hired ghosts. Jamil’s elite.Kabri had studied the blueprints for hours, but there were no secret doors now. No hidden shaft, no sedative, no camera to sneak through.There was only the front gate.And his fury.Cold Steel EntryThe guards were bored.Three of them stood by the front gate with rifles slung lazily over their backs, chatting in Serbian about football and vodka.Then, one of them noticed the man in the black coat walking toward them across the clearing—alone, no weapon in hand.
Chapter 179
The mountains swallowed them whole.Kabri had driven all night, through winding Eastern European backroads, until the van’s engine coughed against the cold. The monastery was buried deep in a forgotten fold of the Carpathians—abandoned, overgrown, crumbling like the pages of a dead language.No cameras.No signals.No more ghosts.He carried Amir inside—wrapped in thick blankets, his small frame limp with fever and sleep. The boy hadn’t spoken since the rescue. His pulse was weak, his eyes flickering open only in shivers. Kabri had seen it before—chemical sedation, the kind used in interrogations to erase clarity and slow the mind.Jamil hadn’t just wanted Amir hidden. He wanted him broken.Kabri laid him down on an old cot, the wood creaking under his weight. Snow blew through cracks in the stone walls. Candles flickered like dying hearts.Outside, the wind howled like an omen.Inside, Amir whimpered.Visions and WhispersThe boy twisted in his sleep.Sweat rolled down his forehead
Chapter 180
The snow came in silent waves.Kabri stood outside the chapel before dawn, the horizon a dull bruise behind the mountains. His breath fogged the air, mingling with the bitter wind, as he watched over the valley below. It had been three days since Amir first opened his eyes and spoke. Three days since Kabri had heard the truth wrapped in a child’s whisper. Three days since he’d slept.The monastery's silence was fragile. Too fragile.He felt it in his bones before the sound even came.A distant crunch of snow.Deliberate.He crouched by the arched window of the chapel, scanning the slope leading to the path. At first, nothing—just a grey blur of wind, stone, and white.Then he saw her.She moved like a shadow in velvet.Black coat. Hair tucked under a fur-lined hood. A rifle slung across her shoulder in the unmistakable way of a trained assassin. Her boots barely disturbed the powdery snow.Kabri’s pulse slowed. Then surged.Evelyn.She was alone.Or pretending to be.The StandoffKa
Chapter 181
It was supposed to be an empty hallway.Cold stone. Flickering candlelight. Dust trailing in streaks from broken stained glass.But the man who stepped through the arch at the far end looked like a vision plucked from a dream Kabri had been trying to forget.No—Not a dream.A nightmare wearing a face that once meant everything.Jamil.Alive.Breathing.Smiling.The Hall of GhostsKabri didn’t move.He was in the chapel corridor, gun still warm from cleaning, eyes fixed on the impossible figure before him. The iron door behind him led to Evelyn’s makeshift infirmary. Amir lay three walls away, sedated by the herbs Kabri had ground with his own hands. There was nowhere to run.Only one way forward.Jamil stepped into the light.His beard was trimmed. His eyes shone with that same unreadable calm Kabri remembered from Iraq, from the desert rain, from the rooftop in Tirana before the ambush. He wore a thick wool coat, scarf loose at the collar. His boots made no sound against the stones.