All Chapters of Bloodline Of The Black Throne : Chapter 51
- Chapter 60
146 chapters
CH. 51 — THE ALLIANCE OF THREE
The night was too quiet for a place that had seen so much blood.Fog rolled off the water like something alive, twisting between rusted cargo containers and unraveling around the abandoned docks. The smell of salt, steel, and old sins clung to the air. High above, a crane hook swung lazily back and forth—creaking like a noose waiting for a neck.Then headlights sliced through the darkness.SUV #1, matte black, armored to the rims.SUV #2, tinted windows, bulletproof.SUV #3, the kind of vehicle only someone with an army behind them would dare drive openly.They stopped in a triangle formation—military precision, criminal authority.One by one, the doors opened.---The Butcher ArrivesFirst out was Viktor Dragunov, known in half the world as the Butcher of Odessa.A walking slab of muscle with arms like steel beams. His shaved head glistened under the dock light, and a jagged scar ran down his cheek—earned in a knife duel he won by biting out the other man’s throat.He eyed the shadow
CH. 52 — Infiltration Begins
The warehouse had been dead for years, but tonight it felt too dead. Wind pushed through broken windows, rattling iron sheets like loose teeth. Rust hung in the air. Moonlight leaked through the cracked roof in thin silver streaks. Adrian stood outside the wide metal structure, head tilted slightly, breathing slow. To anyone else, this looked like a forgotten storage yard. But his instincts… They were blazing. Too still. Too controlled. Too perfect. Something waited inside—something built with patience and malice. Adrian exhaled once, letting his heartbeat settle into that strange rhythm he’d begun noticing recently: A rhythm that synced with danger. He circled around the building and slipped in through a side door whose hinges had long surrendered to rust. The door screeched softly, but Adrian moved in sync with the sound, stepping only when the wind pushed through the cracks to mask him. His footsteps whispered across shattered concrete. He scanned the dar
CH. 53 — Predicting the Kill Shot
The warehouse’s back corridor smelled of dust, sweat, and burnt metal—but Adrian barely noticed.His senses were on fire.Something was wrong in the air.A shift in pressure.A tremor of movement above him.A breath that wasn’t wind.He stopped mid-stride—just one step before a narrow beam of moonlight.His heartbeat slowed.His vision narrowed.Then—BANG.The rifle cracked from somewhere high in the rafters.But Adrian was already gone.He didn’t duck.He didn’t dive.He simply moved before the sniper pulled the trigger, slipping left a fraction of a second earlier, the world stretching into instinctive clarity.The bullet screamed through the air, tearing past where his skull had been a moment before. It hit a concrete column behind him, exploding chips of stone into the darkness.Most people react to gunfire.Adrian reacted to intention.He didn’t know how.He didn’t care right now.Survival came first.And someone up there wanted him dead.---A Second Shot That Never HappensHe
CH. 54 — The Silent Takedown
The warehouse hums with the faint buzz of old fluorescent lights—stuttering, half-dead, flickering like they’re afraid of what’s hiding in the shadows. Dust floats in the air, shimmering like ash from a funeral pyre. The five men below stand tense, guns trembling in their hands, eyes scanning the room for a ghost they know is there but cannot see.Adrian watches them from behind a collapsed stack of metal crates, breath steady, heartbeat calm. These men aren’t rookies. Their stances tell him they’ve killed before. Their spacing shows they’ve trained together. Their masks hide faces carved by loyalty—and fear.But they’re afraid of the wrong thing.They think they’re hunting a man.They’re hunting a weapon.Focus, Adrian tells himself. Precision. Silence.He moves.One smooth step, silent as a shadow slipping through the cracks of a dying world. His boots barely kiss the concrete. He approaches the first man from behind—big shoulders, unsteady hands, shallow breath.Adrian strikes.An
CH. 55 — A Message Hidden in the Dark
The warehouse lights died violently—sparks spitting from the ceiling before everything fell into a suffocating, unnatural black. The sudden silence was worse. No gunfire. No shouts. No footsteps.Just darkness thick enough to choke on.Adrian stays still.Stillness reveals truth.Movement invites bullets.He breathes in, slow.Metal. Oil. Cordite. Blood.The warehouse smells like a war zone paused mid-scream.Then—vrrrrt… vrrrrt…A faint vibration breaks the silence. Not his phone. Not from above.From a body nearby.Adrian moves toward the sound, precise and controlled, crouching low, hand brushing the ground until he touches a limp arm. He pats the man’s pocket and pulls out a cracked burner phone—cheap, plastic, already stained with blood.The screen lights up in the dark, casting a cold glow across Adrian’s face.New Message ReceivedJust one line:“This was only the first attempt.”Adrian’s jaw tightens. His thumb hovers over the screen. Another bubble appears before he touches
CH. 56 — The Second Ambush
The night air outside the warehouse feels colder, sharper—like the whole city is holding its breath.Adrian steps out, boots crunching on gravel soaked with oil and rainwater. His ribs ache from the earlier fight. His breath comes out in slow clouds, tight with pain he refuses to acknowledge.He thinks the worst is over.He’s wrong.Click.Headlights explode to life—white, blinding, brutal.Three black vans screech across the exit in a tight triangular formation. Engines growl like hunting beasts.For a single, suspended second, nobody moves.Then the doors slide open in perfect unison.Gunmen pour out—twelve, maybe fifteen—faces covered, weapons raised. Silenced SMGs gleam under the halogen glare.Instinct slams into Adrian’s bloodstream like electricity.Move.The first burst of fire erupts—quiet but deadly, a storm of subsonic bullets slicing through the air. Adrian dives sideways behind a massive steel drum as sparks explode along its surface. The metal vibrates violently with eac
CHAPTER 57 — The Trap Within the Trap
The warehouse door groans as Adrian pushes through it, the metallic echo slamming into the night like a gunshot. Smoke still curls from the ruined fuse box behind him, the smell of scorched plastic drifting into the cold air. His knuckles bleed, his breathing is ragged, and his pulse pounds like a war drum.But he’s alive.Barely.He wipes the sweat from his eyes and steps out into the cracked concrete yard, kicking aside a fallen crowbar. The night is dead quiet—too quiet. No traffic, no distant voices, no wind. It feels staged. Paused.Wrong.Adrian starts walking, boots crunching over the gravel. His instincts scream for him to move faster, get out, vanish into the dark before whoever set this ambush resets the board.Then—A soft blinking catches his eye.Red.Slow. Rhythmic. Mechanical.He turns his head.There, lodged behind a nest of rust-coated pipes, is a camera the size of his thumb. Sleek. Modern. Definitely not part of this decaying warehouse.He stops breathing.The lens
CHAPTER 58 — The Name Revealed
Adrian doesn’t go straight to his hideout.He moves like a hunted man.He cuts through alleyways, vaults fences, doubles back several times. Twice he stops—listening, still as stone. Someone could’ve followed him from the docks. Someone might be tracking him now.Only after he’s certain he’s shaken every possible tail does he slip into the crumbling apartment he’s been using as a safe-house. The lock clicks behind him. The stale smell of dust greets him.He exhales slowly.He’s alive.Barely.He strips off his blood-spattered jacket, tosses it on the table, and scans the room automatically.Windows sealed.Tripwire intact.Motion alarm still armed.No footprints but his.Safe.For the moment.He drops onto the lone chair, fingers pressing into the bruises on his ribs. The gunfire, the explosives, the voice, the stranger’s assassination—it all crashes into him at once like a storm collapsing.Then—His phone buzzes.A sound too loud in the quiet.He stiffens.Unknown number.Same as th
CHAPTER 59 — Smoke and Clues
The alley behind the ruined bar smells like burnt whiskey and old rain. Neon from the broken sign flickers weakly across puddles, casting nervous light over the cracked brick walls. Adrian arrives first, blending into the shadows like a thought that hasn’t fully formed.Footsteps drag against the pavement.Detective Rourke emerges from the fog, shoulders hunched inside a worn trench coat. He looks older than the last time they spoke. More gray in the beard. More ghosts in his eyes. His hand trembles slightly as he lifts a cigarette to his lips.“Thought you weren’t coming,” Rourke mutters, exhaling smoke that curls like dying prayers.“I don’t come when I’m summoned,” Adrian replies. “I come when I decide.”Rourke gives a humorless smile. “Yeah… that sounds like you.”But his eyes never stop moving. He checks the rooftops, the corners, the darkness behind Adrian—every direction but straight ahead.He’s scared.Not of Adrian.Of whoever might be watching.Adrian’s instincts sharpen. He
CHAPTER 60 — Stolen Files
A cold hour.The kind of hour where cities feel hollow—like the world forgot to breathe.Adrian moves like a shadow across the roof of the municipal archive. The rain has stopped, but the air is damp enough that every breath turns to mist. He crouches beside the skylight and cracks it open with careful, silent precision.Tonight isn’t about stealing information.It’s about stealing back pieces of himself.He drops through the opening and lands in a crouch between two massive filing cabinets. The room is pitch-black except for a flickering emergency light at the far end.He waits. Listens.Nothing but the hum of old ventilation.Good.He starts walking.The municipal archive is a fortress of forgotten truths—towers of paperwork, metal shelves, rusting locks. The city spends billions on surveillance but pennies on preserving its own history. Which makes it perfect for someone to hide or erase a life.Adrian reaches the first reinforced door.A keypad. Biometric scanner. Motion sensor.C