Twelve Hours Later. Central Sector, Saint-Bastian.Corrosive acid rain continued pouring over the elevated highway stretching across downtown Saint-Bastian. The heavy droplets created a thin metallic-smelling mist above the concrete asphalt suspended dozens of meters above the ground. Dim yellow streetlights flickered rhythmically, struggling helplessly against the suffocating darkness of the cold night. The city itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for a storm far greater than bad weather alone.Exactly eighty meters beneath the massive overpass supporting the transportation artery of Central Sector, an armored van with faded stickers sat hidden in silence. The vehicle had been deliberately concealed inside a dark dead-end alley, shielded by piles of wrecked cars and graffiti-covered concrete walls.Inside the cramped cabin illuminated by the dim glow of digital monitors, Elias sat upright in his wheelchair. The black Ghost Rot veins crawling along the left side of his fac

The silence inside the abandoned subway tunnel felt denser and more oppressive than the darkness swallowing it whole. The rhythmic sound of water dripping from the cracked tunnel ceiling became the only countdown to death for The Trio. Every drop splashing into the puddles below sounded like the ticking of a clock, reminding them that time had run out.Inside the badly dented van cabin, thick with the acrid smell of burnt rubber and gasoline, Sloane rested her blood-soaked forehead against the steering wheel. The former paramedic gasped for breath, her lungs tightening from the thin smoke filling the cabin. Her good hand trembled violently after ten straight minutes of trying to turn the ignition, only to hear the weakening whine of the dead starter.“The engine’s completely dead,” Sloane whispered in deep despair, her voice hoarse and on the verge of breaking. “The radiator blew when we slammed into that concrete wall. The front tire’s shredded to pieces. This van’s nothing more than

Grrrrr...The low growl rumbling from the throat of the dead Doberman echoed through the mouth of the tunnel, bouncing off the damp, freezing concrete walls. The sound was hollow, devoid of life, yet filled with something ancient and threatening. Its stiff jaws clattered violently, exposing long yellowed fangs and pale gums drained of blood.Inside the armored van parked roughly seventy meters away, Elias writhed in unimaginable psychological torment. His paralyzed body convulsed violently, forced to endure a burden far beyond the limits of a normal human brain.Possessing an animal’s brain turned out to be a form of torture without limits for human consciousness. A dog’s mind did not process information through logic, morality, or structured language. The world inside his host’s senses consisted only of sharp spectrums of scent, pure predatory instinct, and raw motor impulses firing at blinding speed. Elias’s awareness was being crammed into a biological processing space far too smal

Two days had passed since their harrowing escape from the tunnel of death. Their physical wounds may have begun to close, but the lingering tension still hung thick in the air.A discarded 12-by-2-meter cargo container sitting at the edge of East Sector Harbor had now been converted into The Trio’s temporary hideout. Conditions inside were far from livable. The cramped space was suffocating, dominated by the sharp smell of sea salt, rotting rust, and stale sweat. The freezing ocean wind howled outside and forced its way through bullet holes and narrow gaps in the container walls, leaving its occupants shivering without any proper heating.At the center of the container, over an overturned oil drum serving as a makeshift workbench, Kael Thorne worked with the last of his strength.His shirt no longer resembled its original color, buried beneath stains of black grease and carbon residue. His right hand trembled violently, a painful sight for anyone who once knew his legendary dexterity.

Absolute darkness swallowed the entire command headquarters floor within seconds. Meanwhile, on the rooftop of an abandoned apartment building roughly ninety-five meters directly across the street, Elias sat motionless in his folding wheelchair. Torrential storm rain lashed mercilessly against his pale face, sending icy needles of cold through his skin, yet the crippled man did not blink. His concentration had long surpassed the limitations of his fragile body. His left eye, cracked with veins of Ghost Rot, had turned completely black, radiating a horrifying aura. This was the golden moment he had been waiting for since the very beginning of the plan.Roman's cyber-defense network had been crippled at its root, leaving the gates of death wide open for a supernatural entity like him.Kael had already killed one of the outer guards with a silent arrow in the western corridor on the thirtieth floor, just seconds before the EMP bomb detonated...The thought echoed through the silence of