Bloodline Of The Black Throne

The explosion didn’t sound like fire.

It sounded like the world ripping open.

Adrian’s eyes snapped open to a sky split by flames. Smoke clawed at his lungs. The ground beneath him trembled as another section of the compound collapsed in a roar of metal and debris.

For a few seconds, he didn’t move.

Not because he couldn’t…

But because he didn’t know who he was supposed to be right now.

He pushed himself up slowly, hands slipping on blood and soot. The air tasted like iron. Something warm ran down the side of his neck—blood, his or someone else’s.

A concrete pillar lay shattered beside him like it had been struck by a god. The once-untouchable Revaro Mafia estate had been reduced to a burning graveyard.

How long was I out?

Adrian looked around, searching his fractured memory.

He remembered stepping through the main gate.

He remembered showing the guard his ID.

He remembered the faint smell of gasoline.

Then a flash—white, blinding—

And nothing.

His heartbeat thickened. Not fast. Heavy. Controlled. Almost too calm.

He stood, dusting off shattered bricks from his clothes. Bodies lay scattered around him—guards, enforcers, even the mansion’s personal butler. Men he had spoken to minutes ago.

Or… had it been more?

His head pounded. Something wasn’t right.

A soft, cold sensation slid down his spine.

At first, he thought it was fear.

Then he realized it wasn’t.

It was a warning.

A pull in his gut. A spike of pressure behind his eyes. Something inside him whispering—

Left.

He stepped aside without thinking.

A bullet tore past his skull.

His eyes snapped toward the flames.

Movement. Shadows. Footsteps crunching glass.

Then voices:

“He’s alive!”

“—no witnesses!”

“Shoot until he drops!”

Adrian didn’t wait. Instinct—raw and animal—snatched control. He rolled behind a fallen slab of concrete as gunfire erupted, rounds chewing through rubble.

Dust exploded skyward. Sparks flickered off metal shards.

They weren’t Revaro men.

Their gear was too clean. Too uniform. Too professional.

Assassins.

Sent for one job.

Kill the survivor.

Another whisper from inside him—sharp, urgent.

Behind you.

Adrian dropped to one knee just as a silhouette lunged from the smoke with a switchblade. The blade grazed his cheek. Adrian seized the attacker’s wrist, twisted hard—

crack.

The man screamed, but Adrian slammed a fist into his throat before the sound could escape. The body hit the ground.

His breathing stayed calm. Too calm.

How am I doing this?

He didn’t know. But his body knew.

Instinct guided his movements with frightening clarity.

Another volley of bullets rained in, forcing him deeper into the ruins. The firelight danced along his jaw, carving his expression into something hard and unreadable.

Adrian spotted a broken metal rod, grabbed it, and hurled it like a spear. It whistled through the smoke—

—and impaled one of the gunmen clean through the shoulder.

The man screamed, dropped his rifle, and fell to the ground.

Adrian didn’t pause to watch.

He ran.

Not blindly. His instincts tugged him between broken walls and burning vehicles like an invisible hand steering him away from each bullet, each ambush, each death.

“Lock him in the east yard!”

“Don’t let him reach the exit!”

“Take the shot!”

More attackers circled from the left.

Then—another whisper.

Jump. Now.

Adrian didn’t think. He vaulted just as something whined beneath him.

A hidden trip mine detonated.

The shockwave threw him across the ruins. He hit a wall so hard the air ripped from his lungs. Pain shot through his ribs.

He groaned, forcing himself upright.

Who the hell rigged the estate? Who ordered the hit? Why kill everyone? Why kill me?

He couldn’t remember.

And that terrified him more than the gunmen.

His hands shook—not from fear but from something deeper. Something he didn’t have a name for.

When he tried to remember the minute before the explosion, the pain behind his eyes sharpened—like needles stabbing his mind.

He gasped.

A memory flickered.

A silhouette.

A voice.

A gloved hand grabbing his shoulder—

“If this goes wrong, run.”

His vision blurred. The memory vanished.

Gunfire snapped him back.

Adrian sprinted toward the breached wall, weaving between burning rubble. Four men blocked his escape route.

His instinct surged again.

Go right. Duck. Strike. Break. Run.

Adrian moved like he’d been trained his whole life—fast, brutal, precise. His fist smashed into the first gunman’s jaw. He ripped the second man’s weapon away and fired two clean shots into the third and fourth.

They dropped instantly.

Breathing hard, Adrian stepped over them and reached the broken gate.

For the first time, he saw the street beyond.

Empty.

Silent.

Waiting.

His ears still rang from the explosion. His skin still burned from the flames. His memory still throbbed with that agonizing blank space.

But one thing was clear—

Whatever happened tonight wasn’t a random attack.

And someone wanted him dead before he remembered it.

A chime echoed from inside his pocket.

Adrian froze.

His phone screen lit up with an unknown number.

One message.

“If you want to live, don’t go home.”

Another message followed instantly:

“We need to talk… heir.”

Adrian’s blood went cold.

He stared at the burning estate behind him, then

at the mysterious message.

Whoever destroyed the compound…

Whoever tried to kill him…

Whoever sent the warning…

They all knew something about him that he didn’t.

And they weren’t done yet.