Debt of Souls

Chapter 3

The world turned to screaming metal and falling light. The massive billboard tore free from its moorings, a cascade of sparks hissing against the rain as it plummeted toward the fountain plaza. “Move!” Charlie bellowed.

Lucas dove toward the far side of the fountain, slipping in the slick water. Charlie lunged the opposite direction, ribs protesting. 

The hooded man cursed and sprang back. But the blonde woman, the revolver-wielding opponent, didn’t flinch. 

She raised her arm, fired once into the billboard’s support bracket, and pivoted with supernatural grace.

The shot redirected part of the falling mass, enough to alter its trajectory. Still, the crash was deafening. 

Steel slammed onto the plaza tiles, shattering benches and spraying debris. Shards of neon tubing exploded into blue sparks.

Charlie shielded his face as fragments rained down. His ears rang. For a moment, only the hiss of water and crackle of live wires filled the night. Lucas’s voice came hoarse and shaky. “Charlie.”

“I’m fine!” Charlie coughed, peering through the smoke.

A flicker of movement, too fast, drew his eye. The hooded man was already up, daggers glinting. “Damn it,” Charlie muttered, scrambling to his feet.

The woman’s voice cut through the haze, calm and cold. “Deadline’s ticking, Charlie.”

Charlie raised his pistol, but a blue holographic timer pulsed in the air: 02:59, Critical

“One minute,” she taunted. “Better decide how badly you want to live.”

Lucas ducked behind a toppled bench. “We can’t fight both!”

Charlie’s gaze darted between the two opponents. The fountain’s spray mingled with smoke from the destroyed billboard, forming a foggy curtain. He could use it. “Lucas,” Charlie hissed, “on my signal, kill the plaza lights.”

“I don’t.”

“Figure it out!”

The hooded man advanced silently, twin blades raised. Charlie fired once, grazing the man’s sleeve, then ducked behind a broken pillar as a dagger thunked into the stone.

The woman fired again, sparks showered where the bullet struck metal inches from Charlie’s head. Lucas fumbled with the tablet, fingers slipping on the wet screen. “Almost there.”

The woman’s heels clicked closer. “Thirty seconds, Charlie. Surrender your balance, and maybe you leave with your skin.”

“Not happening,” Charlie growled.

He bolted toward the fountain, deliberately exposing himself. The hooded man lunged, Charlie sidestepped, letting momentum carry the attacker past him. 

The second dagger scraped Charlie’s jacket but missed flesh. “Lucas, now!”

The plaza lights died. Darkness swallowed the Zeil, broken only by the sputtering sparks from the wreckage. The woman cursed softly. “Clever.”

Charlie ducked low, moving silently through the dark. The hooded man spun, trying to track him. 

Somewhere to the left, Lucas whispered a panicked, “They’re still moving!”

Charlie felt the Game’s voice in his skull again: Adaptation recognized. Balance risk increased.

He ignored it, creeping toward the fountain’s edge. The revolver’s click came from his right, too close.

He hurled a loose shard of metal across the plaza. It clanged loudly, drawing both attackers’ attention. 

In that split second, Charlie lunged forward, tackling the hooded man into the shallow fountain pool. Water splashed upward as they struggled, blades flashing in the darkness.

The woman fired blindly, one bullet skimming the water’s surface with a hiss. “Lucas!” Charlie shouted. “Run!”

“But?”

“Go!”

Lucas bolted, his footsteps splashing down the deserted street. The hooded man snarled beneath Charlie, twisting violently. 

A dagger nicked Charlie’s arm, sending a hot streak of pain down his bicep. Somewhere behind him, the revolver cocked again.

The revolver cracked, the muzzle flash briefly illuminating the smoke and rain. Charlie yanked the hooded man sideways, the bullet punched into the fountain’s rim where his skull had been.

Water splashed into his mouth and nose as they rolled. The hooded man snarled, punching Charlie’s wounded arm. 

Pain exploded, but adrenaline kept him moving. He smashed an elbow into the man’s jaw, then shoved him underwater. The woman’s heels splashed closer. “Enough games, Charlie!”

Charlie grabbed a fallen dagger, scrambled to his feet, and hurled it toward her silhouette. The blade whistled past her ear, thudding into a billboard fragment. 

She flinched, just long enough for Charlie to dive behind the wreckage. A blue glow flared at the plaza’s center: 03:00, Deadline reached. Calculating outcome…

The woman froze. The hooded man gasped for breath, kneeling in the fountain. Another line of text appeared midair: Assets Secured: +€50,000,000. Opponent Status: Eliminated by Default.

The hooded man’s form shimmered, then disintegrated into a spray of blue particles that the rain washed away. The woman hissed. “Damn it!”

She spun and vanished into the darkness, retreating down a side alley with impossible speed.

Charlie staggered upright, clutching his bleeding arm. The timer vanished, replaced by a new notification: Rank Assigned: Rookie. New Objective Pending…

He exhaled shakily. “Rookie. Great.”

Lucas reappeared at the edge of the plaza, panting. “You’re still alive.”

“Barely.” Charlie wiped water from his face. “But we’re fifty million richer.”

Lucas stared at the empty fountain where the hooded man had stood. “He just… evaporated.”

“Looks that way.” Charlie’s voice was grim. “The Game doesn’t mess around.”

They retreated through narrow backstreets, keeping to shadows. Neon reflected in puddles, their footsteps echoing. Lucas kept glancing behind them. “Who was she?”

“An assassin. A test.” Charlie winced as pain flared in his ribs. “And she’ll be back.”

“You’re bleeding bad.”

“We’ll patch it.”

By the time they reached Lucas’s apartment, Charlie’s jacket was soaked with blood and rain. Inside, Lucas dumped a first-aid kit onto the cluttered table.

“This is insane,” Lucas muttered, dabbing antiseptic on the wound. “Half a billion euros and you’re fighting assassins in fountains?”

Charlie gritted his teeth. “Kessler left me to die. Now I’ve got leverage, and a target on my back.”

Lucas hesitated. “What if the Game’s bigger than Kessler?”

“Then I need to get bigger too.” Charlie checked the holographic display again. It now showed a new line of text: Next Objective: Acquire a High-Value Asset, 06:00 Deadline.

Lucas paled. “That’s three hours from now.”

Charlie’s eyes hardened. “Then we find something worth stealing.”

Frankfurt’s skyline glittered like jagged glass teeth against the storm clouds as Charlie and Lucas stepped back out into the night. 

The city felt alive, watching, listening. Somewhere, Kessler’s network would already know the first round had ended.

Lucas pulled up building schematics on his tablet. “High-value asset… what qualifies? Cash? Data?”

“Could be anything the Game deems valuable,” Charlie said, eyes scanning the street.

“Something worth fighting for.”

A blue prompt flickered over his palm: Hint: Assets may be tangible or intangible. Creativity is rewarded.

Lucas muttered, “Cryptic much?”

“We need leverage,” Charlie said. “Kessler’s not going to hand it over.”

“Then where?”

Charlie’s mind darted through memories of Kessler’s empire, the offshore accounts, the shell companies, the whispered deals in exclusive clubs. 

And then he remembered: the Kronberg Vault, a private deposit facility for Frankfurt’s elite. 

He’d once escorted Kessler there for a discreet transfer. The place was a fortress. He smirked despite the pain. “Kronberg.”

Lucas gaped. “You’re insane. That’s like breaking into Fort Knox.”

“It’s exactly the kind of move they won’t expect from a ‘rookie.’”

They took a borrowed car from Lucas’s garage, a rusted Audi with a cracked windshield, and sped through slick streets. 

The wipers barely kept up with the rain. Charlie’s ribs throbbed with every bump. “Remind me why I’m helping?” Lucas grumbled.

“Because if I lose, the Game won’t stop with me.”

The Kronberg Vault loomed ahead, a modern cube of steel and glass surrounded by floodlights and high fences. 

Security cameras tracked the storm, their lenses glistening with rain. Lucas parked under a dripping tree. “We can’t just waltz in.”

“We don’t waltz.” Charlie’s gaze swept the perimeter. “We improvise.”

They crept toward a maintenance door, staying low. Lucas produced a small hacking device, hands shaking slightly. Sparks danced as he bypassed the lock. The door clicked open.

Inside, the vault was eerily quiet. Dim emergency lights glowed along polished marble walls. Rows of security doors lined the corridor, each one guarding fortunes.

Charlie whispered, “Find the ledger room, Kessler’s records will be there.”

They moved silently through the hall. Lucas tapped furiously on his tablet, disabling cameras one by one.

A faint hum grew louder. Charlie paused, frowning. “You hear that?”

Lucas froze. “What?”

The lights flickered. Blue symbols, the same as the Game’s interface, began to crawl across the vault’s walls, glowing faintly. “Charlie…” Lucas whispered. “This place, it’s part of the Game.”

Before Charlie could respond, a calm mechanical voice filled the corridor: Unauthorized access detected. Asset challenge initiated.

Steel shutters slammed down behind them, sealing the exits. From the shadows at the far end of the hall, a figure stepped into view, broad-shouldered, clad in a dark suit that gleamed wetly in the emergency lights.

The man’s face was familiar. Too familiar. Charlie’s breath caught. “Master…” he whispered.

The man he thought dead, the mentor who betrayed him, stood alive and smirking, a pistol dangling casually at his side. “Hello, Charlie,” the man said, his voice smooth and cold. “Did you miss me?”