The rain roared harder, turning the forest floor into a slick, churning slurry. Vittorio Valdieri crawled out of the body bag in a movement that sent pain tearing through him. Every inch of muscle in Leo Ravelli’s body felt as if it were being ripped straight from the bone. Lightning split the gray sky above, illuminating his pallid face and casting a grotesque contrast against eyes that now gleamed with lethal sharpness.
Pinned beneath Vittorio, Kalen coughed up blood. He tried to reach for the knife tucked behind his belt, but Vittorio pressed his thumb into a nerve at the base of Kalen’s arm first.
“You move, and this nerve dies permanently,” Vittorio hissed. His voice was cold, trembling not from fear, but from the violent tremors beginning to seize his nervous system.
“Leo… what’s inside you?” Kalen gasped, staring in horror at the face he knew as a cowardly addict. “You should’ve died in that bag!”
Vittorio did not answer. A wave of pain crashed through his skull. Withdrawal. This body demanded its poison. His vision blurred, and his arm muscles began to shake uncontrollably.
“Damn it,” Vittorio muttered.
Sensing an opening, Kalen forced his strength into a roll, throwing Vittorio aside. “You’re just junkie trash, Leo! You don’t have the strength to kill anyone!”
Vittorio slammed into the mud. Vargas, shot earlier in the shoulder, crawled out of the grave pit with his face flushed red with rage. In his uninjured hand, he gripped a tactical dagger.
“I’ll skin you alive, you little bastard!” Vargas roared. “Kalen, hold him!”
Kalen stood, wiping mud from his ruined silk shirt. “Don’t kill him yet, Vargas. I want to know how a rat like him pulled off that lock earlier. That wasn’t an amateur move.”
Vittorio rose slowly. His legs shook violently as he stood between the two executioners. In his old world, he could have killed men like them in seconds. Now he was trapped in a body that struggled just to remain upright.
“You talk too much for professional killers,” Vittorio said. He dropped into a low stance, turning his body sideways to reduce his target.
Vargas sneered. “Look at you. You can’t even stop your hands from shaking. Need one last dose before you die?”
“I don’t need muscles to break your neck, Fat Man,” Vittorio replied flatly. “I just need gravity and your stupidity.”
“Die!” Vargas lunged forward with a straight thrust.
Vittorio did not retreat. If he stepped back, his weak body would lose balance on the slick ground. As the blade nearly touched his chest, he rotated slightly, letting the knife slide past his armpit. He caught Vargas’s wrist, not with brute force, but by locking the man’s elbow joint beneath his own arm.
Crack.
“Aaagh!” Vargas screamed as his elbow shifted unnaturally.
“Leverage, Vargas. You should study physics harder in hell,” Vittorio whispered.
Kalen reacted instantly, charging in with a straight kick aimed at Vittorio’s ribs. Vittorio released Vargas and dropped himself to the ground, sweeping low and using his own body weight to knock Kalen off his feet.
Mid-motion, withdrawal slammed into his heart. His chest felt crushed by an invisible giant’s hand. His breath locked in his throat. He collapsed into the mud, clutching his chest as his vision washed white.
“Leo!” Kalen scrambled up and kicked Vittorio in the face. “I don’t know what trick you’re using, but this ends now!”
Vittorio tasted blood. His head throbbed, but his consciousness stayed sharp. Focus, Vittorio. Don’t rely on strength. Use pain.
Vargas, clutching his limp arm, advanced with hatred etched across his face. With his good hand, he grabbed a large, jagged stone from the edge of the grave.
“I’ll smash your skull with this, you piece of trash!” Vargas snarled.
Vittorio glanced at Kalen, then at Vargas, already raising the stone. He had one move or he was dead.
“Kalen,” Vittorio croaked.
“What? Begging now?” Kalen scoffed, pointing a finger at him as if it were the gun he no longer had.
“Do you know why Antonio chose to have me disposed of?” Vittorio asked, baiting him.
“Because you’re useless! You’re a disgrace to the Ravelli family!” Kalen snapped.
Vittorio smiled faintly, a smile alien on Leo’s gaunt face. “Wrong. He threw me away because he was afraid. Afraid I’d wake up and realize who I really am.”
“You’re just a junkie hallucinating!” Vargas shouted, swinging the stone at Vittorio’s head.
Vittorio moved in a way neither of them expected. Instead of dodging aside, he slid forward through the mud, straight into Vargas’s space. He caught Vargas’s left wrist holding the stone and, with a precise jerk, redirected the swing using Vargas’s own momentum.
“Vargas, don’t!” Kalen shouted.
Too late.
Driven by Vargas’s full fury and guided by Vittorio’s technique, the jagged stone slammed into Vargas’s own neck as he stumbled forward.
The sharp edge buried itself deep into Vargas’s carotid artery. Fresh blood erupted, splashing across Vittorio’s face and Kalen’s white shirt as he stood directly in front of them.
Vargas choked, clawing at his torn throat, before his heavy body collapsed into the mud with a wet thump. His eyes stared blankly up at the rain-soaked sky.
Vittorio rose slowly, ignoring the agony tearing through his chest. He stood over Vargas’s corpse, letting the rain wash the blood from his face. Then he looked at Kalen.
Kalen took a step back, his face drained of color. He had seen plenty of death, but never an emaciated addict execute someone with such efficiency while shaking uncontrollably.
“You… you’re not Leo,” Kalen whispered, his voice trembling. “Leo can’t fight like that. Leo doesn’t have eyes like that.”
Vittorio stepped forward, though his legs barely held him. Each step was heavy, yet his presence filled the air with crushing dominance.
“Tell me, Kalen,” Vittorio said, his voice now carrying unquestionable authority. “Do you want to join your friend in that hole, or do you want to live a little longer and give me information?”
Kalen fumbled at his back pocket, hoping for a spare weapon, but found nothing. “The Circle… they’ll kill me if I talk.”
“And I’ll kill you if you don’t,” Vittorio replied. “The difference is, they might give you a quick death. I have all night to show you what someone freshly risen from the grave can do.”
Vittorio picked up the blood-slick stone still lodged in Vargas’s neck. He held it casually, yet with the unmistakable precision of a man who knew every lethal point on the human body.
“Who ordered this execution? And what’s on the micro-SD you were sent to retrieve?” Vittorio demanded.
Kalen swallowed hard, glancing at the helicopter lights now sweeping the forest about five hundred meters away. “The cleanup team is here. You won’t make it out of this forest alive, whoever you are!”
Vittorio narrowed his eyes. He felt the adrenaline fading, the withdrawal pain crashing back twice as hard. He had to end this now.
“Look at me, Kalen,” Vittorio commanded.
Kalen obeyed without meaning to. He looked into Leo Ravelli’s eyes and found no trace of Leo there. Instead, he saw an ancient predator, a Godfather who had sent hundreds to their deaths without blinking. The gaze was so cold, so filled with pure hatred, it felt as though his soul were being stripped bare.
“I am not Leo,” Vittorio whispered again, now inches from Kalen’s frozen face. “My name is Vittorio Valdieri. And I suggest you start talking before I decide to use this stone on your eyes.”
Kalen collapsed into the mud, mentally shattered. “The Circle… Antonio… they want the project. Project Ouroboros…”
Vittorio went still. That name. Ouroboros. The serpent devouring its own tail.
“Explain,” Vittorio ordered.
“I don’t know the details! I was only told to eliminate Leo and recover the data!” Kalen screamed hysterically as the helicopter’s light drew closer, bathing the blood-soaked forest in a nightmarish glow.
Vittorio stood tall, letting the storm batter his fragile body. One enemy lay dead, the other broken at his feet. Above them, the real hunters were descending from the sky.
“It seems the world hasn’t changed much in fifty years,” Vittorio murmured, staring into the approaching light. “Still full of rats trying to become lions.”
Latest Chapter
LAST CHAPTER 136: THE BLACK ROSE STILL BLOOMS
he forest on the outskirts of Rome no longer felt ominous. The storm that had once accompanied Leo Valdieri's resurrection had long since passed, leaving behind a majestic silence and the fresh scent of dew-soaked earth. Sunlight streamed through the dense canopy of ancient oak trees, creating golden pillars of light that fell across the carpet of green moss below. At the heart of that stillness, the small pit that had once been a muddy grave was now covered with wild grass and blooming woodland flowers.Elena Ravelli stood at the edge of the grave.She wore black tactical pants and Leo's old brown leather jacket, the one she had kept since the first day of their escape. A gentle breeze played with the ends of her hair, carrying a peace she had not felt in over a year.Behind her, Silas Vane stood silently, holding a small silver shovel and a teakwood box. The hardness in his weathered face had softened, as though he had finally reached the finish line of a long and exhausting war."T
CHAPTER 135: THE BLOOD AUDIT IN GENEVA
The drizzle over Geneva felt like thousands of icy needles trying to pierce the defenses of a city that had always been calm and immaculate. The Palais des Nations, now serving as the headquarters of The Sovereignty Council, stood proudly beside the lake, surrounded by rows of armored vehicles and fully deployed Executioner-Prime units. Yet out on the streets, that order was nothing more than a mirage. Enraged crowds, stirred by Elena's Legacy-Zero broadcast, had surrounded the main gates, shouting for the return of their stolen assets and identities.Elena Ravelli stepped out of the armored vehicle directly in front of the military barricade. She wore no heavy body armor. Instead, she was dressed in a bespoke burgundy suit that stood in striking contrast to Geneva's ash-gray sky. In one hand, she carried an old leather briefcase, a ledger containing every bureaucratic sin ever committed by the ruling council."Don Elena, the biometric scanners at the front gate are still active," Sil
Chapter 134: The Empress Ascendant
The fierce wind howled around the steel summit of the Eiffel Tower, carrying the scent of cold iron and burned gunpowder from the streets of Paris below. Elena Ravelli stood before the emergency transmission console, her slender fingers moving across the trembling holographic display with terrifying precision. Every few seconds, the crimson glow of the aviation warning lights swept across her face, making it seem as though she were being baptized by an invisible fire."Thirty seconds until global synchronization, Don Elena!" Silas Vane shouted through the communicator, his voice competing with the thunder of Black Shield helicopters closing in around the tower. "Their airborne units have already landed on the second observation deck! Junior and the shadow team are holding them back with steam barricades!"Elena never looked away. Her eyes remained fixed on the progress bar.[UPLOAD: 89%]"Hold them for ten more seconds, Silas. If this transmission is interrupted now, Legacy-Zero will
CHAPTER 133: THE LAST CODE OF HONOR
Rain never fell simply in Paris. It descended like a silver curtain, refracting the dim glow of the streetlights and weaving a labyrinth of shadows across the slick pavement. The City of Light now resembled a dying patient drained of blood, beautiful yet pale, pulsing weakly beneath the watch of the remaining Black Shield units stationed throughout the administrative districts.Elena Ravelli leaned back against the leather seat of the armored personnel carrier as it glided silently through Place de la Concorde. She wore a tailored black suit beneath a long wool overcoat with rigid shoulders, giving her the unmistakable silhouette of her late brother. Resting on her lap was a holographic tablet displaying the blueprint of an ancient building in the 1st arrondissement."Silas, do you feel it? Paris doesn't smell like perfume today. It smells like rust and fear," Elena said, her voice calm yet sharp enough to cut through the silence.Silas Vane, seated in the front with his long-barreled
CHAPTER 132: THE GHOST WHO GUIDES
The air on the outskirts of Milan felt like cold steel piercing the lungs. Inside an armored personnel carrier parked in an abandoned garment warehouse, Elena Ravelli inspected the loading mechanism of her long-barreled revolver rifle. The dim glow of the tactical monitor cast a pale blue light across her face, which had grown leaner and sharper with every passing day.Beside her, Silas Vane carefully wiped bloodstains from the sleeve of his suit, remnants of the "cleanup" in Venice just hours earlier."You're gripping the weapon too tightly, Miss," Silas said without looking up. "Leo always said a weapon is an extension of your intent. If you're tense, your aim will stray."Elena took a slow breath, forcing the muscles in her shoulders to relax."I'm not tense, Silas. I'm just trying to get used to the silence. Without Leo's breathing behind me, the world feels far too large.""Don't let the size of the world intimidate your focus, Elena."She flinched ever so slightly.The voice had
CHAPTER 131: WOLVES AT THE DINNER TABLE
Winter in Venice was a labyrinth of fog creeping across canals as black as ink. Palazzo Zenobio, a Baroque masterpiece standing proudly in the Dorsoduro district, had become the center of gravity for the remnants of the world's power tonight. Murano chandeliers cast a warm golden glow that shimmered across the still canal waters, concealing the presence of Crimson Syndicate divers guarding the ancient wooden foundations beneath the palace.Elena Ravelli stepped from a tactical black gondola. She wore an elegant burgundy silk evening gown that flowed gracefully around her, but beneath the luxurious fabric, a leather holster held The Black Mamba snug against her side. Silas Vane, dressed in a tuxedo with the rigid bearing of a battleship mast, offered his hand to help her onto the palazzo's private dock."Lorenzo's blood hasn't even dried on the floor in Rome, Don Elena," Silas whispered, his eyes sweeping across the tall windows guarded by soldiers from foreign factions. "Venice is a n
