God-Hand-Guard: The 9-Heaven Sovereign

Chapter 3: The Collapse at the Gala

The Grand Ballroom of the Starlight Hotel was a cathedral of glass and gold, a world away from the damp concrete of my basement. Above, chandeliers dripped with diamonds, casting a shimmering light that made the silk gowns of the elite look like liquid jewels. The air was thick with the scent of vintage champagne, expensive lilies, and the quiet, arrogant hum of power.

I stood at the perimeter, a shadow in a sea of light. My black suit was pressed, my posture rigid, but my hands—hidden behind my back—were clenched so tight the joints ached. I wasn't here to enjoy the music. I was here because the 9-Heaven System was screaming in my mind.

[Target Identified: Kevin Silas.]

[Distance: 20 Meters.]

[Time to Cardiac Explosion: 12 Minutes.]

In the center of the room, Kevin was the life of the party. He held a crystal flute of champagne, his face flushed a deep, unhealthy crimson that the other guests mistook for high spirits. He was bragging, his voice carrying over the string quartet.

"I’m telling you, I’ve never felt better!" Kevin boomed, slapping a friend on the back. "Some beggar at a club tried to tell me I was sick last night. Can you believe it? A bouncer trying to play doctor!"

A ripple of mocking laughter traveled through the circle of socialites. I watched him through the crowd, my Sovereign Sight fixed on his chest. The Red Shadow on his heart was no longer a shadow; it was a throbbing, violet bruise that seemed to be strangling his aorta.

"Denzel, keep your eyes on the door, not the guests," a senior security guard hissed as he walked past.

I didn't blink. I couldn't. I was watching the biological clock of a man who had spat on me wind down to its final seconds.

Near the stage stood CEO Claire. She was the "Ice Queen" of the city, draped in a gown of midnight blue that matched the cold, sharp intelligence in her eyes. She moved with a grace that was almost too perfect, but as I squinted, I saw it—a faint, translucent frost clinging to her meridians.

[Diagnosis: Ice-Cold Pulse. Vitality: 45%.]

She was dying, too. She just had a more expensive way of hiding it.

Suddenly, the music of the quartet seemed to falter. Kevin stopped mid-sentence. His champagne glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor with a sound like a gunshot.

He didn't scream. He didn't even moan. He simply clutched his throat, his eyes bulging as they turned a terrifying, bloodshot red. He took one staggering step, his hands clawing at his chest as if trying to rip his own heart out.

"Kevin?" someone whispered.

Then, he collapsed.

The silence that followed was visceral, broken only by the sound of Kevin’s body hitting the floor with a heavy, wet thud. Chaos erupted. Women screamed, pulling back their silk skirts to avoid the wine spilling from his glass.

"A doctor! Is there a doctor?" Elder Silas roared, rushing from the VIP section, his face a mask of primal terror.

Two men stepped forward—Dr. Ricky and a group of "Great Professors" from the Royal Hospital. They knelt beside Kevin, their hands moving with practiced, clinical efficiency.

"His heart has stopped!" Ricky shouted, his face pale. "Defibrillator! Now! He’s in complete cardiac arrest!"

They began chest compressions, the sound of ribs cracking under the pressure echoing through the silent ballroom. But as I watched through my Sovereign Sight, I saw the truth. The blood wasn't circulating; it was backflowing, pooling in his lungs like toxic sludge.

"It’s no use," one of the professors whispered, his voice trembling. "The valves have locked. He’s... he’s gone, Silas."

"No!" Elder Silas screamed, grabbing Ricky by the lapels. "Save him! I'll give you anything! Save my son!"

Ricky shook his head, looking down at the lifeless body of the boy who, moments ago, had been the king of the room. "There’s nothing left to do. It’s a total system failure."

I felt the Indignation boil over. It wasn't for Kevin—it was for the incompetence of the men who called themselves healers while standing over a body with their hands in their pockets.

I broke the security line.

My boots thundered against the marble, a heavy, rhythmic pulse that cut through the sobbing and the panic. I shoved through the crowd of billionaires, my massive frame parting the sea of silk and wool.

"Get back, bouncer!" a guard shouted, reaching for my arm.

I didn't stop. I brushed him off with a flick of my shoulder, my eyes locked on Kevin’s graying face. I reached the inner circle and stood over the body.

"He isn't dead," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that froze every person in that room. "But he will be in sixty seconds if you keep touching him."

Dr. Ricky looked up, his eyes narrowing in recognition and contempt. "You? The Reddington boy? Get out of here before I have you arrested! This is a medical emergency, not a doorway for a thug!"

"You're right, Ricky," I said, stepping over Kevin’s legs. I looked down at the "Great Professor" with a gaze that made him flinch. "It is an emergency. And you’re failing it."

The crowd gasped. I could feel Claire’s eyes on me—sharp, cold, and intensely curious.

I reached for a cocktail tray on a nearby table. My hand moved like a blur, snatching a single, three-inch wooden toothpick.

"What are you doing?" Elder Silas barked, his voice choked with grief and rage. "Get away from my son!"

"Do you want his life?" I asked, looking Silas dead in the eye. "Or do you want your pride?"

Silas froze. In that moment of hesitation, I knelt.

I felt the 9-Heaven Aura surge into my fingertips, the wooden toothpick beginning to hum with a faint, golden light. My heart hammered a fierce, predatory rhythm. The "bouncer" was gone. The God-Hand had arrived.

[System: Initialization sequence started. Miracle required.]

I raised the toothpick high, the light reflecting in the diamonds of the chandeliers. I didn't see a ballroom anymore. I saw the gates of life and death. And I was about to kick them open.