Supreme Demon Emperor Returns

20. The Venomous Snake Tactic

Lyra's fingers danced across her laptop keyboard. The blue light from the monitor illuminated her cynical smile. Lines of computer code flowed like a river, breaching the security systems of global banks.

Xavier stood behind Lyra's chair. He stared at the screen, his expression as cold as ice. In his hand, he held a glass of straight whiskey. He downed the hard liquor in a single swallow.

The whiskey flowed down his throat. Xavier paused for a moment. He waited for the burning sensation of the alcohol to hit his chest. But there was nothing. The potent spirit tasted as bland as tap water. His sense of taste was completely dead.

Xavier placed the empty glass on the table with a slow, deliberate motion. He swallowed the agonizing frustration, burying it in the darkest corner of his soul. He refocused on his mission of revenge.

"Status," Xavier commanded, his tone absolute.

"Access granted, Boss," Lyra reported. She hit the enter key with a satisfying thud. "I've just locked eight of Richard Vance's main operational accounts. All of his liquid assets have been permanently frozen by the central bank's system."

"Good," Xavier said. "Have you prepared the bait for them?"

Lyra nodded slowly. "Of course. I intentionally left a small gap in our firewall. Richard's IT team should be able to trace this IP address within a few hours. The address will lead them directly to an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn."

Fenrir stepped forward from the corner of the room. The giant was loading ammunition into his modified rifle.

"I set the trap last night," Fenrir said. His voice was deep and calm. "The warehouse is filled with shock explosives and paralyzing gas. Non-lethal, but enough to put a hundred soldiers to sleep for two days."

Xavier looked at Fenrir sharply. "Don't kill them. We are not random butchers. Let them live as witnesses to their own master's weakness."

"Understood, sir," Fenrir replied, bowing his head respectfully.

Xavier lit a cigarette. Gray smoke filled the air of the underground headquarters. The venomous snake tactic had been unleashed. Now, they just had to wait for the poison to work.

Time passed. By afternoon.

The atmosphere on the top floor of Richard Vance's corporate building was thick with tension. Richard paced back and forth in his office. The old man chewed on his cigar viciously. His face was flushed red with a barely contained rage.

A well-built man in tactical gear entered the room. He was Briggs, the commander of the mercenary force Richard had hired.

"Mr. Vance," Briggs greeted, his tone unfriendly. "My men's weekly salary transfer was just rejected by the bank. We haven't received a single dime this morning."

Richard stopped pacing. He glared at the mercenary commander.

"You'll get paid, damn it. Just be patient," Richard snapped. "The damn bank is having a system glitch. Do you think I'm broke?"

Briggs didn't flinch. He crossed his arms over his chest. "My men don't work on sweet promises, sir. We are protecting your life in this building. If the funds don't clear in two hours, we're walking."

"You bastards," Richard roared. He kicked his office chair, sending it toppling over. "I pay you a fortune to protect me from a lunatic killer. You can't just leave."

Suddenly, the office door flew open. The head of the company's IT department ran in, pale and out of breath.

"Mr. Richard," the technician called out in a panic. "We've found the problem."

"Spit it out, you idiot," Richard swore. He strode toward the technician. "Why are all my accounts frozen?"

"Our central server was hacked this morning," the technician reported, trembling. "Someone used military-grade encryption to lock your bank access. It was Umbra Capital."

Hearing that name, Richard's face turned ashen. The fear returned. The invisible enemy had finally come for his neck.

"Damn it," Richard hissed under his breath. "They're trying to bankrupt me so my guards will leave. The cunning bastards."

"But we have some good news, sir," the technician added quickly. "The hacker left a digital trail. We managed to trace their IP address. The location is an empty warehouse in Brooklyn."

Richard's eyes widened. His fear instantly transformed into a deadly rage. He saw a golden opportunity to cut the head off the snake.

"Excellent," Richard shouted. He turned to his mercenary commander with a vicious smile. "You hear that, Briggs. They're hiding in Brooklyn."

"And your orders?" Briggs asked flatly.

"Take your entire elite force there now," Richard commanded, his voice absolute. "I want you to surround that warehouse. Don't let a single rat escape. Kill everyone inside. Bring me the head of Umbra Capital's boss, and I'll pay you ten times the original price."

A thin smile touched Briggs's lips at the offer. "Deal, Mr. Vance. That warehouse will be their grave tonight."

The commander turned and ran out of the room to assemble his men. Richard laughed out loud. He felt victorious. He was confident that a hundred heavily armed mercenaries could crush the small group of Umbra Capital into dust.

That night. A heavy rain poured down on New York City.

An abandoned industrial area on the outskirts of Brooklyn was dark and silent. The only sound was the rain hammering against the rusted tin roofs.

Three black tactical trucks pulled to a stop at the end of the street. Dozens of men in all-black gear disembarked. They carried long-barreled automatic rifles. Night-vision goggles were mounted on their helmets.

Briggs gave a hand signal. His men spread out in a deadly silence. They surrounded a large warehouse, number 404, from all directions.

Briggs stood in front of the warehouse's main steel door. He nodded to two of his men.

The two soldiers kicked the steel door in unison. The door flew open with a loud creak. The elite force immediately stormed into the warehouse, weapons at the ready.

"Clear the area," Briggs yelled from the back.

The warehouse was vast and pitch-black. Dozens of flashlight beams from the ends of their rifles swept through every corner of the room. There was no sound. No sign of life. The place was completely empty.

"Commander, there's no one here," one of the soldiers reported from the second floor.

Briggs frowned. A sudden, terrible premonition hit him. "Find an exit. It's a trap. Pull everyone back now."

But the warning came too late.

High on the roof of the warehouse, in the pouring rain, Fenrir stood calmly. His raincoat billowed in the strong wind. He held a small detonator in his right hand.

"The bait has been taken, Boss," Fenrir reported through the comms in his ear.

"Detonate," Xavier's cold voice replied over the radio.

Fenrir pressed the red button on the detonator.

A blinding white light exploded simultaneously inside the warehouse. The deafening sonic boom shattered every window in the building.

The mercenaries inside screamed in pain. Their eyes were temporarily blinded by the flashbangs. Their eardrums were ruptured by the sound wave.

A moment after the flash, dozens of gas canisters on the warehouse ceiling opened automatically. Thick, white smoke poured out, filling the entire room in seconds. It was a high-dose nerve agent.

Briggs tried to run for the exit. But his legs suddenly gave out. He coughed violently, inhaling the toxic gas. His vision swam. He collapsed onto the cold concrete floor.

All around him, the hundred elite mercenaries that Richard had hired at great expense collapsed one by one like dead flies. Not a single shot was fired. The deadly force was completely neutralized without any meaningful resistance.

Fenrir tossed the detonator down. He turned and walked away into the rainy night. His job was done.

The scene shifts back to Richard Vance's main building.

Richard sat alone in his office. The old man poured himself a glass of whiskey to celebrate his victory. He glanced at his expensive watch. It had been an hour since Briggs had left. The slaughter should have been over by now.

Suddenly, the special landline on his desk rang shrilly.

Richard frowned. It was his private, highly confidential line. Only the members of the Aristhos board of directors knew the number. He quickly picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" Richard greeted sharply. "Briggs? Have you finished them?"

There was a moment of silence on the line. No answer. Only the sound of a very soft, cold breath.

"Your guard dogs are fast asleep, Richard," a very deep and elegant male voice said from the other end.

Richard's heart felt as if it had stopped. The whiskey glass in his hand trembled violently.

"Who the hell are you," Richard roared in panic. "Where's Briggs? What have you done to my men, huh?"

"I've pulled your fangs," Xavier replied, his tone condescending. "Now you're all alone in that building. There's no one left to protect you from your past sins."

A cold sweat broke out on Richard's back. He looked at the security monitor on his desk. All the CCTV cameras in his building's lobby had suddenly gone dead. The screen was just a solid black.

"How much money do you want," Richard offered, his voice trembling. "I can give you millions of dollars if you just let me live. Name your price, damn it."

"I don't want your money," Xavier said calmly. "I want you to come to the penthouse of the Imperial Hotel, tonight."

"I'll never go there. You'll just kill me," Richard shrieked hysterically. He backed away from his desk.

"The choice is yours, Richard," Xavier said without emotion. "Come there alone within half an hour. Or tomorrow morning, the entire world will read the secret documents about your involvement in my grandfather's murder."

Richard's breath caught in his throat. The biggest secret he had buried for so long had finally been unearthed.

"And one more thing," Xavier added, his tone lethal. "Your daughter, Audrey Vance. She is a very intelligent girl. It would be a great shame if Isabella Aristhos were to send assassins to eliminate a witness like your daughter tonight."

"Don't you dare touch my daughter, you bastard," Richard roared, tears of rage in his eyes. He loved his only daughter dearly.

"Then come to the Imperial Hotel now," Xavier commanded, his voice absolute. "Or you will be attending two funerals tomorrow morning."

The line disconnected with a sharp click.

Richard stood frozen in the middle of his office. The phone receiver was still pressed to his ear. His legs felt weak. He finally, absolutely, realized that he had been completely defeated. He no longer had any control over his own life.

The Devil of Wall Street had him in a perfect stranglehold.