2025-07-28 18:48:33The Prestwick estate’s living room was filled with shock and whispers. The air felt heavy, thick with the smell of whiskey and tension.
John stood still near the doorway, his torn shirt sticking to his bruised body. In his pocket, he could feel the weight of the black card and the Ravenshore phone. Hannah’s words; her sudden proposal to marry him, still echoed in the room like thunder. Everyone was stunned. Eleanor’s mouth was open in shock, the divorce papers still in her hand. Winston’s cigar shook between his fingers. At the head of the table, Hailey Prestwick sat silently, her sharp green eyes focused and unreadable. It was Eleanor's father, Winston, who finally broke the silence. His loud voice filled the room, full of disbelief. “Hannah, do you even know what you’re saying?” Hannah didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped forward and knelt before Hailey, her delicate frame steady despite the weight of every gaze in the room. “Please, Matriarch,” she said, her voice soft but resolute, “I beg your approval.” John’s heart pounded, his swollen eye twitching as he stared at her. Why? Why would Hannah, a Prestwick widower, a woman of wealth and grace, want to marry him? She knew him as the family’s punching bag, the “filthy” man who’d been dragged out of this very house hours ago. He was nothing in their eyes; a good-for-nothing who couldn’t afford a hospital bill, let alone breakfast. His mind raced, searching for her angle, but found none. Hailey leaned forward, her silver hair glinting under the chandelier’s light. “Is this truly what you want, Hannah?” Her voice was calm but carried a weight that silenced the room’s murmurs. Hannah nodded, her eyes unwavering. “Yes, Matriarch. It is.” Hailey’s gaze flicked to John, a flash of disdain crossing her face before returning to Hannah. “All these years since my son’s death, you’ve refused every suitor I brought you. Sons of billionaires, heirs to empires, men of stature. You turned them all down. And now you choose this… this poor fool who can’t even afford breakfast?” The room began to stir, with whispers spreading like poison. Eleanor smirked, her lips curling in disgust. Martinez let out a mocking snort. John’s hands tightened into fists, but he stayed silent. The calm, cold determination he had felt earlier was still with him. Hannah’s voice cut through the tension, steady and clear. “I’ve never asked for anything since my husband died. Not once, Matriarch. I’ve served this family, honored its name, and carried my grief in silence. This is the only thing I ask. Please.” The room fell silent again, the weight of her words sinking in. Eleanor’s eyes widened, her fingers tightening around the divorce papers. Hannah was no ordinary Prestwick; she was a force in her own right, a successful, independent woman whose business success and knowledge outshone even Eleanor’s. The family knew it, and Eleanor’s shock was palpable. The man she’d just discarded, the “filthy bastard” she’d divorced, was now the object of Hannah’s unbelievable choice. Hailey raised a hand, and the room stilled instantly, every eye fixed on her. “I will grant your request, Hannah,” she said, her voice measured but laced with steel. “But there are conditions. If you agree to them, you may marry him.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the room, letting the anticipation build. John’s stomach twisted, sensing the cruelty to come. “First,” Hailey began, “you will be stripped of your position as Chief Operating Officer of Prestwick Global Enterprises.” A collective gasp rippled through the room. The COO role was a cornerstone of the family’s empire, a position of immense power and prestige. Martinez’s jaw dropped, and Lila’s hand flew to her mouth. Hannah, however, remained unfazed, her expression calm, as if she’d already accepted the cost. Hailey continued, her voice colder now. “Second, the mansion you live in, inherited from my son, will be taken from you, along with all its vehicles. You will live with John, wherever he resides.” She paused again, looking closely at Hannah, as if waiting for her to back down. The mansion was a grand estate, a symbol of her late husband’s success. Moving in with John, probably into a small, poor apartment, would be a clear step down. But Hannah didn’t flinch. She kept her eyes steady. “Finally,” Hailey said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “you will be stripped of every right and benefit as a Prestwick. No shares, no inheritance, no access to the family’s resources. You will be cast out, Hannah, as he is.” The room erupted in gasps. Lila Prestwick shot to her feet, her face flushed with indignation. “Hannah, stop this nonsense! Change your mind before you throw everything away for this… this nobody!” Hannah turned to the matriarch, her voice steady. “I agree to every condition.” A flicker of pain crossed Hailey’s face, her lips tightening. The room was silent, the weight of Hannah’s decision pressing down on everyone. Even Winston looked shaken, his cigar forgotten. Eleanor’s eyes darted between Hannah and John, her shock giving way to something like fear. Hailey leaned back, her expression a mix of hurt and resignation. “Very well,” she said. “The decision is finalized. The legal papers will be sent to you in a few days. After that, you have no right to return to this family.” Hannah stood up slowly and calmly. Her face was peaceful. “Thank you, Matriarch,” she said softly, but her voice was steady and confident. Then she turned and looked at John for the first time. She gave him a small, real smile. “Let’s go, dear husband.” John froze. Dear husband? The words felt strange... almost unreal. But her smile was warm and gentle, almost like she was happy with the decision she just made. He didn’t move right away. His whole body hurt, and the black Ravenshore card and phone felt heavy in his pocket. Everyone in the room stared at them in shock as Hannah walked toward him, her high heels clicking softly on the shiny floor. No one said a word, except for a soft clink as Martinez set down his glass, his face red with disbelief. Eleanor crushed the edge of her divorce papers in her hand, her eyes full of anger, jealousy, or maybe something else. Winston’s jaw was tight, his cigar nearly out. Lila whispered something to Donovan, who shook his head in disgust. Jonathan leaned back in his chair, watching John closely with curious eyes. Hannah reached him and stood by his side. Her calm presence felt like a steady hand in the middle of chaos. She looked at the door and smiled again. “Shall we?” John nodded, still trying to process everything, and followed her. The butler opened the door, his face cold as he watched them walk out. Outside, the night was cool. The rain had stopped, but the ground was still wet. The smell of grass and distant smoke filled the air. John’s thoughts were racing. Hannah had just given up everything. Why? What did she see in him?
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Kill Them All
Consciousness returned to John like a tide dragging him out of a dark ocean. His mind rose sluggishly through layers of blackness until pain exploded behind his eyes. Every nerve screamed as awareness slammed back into his body. His skull felt like it was being pried open from the inside. When he tried to move, he realized he couldn’t. His arms were locked in place, suspended midair by magnetic restraints that crackled with blue light. His legs were pinned by glowing bands of energy that hummed with a low, alien frequency.When his vision finally steadied, the nightmare unfolded.He was trapped inside a containment chamber: a transparent cell made of some kind of shimmering glass-like material. Beyond it stretched a vast laboratory unlike anything built by human hands. Metallic arches curved toward the ceiling like rib bones of some great mechanical beast, each one pulsing with streams of neural light. Machinery hissed and throbbed with strange energy. Containment spheres floated over
Prisoner
The darkness came in pulses.Each wave of it dragged John deeper, pulling him beneath the world like a drowning man slipping below the surface of a black ocean. He tried to move, but his body was a cage of pain. His limbs wouldn’t obey him; his heartbeat sounded distant and wrong, like an echo trapped in metal.He heard voices which did not sound human. Guttural, clicking tones, interspersed with hissing breaths and the hum of translation filters. Then the mechanical growl of engines swallowed everything.When the fog lifted, light stabbed at his eyes.Cold blue light, harsh and sterile.He was lying on a slab of alloy, wrists bound by bands of humming energy. The air smelled of ozone, disinfectant, and something faintly organic, like scorched flesh. Around him, shadowy figures moved: Zorvathian med-technicians in silver exosuits, their elongated heads encased in glass helms that distorted their reptilian faces. Tubes pulsed with dark fluid along the walls, feeding into tanks that
Captured By Zorthavians
The platform was a ruined thing, proof that the storm had ripped through without mercy. Black ichor pooled across cracked tiles in thick, oily puddles that caught the moonlight and turned it into moving shadows. Zorvathian bodies lay everywhere: limbs splayed, chests torn open to show slick, unfamiliar organs, heads hanging at strange angles with faces frozen in shocked surprise.The air tasted of metal and burned plasma, mixed with the sharp ozone of broken electronics. Shrapnel lay like spent confetti. A derailed train car sagged beneath a collapsed catwalk, its sides pocked with fresh craters; the weight of the wreck had crushed several aliens beneath it. John stood in the center of it all, breathing slow and measured, the glow of the Limit Breaker on his forehead shrinking like a dying ember. Sweat and flecks of ichor dotted his brow; his armor carried new scorched scars that still smoked faintly in the cool, underground air.For a long, heavy moment, everything was silent except
Slaughter
The abandoned platform stretched out like a forgotten crypt, its vast expanse a mosaic of cracked tiles and rusted tracks under the erratic moonlight filtering through the fractured ceiling. Dust motes danced in the silvery beams, undisturbed until now, as the team burst through the makeshift breach Vera had carved. The air was stale, heavy with the musty decay of disuse, and the distant drip of water from leaking pipes echoed like a metronome counting down to doom. Skeletons in the derailed train car stared out with empty sockets, silent witnesses to the world's end. John scanned the shadows, his heightened senses prickling with the unmistakable hum of approaching danger—vibrations through the ground, the faint whine of energy weapons charging, the acrid scent of alien armor oil wafting on the breeze from hidden vents.They weren't alone.From the gloom between the crumbling pillars, shapes detached themselves with a shimmer—Zorvathian elites, their active camouflage failing under th
Night Strike
Night came early in the undercity. There was no real sky… just metal shutters closing over the rows of lamps as traders packed up their stalls. Eden grew tense, like a fist tightening. In the war room, everyone worked in quiet focus, the kind of silence that comes right before something explodes.Once the plan was set, they moved as one. Marcus and two others checked the explosives—timed charges held together with duct tape and scribbled notes full of curse words. Lena and Harlan slipped into the comms bay to hide their signal from scanners. Kira went over the timing again and again, her voice calm and steady:“Infiltration at 02:14. Power down at 02:17. Vera goes live at 02:20. Bay doors open at 02:25. Extraction between 02:35 and 02:40.”She memorized it all, then looked at each of them with eyes that said clearly: Don’t fail me.John tightened the straps of his pack, feeling the weight settle across his shoulders like the number of lives he had to save. He checked his gear—the me
Taking The Fight To The Enemy
The aftermath of the siege hung heavy in the air, like the bitter scent of smoke that refused to fade. Eden’s northern gate, once strong and proud, was now a scene of ruin. Steel walls lay twisted with alien wreckage, and the ground was soaked with black alien blood, human blood, and shattered concrete. Bodies were scattered everywhere: Zorvathian soldiers with their dark, glassy skin split open, their many eyes staring blankly upward; human fighters slumped beside their barricades, still gripping their rifles, their faces locked in pain or defiance. Red emergency lights blinked weakly through the haze, their glow making the fallen seem to stir as if the battle’s rage still lingered in the air.John stood at the center of the ruin, surrounded by smoke, fire, and the low moans of the dying. His armor, once a polished silver-gray, was now a battered shell of scorched plating and deep dents. Blood streaked his gauntlets and boots, caking in dark, flaking layers where his own mixed with t
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