The Loser Who Bought The World

Chapter 8: Burn the Vault, Break the Chains

---

The Vault was on fire.

Ethan’s jet hadn’t even touched the tarmac when the smoke column came into view—thick, black, curling into the early morning sky like the hand of a devil. He gripped the armrest so tight his knuckles went white.

“They moved faster than I thought,” he muttered.

Wren, seated across from him, was already typing on her tablet. “Tripwires were triggered ten minutes ago. Then all signals went dark.”

“They want the data wiped,” Ethan said. “They want to erase me.”

“Or take what’s left before you get there.”

Ethan’s eyes burned with rage. “Let’s make sure they regret trying.”

---

By the time the convoy reached the outskirts of the forest road leading to the Vault, it was chaos. Gunfire echoed from within the trees. Several of Ethan’s men lay injured behind cover, their armored vehicles riddled with bullet holes.

Jules sprinted up, bleeding from his shoulder. “They hit us hard—fast, precise, like they knew the layout. Someone sold us out.”

“Who’s inside?” Ethan asked.

“Camille. Raza. And Fenrir. He was still in lockdown when the breach started.”

Ethan growled. “If they’re here for intel, they’ll tear Fenrir apart.”

Wren handed him a suppressed submachine gun. “Then let’s go get him first.”

---

Inside the Vault, corridors blazed with orange light. Metal twisted from the heat, and smoke bit at their lungs. But Ethan moved like a man possessed—past the charred remains of old servers and through the cracking foundation of his father’s legacy.

They reached the inner interrogation chamber. The door had been blown open. Blood smeared the walls. A trail.

Jules cursed. “They took him.”

Ethan didn’t blink. “Then we take them.”

A voice crackled over Wren’s comms. “Intruders still in Sector 3. One heading to Server Core!”

Ethan spun on his heel. “They’re after the root drive. If they get it, they own the Legatum interface.”

He started running.

---

Sector 3

The corridor erupted as Ethan charged in, mowing down a merc with a clean double-tap to the chest. Another raised his rifle but was too slow—Wren dropped him with a shot to the head.

They pushed forward until they reached the Server Core.

Inside, a man in a black coat stood with his back to them. He held a silver case.

“The root drive,” Wren hissed.

“Put it down,” Ethan ordered.

The man turned. Tall. Blonde. Cold eyes.

“You must be Cross,” he said calmly. “Heard a lot about you. From Marcus Vale.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “Another one of his rats?”

“More like the one who cleans up his messes,” the man said, lifting the case. “You have no idea what’s really buried in this Vault. But the Nine will.”

“You won’t leave with that,” Ethan said.

“Oh?” the man sneered. “And who’s going to stop me?”

Ethan raised his gun.

“Me.”

---

Bang.

The shot echoed through the core chamber. The man dropped instantly, the case falling with a metallic thud.

Ethan strode forward, picked it up, and popped the lock.

Inside was the root drive—still intact. But something else was tucked beneath it.

A sealed envelope. Marked with his father’s initials.

He opened it slowly.

Inside was a single line:

> “She’s not a memory. She’s a prisoner.”

Below it: Coordinates. Somewhere in Turkey.

Ethan’s breath caught.

His mother.

Still alive.

---

They left the Vault smoldering but not broken. Raza and Camille were safe, pulled out before the roof collapsed on the western wing.

“Rebuild?” Jules asked.

Ethan shook his head. “No. The Vault’s compromised now. We go mobile.”

Wren nodded. “Already securing ghost safehouses.”

As the convoy drove through the night, Ethan stared at the coordinates in his hand.

“She’s alive,” he whispered.

Jules leaned back. “You’re sure?”

“Marcus Vale gave me the photo. But this… this came from my father. Before he died.”

Wren turned. “What if it’s a trap?”

Ethan looked her in the eye.

“Then I’ll walk into it with my head high. And I’ll bury whoever set it.”

---

The next day, they reached a private airstrip near the Black Sea coast. The safehouse—an abandoned military outpost—was already secured.

There, Ethan sat alone with the two pieces of the Ghost Fund map spread across the table.

Wren stepped in, quiet. “We lost a lot back there.”

“I know.”

“You’re not the same guy I met in the alley three months ago.”

Ethan chuckled, dry. “He died the day they laughed at me.”

She paused. “You think your mother’s really alive?”

Ethan looked down at the map.

“I don’t think. I know. And I’m going to find her.”

---

Meanwhile...

Deep in a marble tower overlooking Istanbul, an old woman stood before a fireplace, her hands clasped.

A man entered.

“They’ve found the second piece.”

The woman turned slowly. Her eyes—sharp and sad—locked on his.

“Then my son is closer than we thought.”

“You want us to prepare extraction?”

“No,” she said.

She picked up a pendant from the mantle—an old locket, tarnished by time.

“Let him come to me.”

---

Back at the safehouse

A message came through the encrypted channel.

Wren’s eyes widened. “Ethan. It's from Fenrir.”

She turned the screen toward him.

It was grainy footage, clearly taken in secret. Fenrir—bloodied, beaten—strapped to a chair. Behind him stood a man in a white suit with a serpent pin on his lapel.

Not Marcus. Someone else.

The man leaned into the camera.

“Ethan Cross. You’re chasing ghosts while we hunt the living. Every piece of the Ghost Fund you touch, we burn. Every name you protect, we erase. You think you’re a king?”

He leaned closer.

“Kings die too.”

The screen cut to black.

---

Ethan stood slowly.

“This isn’t about revenge anymore.”

“No?” Wren asked.

He looked her in the eye.

“This is war.”