The Price Of Hatred

Chapter 28 - The Heirs

The Heirs

​Across the dark, rain-swept streets of Spain, a massive estate of white architectural glass stood like an isolated fortress. Outside, the sprawling grounds were completely vacant, swallowed by a heavy, suffocating silence. Inside the long, minimalist corridors of the penthouse, the air was entirely still. A single double door at the end of the hall had been left slightly ajar, revealing a private, expansive training sanctuary packed with heavy iron gym instruments.

​In the center of the rubber-floored room stood a man.

​His silhouette was imposing, a testament to years of calculated preparation. Grasping a heavy pair of iron kettlebells with both hands, he executed a flawless, explosive lift. With every deliberate repetition, the raw muscles across his back and forearms pumped outward, veins mapping across his skin like lightning beneath a storm. He was in peak physical condition, his frame carrying an immense, coiled power that matched the freezing, lethal stillness of his dangerous face.

​With a dull, resounding thud, he dropped the iron weights to the floor.

​At that exact moment, the door slid fully open. A woman stepped into the training room, her boots clicking softly against the rubber mats. The man turned around with an agonizingly slow, rhythmic precision, wiping a bead of sweat from his cut jawline.

​It was Gage.

​"Master Gage," the woman said softly, her voice flat, carrying the clinical edge of someone born into the underworld. In her hand, she held an encrypted tactical smartphone. "We received a broadcast sequtouence from the central network. It isn't just an internal alert for our cell. It was blasted globally. To every single sector of the Pitch."

​Without a word, Gage extended his hand. The woman placed the device gently into his open palm. Gage stared down at the flashing text, his expression completely blank, not a single trace of a smile touching his lips as he digested the news of his father's demise.

​He smoothly handed the phone back to her.

​"It’s time," Gage murmured, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm register. "They are finally calling me home"

​The woman bowed her head slightly. "Should I coordinate the tarmac and prepare your ride for tomorrow morning, sir?"

​"Yes, Visha," Gage said, his cold whisper cutting through the quiet of the gym.

​Visha was not an ordinary assistant; she was a master of espionage, a vial of deadly poison wrapped in a tailored suit. She didn't waste a single second. She turned on her heel and vanished down the corridor to secure the operational permits.

​Left alone in the dim light of the training room, Gage looked out through the massive glass windows at the stormy Spanish horizon.

​"One shall fall, before another rises," Gage whispered to his own reflection, his fingers slowly curling into fists. "It is time for me to rise."

​Earlier the next day, before the first cracks of dawn could even touch the horizon, the heavy morning fog hung thick over the private airfield in Madrid. A sleek, matte-black syndicate corporate jet sliced through the mist, its tires screeching against the asphalt as it touched down on the runway.

​The aircraft taxied to a halt, and the pressurized cabin door swung downward, its stairs lowering slowly onto the damp tarmac.

​Step. Step.

​The first person to exit the cabin was a striking, severe Spanish woman dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit. It was Agni—the very same operative Lyssa had been coordinating with the night prior. She scanned the perimeter with analytical eyes before stepping aside.

​A moment later, Lyssa emerged from the threshold. She was draped in a heavy, flowing black mourning gown that trailed behind her like a shadow. She descended the stairs with a slow, regal grace, her expression cast in marble.

​The moment her boots pressed onto the tarmac, the headlights of two luxury black SUVs cut through the morning fog, the vehicles tearing across the airfield before braking sharply directly in front of the stairs. The doors of the lead vehicle flew open, and two female syndicate guards in immaculate black suits stepped out to secure the perimeter.

​One of the leads marched forward, stopping directly in front of Lyssa, and offered a firm, professional handshake.

​"It's good to have you back home, ma'am," the woman said, her voice tight with respect. She broke the grip and stepped cleanly to the side, gesturing toward the open rear door of the armored vehicle. "Right this way, please."

​Instantly, Agni moved to follow Lyssa's flank, her hand resting casually near her concealed holster. The guard's arm shot out, her hand clamping firmly onto Agni’s shoulder, blocking her path.

​"Who the hell are you?" the guard demanded, her eyes narrowing as she maintained her grip.

​Agni stopped dead in her tracks, her head tilting slightly as her freezing stare drifted down to the guard's fingers resting on her shoulder. The tension on the tarmac spiked instantly.

​"She's with me," Lyssa said, pausing just before she entered the interior of the car. She didn't look back, her voice carrying an absolute, unyielding authority. "Let her in."

​Agni’s eyes flashed with a dark amusement as she looked back at the guard. "Ten cuidado," she whispered in a low, dangerous purr.

​"I heard you, and you're perfectly welcome," the guard replied instantly, dropping her hand and stepping back into formation. Agni marched past her, but instead of taking the passenger side, she smoothly slipped into the driver's seat of the lead vehicle. She keyed the ignition, the high-displacement engine roaring to life, and slammed the car into gear, tearing out of the airfield compound.

​Twenty minutes later, the armored transport pulled up to the imposing gates of the primary Pitch compound. The heavy iron security barriers ground open slowly, and Agni guided the vehicle through the perimeter, parking within the central courtyard.

​The estate was a hive of chaotic, high-alert activity. Dozens of luxury faction vehicles from neighboring territories were already parked in a sprawling, disorganized radius. Teams of specialized cleaning crews were still frantically sweeping away the shattered glass and scrubbing the deep, dark stains from last night's catastrophic battle off the marble pathways, while lines of heavily armed security forces stood stationed at every structural pillar.

​The driver's side door clicked open. Agni stepped out into the damp air, immediately rounding the chassis to open the rear door for Lyssa.

​The moment Lyssa’s boots hit the ground, the two stationed bodyguards at the grand entrance doors instantly threw the portals open. Lyssa and Agni marched through the foyer without a word, their heels clicking in unison as they bypassed the lingering scent of copper and ash, heading straight for the grand staircase.

​They ascended to the executive level, their shadows lengthening against the mahogany walls of the long hallway. From the far end of the corridor, a man approached them with a hurried, anxious posture—it was the very same central dispatch operative who had broadcasted the notice the night before. His face was drawn, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

​The moment he reached Lyssa, he stopped and bowed his head in a deep, submissive gesture of mourning.

​"It's good to have you back within the walls, ma'am," the man whispered, his hands tensing at his sides.

​"I am thoroughly sad to be back under these circumstances," Lyssa replied, her voice low, completely devoid of warmth.

​"I am deeply, deeply sorry," the operative said, his voice cracking slightly. "I had no choice but to send the broadcast last night. The defense grid failed... we simply couldn't protect your father."

​Lyssa stopped walking, her gaze pinning him to the spot. Agni stepped up right beside her, her clinical eyes reading the man's micro-expressions.

​"Tell me the truth," Lyssa asked, her words dropping like ice stones. "How did he die? You were inside the terminal room, weren't you? Was my father in pain?"

​"He... he died right on his seat, ma'am," the operative swallowed hard, his chest heaving nervously. "It appeared peaceful from the monitors. He was struck squarely through the center of his chest with a heavy blade. But it wasn't just an ordinary weapon... and the man who wielded it wasn't an ordinary human being. He was something else entirely."

​Lyssa’s eyes hardened, a flicker of raw agony passing over her features. "Tell me... did my father honestly have to die last night?"

​"He died right after Tidder fell," the operative said quietly.

​Lyssa’s posture went violently rigid, her breath catching sharply in her throat. "Tidder was here? In the compound?"

​"She was," the man confirmed, lowering his eyes. "She was slaughtered by the exact same intruder."

​"Where is my father's body right now?"

​"He is currently resting in state right beside the high seat of the altar," the operative stated, gesturing toward the heavy double doors at the end of the hall. "The entire High Council and the regional commanders have gathered. Everyone is waiting to hear your declaration, ma'am."

​Agni turned her head toward Lyssa, her voice low and grounding. "We should go. Let's finish this."

​They broke away from the operative, continuing down the corridor until they reached the threshold of Arthur’s private executive office. Lyssa pushed the heavy doors open and paused, her eyes tracking across the walls. Hanging in heavy silver frames were various photographs from decades past—images of her as a young, innocent girl standing beside a powerful, unyielding Arthur. This room was her father's sanctuary.

​Lyssa walked through the space like a ghost, her fingers lightly trailing over the edge of the mahogany desk before coming to a stop in front of a massive, framed oil painting of the family crest. With a practiced, clinical motion, she shifted the heavy frame to the right.

​CLICK.

​A hidden hydraulic latch disengaged, and a secret concrete door ground backward, revealing a dark, carpeted corridor that led directly to the upper gallery of the High Council chamber.

​Agni peered into the hidden passage, her hand tightening on her sidearm. "Where does that lead?"

​"The Council," Lyssa whispered.

​Agni looked at her friend's pale face, her voice laced with a deep, protective concern. "Are you absolutely sure you are ready for what is behind that door?"

​Lyssa looked back, her eyes burning with a sudden, lethal focus. "I was born ready for this, Agni."

​"Estaré justo a tu lado," Agni promised firmly.

​Lyssa stepped through the secret threshold, her black gown rustling in the dark, with Agni marching directly in her shadow.

​When Lyssa finally stepped out into the grand gallery of the Council Chamber, the sheer volume of the room hit her like a wave. Dozens of regional commanders, syndicate lords, and elite operatives from across the globe were packed into the tiered seats. No one had expected her to emerge from the secret altar doors behind the stage.

​The moment her silhouette crossed the light, a ripple of movement tore through the crowd. Every single person in the room rose to their feet in a sign of forced, traditional respect.

​Lyssa walked to the front of the altar, her eyes automatically drifting to her left. Resting upon a raised velvet platform was an ornate, polished wooden coffin. Inside lay the cold, silent shell of her father. Lyssa’s chest ached with a heavy, suffocating grief, but she violently forced the emotion down. She turned her back to the coffin, stepping up to the microphone mounted upon the stone altar.

​"You are all welcome home," Lyssa said, her voice echoing through the acoustics of the vaulted chamber with a chilling, absolute calm. "I am Lyssa. Arthur’s daughter."

​The entire hall fell into a deathly, paralyzing silence.

​"I was thoroughly devastated when I received the network broadcast last night announcing my father’s demise," she continued, her hands gripping the edges of the stone podium. She paused, slowly turning her head to look back at the wooden box. "For twenty years, many of you in this room feared him. Some of you respected him. And some of you, I know, thoroughly hated him in the dark. But I knew a completely different man."

​Her eyes remained fixed on the polished wood.

​"I knew the man who taught me exactly how to stand after every single fall. The man who carved into my mind that this world does not reward kindness—it rewards raw, unyielding strength."

​The crowd remained motionless, none daring to even draw a loud breath.

​"When I was a little girl, I honestly thought my father was invincible," Lyssa said, a bitter, tragic smile flashing briefly across her lips before vanishing entirely. "I thought absolutely nothing in this universe could touch him. Nothing could hurt him. Nothing could ever make him bleed. But last night... I was proven wrong."

​She slowly stepped away from the microphone, her heavy gown whispering against the stone as she walked over to the side of the platform, stopping right beside the coffin. She gently placed her palm against the cold, lacquered wood.

​"I asked the monitors whether he was in agonizing pain before he drew his last breath," she whispered, her head lowering as a shadow fell over her face. "And I pray to God he wasn't. Because my father spent his entire miserable life carrying the pain for every single person standing in this building. He carried your enemies. He carried your betrayals. He carried structural responsibilities that would have broken ordinary men into dust."

​She snapped her head back up, her eyes burning as she stared directly into the faces of the tiered crowd. "And now, he is gone."

​No one moved. No one dared to blink under her gaze.

​"But you listen to me, and you listen to me carefully," Lyssa’s voice rose, booming through the rafters like a thunderclap. "My father may be dead, but his legacy is not!"

​The very atmosphere in the room turned instantly heavier, thick with a dangerous promise.

​"The monster responsible for this slaughter didn't just take Arthur's life," Lyssa’s eyes hardened into twin chips of ice. "He took Tidder's life. He came into our home and declared an absolute war against every single person breathing inside this compound!"

​A low, frantic murmur of panic and rage rippled through the seats.

​"And I promise every single one of you this..." Lyssa’s voice trembled slightly, a raw, bleeding strip of contained emotion threatening to break her composure as she clenched her fist. "I will bury my father with absolute honor. I will bury Tidder with absolute honor. And the man responsible for this carnage..." She swept her gaze across the entire room, her voice dropping into a freezing whisper. "...will beg me for the mercy of death long before I ever allow him to have it."

​The chamber fell back into an absolute, breathless vacuum. For the first time since she had entered, Lyssa turned around fully and looked down into the coffin.

​"Rest now, Father," she whispered, a single, heavy tear escaping her eye and rolling down her cheek. "You carried this kingdom long enough."

​She turned back to the crowd, her posture rising with a terrifying, sovereign authority, her voice turning as sharp as a razor blade. "And from this day forward... I will carry it. And I will lead."

​At that exact moment, a senior commander stood up from the center row of the crowd, his face tight with defiance.

​"I have a question!" the man barked, his voice drawing every eye in the room toward him. "We are all gathered here because of your father's death. And in a way, we are all his children. Arthur took every single one of us out of the gutter when we came from absolutely nothing. He gave us a purpose. He gave us power. He gave us a roof over our heads!"

​Several regional lords nodded their heads in fierce agreement.

​"And now that he is resting in peace, this family needs a real leader. We need to know who sits on that throne."

​"There will be a new leader," Lyssa replied with a clinical, steady calm. "The moment my father is buried beneath the stone."

​"Yes," a new, arrogant voice cut through the acoustics of the hall like a knife. "And that leader is going to be me."

​The room instantly turned freezing cold. The sharp, grating sound of a chair scraping against the hardwood floor echoed through the tier.

​Roman slowly rose from his seat among the high commanders. Without asking for a single shred of permission, he stepped into the central aisle and began walking down the stone steps toward the altar. The heavy, measured click of his leather dress shoes echoed rhythmically through the silence.

​Several council members exchanged uneasy, frantic glances; others lowered their heads, refusing to meet his gaze. Roman stopped a few feet from the podium, directly confronting Lyssa.

​"I am Arthur's son," Roman declared proudly, his voice booming as he gestured to his chest. "I have his literal blood running through my veins. I have spent years serving the frontlines of the Pitch. I have fought for it! I have bled for it! I have slaughtered for it! And unlike some people currently standing in this room, I never abandoned the flag to go play across the ocean."

​A few of the regional commanders shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Roman turned his torso fully to face the crowd, pointing a long finger toward the wooden box.

​"Arthur is gone!" he roared. "The throne is completely empty! And I am the only rightful heir to the birthright!"

​A handful of his loyal sector captains murmured in agreement, their voices rising.

​Lyssa remained completely motionless, her face expressionless, her eyes tracking his movements like a predator analyzing prey.

​Roman smiled—that warm, empty smirk that carried no human kindness. "Look around you, sister," he gestured broadly to the tiers. "The people of the Pitch need raw strength right now. They need someone willing to do exactly what Father did to maintain control." His eyes narrowed as he took another step closer to her space. "And everyone in this room knows you are far too emotional right now to lead a war."

​The air in the room dropped to absolute zero.

​Beside Lyssa, Agni's fingers tensed, her hand slowly, deliberately drifting toward the grip of her concealed weapon. Several tactical guards along the walls braced their weight to draw. But Lyssa merely raised a single finger, her eyes never leaving Roman's face.

​Agni stopped instantly, her frame locking in place.

​Roman smirked, letting out a dry chuckle. "What? Nothing to say?"

​Lyssa finally spoke, her voice a low, terrifyingly calm purr. "Are you thoroughly done?"

​Roman’s smile faded instantly. The chamber became deathly quiet.

​Lyssa slowly stepped away from the podium, descending the small stone stairs of the altar one tier at a time. Each step felt like a heavy weight dropping into the silence. When she reached the floorboards, she walked straight into Roman's personal space, stopping mere inches from his face. Neither of them blinked. Neither of them moved an inch.

​"You call yourself Arthur's son," Lyssa said quietly, her voice vibrating with a lethal intensity.

​"I am."

​"You honestly think carrying his biological blood makes you worthy of that seat?"

​Roman frowned, his jaw tightening. "It gives me more of a right than anyone else breathing in this room."