The Sovereign Awakens At Sunset

Chapter 2: The Obsidian Syndicate

 

"You are short fifty thousand dollars, Parker," Clay said, throwing a heavy leather ledger onto the glass table. The heavy thump echoed through the luxury lounge.

Maverick Parker didn't look up from his phone. He sat behind his massive mahogany desk inside the Obsidian Syndicate's private lounge, a thick cigar burning slowly between his fingers. "The docks were hot this week, Clay. Federal inspectors were crawling all over Sector 2. Be glad I managed to move the shipments at all."

"Director Vance doesn't care about inspectors, Parker," Clay hissed, leaning over the desk until his shadow covered the entire ledger. "Vance handles the federal bureau so you can handle the street. If the tribute money isn't full by Thursday night, he will let the internal affairs team raid this entire facility. You know exactly what he does to loose ends."

Parker slowly lowered his phone, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. He took a long drag from his cigar and blew the smoke straight into Clay's face. "Are you threatening me in my own office, kid? I was running these docks and moving millions across Sector 2 when Vance was still a rookie beat cop drawing doodles on accident reports."

"And now he owns you," Clay replied smoothly, stepping back and straightening his tailored suit jacket without blinking. "Don't forget your place, Maverick. You are a contractor. He can replace you with another gang boss before the sun comes up tomorrow. Fill the ledger, or find a place to hide."

Before Parker could open his mouth to answer, the lights inside the lounge flickered violently. The bright chandeliers dimmed to a dull orange glow, and then the main power grid cut off completely. The air conditioning unit groaned, stopping instantly as a sudden, sharp chill filled the room. The luxury leather couches began to creak, the temperature plummeting toward freezing point in less than five seconds.

"What is wrong with the power grid?" Parker muttered, standing up and grabbing his matte-black automatic pistol from the open desk drawer. "Clay, stop staring and check the main breaker in the hallway."

"The breaker is fine," a voice echoed from the heavy mahogany double doors behind them.

The lock didn't snap. The solid brass handle simply twisted under some immense, unseen pressure, snapping out of its iron housing entirely as the heavy doors slowly swung inward. Through the freezing mist entering from the corridor, a slouched silhouette stepped into the lounge. He wore an oversized dark hood that completely masked his face, his hands buried deep inside his pockets.

"Who the hell let you up here?" Parker barked, raising his weapon with both hands and aiming it straight at the stranger's chest. "Speak your name before I put a bullet through your skull. My guards don't like uninvited guests."

"Your guards are currently sleeping on the lower deck, Maverick," Archer said, his voice carrying a calm, terrifying resonance that rattled the expensive liquor bottles on the side shelf.

Clay stepped back, his back hitting the concrete wall as he felt the unnatural weight of the aura pressing against his lungs. "Parker... look at his eyes. Beneath the hood. That isn't a normal man."

Parker squinted through the dim light. Deep within the absolute darkness of the stranger's hood, two brilliant, liquid red craters of light were burning with unholy intensity. The red glow pulsed in perfect sync with the rapid, terrified thudding of Parker's own heart.

"Archer Thomas..." Parker whispered, his survival instincts suddenly screaming that he was standing in front of a monster. "The rubbish man's son. You should be at the hospital waiting for your mother to die. How did you get past the perimeter security?"

"My mother is sleeping peacefully," Archer murmured, taking a slow, measured step forward. The solid concrete floor beneath his worn sneakers cracked under the invisible density of his presence, webs of fractures spreading across the expensive tiles. "But you, Maverick... you are going to give me the logbooks and the clearance codes for the Sector 2 central vault."

Parker let out a nervous, jagged laugh, his knuckles turning white as his finger tightened on the trigger. "The vault belongs to the Iron Core Council! Do you think you can just walk in here, break my doors, and rob the Dynasty? You are a nobody from the slums, Archer!"

"I am not asking for your permission, Maverick," Archer whispered.

Parker fired three times.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The heavy caliber rounds tore through the air, aiming dead center at Archer's forehead and chest. But the copper bullets never touched the fabric of his dark hood. The moment they reached within three inches of his face, the bullets lost all kinetic energy, flattening into harmless pieces of scrap metal before dropping softly onto the carpet.

Clay screamed, stumbling backward over a leather chair as Archer blurred.

It wasn't a run. It was a complete erasure of distance. Archer appeared instantly in front of the massive mahogany desk. Before Parker could even register the movement, Archer’s bare hand shot forward, grabbing the hot metal barrel of Parker's automatic gun. With a single, casual squeeze of his fingers, the hardened steel twisted and crushed into a useless, mangled lump.

"Vance won't save you tonight, Maverick," Archer whispered, the liquid red fire in his eyes flaring with terminal malice. "Now... tell me where he keeps the main ledger, or I will start removing your syndicate piece by piece."