Chapter 38; Bloodlines in the Shadows

São Paulo, Brazil – Subterranean Vault beneath NovaCorp Tower

The stench of damp stone and old oil clung to the air as Damien descended the final step into the underground vault hidden beneath NovaCorp's South American headquarters. Flickering tube lights buzzed overhead, casting ghostly halos against the arched walls.

He was alone—by design. Only he had the clearance for this level of NovaCorp's global stronghold. But now, even his sanctuaries were being tested.

He pressed his palm to a biometric scanner embedded in the wall. The steel door hissed open, revealing a narrow passage lined with file cabinets, old relics, and a digital projection interface anchored in the center.

On the screen, a fragmented message blinked: "E. Grey – São Paulo node breached. Surveillance compromised. Bloodline targeted."

Damien's jaw clenched.

Bloodline.

He quickly keyed in a hidden access string—"Veritas Lex VII." The screen flickered again, revealing the private records of his extended family members scattered across continents—some still in the public eye, others hidden for decades.

His younger cousin, Mason Carter, ran NovaCorp's African logistics arm from Nairobi. His brilliant niece, Elara Ward, a cyber-security prodigy, lived off-grid in Iceland under a false identity. And his aunt, Dr. Regina Holloway, a biotech pioneer based in Berlin, had long vanished after whistleblowing against a pharmaceutical conglomerate.

But now their records were marked: RED. Targeted.

Damien tapped a flashing symbol. Elara's last transmission appeared—panicked, shaky footage of masked assailants storming a safehouse, a frantic escape, and then... static.

His heart sank. She was only twenty-two. A genius with codes, and someone Damien had once promised to keep hidden from the world's chaos.

He stepped back as a sudden vibration buzzed in his jacket. A message. From Nora.

"She's awake. My mother just gave me a name. Benedict Crowne. He's tied to Blackridge. Possibly the one overseeing the bloodline operations."

"Where?" Damien typed back.

"Cape Town. He has a private island off the coast. I'm heading there."

Just then, another message pinged in from Mason—encrypted with NovaCorp's highest priority cipher.

"They came. Took everything. I'm heading to the Serengeti extraction point. Elara might be alive. Will update."

Damien's breath came out like steam against the cold air. Archer Grey wasn't just targeting power structures anymore. He was coming for roots—blood, memory, legacy.

Suddenly, the lights cut out.

In pitch-black silence, Damien could hear the faint whirr of drones. Surveillance compromised. He reached into his coat, pulled out a slim blade, and positioned himself silently near the vault's corner.

A low hiss. Someone—or something—was here.

The floor grates shifted. A figure dropped in silently, garbed in matte-black tactical gear.

"NovaCorp is no longer yours," the intruder rasped.

Damien smiled grimly. "Then you haven't been paying attention."

He struck first, the blade finding flesh. The attacker grunted, swinging wildly with a pulse rod, but Damien ducked and kicked hard, sending the man crashing into a cabinet. Data chips spilled across the floor.

Seconds later, silence.

Damien stood over the man, panting. A patch on the attacker's collar bore the sigil of the Harbridge-Blackridge syndicate.

He grabbed one of the fallen data chips. Its label read: Ward Protocol: Phase Alpha.

They were planning something massive—and Elara had been their first step.

Damien rose slowly, eyes hardening. The war had turned personal now.

Back in Tavara, Nora sat beside her mother's bed, the older woman pale and shaking, eyes clouded with fractured memories.

"Benedict… he was there," she whispered. "But it wasn't just him. There was a woman. British. Sharp. She knew you. She asked for Damien by name."

Nora's fingers clenched around the edge of the sheet. "What did she say?"

"She said… 'It's time to end the bloodlines.'"

Far away, as the rain poured in Brazil, Damien watched the red status of his relatives pulse on screen. He looked at the encrypted files one last time and whispered:

"Not on my watch."