Blanc_Dragon

To the world, Damien Voss is a terrorist. A monster. The most wanted criminal on Earth. Governments call him The Saint of Shadows — the man who wants to collapse civilization by exposing unthinkable taboos.

But Damien doesn’t want destruction. He wants freedom. His taboo? Revealing the sacred institutions of family, religion, and charity as tools of the elite, designed not to help, but to control, traffic, exploit, and destroy the weak.

Each of his attacks is surgical — not to kill, but to expose.

As chaos grows, his enemies multiply: Interpol, the CIA, secret societies, and even freedom fighters who believe he’s gone too far. But as Damien’s actions reveal deeper and darker truths, millions begin to secretly worship him as a savior of the voiceless.

He’s not creating evil. He’s exposing the evil they’ve already accepted.

Saint of Shadows

Location: Reykjavik, IcelandTime: 04:06 AM

The cold air bit harder than memory. And Damien Voss wasn't here for memories.

He crouched on the edge of a frost-slicked rooftop, watching the Raven Tower, its obsidian surface flickering with holo-silk banners and neural flame advertisements. Inside that tower: clean data, white-suited diplomats, and a broadcast signal that shouldn't exist.

"You are safe.You are seen.You are sovereign."

It played every hour on the hour across the Arctic Circle — and only there.A broadcast claiming to be from "The Free Network."But Damien knew Ella hadn't spoken to the world in three months.

Because he hadn't stopped looking.

Just the emptiness of a severed connection.

Behind him, a soft crunch in the snow.

Gun across his back. Jaw locked. His breath came out like smoke.

Because it wasn't just her voice in the broadcast. It was her speech patterns. Her pauses. Her grief. Her heartbeat behind every syllable.

And Ella never recorded her heart.

Inside the Tower, the world was being hypnotized.

A thousand dignitaries sat in smart-chairs, biofeedback cables humming. A luminous dome above them projected mirror-twinned versions of themselves, nodding, agreeing, submitting.

This wasn't diplomacy.It was programming.

Damien adjusted the lens on his optic. Zoomed in on the podium.

Hair short. Eyes calm. A dress she'd never wear.But speaking with the same cadence. The same empathy.

"That's not her," Damien whispered.

"No," Asher said grimly. "But it's what they want to believe."

10 Minutes Later.

They were inside. Drones neutralized. Security hacked. No blood.

Damien moved like a ghost through polished corridors lined with silence and glass.

He reached the studio floor — just as the Mirror Ella finished her address.

"The world isn't falling apart," she said to thunderous applause."It's finally coming together."

She turned off the mic. Walked off-stage.

And stared directly at Damien.

Damien spun — grabbing Asher and vaulting them through a side exit just as automated gun-turrets rose from the walls.

Pulled from the podium's relay core before the alarms tripped.

Three Hours Later.

They sat in a darkened sub-basement of a ruined biofactory.

"Damien," she said through the chip, recorded from before Valeria's fall."If you're hearing this, I'm probably dead. But if I'm not… then someone else is wearing my voice."

"They called it The Mirror Protocol. A ghost of me. Made from my stolen memories. Built by someone worse than Valeria. Someone who knew you."

"If you love me… destroy her before she becomes me."

Damien clenched the chip in his hand.

"Asher. Prep the jet. We go south."

"To the only person who can confirm this isn't a ghost."

Volume 2: The Mirror Protocol