Chapter 5 005

Gunfire erupted like thunder.

Hundreds of mercenaries opened fire at once, turning the auction hall into a storm of lead and death. Bullets ricocheted off concrete pillars and shattered glass display cases filled with human “merchandise.”

Nyxor moved like a force of nature.

He spun, pulling Elara tight against his chest with one arm while his free hand snatched a fallen guard’s rifle. Without aiming, he fired three precise shots — each one dropping a mercenary with a headshot. Blood and brain matter painted the walls behind them.

“Stay behind me,” he growled to Elara, his voice cutting through the chaos.

She clung to his blood-soaked coat, trembling, but nodded fiercely.

The mercenaries charged.

Nyxor became a whirlwind of calculated violence.

He dropped the empty rifle and charged forward. The first wave of ten men met him head-on. Nyxor slammed into them like a freight train. His fist crushed a man’s sternum, caving it inward with a sickening crunch. He grabbed another by the helmet, smashing his face into his knee so hard the visor shattered and the skull beneath cracked.

A mercenary tried to flank him with a shotgun.

Nyxor didn’t even look. He kicked backward, his boot connecting with the man’s knee, snapping the joint sideways. As the man screamed and fell, Nyxor stomped on his throat, crushing it flat.

“Kill the girl too!” someone roared. “Seraphine wants both of them dead!”

Four men leveled their weapons at Elara.

Nyxor’s eyes flashed with pure abyssal rage. In a blur of motion too fast for normal humans to track, he crossed the distance. He tore through the four men like a reaper through wheat. Limbs were severed. Necks snapped. One man was lifted and used as a human shield, his body absorbing dozens of bullets before Nyxor hurled the corpse into another group, knocking them down like bowling pins.

Elara watched in wide-eyed horror and awe as her brother — the boy who once promised to protect her in the rain — unleashed hell.

“Nyxor…” she whispered, voice shaking.

More enemies poured in. Thirty. Fifty. A full tactical response team.

Vesper’s voice crackled through Nyxor’s earpiece. “My King, we’ve secured the upper levels. Shadow Team is collapsing the western exits. They’re trapped with you.”

“Good,” Nyxor replied coldly. “Make them regret every second they’ve been alive.”

He grabbed a heavy metal auction podium and hurled it across the hall like it weighed nothing. It smashed into a group of mercenaries, crushing three instantly. Then he waded deeper into the fray.

A massive mercenary — easily 250 pounds of muscle and cybernetic enhancements — swung a powered gauntlet at Nyxor’s head. The blow could have shattered concrete.

Nyxor caught the gauntlet with one hand.

The mercenary’s eyes widened in shock.

Nyxor squeezed. Metal groaned and crumpled. He yanked the man forward and delivered a devastating headbutt that caved in the mercenary’s reinforced helmet and the face beneath it. Blood sprayed across Nyxor’s chest.

He was no longer fighting.

He was harvesting.

Seraphine’s face on the giant screen laughed maniacally. “Impressive! The rumors didn’t lie. You truly are the monster they whisper about in the northern battlefields. But you’re still just one man, Nyxor. And I have hundreds more where these came from.”

Nyxor looked up at the screen, eyes burning with murderous intent. Blood dripped from his chin.

“You should have stayed hidden, Seraphine,” he said, voice low enough to carry through the speakers. “You should never have touched her.”

He reached down and ripped a heavy chain from the auction platform, swinging it like a whip. The metal links smashed into a squad of incoming guards, wrapping around one man’s neck. Nyxor yanked hard — the man’s head nearly tore clean off.

Elara suddenly cried out, “Nyxor! Behind you!”

Three elite guards had flanked him, one aiming a high-powered rifle directly at his back.

Nyxor turned too late.

The rifle barked.

BANG!

The bullet struck him in the shoulder, spinning him slightly. Pain flared, but he ignored it. With a roar, he charged the three men. He impaled the shooter on his own rifle barrel, then used the weapon to bludgeon the second man to death. The third tried to run — Nyxor hurled a combat knife with deadly accuracy, burying it to the hilt in the back of the man’s skull.

He staggered for a moment, blood flowing from his shoulder wound.

Elara rushed to him, pressing her hands against the injury. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing,” he said, voice gentle only for her. He tore a strip from his coat and quickly bound the wound. “I’ve had worse.”

Tears streamed down her face. “I thought… I thought they were going to sell me. They said terrible things. They touched me and—”

Nyxor pulled her into a fierce hug, shielding her from the ongoing slaughter as Vesper’s team joined the fight from above, picking off mercenaries with silenced rifles.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster,” he whispered into her hair. “But I’m here now. And I will never let them touch you again.”

The hall was turning into a slaughterhouse. Bodies piled up. The once-luxurious auction floor was now slick with blood. Screams of the wealthy guests who had come to buy human lives filled the air as they tried desperately to escape.

Seraphine’s smile on the screen finally faltered.

“You fool,” she hissed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The Velvet Abyss is the heart of my empire. Attacking it is a declaration of war against every major family on the continent!”

Nyxor looked up at her image, his expression cold and merciless.

“Then let war come.”

He raised his hand. On his signal, Vesper’s team detonated pre-placed charges. The eastern section of the hall collapsed in a controlled explosion, burying dozens of mercenaries under tons of rubble.

Seraphine slammed her fist on her desk. “You arrogant child! You think becoming the so-called Abyssal King makes you untouchable? I destroyed your mother. I can destroy you and your precious sister just as easily.”

Nyxor’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Wrong choice of words.”

He walked toward the massive screen, stepping over corpses without looking down. Elara followed close behind, clutching his arm.

With a single powerful leap, Nyxor jumped onto the auction platform, grabbed the massive screen’s frame, and ripped it off the wall with raw strength. Sparks flew as cables tore free.

He held the screen up, staring directly into Seraphine’s face.

“Listen closely, witch,” he said, voice echoing through the collapsing hall. “You have twenty-four hours to run. After that, I will hunt you down. I will tear apart every empire you’ve built. Every ally. Every soldier. Every secret you think protects you.”

He crushed the screen in his hands, the image of Seraphine distorting into static before dying completely.

Silence fell over the ruined auction hall, broken only by the groans of the dying and the crackling of small fires.

Vesper approached, covered in blood but unharmed. “My King, the facility is secured. We’ve captured several high-value targets. The rest are dead.”

Nyxor nodded, then turned to Elara. He gently wiped the tears and dirt from her face with his thumb.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, then buried her face in his chest again. “I knew you’d come. I never stopped believing.”

Nyxor held her tightly, the first moment of peace he had allowed himself in ten years.

But even as he comforted his sister, his mind was already moving forward.

This was only the beginning.

Seraphine Voss had declared war the moment she touched his family.

Now Nyxor Raventhorn — the Abyssal King — would answer with total annihilation.

“Vesper,” he said without looking away from Elara. “Contact the Shadow Legion. Tell them to prepare for full mobilization.”

He stared into the flames consuming The Velvet Abyss.

“We’re burning it all down.”