Chapter 6 006

Explosions rocked the underground complex as Vesper’s demolition teams brought down support pillars with surgical precision. Dust and smoke choked the air. The once-opulent auction hall had become a tomb of twisted metal, shattered concrete, and hundreds of corpses.

Nyxor carried Elara in his arms as he strode through the carnage, his boots leaving bloody prints with every step. She had her face buried in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around him like she was afraid he might vanish again.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Just close your eyes.”

Gunfire still echoed in distant tunnels as the last pockets of resistance were wiped out by his shadow operatives. A group of desperate mercenaries tried one final ambush near the emergency exit.

They didn’t last five seconds.

Nyxor didn’t even slow down. He shifted Elara to one arm and drew a pistol with the other. Three precise shots. Three bodies dropped. The fourth mercenary tried to surrender — Nyxor put a bullet through his forehead without breaking stride.

Vesper appeared from a side corridor, wiping blood from his blade. “Main route is collapsing in four minutes, my King. We’ve secured a surface exit two hundred meters ahead. Medical team is waiting with a transport.”

Nyxor nodded. “Casualties?”

“None on our side. Eighteen wounded, all minor. The enemy… nearly four hundred dead or captured.”

“Good.”

Elara lifted her head slightly, her voice hoarse. “Nyxor… Aunt Selene… they hurt her so badly. I heard her screaming for so long…”

“I know,” he said, jaw tight. “She’s alive. My people are with her now. She’s going to make it.”

Fresh tears slipped down Elara’s bruised cheeks. “They kept saying you were dead. That the King of the North was just a rumor. That no one was coming for me.”

Nyxor stopped in the middle of the collapsing corridor and looked directly into her eyes.

“I will always come for you. Even if I have to drag hell itself up to the surface. Do you understand?”

She nodded weakly, then whispered, “I’m sorry I was weak…”

“You weren’t weak,” he cut her off, voice fierce but gentle. “You survived. That’s all I ever asked of you.”

They reached the surface exit just as another explosion shook the tunnel behind them. A black armored convoy waited under the cover of a derelict warehouse district. Rain hammered the vehicles as Nyxor climbed into the reinforced medical transport with Elara still in his arms.

Inside, two combat medics immediately went to work. One checked Elara’s vitals while the other tended to the gunshot wound in Nyxor’s shoulder.

“It’s through and through, my King,” the medic reported. “No major arteries hit. I can patch it now or—”

“Do it later,” Nyxor ordered. “Focus on her first.”

Elara tried to protest, but Nyxor silenced her with a look. The medics worked quickly — cleaning wounds, applying fast-healing gel, and injecting painkillers. A soft blanket was wrapped around her shivering frame.

As the convoy sped through the rain-slicked streets of Blackspire, Nyxor finally allowed himself a moment to breathe. He sat with Elara leaning against his side, her head on his uninjured shoulder.

“I looked for you,” she whispered after a long silence. “Every time we moved. Every new city. I kept thinking… maybe today he’ll come back.”

“I was building something strong enough to protect you,” Nyxor replied quietly. “But I was too slow. I should have come sooner.”

“You came when it mattered most.”

The convoy arrived at Aunt Selene’s house twenty minutes later. The once blood-soaked living room had been completely transformed. The repair team had done their job perfectly — no trace of the earlier massacre remained. Bright medical lights illuminated the space, and a full mobile surgical unit had been set up around Aunt Selene’s bed.

Nyxor carried Elara inside. The moment she saw her aunt, a broken sob escaped her throat.

Selene lay unconscious but stable, both legs encased in advanced medical braces. Monitors beeped steadily. The lead doctor stood up immediately when Nyxor entered.

“Her condition is improving rapidly, my King. Bone regeneration is progressing at twelve times normal speed. She should regain consciousness within six hours. Full mobility in three to four days with continued treatment.”

Nyxor exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Elara rushed to her aunt’s side, gently holding her hand. Nyxor stood behind her like a silent guardian, one hand resting protectively on her shoulder.

Vesper entered quietly. “My King, we have a situation. Seraphine has already activated her emergency protocols. Three major crime families have gone on high alert. She’s offering twenty million credits for your head and ten million for your sister’s location.”

Nyxor’s expression didn’t change. “Let them come.”

He turned and walked to the window, staring out at the rain-drenched city lights. “Contact the Shadow Legion command. I want full mobilization by dawn. Bring the Iron Fang Division and the Night Reavers. We’re done hiding.”

Vesper bowed slightly. “As you command.”

After Vesper left, Nyxor returned to Elara’s side. She was still holding Aunt Selene’s hand, exhausted but refusing to sleep.

“You should rest,” he said softly.

“I’m afraid if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up back in that place,” she admitted.

Nyxor knelt beside her, taking her other hand. “Then I’ll stay right here. I won’t leave your side tonight.”

For the first time in ten years, the Abyssal King sat on the floor like an ordinary older brother, letting his little sister lean against him. Her breathing eventually evened out as exhaustion claimed her.

But Nyxor didn’t sleep.

His mind was already planning the coming war.

Seraphine Voss had built an empire on fear, betrayal, and human suffering. She had taken his mother. She had tried to take his sister.

Now he would take everything from her.

He gently brushed a strand of hair from Elara’s face and whispered, almost to himself, “The world will burn before I let them touch you again.”

Outside, thunder rolled across Blackspire City.

Far away, in her fortified penthouse, Seraphine Voss stared at multiple screens showing the smoking ruins of The Velvet Abyss. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into the armrest of her chair, drawing blood.

“He’s just one man,” she hissed to her advisors. “Mobilize every asset we have. I want the Abyssal King’s head on my desk by the end of the week.”

One advisor hesitated. “Ma’am… the reports say he killed over four hundred men tonight… alone.”

Seraphine’s eyes flashed with murderous rage.

“Then send four thousand.”