Chapter 89 The Speed of Slaughter

Chapter 89 The Speed of Slaughter
Valerius hit the blood-stained Neon Ice with the flawless, terrifying grace of a fallen angel. He didn't lose a single microsecond of kinetic momentum upon landing.
He basically weaponized gravity, instantly turning that fifty foot drop into this blinding, supersonic rush straight for the middle of the rink. Like the air itself had been ordered to move faster for him.

In his hands, those localized biometric daggers hummed a nasty, toxic tone, tuned to fully freeze the synthetic valves in my repaired heart. Real, sick precision.

“I’m taking your crown, Frost!” Valerius bellowed, freezing steel eyes burning with fanatic obsession, like he could taste the end of the world.

I didn’t back up. I brought out my twin custom combat blades and exploded forward.

The clash of our steel made this huge deafening shockwave, bouncing through the subterranean arena like the whole place was a drum. It was a mirror match , terrifying in the worst way. Valerius was shockingly quick, with the same elite kinetic agility that had carried me through the Olympics. He spun hard, launching a brutal sequence of strikes that tracked my center of gravity like he had my body mapped in advance.

He went straight for the surgical scar on my chest.

Fifteen years ago, I woulda done a perfect evasive rotation. Valerius had fully anticipated it, too. Like his mind had already printed that exact counter.

But I wasn’t just the Golden Boy anymore. I was the Mafia Consort—made, not gently forged, by the terrifying dictator underworld. So yeah, my script wasn’t his anymore.

I completely destroyed his math.

Instead of sliding away with that clean grace, I drove my legs and launched myself into his killing line. I dropped my hips, abandoned the careful edge-work, and let his dagger glance off my heavy tactical forearm guard.

Valerius’s aristocratic face twisted, real shock hitting him. His blade didn’t reach my chest. Not even close.

So I used the brute-force momentum from his own missed strike and slammed the heavy hilt of my combat blade into his jaw. The blunt impact killed his balance instantly. Valerius staggered back, skates scraping like they were trying to escape the ice, while crimson spilled from his lip.

“You’re fighting like a brute!” Valerius spat, his freezing eyes wide with disbelief.

“I’m fighting like a King,” I whispered, smooth and precise, closing the gap with terrifying velocity.

But right when I was about to drive my blade through him, a massive deafening siren violently completely hijacked the arena PA system.

The corrupt casino billionaires up in the VIP tiers had apparently just gotten the news that their sealed subterranean vault got entirely drained by the Vance heirs. Panic snapped into place immediately—absolute, heavily armed chaos. Dozens of elite Macau casino security forces, mercenary types in heavy armor with suppressed assault rifles, surged onto the VIP balconies and into the gladiator tunnels, locking the whole arena down.

“Kill them all!” a cartel boss screamed from the high-rise box. “Don’t let them leave with the gold!”

Red laser sights instantly carved through the neon glare, converging on my exact spot on the ice.

But the Vance Syndicate was already ten steps ahead, like they had been standing there waiting.

The reinforced steel gates of the arena’s secondary vault tunnel didn’t just open. They were ripped apart—violently, explosively, fully blown into the gladiator pit.

Through the smoking rubble came Julian Vance, towering like a massive god made of raw demonic hellfire.

“Nobody touches my Consort!” Julian roared, and his deep voice physically made the foundation shiver.

He didn’t arrive alone. Our fifteen year old heirs flanked him, moving with that cold, unyielding authority of apex predators.

Then the absolute blood soaked tactical breach began in earnest.

“I’m cutting the stadium lights!” our son’s icy-blue intellect commanded. He held an encrypted tactical tablet and his fingers blurred. The neon lights violently shifted into this disorienting, high-frequency strobe, completely wrecking the casino mercenaries’ tactical optics.

From somewhere inside the strobe’s wreckage, our daughter unleashed her inherited hellfire. She didn’t pull out her sniper in the close-quarters pit. She drew her custom combat knife, vaulted off the destroyed vault gates, and landed hard on the first advancing mercenary—severing his spinal cord in a single flawless motion.

Julian unchained the monster inside him. He charged straight into the heavily armed security forces, moving with sheer, devastating alpha dominance.

He ignored the grazing ballistics. Like bullets were background noise. He physically lifted a fully armored guard overhead and hurled him into a concrete support pillar with bone-crushing force.

The Vance family fought like one unstoppable, terrifying unit.
Out on the ice, Valerius sort of realized he was totally outmatched, like immediately. 

The Shattered Crown was collapsing, not just falling, more like… dropping out from under him. With a feral scream, desperate rage in it for sure, he surged at me one last time, throwing away his defense almost completely to shove the biometric dagger straight at my heart. 

I didn’t blink, I just stayed there, steady. 

I used my elite agility, yeah fully, dropping under his strike in a clean way. Then, channeling that explosive rotational momentum from a triple lutz, I whirled hard on my heel and smashed my heavy steel blade down on his outstretched wrist. 

There was this sickening , loud crack over all the gunfire, like the sound couldn’t decide what to be and just… became pain. 

Valerius screamed, the biometric dagger shattered on impact, and his wrist broke completely, badly. He hit the blood-slicked ice, disarmed and heavy, breathing in hard bursts like his lungs forgot the plan. The realization of his total defeat finally landed, and it looked ugly on him. 

I stood over him, chest rising and falling, the dark crown tattoo on my chest safely kept, untouched. I angled the bloody blade tip right at his throat. 

Julian came out from the strobe-lit shadows, pitch-black tactical gear on him, his massive chest heaving , with pride that was deeply unhinged. He looked at me like he’d already decided I was the only outcome. 

"The vault is empty, the army is dead, and your speed is pathetic," I stated coldly, looking down at the broken leader of the Shattered Crown. "You are completely finished, Valerius."