Chapter 90 The Global Purge

Chapter 90 The Global Purge
The descent back into the Swiss Alps was not a flight—it was a rapid extraction of a dying relic.

We didn’t route Valerius into a normal holding cell.

Instead we brought him to the Obsidian Vault, this basement dungeon cut straight into the mountain’s bedrock, wrapped in six feet of reinforced titanium, and watched over by a local automated defense grid that could shred an army in seconds, like it was nothing.

I stood up in the observation gallery, my tailored white silk suit already ditched for tactical black. Through the reinforced glass I saw Julian Vance stride into the interrogation chamber. He looked like some dark god, punishment and all, sleeves rolled up to show off those scarred , massive forearms like he carried history in his skin.

Valerius was strapped down to a heavy steel chair. His wrist band had been shattered then wrapped, his aristocratic face bruised from the arena. He was wrecked, sure, but those freezing steel eyes still burned with that same, miserable, unhinged hatred—like he refused to go out quietly.

"You’re going to tell me every name, every sleeper cell, and every hidden asset of the Shattered Crown," Julian said, low and brutal, the kind of voice that made the chamber speakers vibrate like they were alive. He didn’t pull up a chair, he just stepped right into Valerius’s personal space. Just like that, sheer dominance pressed the air out of the room. "And you’re going to do it before I decide death is too merciful for you."

Valerius let out this wet, choking laugh that turned into a grimace of pain. "You’re a dinosaur, Vance. You think this is endurance warfare? a game of names?"

He looked up, eyes locking on the camera like he knew I was watching. "You won the battle on the ice, Kaelen, but you lost the war for the future. The second I climbed onto that plane, I pushed a digital ghost. A highly advanced, recursive virus buried under the global financial grid. It’s currently chewing through the Vance Syndicate’s legit fronts—your shipping banks, your luxury holdings, your corporate servers."

My chest felt wrong for a second, my repaired heart skipped a beat, but my expression stayed cold, clean, fully in control—an icy, flawless mask. I didn’t even have to be inside that room to break him. I tapped my earpiece.

"Prince. Queen. You hearing this?"

"On it, Papa," our son answered, his tone efficient in a way that was almost cruel.

Above the dungeon, in the war room, our son and daughter moved together like a rehearsal nobody else could understand. Their focus was locked on a shifting web of shimmering code, turning from green to this catastrophic, burning red faster than it should have been possible.

"The virus is polymorphic," our son said. Fingers flying. "It’s copying our encryption routines to stay hidden. If I kill the host process, it’ll trigger an automatic wipe across all our offshore accounts."

"That’s exactly the trap Valerius set," our daughter added. Her hands guided a huge holographic interface, calm and vicious at the same time. "He wants to make us pick between the empire’s capital and our digital identity. He thinks we’ll blink."

Down in the vault, Valerius leaned back like he could feel the change in the air. "In ten minutes your multi-billion-dollar empire becomes a blank ledger. You’ll be Kings of nothing."

Julian didn’t pause. He reached down, caught Valerius by the collar, and slammed his head back into the steel headrest with a sickening thud.

"My children don’t blink," Julian roared, face twisted into absolute, demonic anger. "And they’re about to bury you."

"Prince," I said into the comms, voice sharp as a blade. "Don’t fight the virus. Infect it."

For one breath, everything went dead.

"Infect it…" our son whispered, his icy-blue eyes widening as the logic snapped into place like a mechanism clicking. "Sure. If I can’t remove it clean without hitting the wipe, I’ll inject the Vance Syndicate’s own adaptive AI into the root directory. Let the virus think it’s doing our work, while I map its starting point back to Valerius’s secret terminal."

"Do it," I ordered.

The screen in the war room shifted. A massive lattice of gold and blue code began to consume that red virus aggressively, like it was swallowing fire. My son’s genius had turned Valerius’s “last resort” into something else entirely, a Trojan horse with teeth.

"I’ve got the back-trace," our son reported, voice vibrating with that untouchable pride. "Tracing it back to a private satellite relay in the South Pacific. I’m sliding past their firewalls and… Papa, I’ve got Valerius’s full master-server. Every sleeper cell location, every account number, every single name."

"And I’m uploading the retaliatory strike," our daughter said, dark eyes flashing. "I’m redirecting their weaponized algorithms to erase every asset they still have. Not just bankrupt—erased."

In the dungeon, Valerius’s smug look vanished like someone cut a wire. His eyes widened when his own tactical tablet, the one he’d been keeping right there like a trophy, started to smoke and spark. He glanced at his own screen, and watched his global holdings evaporate in real-time.

"No!" Valerius screamed, fighting against his restraints. "You can’t do this, that was my entire life’s work!"

Julian leaned in, voice dropping to something lethal and frozen. "You made a fatal miscalculation, Valerius. You tried to beat the Vance bloodline with math. But my children were made to dominate the world."

Julian looked up at the camera. There was this feral pride in his eyes, deeply unhinged. He reached into his belt and pulled out a heavy, brutal combat blade.

"The purge is complete," he growled.

He didn’t ask me. We were two halves of the same dark soul anyway. I nodded once, and the heavy vault door swung open for me.

I walked into the room, my twin blades drawn, looking at the broken, bankrupt leader of the Shattered Crown.

The global purge was finished, and now, it was time for the final, permanent cleanup.