Chapter 98 The Phantom Protocol
Chapter 98 The Phantom Protocol
The dark, freezing concrete of the Geneva bunker was a far cry from the multi-billion-dollar luxury of our vaporized Swiss chateau. But we didn't need pristine marble floors to be Kings.
The Vance family didn't sleep for 72 hours. We got rid of the real world's global Syndicate and adopted the utter, terrifying freedom of Ghost Protocol.
He was at a makeshift terminal built with stolen and untraceable military equipment, our fifteen-year-old son. His icy-blue eyes mirrored the cascading data matrix, and had none of the panic Archangel had hoped to induce.
Our son was smooth, "The deep-state is celebrating, Papa. The news outlets around the world that are legitimate are reporting a tragic 'seismic anomaly' in the Swiss Alps, believing the Vance bloodline to be completely ashes.
My Prince, let them drink their champagne," I whispered perfectly. I was inside the dark bunker with a suit that was custom-made and pitch black, just right to hide my twin custom combat blades. Who made the purchase of the bomb?
Our daughter replied coldly, "Armand Laurent. She was standing next to her brother, her steps moving into a stunning, handcrafted midnight black ballgown that seemed to be flowing like liquid blackness. A corrupt, multi-billionaire French defense contractor and the main backer of the Archangel Directive. He personally funded the orbital strike.
"Where is he?" Julian Vance growled darkly. The fearsome dictator of Hell pressed his enormous, well-muscled body against the concrete wall, his pitch-black eyes blazing with a deeply unhinged, feral anticipation of total annihilation.
Our son typed the last word and said, "He's throwing an ultra-exclusive, heavily guarded deep-state masquerade ball in Paris tonight. Private security is at the outer edges, with elite PMC mercenaries in disguise.
I scanned my King, the pure, unyielding adrenaline of the ultimate hunt filling my veins. My repaired heart pounded a cold, pure, and perfect beat.
“Hold the extraction perimeter, Julian,” I said perfectly, covering my icy blue eyes with a perfectly featureless, silver half-mask. So, the little Queen and I are going to the dance floor!
Julian's jaw snapped shut in a terrifying, demonic smile. “Make sure there is no life left, Kaelen.”
Four hours later, the absolute decadence of Paris, with all its glitter and high society was fully mobilized.
The Palais Garnier was a sea of high-priced champagne, blinding crystal chandeliers, and corrupt deep-state elites behind feathered masks. Armand Laurent was standing on the grand balcony above the ballroom with an arrogant smile on his face, celebrating what he thought was the end of the Vance dynasty.
He was completely unaware that there were ghosts in the room.
I glided on the polished marble dance floor, the dark silk of my suit flowing like supersonic grace, my Olympic legacy. Our 15-year-old daughter was a frightening work of kinetic beauty in her black satin gown, beside me. We had silver masks, we looked just like the billionaires who had hired us to kill.
Our son's voice crackled perfectly in our secure microphones, "I'm totally backdoored into the Parisian grid, Papa. He was a mile and a half away in the bunker in Geneva, his sharp mind engrossed in the city's systems. I have absolute control of the acoustic frequency in the ballroom, I'm dropping the bass to completely mask the ballistics, execute on my mark.
I placed my hand exactly on my daughter's waist, and stepped into a classic waltz as the grand, classical orchestra built up. We twisted around, our eyes blue and black, looking around the whole area.
The exits were being closed by four heavily armed Archangel mercenaries, wearing tuxedos.
My son whispered, "Mark.
The sound frequency of the ballroom violently and perfectly changed. The bass of the cellos completely overpowered the background sound.
We totally unleashed the absolute slaughter.
It was a stunning, noiseless close range display of violence. I didn't disrupt the waltz. I lowered my hips just right, and I pushed my daughter across the shiny marble with the lethal, explosive speed of ice. She twisted herself perfectly clear of my grasp, and in one perfect, blinding move, pulled out her hidden twin blades and completely cut the femoral arteries of two PMC guards.
They fell silent and quiet down into the deep red velvet curtains, where their blood was entirely covered.
I absorbed the tremendous rotational force of a triple axel and bent my way through the line of dancing billionaires and sent my custom combat blade perfectly up through the base of the third mercenary's skull. He went all floppy, and I caught him up lightly and made it look like a stumble and fall, and I lowered him onto marble.
We didn't stop for one millisecond. The father-daughter Pairs synchronization was 100% and 100% terrifying. Like a force of dark unstoppable phantoms, we cut through the Archangel security team like a knife through butter, and murdered a perfectly silent blade massacre in the middle of the packed dance floor.
In precisely three minutes, Armand Laurent's entire security detail was systematically wiped away.
Blood was spilling from the upper balcony, thirty feet above, while the corrupt billionaire stood alone, swirling his champagne.
I walked flawlessly up the sweeping marble staircase, entirely leaving the dancing crowd behind.
Laurent turned, his eyes narrowing at my clean, all-black suit, the silver mask. This balcony is reserved, sir.
No more, I whispered smoothly.
I'm not a killer. I moved right to his personal space, and I was the Mafia Consort, pure and unadorned. I lifted my silver mask and carefully peeled it away, revealing my icy-blue eyes and the perfectly flawless and instantly recognizable features of Kaelen Frost.
Armand Laurent's face turned as white as a sheet of paper. He let go of his trembling fingers, and the champagne glass crashed in a violent manner onto the marble floor.
Vaporized, you, you were vaporized, Laurent choked out, absolute, paralyzing terror completely hijacking his lungs. “Oh, the mountain is ashes!
“We are the ashes,” I said coldly, as my voice hit a deadly, freezing zero. The Archangel Directive had wanted to mess with ghosts, but now you'll find out what happens when ghosts mess with you.
Before Laurent could even shriek, the little Queen gracefully slipped from the shadows behind him.
Her eyes were black and blazing like a beast from Hell. She didn't hesitate. She sliced the billionaire financier's throat clean and straight, with her heavy custom combat blade.
Armand Laurent fell to the balcony floor, his blood pooling quickly across the immacate marble.
“It is totally closed,” our daughter threatened gloomily, as she removed the red from her steel.
I spoke into my earpiece and was not concerned with the dead body at my feet. The main target is wiped off, Julian, extracting now.
Kaelen, I am waiting in the alley, Julian's huge, commanding voice rumbled through the comms. “And I took along a pair of dead bodies to keep me company.”
Back into the silver masks and we walked perfectly out of the Palais Garnier, as if we had never been there.We slipped on our silver masks and walked perfectly out of the Palais Garnier, as if we never were there in the first place, before the first scream rang out from the balcony.
The Vance bloodline had been put to the test by the legitimate world and it had failed. But the indisputable dreadful reality was undeniable.
The Kings were absolutely immortal, and the shadow-war had officially begun.