Chapter 189: Shadows of the Vienna Grand Theatre

Chapter 189: Shadows of the Vienna Grand Theatre

Vienna, State Opera House.

No one noticed when the door at the end of the side fire corridor—marked with a "Staff Only" sign—closed from the outside.

David and Devereaux pressed against the wall as they approached.

"You sure this is it?" Devereaux asked in a barely audible whisper.

David checked his watch. "In three minutes, this ventilation system switches to cycle two. Peak noise level will cover us."

Devereaux pulled open the maintenance panel, revealing a downward air shaft. Hot air rushed up, carrying the smell of machine oil.

"You really pick the best spots." Devereaux glanced down. "Data center under an opera house. Europeans and their romantic bullshit."

David didn't respond.

The ladder inside the shaft was old. A layer of grime came off on their hands the moment they gripped the rungs. When they reached the bottom, the symphony overhead filtered down through the walls.

At the end of the corridor stood the first laser grid, red lines packed tight. Devereaux crouched, opened his toolkit, and pulled out a small prism plate. "I'll open a gap for you. Don't touch the lines."

David stared at the web of red light, his face expressionless. He never rushed. The people on the other side should be the ones in a hurry.

Once the prism plate was in place, the lasers refracted to create a narrow passage. David slipped through sideways, his jacket missing the red lines by millimeters. Devereaux squeezed through right behind him. The moment he stood, the floor beneath them lit up with pale blue patterns.

Pressure-sensitive flooring.

Devereaux froze. "Shit. I stepped on it."

David raised his hand but didn't use telekinesis to suppress it. Instead, he yanked Devereaux backward, pulling them both into the safe zone.

A second later, the floor locked down. Gun barrels emerged from both sides of the corridor, firing a burst of test rounds at the opposite wall. Sparks flew.

David studied the way forward, then shifted two steps to the left, his eyes fixed on the metal trim along the edge of the floor.

He lifted his foot and placed it on the edge of the trim, pressing his body flat against the wall as he walked. His weight distributed evenly across his sole, his pace steady. Devereaux mimicked his steps, his back drenched in sweat.

They passed through the sensor zone and turned into the second corridor. This section looked cleaner, recently refurbished. The security camera in the corner rotated silently, its lens coated with a faint blue film.

Devereaux muttered, "Anti-telekinesis coating."

David nodded. "They're scared of me."

The moment he finished speaking, the lights ahead extinguished one by one, leaving only the white glow strips on the floor. The symphony's climax thundered down from above, sounding like a death march.

A group emerged from the darkness. Six people, their formation spread wide, as if they'd measured the distances in advance.

They wore gray-black exoskeletons. Their helmets had no visors, and silver disc devices ringed their temples. Each had a short rod holstered at their waist, the surface etched with lines.

The leader raised his hand. The disc devices lit up with a pale white glow.

Every sound in David's ears cut out abruptly. The world became a silent film. A second later, a suppressive force pressed against his skin, like something forcing his telekinesis back into his body.

Silencers.

Devereaux's face turned green instantly. He opened his mouth to speak—David could see him mouthing profanity—but heard nothing.

The lead Silencer raised two fingers, issuing a command.

All six rushed forward at once.

David reached inside his suit and pulled out the cane. He twisted the handle, releasing a hidden catch. The crimson blade didn't fully unsheathe—only half an inch of the spine showed.

He charged.

The first Silencer swung his rod horizontally, a ring of white ripples trailing behind it. David met him head-on, using his shoulder to deflect the strike's trajectory. His left hand clamped onto the man's wrist and twisted outward.

The exoskeleton joint cracked. The entire mechanical forearm bent backward. Before the man could retreat, David drove a fist into the seam of his chest armor. The chest plate caved in, and the man collapsed.

The second came from the side, thrusting his rod at David's neck. David ducked, grabbed the rod with his backhand, and yanked forward hard.

The man stumbled off-balance. David brought his knee up into the abdomen armor, then kept driving upward into the chest. The exoskeleton's power line snapped. Blue sparks flashed, and the entire suit went dark.

The third closed in, metal spikes extending from his gauntlet, aimed at David's ribs. David sidestepped half a pace, grabbed the edge of the man's shoulder plate, lifted him bodily, and slammed him into the wall.

The reinforced wall cracked on impact. As the man slid down, still trying to raise his hand, David stepped on his knee and pressed down. The knee joint disconnected. The entire leg went limp.

The remaining three pressed in together, formation tight—clearly trained specifically for close combat.

David paused for a beat. He saw the disc devices at their temples glowing in sync, same frequency, as if accelerating each other.

He tossed the cane aside. Both hands free now.

The lead man threw a straight punch, the gauntlet carrying a shockwave. David didn't block. He grabbed the man's wrist, pressed down, and simultaneously drove his elbow into the outside of the joint.

The exoskeleton elbow split open. David pulled the man forward, using him as a shield. The other two's attacks slammed into their teammate's back armor, metal fragments flying.

David shoved the "shield" forward, knocking both men back, then lunged into the opening. His hands seized one man's helmet on both sides and twisted violently.

The neck's mechanical collar snapped. The helmet tilted onto his shoulder. Before the man could fall, David struck the back of his neck with an open palm. He crashed to the floor.

The last Silencer retreated half a step, trying to reestablish distance. The disc at his temple glowed brighter.

David closed the distance in one stride and grabbed the device, ripping it off.

The disc tore free with sparking cables. The man's body went rigid. David drove a fist into the thin point of his throat armor, then seized the short rod from his waist and jammed it into the exoskeleton's rear power slot.

All the lights on the exoskeleton died.

Six bodies littered the corridor. The only sound was the symphony's aftershocks rumbling through the walls. David's hearing gradually returned. The first thing he heard was Devereaux's labored breathing.

Devereaux walked over and kicked one of the exoskeletons. "This gear's worth serious money."

David retrieved his cane and locked it back into the sheath. "Don't touch it. Might have self-destruct."

Devereaux nodded, then pointed at the security panel ahead, his lips pale. "Core vault's back there. Three-layer lock. Fingerprint, iris, voiceprint—all required simultaneously."

David glanced at the door. "Where's Mia?"

Mia's voice came through the earpiece. "Been here the whole time. You went silent just now. I almost blew up the Vienna police switchboard."

Devereaux lowered his voice. "You wouldn't dare."

Mia ignored him, speaking rapidly. "I'm in the mainframe. Internal network isolation is nasty, but they got cocky—left a gap in the logs. Get close to the door. Give me thirty seconds."

David pressed his palm against the metal panel beside the doorframe. He didn't use telekinesis to force it. He just stood and waited. Devereaux watched both ends of the corridor, hand resting on his holster.

Within thirty seconds, the security light shifted from red to yellow, then green.

Mia exhaled. "You're in. Once inside, don't touch the server racks. The alarm circuit runs under the floor."

The door slid open. Cold air rushed out, carrying the dry scent of a server room.

The data vault on sublevel three looked like a windowless white box. Server racks stood in neat rows, blue indicator lights everywhere. In the center was a large screen. The standby interface displayed a single line: Bloodline Archive.

Mia was already downloading. A progress bar appeared in the lower right corner—three percent, eight percent, fifteen... The speed was absurdly fast.

David stood before the screen, staring at the title, motionless.

"Should be their mystery gift for you," Mia said. "But I don't like things this complicated."

When the download hit one hundred percent, the screen flickered and a folder opened.

The first page expanded automatically.

David's expression changed.