Location; Narvik, Northern Norway – Emory Vale's Abandoned Research Cabin
The crunch of boots against snow broke the silence as Nora trudged through the remote tundra, flanked by two elite operatives from the Shadow Vow—agents loyal to Damien's cause. The cold was biting, even through her heat-insulated gear, but the real chill came from what lay ahead.
Emory Vale—her mother's estranged brother, the AI prophet who vanished after denouncing the Tavaran elite's thirst for control. No one had seen him in eight years.
But Nora had a hunch.
A string of encrypted AI coordinates Damien had helped decode pointed to a cabin at the edge of the Arctic Circle. Not just coordinates—warnings.
"Should the Vale awaken, humanity must tread with caution."
As they neared the structure, its outline emerged through the snow-drenched fog. It was built like a bunker—steel plates beneath the timber facade, solar tech embedded in the roof, perimeter sensors camouflaged as rocks.
Nora halted, signaling her team. "Thermal?"
"Three life signatures," replied Agent Quill, tapping his visor. "Two stationary, one pacing."
Nora stepped forward. "Uncle Emory," she called out, voice steady. "It's Nora. Elise's daughter."
A pause.
Then: "You brought soldiers," came a voice distorted by a voice modulator, crackling through hidden speakers.
"Not soldiers. Guards. I'm not here to threaten you—I'm here because your sister is awake… and the world is breaking."
The steel door groaned open.
A man emerged—tall, bearded, and gaunt. Eyes sharp as ice. Emory Vale.
He studied her face for a long moment. "You look like Elise. But sharper. Hungrier."
"Desperate," she corrected.
He nodded once. "That, too. Come inside."
Inside, the cabin was a labyrinth of outdated tech humming with fresh data. Stacks of AI models hovered on holograms, their code swirling with predictive patterns. Nora's gaze was drawn to a display showing a countdown—7 days, 13 hours, 44 minutes.
"What's that?" she asked.
Emory replied, "The collapse window."
She turned sharply. "Collapse of what?"
"Not what, Nora—who. Archer's manipulating global influencers with a dormant protocol. I predicted the tipping point. Seven days from now, global financial cores will begin responding to subconscious AI-induced patterns—triggering panic buys, military recalls, and proxy wars."
Nora's eyes widened. "We need to stop him."
"You can't." Emory's voice was quiet. "Not unless you disrupt the pattern source. The core transmitter is no longer central—it's mobile."
Back in Mongolia, Damien and Cassandra were facing the harsh desert winds as they descended into a hidden bio-lab beneath an abandoned Soviet missile base.
"The air's laced with anti-surveillance fog," Cassandra muttered. "We're on Archer's turf now."
Damien's eyes narrowed. "Not for long."
As they passed through the reinforced door, a voice greeted them from the shadows.
"I wondered how long it would take you to arrive, cousin."
Damien froze.
From the darkness stepped a man with Damien's eyes, but colder… crueler. "You're not the only Blackwood with a gift," he smirked. "I'm Marcus."
"Marcus Blackwood died in an explosion fifteen years ago," Damien hissed.
"Correction—he was reborn. And I serve Archer now."
The lab lights flickered to life—revealing bodies in cryo chambers, all bearing the same family resemblance.
Cassandra whispered, "My god… they're breeding Blackwoods."
Damien felt his pulse spike.
He wasn't just fighting Archer anymore.
He was fighting a corrupted version of his bloodline.