Chapter 20 - The Eclipse of Blood
The moment the words left Vivienne's lips, the sanctuary's heavy shatterproof glass shattered inward in an explosion of concussive force.
Flashbang grenades rolled across the terrace floor, blinding white light and deafening thunder tearing through the night.
Damien threw himself behind a reinforced concrete pillar, shielding his eyes as assault rifles opened up on full automatic. Marco returned fire with ruthless efficiency, his bullets tearing through the dense smoke that flooded the terrace.
"Thermobaric charges!" Vivienne shouted over the deafening cacophony of gunfire, ducking low as she pulled twin compact automatics from beneath her coat. "They aren't trying to capture the facility! They're leveling it!"
Outside, through the shattered windows, two heavy combat gunships hovered in the rain over Lake Como, their searchlights burning through the mist like giant predatory eyes. On the sides of the aircraft was the painted insignia of the Black Sun.
"Lily!" Damien’s roar ripped through the smoke.
Ignoring the hail of bullets striking the stone pillar inches from his head, Damien sprinted toward the spiral staircase leading down to the residential level. He didn't care about the Council, he didn't care about the billions, he didn't care about the Vance dynasty—his entire universe existed behind the blast door of that safe room.
He reached the residential corridor.
The reinforced steel blast door had been torn off its hydraulic hinges by a high-yield magnetic breaching charge. Acrid chemical smoke poured from the doorway.
"No!" Damien screamed, plunging into the room.
Inside, Eva lay motionless against the wall, bleeding from a severe head wound, unconscious.
The charcoal drawings on the wall were spattered with rain pouring in through the blown-out balcony doors.
And on the balcony, standing in the torrential downpour against the howling wind of the gunship rotors, was a tall figure cloaked in heavy carbon-weave armor, wearing an ornate silver mask etched with the Black Sun.
In the figure's arms was Lily. The little girl was crying, clutching Clara’s locket tightly against her chest, her dark curls soaked in the storm.
"Daddy!" Lily cried out, her small voice cutting straight through Damien's soul. "Daddy, help me!"
"Let her go!" Damien bellowed, raising his Beretta with a trembling, murderous rage. His aim was locked onto the figure's head, but the swaying of the child made a clear shot impossible. "Put my daughter down, or I swear by the blood of my ancestors, I will flay you alive!"
The masked figure stood motionless at the edge of the rain-slicked balcony, two hundred feet above the jagged rocks of Lake Como.
Slowly, the figure raised a gloved hand to the silver mask, unclipping the pressurized seal beneath the jaw.
The mask hissed, releasing a cloud of cold vapor.
The figure lowered the silver faceplate, tossing it over the balcony into the abyss below.
Damien's weapon froze in mid-air. His heart stopped. The world around him slowed to a silent, horrifying crawl.
The face staring back at him through the pouring rain was not Archon Valerius. It was not a mercenary, nor Baron von Klaus.
It was Clara.
Her hazel eyes were cold, her skin unmarred, her dark hair plastered against her neck by the storm. But around her throat was the faint purple ring of an old, healed chemical burn.
A slow, chilling smile touched her lips as she held their weeping daughter over the roaring winds of the balcony.
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"Did you truly think I died six years ago, Damien?" she whispered, her voice carrying clear and lethal above the thunder. "Or did you just believe what I wanted you to believe?"
Before Damien could scream, Clara took a step backward into the empty air of the storm.
