Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chelsea took in the spartan interior of Ambrose's safehouse. A desk covered with maps and notes, a few pieces of mismatched furniture, Akaroth leaning against the wall. No personal touches. Not a home, just a base of operations.

  "I need information about the Red Hand's trafficking operation," Chelsea said, getting straight to the point. "A white van came through the southeast onboarding center about a week ago. It was carrying D-Graders from Zeverai. I need to find them."

  Ambrose's expression darkened. "The truck with the captives."

  "Yes," Chelsea said, watching him carefully. "You know about it?"

  "I chased it through the warehouse district. It disappeared into a parking garage." He moved to his desk, rifling through papers until he found what he wanted. "Through what appeared to be a solid wall."

  "You found their hidden base," Chelsea said, realization dawning. "The one where—"

  "Where you and your partner captured me," Ambrose finished flatly. "Yes."

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Chelsea hadn't expected him to bring up their previous encounter so directly. The memory of Corey's death flashed in her mind, the spray of blood, the dull thud of his head hitting the floor. She pushed it aside, focusing on the present.

  "I was doing my job," she said finally.

  "And I was doing mine." Ambrose tapped a finger on the map spread across his desk. "The van wasn't at the base. According to the lieutenant I confronted, the enchantment transported people based on keys they carried. The van and its captives went somewhere else."

  "Then you don't know where they are either," Chelsea said, disappointment evident in her voice.

  "No." Ambrose studied her, his single eye intense and evaluating. "But you came to me anyway. Why?"

  "I thought you might have found them. You've been systematically targeting Red Hand operations."

  "For my own purposes. The captives aren't my primary concern."

  "Then what is?"

  Ambrose chose his words carefully. "I need to dismantle the Red Hand to complete a personal mission. Vorshawn Red will be at the Crimson Eclipse tonight. That's my priority."

  Chelsea's jaw tightened. "And the captives? They're just... what? Collateral?"

  "I haven't forgotten them." Ambrose's eye narrowed. "The concept of slavery is one I find particularly abhorrent. But I've been unable to locate them."

  "So we both need the same information," Chelsea said, leaning forward. "We both want to find these people."

  "For different reasons," Ambrose pointed out.

  "Does that matter? If we work together, our chances of success increase." She gestured at his maps. "You've clearly been gathering intelligence on Red Hand operations. I have knowledge of Virion's law enforcement protocols and blind spots."

  Ambrose considered her proposal. She was right about their complementary skills. And while the captives weren't directly related to his mission, the idea of people being trafficked and sold like property stirred an old anger in him. It reminded him too much of what he'd seen during his time as a mercenary, the casual cruelty of those who viewed others as commodities.

  The woman speaks sense, hatchling, Akaroth's voice murmured in his mind. Two hunters are better than one.

  "We need to start with what we know," he said finally. "The truck entered a hidden base in the warehouse district. The lieutenant said the captives were transported elsewhere, based on keys the drivers carried."

  "Keys could mean anything," Chelsea mused. "Access cards, physical keys, even biometric signatures."

  "Or specific enchantments." Ambrose pointed to his notes. "The Red Hand has three major operational centers in Virion. I've hit two of them already. The third is in the industrial zone."

  "Building 7B," Chelsea said, recognition flashing in her eyes.

  Ambrose raised an eyebrow. "You know it?"

  "It's been on our radar for years. Multiple investigations, all shut down before they got anywhere. Officially it's a shipping hub, but we've always suspected it was more."

  "A processing center for their 'merchandise,'" Ambrose said, disgust evident in his voice.

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  "Exactly." Chelsea studied the map. "If I were running a trafficking operation, that's where I'd take them. Isolated, secure, easy access to transportation networks."

  Ambrose nodded. It made sense. "Building 7B it is, then."

  "You'll help me?" Chelsea seemed surprised.

  "As I said, I find slavery abhorrent." He checked the time on a simple digital clock mounted on the wall. "And Vorshawn won't be at the Crimson Eclipse until later. There's time to deal with both."

  Relief washed over Chelsea's face. "Thank you."

  "Don't thank me yet. If this facility is what we think it is, it will have significant security."

  "I have a friend helping me. Ex-VPD. She's waiting nearby."

  Ambrose nodded. "Call her. We leave in ten minutes."

  ---

  Building 7B loomed like a fortress in the industrial zone. Three stories of reinforced concrete surrounded by a perimeter fence crackling with defensive enchantments. Guards patrolled the grounds in a disciplined pattern, their weapons glinting under the harsh floodlights.

  Ambrose, Chelsea, and Holt observed from the shadow of an abandoned factory across the street. Rain fell in a light drizzle, providing additional cover for their whispered conversation.

  "Six guards on the perimeter," Holt murmured, lowering her binoculars. "Standard Red Hand equipment. Energy rifles, light armor."

  She was taller than Chelsea, with close-cropped blonde hair and sharp features that suggested both intelligence and aggression. Her border security training was evident in the way she analyzed the compound, methodical and thorough.

  "More inside," Ambrose added. "I count at least fifteen distinct mana signatures. C-Grade, most of them. Plus something else..."

  "What do you mean?" Chelsea asked.

  "There's a concentration of power near the center of the building. Not human." Ambrose's eye narrowed. "Some kind of guardian construct, I'd guess."

  "Guardian construct?" Holt looked alarmed. "Why would they need something like that for a processing facility?"

  "Because the merchandise is valuable," Chelsea replied grimly. "D-Graders fetch a high price, especially those with useful skills."

  "It won't matter," Ambrose said with quiet confidence. "I'll handle any resistance. You two focus on locating and freeing the captives."

  He outlined his plan. It was straightforward—he would create a diversion at the main entrance, drawing most of the security to him. Chelsea and Holt would enter through a loading dock on the east side, find the captives, and lead them to an extraction point where Ambrose would meet them.

  "Questions?" he asked when he finished.

  Holt raised a hand, her expression skeptical. "Yeah. How exactly are you planning to take on an entire Red Hand facility by yourself?"

  In answer, Ambrose activated his forge icon. The air around him seemed to warp, reality becoming more solid, more defined. His spiritual pressure followed, creating a tangible weight that pressed outward. The ground beneath his feet cracked slightly.

  Holt's eyes widened. "Okay then."

  "Let's move," Ambrose said, letting his power subside. "Stay in contact. If anything goes wrong, signal immediately. I'll extract you."

  They separated, Chelsea and Holt circling toward the loading dock while Ambrose approached the main gate. He moved with deliberate stealth until he was in position, then stepped into the open, walking calmly toward the entrance.

  The guards reacted immediately.

  "Halt! This is private property! Turn around now!"

  Ambrose didn't slow his pace.

  "Last warning! Stop or we'll shoot!"

  When Ambrose continued forward, they opened fire. Energy bolts streaked toward him, only to be devoured by his World Eater cloak. The guards faltered, shocked by his unhindered advance.

  "We have an intruder at the main gate!" one shouted into his comm. "Request immediate backup!"

  Perfect. Ambrose activated [Infernal Sanctuary], silver chains of hellfire erupting from his outstretched hands. They coiled around the fence posts, melting through the metal. With a sharp tug, he tore the gate from its foundation, sending it crashing inward.

  Alarms blared across the compound. More guards emerged from the building, weapons raised. In his peripheral vision, Ambrose caught a glimpse of Chelsea and Holt slipping toward the loading dock. Good.

  Time to ensure all attention remained on him.

  Let us show them true power, hatchling, Akaroth whispered eagerly in his mind. They have never faced the likes of us.

  Ambrose unleashed a measured wave of spiritual pressure. The pavement cracked beneath his feet as [Infernal Aegis] flared to life, its crimson energy radiating outward. The guards staggered back, feeling the weight of his presence.

  "Where are the D-Graders?" Ambrose demanded, his voice carrying across the compound.

  "Kill him!" someone shouted from the back of the group.

  They opened fire again, this time in a coordinated pattern designed to overwhelm his defenses. Clever, but insufficient. His forge icon activated, reality solidifying around him like unseen armor. The combined protection of icon, spirit, and cloak made their attacks futile.

  Ambrose summoned Akaroth, the dragon axe materializing in his hand with a crack of thunder. Lightning danced along its edge as he strode forward. The guards scattered, trying to surround him. He let them. The more focused they were on him, the better chance Chelsea and Holt had of succeeding.

  A guard with enhanced cybernetics rushed him, moving faster than the others. A blade extended from his arm, glowing with mana. Ambrose parried with Akaroth, the impact sending sparks cascading around them.

  "You picked the wrong facility to hit," the cyborg snarled.

  "I think not," Ambrose replied calmly, pushing him back with a surge of strength.

  The cyborg stumbled, then regained his footing with unnatural quickness. His movements were enhanced beyond normal C-Grade capabilities, likely through some combination of technology and System integration. The other guards formed a perimeter, their weapons trained on Ambrose.

  "You're outnumbered," the cyborg said, circling warily. "And outmatched."

  Ambrose didn't bother responding. Words were wasted during combat.

  He charged, his speed catching the cyborg off guard. Akaroth slashed in a wide arc, wreathed in lightning and hellfire. The cyborg barely dodged, the edge of the blade slicing through his shoulder armor.

  The other guards opened fire, their energy bolts converging on Ambrose from all sides. His spiritual barrier flared, deflecting most of the attacks, but one shot penetrated, scoring a glancing blow on his arm. He grunted, surprised. These weapons were more powerful than he'd anticipated.

  The cyborg pressed the advantage, his blade a blur as he attacked with enhanced speed. Ambrose defended, studying his opponent's patterns. There was a rhythm to his movements, a predictability born of reliance on technological enhancement rather than true skill.

  "You're good," the cyborg admitted, noticing Ambrose's analysis. "But you're alone. And you've walked right into our home."

  "I'm never alone," Ambrose replied, his eye glinting. Akaroth hummed in his grip, resonating with his intent.

  Let me taste his artificial blood, hatchling, the dragon axe urged, her voice eager for battle.

  With a sudden burst of speed, Ambrose feinted left, then struck right. The cyborg moved to block the feint, leaving himself open. Akaroth connected with his torso, lightning surging through his enhanced body. He convulsed, his systems overloading, before collapsing to the ground.

  The remaining guards hesitated, seeing their champion fall so easily. Ambrose didn't give them time to regroup. He used [Hellfire Manipulation] to open a portal beneath two of them, sending them tumbling through to the base of the Tree of Avalon.

  "Presents for you, Vivienne," he murmured, closing the portal.

  The other guards broke, running for the building. Exactly as planned. Ambrose followed, his pace measured. He wanted them to sound the alarm, to draw every available fighter to the front entrance.

  As he approached the building, something massive shifted in the shadows within. A low, mechanical growl echoed from the doorway, followed by the heavy tread of metal on concrete.

  The guardian construct emerged, and Ambrose felt a flicker of surprise. It was larger than he'd expected, nearly three meters tall, its form a grotesque amalgamation of metal, flesh, and glowing runes. Its head was that of a bull, but with eight glowing eyes arranged in a circle. Arms ending in massive clawed hands hung at its sides, while its lower body was a tangle of metal pistons and gears.

  "Well," Ambrose said, readying Akaroth. "This is unexpected."

  A worthy challenge at last, Akaroth commented, her eagerness palpable.

  The construct roared, the sound a mixture of animal fury and mechanical grinding. It lowered its head, preparing to charge. Ambrose activated [Retributions Gaze], his eye glowing as he analyzed the monstrous creation.

  [The Butcher - Level 245 Guardian Construct]: Created through the sacrifice of over one hundred individuals, this abomination serves as both guard and executioner for the Red Hand's most valuable assets. Its body contains the fused souls of its victims, trapped in perpetual agony and forced to power its unholy form. The construct knows neither mercy nor fatigue, driven by a singular directive to destroy any unauthorized presence.

  Disgust and anger surged through Ambrose as he processed the information. This wasn't just a security measure, it was an atrocity. One more sin to lay at the feet of the Red Hand. One more reason to ensure Vorshawn Red and his entire organization were wiped from existence.

  The construct charged, its massive form moving with surprising speed for something so large. Ambrose raised Akaroth, his forge icon and spiritual pressure flaring in preparation for the clash.

  This would not be an easy fight.