---
Cairo – Desert Compound
3:47 AM
The night screamed in sirens and smoke.
Outside Cairo, far beyond where the lights still pretended to be stars, a private police compound had become a burial ground.
Bodies littered the sand—some still twitching, others long still.
Blood steamed where it met the cold air. Bullets hung from walls like cursed fruit. The gates were twisted metal, melted into shapes no heat could explain.
And in the center of the carnage—stood Joseph.
Bare-chested, crimson-streaked. His skin shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight, wrapped in power older than written language.
He moved slowly now. Not because he was tired.
Because he wanted the last man to feel time before death.
> "You raised your weapon to a god," Joseph said softly.
The officer sobbed. "P–please…"
> "No. No more pleas. You've mistaken your place for too long."
He drove his hand through the man's chest with a sickening crunch—then pulled it back, heart still twitching in his palm.
He dropped it beside the man's head like discarded fruit.
And that was the last scream.
Silence fell.
Until her voice cut through it.
---
"You've changed, Joseph."
He turned.
She stood at the edge of the compound gate—Jasmine.
Wind carried her scarf like it feared her. Her jacket was lined with dust, her boots scuffed from miles walked in silence. But her eyes… they were steady. Calm. Measured.
She stepped through the wreckage like someone used to walking among the dead.
Joseph said nothing.
She offered a soft nod—not submission, not challenge. Recognition.
> "I didn't come to fight you. I came to walk beside you."
He moved.
Faster than any mortal blink could track.
Suddenly, her feet were off the ground—his hand tight around her neck.
He raised her high—arm unshaking, eyes burning.
> "You were with them."
> "I never raised a hand," she choked.
> "You didn't stop them either."
She didn't fight.
> "They feared what you'd become," she whispered. "I only ever wondered what you already were."
His grip tightened.
But her gaze didn't break.
> "You want vengeance? Fine. But know who your enemies are. I'm not one of them."
The wind shifted. The sand stirred.
His fingers relaxed—slowly.
He dropped her.
Jasmine landed lightly, coughing once, then straightened.
No anger. No fear.
Only certainty.
> "They'll come for you," she said.
> "Let them," Joseph replied, voice low. "I have waited centuries to return. Let them waste no time."
> "Four against two won't end well."
He didn't move.
She stepped closer, brushing sand from her sleeve.
> "But I know where Wade is."
That name finally drew his gaze.
Sharp. Intrigued.
> "You think he'll stand with us?"
> "I don't know," Jasmine said. "He doesn't bend easily. But I'd rather find out before the others do."
Joseph walked past her, toward the ruins of a sand-blasted vehicle. He wiped his bloodstained fingers on the seat's upholstery.
> "Lead me to him."
> "Not as your servant," she added.
He paused.
Then—
> "No. As my witness."
Jasmine tilted her head.
> "To what?"
He looked back, and for the first time—he smiled.
There was no warmth in it.
Only promise.
> "To what's coming."
---
New York City – East Village
8:26 AM
The city pulsed like a living vein—gritty, loud, and indifferent.
Wade preferred it that way.
He sat near the window of a small corner café, watching people move without purpose. A steaming mug of black coffee sat untouched before him, growing cold, forgotten.
He stirred it once—out of habit, not need.
The bell above the door jingled.
He didn't look up. He didn't need to.
> "You're late," Wade said.
Jasmine stepped in first, removing her coat like the weather had offended her.
Joseph followed—hood low, posture regal, eyes unreadable.
Wade finally turned.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
> "I knew the earth trembled for a reason."
Joseph didn't reply. He never did when Wade spoke like that.
Jasmine sat down without invitation.
Joseph remained standing.
Wade gestured to the chair across from him. "You want coffee or chaos?"
> "You already know why we're here," Jasmine said.
> "Of course I do," Wade said, sipping. "The moment he woke, I felt it. Like a thorn sliding back under my skin. I just hoped I was imagining things."
Joseph finally moved—slowly, like time waited for him.
He sat.
> "We need you," Jasmine said.
Wade chuckled. "That phrase always ends in fire."
> "Four of them remain," Joseph said. "And they'll come soon."
Wade leaned back in his chair. "And what? You want me to pick a side again? Between Roux and you?"
He scoffed.
> "Last time I tried that, I watched temples fall and brothers bleed. I'm not interested in ancient grudges wearing modern shoes."
Joseph didn't flinch.
He leaned in.
Whispered something.
One line.
One sentence.
Wade's smirk vanished.
His eyes narrowed, slowly, as the meaning sank into his chest like a cold blade.
He stared at Joseph in silence for a long moment—then looked down at his hands.
His fingers trembled once.
He closed them into fists.
> "Are you sure?"
Joseph said nothing.
Wade cursed under his breath. He stood, knocking his chair slightly.
> "I told myself I was done."
> "You're not," Joseph said.
> "No," Wade muttered. "I never was."
He drained the last of his cold coffee and set the cup down.
> "Alright," Wade said. "Let's find the others… before the others find us."
Jasmine gave a soft nod, relief subtle in her shoulders.
Joseph stood slowly.
Wade pulled on his coat, eyes hard.
> "But if this ends the way it started—don't expect me to pick up the pieces."
Joseph met his gaze without blinking.
> "No one will be left to."
They walked out together.
And somewhere—beneath steel, history stirred once more.
---
The Thamesview Villa – 4:07 PM
The scent of smoke still lingered in the air.
Most of the bodies had been removed—quietly, efficiently. Dorian had his people for that. The marble floor was scrubbed. The curtains replaced. But the air… the air remembered.
Roux stood near the broken mantle, arms folded, eyes distant, like a lion pacing in thought.
Akari sat cross-legged on the floor, sharpening a dagger that didn't need it.
Selene was perched in the archway, fanning herself with disinterest so perfectly executed it might have fooled a god.
That's when the knock came.
Once.
Then again.
Firm. Confident. But not hostile.
Dorian, sipping his usual wine, didn't move.
> "That'll be Kelvin," he said without looking up. "My eyes. My ears. My backup plan."
> "He should knock louder," Roux murmured. "It'll make the regret quicker."
The door opened with a creak.
Kelvin stepped in.
Mid-thirties. Neatly dressed. A gloved hand holding a thin briefcase. Sharp eyes. The kind that knew when to look—and when not to.
But today, they looked.
And didn't stop.
He bowed to Dorian first.
> "Sir. I saw the aftermath on the west district—four agents dead. Two more missing. They've classified it as internal sabotage."
Then he glanced around the room—and saw Selene.
The words died.
His mouth remained slightly open, caught mid-sentence.
His eyes—brown, careful, analytical—locked onto her like gravity had shifted.
Selene hadn't moved.
She tilted her fan slightly, just enough for one eye to meet his.
A smile played on her lips.
Tiny. Dangerous. Almost amused.
Kelvin tried to finish his sentence.
> "I… I mean… there was… the city camera loop was cut and…"
His voice faded again.
He blinked hard, trying to reset his brain.
Roux took a step forward.
> "Should I remove the eyes or the tongue?"
Dorian raised a hand lazily.
> "He's fine, Roux. Human. Loyal. Mostly functional."
Kelvin shook his head. "No, I—I'm sorry, sir. It's just—"
Selene finally spoke.
Her voice was velvet and winter in the same breath.
> "Speak carefully, Kelvin. Or speak not at all."
He cleared his throat, composing himself.
> "I brought the footage from the Cairo breach. The one from the sealed excavation. You'll want to see it."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Cairo?"
Kelvin nodded. "He's walking. Killing. Not hiding anymore."
Roux looked over sharply. "Joseph."
Kelvin opened the case and slid a tablet onto the table.
But even as he tapped the footage to play—
his eyes kept returning to Selene.
Dorian leaned toward Roux, whispering just enough for her to hear.
> "I think the poor lad just fell for a myth."
Selene didn't reply.
But her fan fluttered once.
Kelvin blinked again, lowering his gaze with effort. Focus returning.
> "There's more," he said. "But I thought you should see this first."
Roux looked down at the footage. Joseph—emerging from sand and silence.
Dorian frowned.
Akari stood now, watching closely.
But as the others leaned into the screen—
Kelvin risked one more glance.
Selene caught it.
Held it.
And smiled—
just enough to make him question whether it was invitation or warning.
---