Summoning the Phantom

Gideon's muscles tensed under the crushing weight of Kaelen's aura. The veins on his neck throbbed.

"Sir, your daughter is fine."

The suffocating pressure vanished. The icy grip on the alleyway melted away in a fraction of a second, letting the normal night air rush back in.

"What happened?" Kaelen demanded, his voice sharp and low.

Gideon stood rigid, ignoring the sweat trailing down his forehead. "It occurred about half an hour ago. She was walking to a shopping mall with her family when the accident took place. The girl is unharmed. Her grandmother suffered a fright and fractured her tibia in the fall."

Kaelen let out a heavy breath, his tense shoulders dropping a fraction. "Thank goodness she is safe."

He furrowed his brow a moment later. "A fractured tibia? Where are they treating her grandmother right now?"

"They are at Oasis Hospital."

"Start the engine. We are heading there this instant." Kaelen turned and marched toward the black Land Rover idling by the curb.

Thirty minutes later, the heavy tires of the Land Rover screeched to a halt outside the emergency entrance of Oasis Hospital.

Kaelen strode through the sliding glass doors. The sharp scent of medical alcohol and bleach assaulted his senses. He navigated the sterile white corridors without speaking, his sharp gaze sweeping over the directional signs. He reached the orthopedics ward on the sixth floor and moved straight to room 603.

He scanned the layout of the ward in a matter of seconds. The beds were occupied, monitors beeped in a steady rhythm, and nurses moved between stations.

He walked to the very end of the long corridor. He checked every face, every waiting area, every corner.

He did not find the little girl.

Kaelen spun on his heel and headed back toward the stairwell. Gideon followed close behind, his boots thudding softly against the linoleum floor.

"My daughter is not on this floor." Kaelen frowned.

"Sir, give me the order. I will lock down the building and search for her."

Kaelen shook his head. "No, that is too inefficient and will cause unnecessary panic."

Gideon bowed his head, his face flushing with shame. "Please forgive my incompetence. Grant me three days. I promise I will locate them and bring you a full report."

"Gideon." Kaelen held up a hand, stopping the giant man in his tracks. "Every man possesses his own unique set of skills. I know intelligence work and tracking are not your primary strengths."

Kaelen crossed his arms, staring down the quiet stairwell. He felt restricted in this city. He lacked the proper eyes and ears to move efficiently. A new idea sparked in his mind.

"Call Silas. Tell him I want him here in my office tomorrow morning."

Gideon jerked his head up, his eyes widening with thrill. "Silas? Understood. I will make the call immediately."

Silas Crane commanded the Phantom Squad. He stood as one of the three major pillars within the Crimson Dragons. His assassination techniques were unmatched, but his true genius lay in espionage, surveillance, and information gathering. Calling Silas into the city meant the Crimson Dragons were preparing for a massive, coordinated operation.

A bloodthirsty gleam flashed in Gideon's eyes. The master had already conquered the four wastelands. Bringing Silas here could only mean one thing. The Core District was his next target.

The following morning, pale sunlight filtered through the cracked window of a modest suburban home.

Edgar leaned over the bed and pressed a soft kiss to his sleeping wife's forehead. He tiptoed out of the bedroom, grabbed his worn jacket, and pushed his modified electric tricycle out of the narrow front gate.

The sky held a faint purple hue when he arrived at the pedestrian street. Despite the early hour, delivery workers and street sweepers were already hurrying about their business. The city of Zenith never truly slept.

Edgar parked his tricycle near the corner of a busy intersection.

"Good morning, Mr. Vance! You are up early again!"

The cheerful greeting came from the female owner of a nearby beauty accessories shop. She stood by her storefront, wiping down the glass display.

Edgar offered her a polite nod and a warm smile. He stepped down from his tricycle and began setting up his humble stall.

The space he rented barely covered three square meters. He laid out a faded tarp over a folding table and meticulously arranged his merchandise. He sold thick winter stockings, cotton socks, knitted gloves, and an assortment of cheap daily necessities. On a lucky day, he might take home a hundred coins.

The sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the pavement. The number of pedestrians increased, turning the street into a bustling sea of shoppers and commuters.

Three hours passed.

Edgar sat on a small plastic stool, rubbing his tired eyes. He had earned less than ten coins all morning. His face looked gaunt and pale under the harsh daylight. He had spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to find sleep. His thoughts remained fixated on his son. Kaelen had finally returned to the Core District, yet the boy could not even step foot inside his own home. The heartache weighed heavily on Edgar's chest.

The owner of the beauty accessories shop strolled over, holding a steaming cup of tea.

"It seems business is slow for you today, Mr. Vance."

Edgar sighed and rubbed his calloused hands together to ward off the morning chill. "Yes, it is very tough to make a sale these days. People are tightening their belts."

The shop owner clicked her tongue and gave him a knowing smirk. "You need to stop pretending, Mr. Vance. Word travels fast around here. Everyone knows you have a property slated for demolition. The developers must have compensated you at least a million to vacate that prime land!"

"That is simply not true." Edgar shook his head.

He had fought tooth and nail against the demolition crew. His primary fear was that Kaelen would return and find an empty lot instead of his childhood home. The boy would have nowhere to go. Beyond that sentimental value, the financial offer from the developers was a cruel joke.

Edgar had spent a hard-earned million to build that house years ago. Now, the greedy demolition company wanted to force him out for a mere five hundred thousand. In the current real estate market of Zenith, five hundred thousand was not even enough to cover the down payment on a cramped two-bedroom apartment.

"I do not believe you for a second!" The shop owner gave him a sideways glance, taking a sip of her tea. "You used to be a billionaire, Mr. Vance. You must have some hidden assets stashed away. Even a fraction of your old fortune would be enough for commoners like us to live like kings for a year."

She leaned against his display table, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Is it true what they say about the rich? Are they never satisfied with what they have? You could be living a life of luxury right now. Why do you insist on working these grueling hours in the cold just to scrape together a few coins?"

Edgar offered a bitter, self-deprecating smile. "I am not a billionaire. That life belongs to the distant past. All I want right now is for my family to be reunited under one roof. Nothing else matters to me."

Before Edgar could finish his sentence, all the color drained from his weathered face.

The shop owner noticed his sudden panic. She followed his line of sight down the crowded street. A group of broad-shouldered thugs shoved their way through the pedestrians, heading straight for the socks stall. She gasped, her eyes widening in terror, and darted back into her shop, locking the glass door behind her.

"Mr. Carmine, that is the old man right there!"

A thug with twin snake tattoos winding up his neck pointed a thick finger at Edgar. The man puffed out his chest, clearly eager to earn favor with his boss.

Victor Carmine walked at the center of the group. A black patch covered his right eye, a fresh reminder of the terrifying encounter from the previous night. He stared at the middle-aged vendor with his remaining eye and let out a heavy sigh as he closed the distance.

Edgar scrambled backward, his hip knocking into the folding table. Several pairs of cotton socks tumbled onto the dirty pavement. He snatched his cheap smartphone from his pocket and gripped it tight. His hands trembled, but he forced his chin up, trying to project a courage he did not feel.

"What do you want from me? Leave my stall alone! I will call the police if you try anything!"

The thug with the snake tattoos lunged forward. He pointed directly at Edgar's nose, his face twisting into an ugly sneer.

"You old bastard, do you have any idea who you are talking to? You think you can threaten us with the cops? With Mr. Carmine standing right here, the police wouldn't dare touch a single hair on our heads even if they were watching!"

A heavy boot slammed into the side of the thug's waist.

The tattooed man shrieked, his legs buckling under the sudden impact. He crashed onto the hard pavement, clutching his ribs in agony. He looked up, his face pale and bewildered.

"Mr. Carmine! Why?"

"You have no right to speak in this man's presence!" Victor roared.

A sharp, throbbing pain flared behind Victor's eye patch. He ground his teeth together, glaring down at his bleeding subordinate. He then took a deep breath, smoothing out the front of his expensive suit jacket.

Victor turned back to face Edgar. The fierce, menacing scowl vanished from the crime boss's face, replaced by a warm, polite smile.

"Mr. Vance, I offer my deepest apologies on behalf of my subordinate. The man is an ignorant fool and does not know how to address his betters."

Edgar froze. He blinked rapidly, wondering if the morning chill was causing him to hallucinate. This towering, ruthless brute of a man was smiling at him like a humble servant.

Edgar knew all about Victor Carmine's terrifying reputation in the criminal underworld. If given the choice, Edgar would rather flee the city than cross paths with someone of Victor's brutal caliber. Yet, this feared syndicate leader, a man with endless connections and violent resources, was bowing his head in genuine humility.

Victor reached up and adjusted his eye patch. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Seeing that the street was clear of any hidden threats, he decided to cut straight to the chase.

He snapped his fingers. His subordinates instantly rushed forward, turning their backs to the stall. They formed a tight half-circle, using their broad bodies to block the view of any nosy pedestrians or shop owners.

Victor stepped into the enclosed space and retrieved a heavy metal briefcase from his lead enforcer.

He placed the briefcase squarely on the folding table, pushing aside the cheap gloves. Then, Victor took a step back, grabbed the creases of his trousers, and dropped heavily onto both knees on the dirty street.

"Mr. Vance, I failed to recognize my place and offended you and your family. Please have mercy on my pathetic life and forgive my transgressions. I offer you this five million as a sincere apology."

Edgar's jaw dropped. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs. He watched in utter disbelief as the terrifying crime boss knelt before his makeshift stall and offered him a fortune.

"Why are you doing this?" Edgar whispered, his voice cracking.

Victor reached up and clicked the latches of the metal briefcase. The lid popped open, revealing thick, crisp stacks of high-denomination bills packed tightly together.

"Mr. Vance, this is five million in pure cash. In a few more days, I will personally deliver another fifteen million to your doorstep as compensation for putting you through such emotional trauma."

Edgar could only stare, his eyes wide in absolute shock at the sight of the kneeling crime boss and the impossible mountain of cash placed before him.