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Chapter 213: Night of the Gargoyles
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2026-01-06 07:52:15The red light of the Sterling family crest, projected like a blood-soaked moon against the storm clouds, did little to warm the interior of the 88th-floor Command Center. If anything, the crimson hue bathing the room made the tension feel surgical, like an operating theater where the patient was already flatlining.
Jack Sterling stood by the reinforced glass of the north-facing panoramic window. His left hand, the one etched with the black runes of Entropy, was pressed against the cold pane. He wasn't looking at the city below—there was nothing to see but a black ocean of concrete and fear—he was looking at the spires of the cathedral three blocks away.St. Patrick’s Cathedral. A masterpiece of Neo-Gothic architecture. Usually, it was a symbol of sanctuary. Tonight, illuminated by the erratic flashes of lightning, it looked like a hive."The atmospheric pressure is dropping," Catherine said. She was seated at the central console, her face pale in the
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The elevator ride down from the 88th floor was a descent into a metallic, groaning purgatory. Jack Sterling stood alone in the mirrored box, checking the magazine of his revolver. Six silver rounds. Enough for six problems, or one very big one.But as the digital counter ticked past the 70th floor, Jack's earpiece crackled."Jack, stop!" It was Catherine's voice, frantic and distorted by static. "Don't go to the lobby yet. We have a situation in the Penthouse. A secondary breach.""I thought we cleared the assassin," Jack said, his thumb hovering over the emergency stop button. "The cow sat on him. Case closed.""Not that assassin. Another one. And this one isn't alone. Jack, the Ouroboros Compass... when Hailey dropped it, the spatial rift didn't just bring a cow in. It left a door open."Jack slammed the stop button. The elevator jerked to a halt between the 65th and 64th floors. "Explain. Fast.""The rift de
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The air inside the Sterling Tower Grand Lobby tasted of marble dust and cordite. Once, this expansive hall had been a cathedral of capitalism—three stories high, floored with Italian travertine, centered around a cascading waterfall sculpture that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime.Now, it was a kill box.Marcus "The Mountain" stood behind a barricade constructed from overturned mahogany reception desks and sandbags dragged up from the maintenance closet. His breathing was heavy, rattling in his chest like a diesel engine idling in winter. He checked the ammunition counter on his heavy assault rifle: 120 rounds. Not enough."Status on the elevators?" Marcus barked into his headset."They're locked down," Ben Carter’s voice crackled, tense and tinny. "I've sealed the shafts from the 10th floor down. But Marcus... the sensors are gone. I can't see what's happening in the lobby anymore. You're blind.""I'm not blind," Marcus grunted, p
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