All Chapters of The Billionaire Alpha's Revenge: Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

The darkness of Sub-level 9 was not empty. It was heavy, textured, like breathing in wet velvet.Jack Sterling lay on a mattress of scavenged subway seats, the foam brittle and smelling of decades-old dust. The pain in his hip was a dull, throbbing bass note to the symphony of his recovery, but the fever had broken. The Tinker's green sludge—some kind of military-grade nanite cocktail—was working.He could feel the metal pin in his pelvis. It felt cold, alien, a permanent reminder that Jack Sterling, the man of flesh and blood, was being replaced piece by piece."Water," he rasped.Olivia was there instantly. She looked exhausted, her face smudged with grease, her eyes hollowed by lack of sleep. But her hands were steady as she held a dented tin cup to his lips."Slowly," she whispered. "It's filtered, but it still tastes like iron."Jack drank. The water was metallic, sharp. It tasted like the underground."Where are we?" Jack asked, p

The digital disco of Gary "The Phantom" hummed with the quiet, frenetic energy of an invisible war. The mirrored walls reflected not dancers, but the exhausted faces of fugitives staring at screens.Jack Sterling sat in the command chair, his leg propped up on a velvet ottoman. The pain in his hip was a constant, gnawing reminder of his mortality, but his mind was sharp, focused on the scrolling lines of code Ben Carter was projecting onto the wall."He's panicking," Jack said, his voice low."Who?" Hailey asked, looking up from where she was braiding Bessie the cow's tail."Valerius. Look at the data traffic." Jack pointed to the screen. "Encryption levels on his personal server just tripled. He's locking down. He knows we're alive, and he knows we're close.""He doesn't just know," Ben said, tapping a key. "He's reacting. Check the Dark Web forums."A new window popped up. It was a site called The Red Ledger—a notorious marketplace for assassins

The Ghost Train was not built for passengers; it was built for silence and suffering. The interior of the rear car was a dimly lit corridor of steel cages. The air was frigid, kept at near-freezing temperatures to sedate the occupants.Jack Sterling, limping heavily on his PVC crutch, moved through the shadows. The rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the tracks beneath them was deafening, masking their footsteps."Don't look at them," Olivia whispered, gripping Jack's arm.But Jack looked. He had to.Inside the cages were the discards of Valerius's ambition. Men and women with limbs twisted into impossible shapes, skin grafted with metal plates, eyes glowing with the dull, sickly green of unstable runic energy. Most were unconscious, drugged into oblivion. But some stared back with hollow, pleading eyes."We can't save them," Marcus said, his voice tight. "Not now. We have to secure the engine.""We'll come back," Jack promised, his voice low and dangerous. "

The ventilation shaft overlooking the sub-basement of the Sterling Tower ruins was a corridor of rusted metal and stale air. Jack Sterling crouched in the darkness, his new obsidian arm humming with a low, menacing vibration that only he could feel. It was a sensation of raw potential, a coiled spring waiting to be released."Target confirmed," Marcus whispered through the comms. The big man was positioned on the opposite side of the massive excavation chamber, hidden in the skeletal remains of the parking garage. "Valerius's lab. Sector 4. They're processing the samples now."Jack peered through the grate. The scene below was a high-tech nightmare. The cavernous basement, once the foundation of his empire, had been transformed into a field laboratory. Prefabricated clean rooms glowed with harsh white light amidst the rubble. Men in yellow hazmat suits moved with ant-like efficiency, transporting canisters of glowing green fluid—the "God-Soldier" serum.But the

The underground didn't just smell of sewage; it smelled of despair. It was a thick, humid cocktail of unwashed bodies, stagnant water, and the copper tang of fear that seemed to sweat from the very walls of the subway tunnels.Jack Sterling sat on a throne made of stacked ammunition crates and a torn leather car seat scavenged from a wreck. He wasn't wearing an Italian suit anymore. He was clad in scavenged tactical gear, mismatched and stained with oil, his obsidian right arm exposed, the black runes pulsing with a low, menacing violet light in the gloom."We have twelve hours of oxygen left," Olivia’s voice cut through the murmurs of the refugees. She stood by a makeshift table—a door propped up on cinder blocks—covered in tablets and hand-drawn maps. She looked exhausted. Her expensive blouse was tied at the waist, sleeves rolled up, her face smudged with grease. But her eyes were sharp, calculating. "Valerius sealed the main intake vents on 5th and 8th. The CO2 levels are rising i