Too Late to Regret: The Billionaire’s Unwanted Ex のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

The "Siege of Manhattan" did not begin with a bang, but with a terrifying, rhythmic hum. Thousands of Anonymous drones, previously invisible, now hung over the city like a shroud of black locusts. They didn't fire; they simply occupied, their anti-gravity engines vibrating at a frequency that made glass shatter and hearts skip."The 'Iron Umbrella' is at 40% power," Marcus shouted over the roar of the Spire’s defensive turbines. "Lucian, the drones are tethering! They’re creating a localized vacuum around the building. They’re literally trying to suffocate the Spire out of the sky."The Iron Umbrella: Lucian’s FrontLucian stood on the observation deck, wind whipping his hair, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The drones weren't just machines; they were a coordinated hive mind. Every time his security teams fired a kinetic round, the swarm shifted in perfect, liquid unison."They're anticipating the trajectory before we even pull the trigger," Lucian muttered into his comms. "Elara, we’r

The Thorne Interceptor screamed across the Hudson, its hull battered from the New Jersey skirmish. Inside, the medical bay was a frantic theater of blue and violet light. Elara worked on Isabella, whose neural pathways were still smoking from the "Empathy Virus" backlash."She’s stabilized, but the Mandate left a 'Backdoor' in her mind," Elara reported, her voice tight as she checked the scanners. "Lucian, the Anonymous didn't just retreat. They’ve moved the Sovereign Mandate into the Aqueduct Protocol.""The water filtration system," Lucian’s voice crackled through the comms from the Spire. "If they release a bio-chemical overwrite into the city's reservoirs, they won't need drones to control the population. They’ll do it from the inside out.""We need the Primal Strain," Elara said, looking at a map of the riverbed. "My father didn't just create the Anchor. He created the 'Origin Serum'—the blueprint for all Vance chemistry. It’s stored in the Aethelgard Sub-Station, three hundred f

The Central Park Reservoir, once a placid mirror for the Manhattan skyline, was now a churning cauldron of black water and bioluminescent rot. The Aqueduct Protocol was in its final stage. Massive, spider-like pylons had risen from the depths, humming with the frequency of the Sovereign Mandate.Leo descended from the sky, not as a boy, but as a pillar of blinding white light. The rain vaporized before it could touch him. Below, the "Anonymous" drones had formed a protective dome over the water, their sensors locked onto the new, impossible energy signature.The Mirror of the MachineStanding atop the central pylon was Aris Thorne. His pressure suit was gone, replaced by a sleek, obsidian exo-shell that seemed to drink the light Leo was emitting. His eyes were twin pinpricks of cold, digital blue."You are a beautiful anomaly, Leo," Aris’s voice was no longer a human rasp; it was the perfectly modulated tone of the Collective. "But the Primal Strain is a finite fuel. You are burning y

The North Sea was a violent churn of slate-gray water and freezing spray. Somewhere beneath the crashing waves, the base of the Aethel-7 Rig groaned—a decommissioned relic of the Thorne Energy era that had officially been declared a "marine hazard" five years ago."Thirty seconds to the drop-zone, kid. Try not to puke on the upholstery; this stealth-skiff cost more than your tuition," Isabella said, her voice crackling through Leo’s earpiece.She looked different. Her eyes, once sharp and calculating, now possessed a permanent, subtle shimmer—a remnant of the "Mandate" overwrite that she had weaponized rather than cured. She wore a suit of Liquid-Carbon weave that seemed to swallow the light of the skiff’s cockpit.The Neural ShroudIsabella flipped a switch, and the Neural Shroud humming in the center of the craft intensified. It didn't just hide them from radar; it projected a "perception-filter" that made any human or AI observer simply ignore their presence."How’s the compass, Le

The Aethel-7 Rig let out a sound like a dying god—a deep, metallic groan that vibrated through the soles of Leo’s boots. The self-destruct wasn't a fireball; it was a structural liquefaction. The Anonymous were using high-frequency vibrations to turn the rig’s steel supports into the consistency of wet sand."Move! Now!" Isabella shouted, grabbing a semi-conscious Meilin and throwing her over her shoulder.Leo stumbled, his head still reeling from the library of ink. "Isabella, the shadows... they’re moving."The Void-ShiftersFrom the flickering edges of the emergency lights, figures began to coalesce. They didn't walk; they drifted, their bodies composed of the same "Liquid Carbon" as Liling’s mask. These were the Void-Shifters, assassins designed to operate in the "Negative Space" Leo had once mapped."They're phase-shifted," Leo warned, his white hair pulsing with a dim, rhythmic light. "They aren't fully in our reality."One of the Shifters lunged, its arm elongating into a blade