Chapter 77 - The Avalanche Protocol
The shrill frequency was not an acoustic weapon. It was an emergency override broadcast tuned to the Swiss Federal Avalanche Warning Network.
Four miles above their heads, on the sheer precipice of the Kandersteg Glacier, three automated seismic detonation charges—placed by the Swiss civil defense corp sixty years ago to prevent catastrophic ice falls—received the false distress signal.
The bedrock beneath the rotunda groaned.
A sound like tearing metal roared through the mountain, followed by a low, gut-wrenching vibration that rattled the massive crystal chandeliers overhead. Dust and shards of ancient limestone showered down from the vaulted ceiling.
"What did you do?!" Eleanor shrieked, stumbling backward as the floor pitched beneath her heels.
"I didn't come here to negotiate, Eleanor!" Ryan shouted over the growing rumble. "I triggered the civil defense charges on the north ridge! In ninety seconds, two hundred thousand tons of glacial ice are going to bury the access tunnel, the ventilation shafts, and every single exit out of this mountain!"
The operatives panicked. The disciplined line of mercenaries broke, their eyes darting toward the shaking ceiling as football-sized chunks of rock smashed into the granite floor. One guard dropped his rifle, sprinting toward the descending blast doors of the main tunnel.
"Stand your ground!" Arthur roared, his ancient voice suddenly booming with terrifying, inhuman power. He moved with impossible speed, his hand lashing out and seizing the fleeing mercenary by the throat, snapping the man's neck with a single twist before hurling the corpse aside. "Secure the child! Kill the rest!"
"Thorne! Now!" Ryan bellowed.
Thorne didn't reach for the gun on the floor. He lunged beneath the undercarriage of the Mercedes, pulling out a military-grade smoke canister he had magnetically strapped to the axle before they entered the gate. He yanked the pin, kicking it into the center of the rotunda.
A thick, impenetrable cloud of blinding white phosphorus smoke erupted, filling the hall in seconds.
Gunfire exploded in the whiteout. Mercenaries fired blindly, their muzzle flashes illuminating the swirling smoke like strobe lights. Bullets ricocheted off the armored Mercedes and sparked against the stone pillars.
"Claire! Inside, lock the doors!" Ryan yelled, sprinting through the chaos.
He didn't make it two steps before a hand like a hydraulic steel clamp clamped onto his shoulder, spinning him around with ferocious momentum.
It was Arthur.
Through the billowing smoke, the Firstborn’s dead eyes locked onto Ryan. Without a word, Arthur drove a fist into Ryan’s ribs. The impact cracked bone, sending Ryan crashing into the base of a marble pillar, the breath exploding from his lungs in a spray of crimson.
"You are an insect," Arthur whispered, stepping over the debris, his movements fluid and unnervingly fast. He reached down, his fingers wrapping around Ryan’s throat, lifting him off the floor with one arm. "Your father was a coward who hid behind lawyers. You are a fool who hides behind a woman."
Ryan choked, clawing at Arthur’s wrist. The man’s skin was ice-cold, his pulse unnaturally slow, beating perhaps once every four seconds. The genetic modification was real—the man was a living biological weapon.
"Maybe..." Ryan wheezed, blood dripping down his chin, his vision blackening around the edges. "...but my father... knew how to poison a well."
Ryan’s left hand shot upward, not toward Arthur’s face, but toward the antique iron key still clutched in his grip. He slammed the sharp, serrated tip of Key 00 directly into the side of Arthur’s neck, severing the carotid sheath and driving the hollow stem deep into the flesh.
Arthur didn't scream. He gasped, his black eyes widening in shock as the secondary chemical compound Thorne had loaded into the hollow key—a synthetic concentrated neuro-inhibitor developed during the fall of Julian’s floating lab—flushed directly into his bloodstream.
The Firstborn’s grip faltered. His knees buckled, his veins turning black against his pale skin as the paralytic hit his nervous system.
"Arthur!" Eleanor’s voice shrieked through the smoke. "Arthur, get up!"
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Ryan dropped to the floor, coughing up blood, clutching his broken ribs. Above them, the ceiling gave way with a deafening crack, and the first wave of the avalanche slammed into the mountain fortress.
***
