It began in silence.
The kind that settles before a massacre—the still, suffocating quiet that presses against the skin, prickling with the instinct to run. High in the Corsican hills, Morgana Devereux's villa loomed like a carved marble crown, ancient in style but humming with unnatural life beneath its foundations. White stone walls masked something colder—something monstrous. Beneath her feet, beneath the marble and silk, a machine brain dreamed in code and algorithms. Data churned. Firewalls bristled. The countdown to her next system-wide update ticked toward zero.
An update that would shift global control of identity, access, and ownership. One flicker of a keystroke, and the world would belong to her. Not through violence—but through logic, precision, and silence.
But Morgana hadn't counted on Evelyn Nada.
Hidden beneath a thick canopy of pine and brush, a matte-black car sat buried in shadow.
Inside, Evelyn sat behind the wheel, still as stone. Her eyes were razor-sharp. Her jaw locked with the tension of a woman who'd seen too much and refused to flinch. In the passenger seat, Marcus leaned over a humming laptop. Green code streamed like rainfall down the screen.
"We're in," he muttered, his fingers trembling slightly as sweat gathered beneath his collar. "Payload's been injected."
Evelyn didn't move. "Detection window?"
"Minimal. But she'll know. Doesn't matter. Once it launches, the whole thing'll choke on its own backbone. Corrupted from root to seed."
Evelyn's lips barely parted. "Who's running the seed?"
Marcus paused.
"You won't believe it," he said quietly. "It's him."
She turned. Just slightly. "HeartEater?"
Marcus nodded, swallowing hard. "He's already inside."
Morgana's sanctum breathed like a beast in sleep—glowing monitors embedded in crystal walls flickered beneath the light of ancient chandeliers. The air smelled of old incense, ozone, and something deeper. Something iron.
She stood barefoot on cool marble, robed in pale gauze that shimmered with every step. In her hand, a chalice of dark wine. On her forearm, a scratch—no more than a graze—leaked a slow, lazy line of blood.
She didn't notice the tremor in the network at first. The villa's walls seemed to sigh, a pulse running through the circuits like a whisper. Then the lights dipped.
And the doors exploded.
A thunderclap. Wood and metal shattered.
He entered like death made flesh.
Ash-gray cloak whipping behind him. Ember-orange lenses burning through rising dust. His boots slammed against the floor with weight and certainty. In each hand—sickles, curved and cruel.
HeartEater didn't speak.
Morgana turned, the corners of her lips curling upward.
"So. You're real."
He charged.
No hesitation. No words. Only motion. His sickles carved the air with deadly elegance. She twisted, robe fluttering like vapor, each blade passing just inches from her flesh.
She laughed—a bright, mocking sound.
"You never miss," she said, stepping back toward a glass panel that shimmered with data. "Is that precious serum of yours finally degrading?"
From beneath her robe, she drew a silver pistol—sleek, handcrafted, glowing faintly with heat. She pressed it to his forehead.
"Goodbye, relic."
Then—
> SYSTEM OVERRIDE UPDATE FAILED NETWORK CORRUPTED SEED SOURCE: DELETED
The screens behind her glitched violently—red and black interference spiraling like a digital scream. The villa groaned.
Morgana froze.
"What—?"
HeartEater moved.
Faster than pain.
He seized the gun. His fingers crushed the barrel like tinfoil. The snap of her wrist echoed as he twisted.
Then—he struck. Once. Fist to jaw. Bone cracked like dry wood.
She staggered.
He swept her legs.
Her body slammed to the ground. Her skull bounced off the marble.
Dazed. Bleeding. She stared up—into the face of a mask.
Into eyes that burned with unnatural fire.
Her lips moved. A whisper.
"Wait… please… I—I can—"
The blade kissed her throat.
Evelyn and Marcus entered through broken glass and carnage.
Guards littered the hallways—some disarmed, others mangled beyond recognition. The scent of blood was thick and iron-rich, almost chemical.
Marcus gagged. Evelyn didn't flinch.
She walked faster.
She could feel him.
Morgana was no longer the queen of her domain.
She was on her back, trembling, the gauze soaked with crimson. Her hand reached for him, pathetic and shaking.
"You don't have to..."
He knelt beside her. Slowly. Without anger.
A hand slid beneath her ribs.
Her eyes went wide.
Her scream never fully escaped—his palm clamped over her mouth.
Then came the sound—flesh tearing, ribs cracking, cartilage giving way. Her body arched as he reached into her chest.
Found her heart.
Still beating.
He lifted it.
Her eyes rolled, her breath came in short, wet gasps.
And then he pulled back the lower half of his mask.
Scarred. Lipless. Flesh torn and ruined by time and resurrection.
Morgana saw it.
Her soul recoiled.
He bit into the heart.
Her body spasmed.
Then—nothing.
---
Evelyn burst in, gun drawn.
Marcus skidded in behind her.
They stopped.
The chamber was a canvas of carnage.
HeartEater stood motionless over Morgana's corpse. Blood covered the marble. Her chest was a hollow ruin.
He slowly replaced the mask. Sealed it.
Silent once more.
Evelyn's gun trembled.
He walked toward them. Not rushed. Not slow.
As he passed Evelyn, he paused. His voice was low.
"Let her burn."
Then he was gone.
Out through the wreckage. Into the night.
Hours later.
Ambulances lined the drive. Agents moved like shadows, whispering over broken tech and fallen guards.
Body bags lay across the grand hall. Blood marked the floors like calligraphy.
Evelyn sat on the stone steps. Her gloves were stained with dried gore. Her eyes stared at nothing.
Marcus lit a cigarette beside her. Offered it without a word. She didn't take it.
Her voice broke the silence.
"That wasn't justice."
Marcus exhaled.
"No," he said quietly. "That was consequence."
Lucien's Penthouse — Midnight
Rain whispered against the glass.
Lucien Vale stood in shadow, the soft glow of monitors painting him in fractured light. Screens played the aftermath—flashes of the villa, Morgana's lifeless form, Evelyn's pale face.
He sipped bourbon from a crystal tumbler. Then placed it gently on a glass tray.
One hand touched a charred dossier. Her name—Devereux—etched in silver.
"She always had to be the brightest star."
He placed a new name on the growing hit list. Red ink crossed out face after face. Former allies. Sins incarnate.
"I warned her. Corpses don't forget. They wait. And he... he's the worst of them."
His eyes flicked to a screen—HeartEater's image locked in static. Masked. Still. Watching.
Lucien smiled coldly.
"She said monsters only win if we let them in."
He raised the glass.
"Well, he's inside now."
He drank.
The walls flickered with static. Faces burned out one by one.
Lucien walked to the window. A red fingerprint smeared across the pane.
"They built the house wrong. Left the doors open."
Behind him, Morgana's body froze on-screen.
"She thought she was queen."
He returned to the desk.
Crossed her name out with a dragging stroke.
"But queens bleed like anyone else."
Only one name remained.
HeartEater.
Lucien leaned closer to the flickering image.
His own reflection stared back from the screen—half-lit, half-lost in static.
"We'll be waiting for you," he said.
The monitors buzzed.
One by one, they blinked out.
All but one.
A single window pulsed, slow and steady.
It showed a date.
December 19, 1944.
Antarctica.
A heartbeat echoed beneath the silence.
The screen deepened faded into black
and opened into memory.