Chapter 17 - The Ascent of the Damned
The stairs to the helipad were slick with ice and hydraulic fluid,
each step a gamble with gravity and death.
The wind at the top of the Glass Tower was a physical force,
screaming at eighty miles an hour,
carrying the scent of the city's smog and the bitter taste of salt.
I emerged onto the roof just as the helicopter's rotors began to blur,
chopping the air into a rhythmic thud that vibrated in my teeth.
Viktor was there,
his white hair whipped into a frenzy,
looking like a ghost caught in a storm.
He was dragging a heavy metal case,
likely filled with the Council's emergency funds and encrypted keys.
"There’s no escape,
Viktor!"
I yelled,
my voice barely audible over the roar of the engines.
He turned,
his face twisted into a snarl of pure,
unadulterated hatred.
He didn't use his gun;
it had likely jammed in the gas-filled room.
He pulled a long,
serrated combat knife from his boot,
the steel gleaming under the helicopter's landing lights.
"I killed your father,
Calder!"
he screamed,
moving toward me with a speed that defied his age.
"He was weak,"
"he wanted to retire,"
"he wanted to turn the Moretti family into a charity!"
"I did the world a favor when I put that bullet in his brain!"
The revelation hit me like a physical blow,
colder than the wind,
sharper than any blade.
I had suspected,
but hearing the words from his own lips changed the chemistry of my blood.
The last shred of my humanity,
the part of me that wanted to be the man Emma thought I was,
died in that moment.
I didn't feel anger.
I felt nothing but a cold,
mechanical drive to erase him.
He lunged,
the knife swiping through the air inches from my throat.
I parried his arm,
the force of the collision sending a jolt of pain through my shoulder.
We danced on the edge of the roof,
two predators fighting for the scrap of a dying empire.
I punched him in the ribs,
feeling the bone snap under my knuckles,
but he didn't flinch.
He was fueled by a madness I couldn't comprehend,
the desperation of a man who knew he had nowhere left to run.
He slashed my arm,
the hot blood soaking through my sleeve and instantly turning cold in the wind.
I grabbed his wrist,
twisting it with every ounce of strength I had left,
until the knife clattered onto the concrete.
We fell together,
rolling toward the edge of the helipad,
where there was no railing,
only the long,
dark drop to the streets of Manhattan.
The helicopter began to lift,
the pilot realizing that the situation was lost.
The downdraft from the rotors pinned us to the ground,
dust and grit stinging our eyes.
Viktor clawed at my face,
his fingers digging into my skin like talons.
"If I go down,"
"you’re coming with me!"
he hissed.
He kicked out,
trying to sweep my legs,
but I planted my weight and drove my knee into his chest.
I stood over him,
gasped for air,
my vision blurring as the adrenaline began to fade.
I looked down at the man who had been my mentor,
my father's killer,
and the architect of my misery.
I didn't kill him then.
I watched as the helicopter,
buffeted by the wind and the instability of the pilot,
clipped the edge of the building's cooling tower.
The explosion was a beautiful,
terrible orange blossom in the night.
The debris rained down,
and the main fuselage of the chopper tilted,
sliding across the roof toward us.
Viktor tried to scramble away,
but his broken ribs betrayed him.
The heavy metal case he had been protecting was caught by the spinning tail rotor,
shattering and sending millions of dollars into the wind like confetti.
The money swirled around us,
a storm of useless paper.
"Look at your kingdom,
Viktor,"
I said,
stepping back as the wreckage of the helicopter began to slide over the edge.
He reached out for me,
his eyes wide with a sudden,
childish fear.
But I didn't reach back.
May you like
I watched as the weight of the metal pulled him over the side,
silence finally returning to the roof as he vanished into the dark.
