Chapter 08

Chapter 08

Ambush on the Meridian Floor

The Meridian Tower pierced the Accra skyline like a blade of blue glass, each floor alive with the hum of the city’s elite. From private boardrooms to encrypted network hubs, the tower held secrets that could tilt the balance of power between nations—and spirit gangs.

Tonight, Judah Jacob Mensah stood on the forty-second floor, in the penthouse lounge of mining magnate Kwaku Ansong, whose son -Tyrone- they had been assigned to protect. The room was dripping with wealth: marble floors, suspended gardens and holographic displays. It smelled of imported sandalwood and cold air-conditioning.

Judah’s red lion half-mask sat snugly on his face, the Dralio’s presence a steady simmer beneath his skin.

By some stroke of luck, they had been able to counter the ambush setup by the midnight crows in the main hall without a huge outburst of Dario’s power.

And yet… something felt off.

The Dralio whispered inside him, a vibration in his bones.

Watch the shadows.

Judah breathed out slowly. Ever since the bond, the Dralio had spoken rarely this way, usually in instinct rather than loud words. When the spirit warned him, it meant danger was close enough to taste.

Across the room, Chief Bodyguard Sarpong, a senior Red Sun officer with a black hawk mask, noticed Judah stiffen.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Sarpong murmured, stepping beside him.

Judah didn’t answer.

Sarpong smirked, voice low. “Your spirit is loud. Mine told me nothing yet—you’re hypersensitive because your power is still new.”

Judah kept his eyes on the windows that framed the night sky. “Something’s wrong.”

Sarpong shrugged. “Something is always wrong in this tower. That’s why they pay us.”

Judah wanted to argue, but the elevator chimed softly—too softly.

The lights flickered.
Then dimmed.

The Dralio roared inside him.

Now.

The elevator doors slid open.

But no one came out.

No one visible.

Sarpong frowned. “Hold position.”

Judah stepped forward instinctively.

The air changed. Thickened.
A ripple of cold swept across the room.

Then the first mask appeared—materializing as though peeled out of the shadows.

A midnight-blue half-mask shaped like a serpent.

Judah’s blood ran cold.

The Veiled Fangs.

Before Sarpong could shout a warning, three figures burst out of the elevator—moving with unnatural speed, their blades whispering in arcs of black steel.

Chaos exploded.

Judah shoved a junior guard aside just as a serpent-masked assassin blurred toward them. Judah hit the floor and rolled, barely avoiding the flick of a venom-tipped dagger.

Sarpong barked orders.
“Protect the client! Hold formation!”

But the formation shattered immediately—these assassins weren’t foot soldiers. They were spirit-bound elites.

Tyrone panicked, scrambling behind a bulletproof glass divider.

Two Red Sun guards intercepted the nearest Veiled Fang enforcer. Their lion and boar masks glimmered, but the serpent-masked assassin moved like smoke. One Red Sun guard fell with a silent slash across his throat.

Judah felt the world slow.

His heartbeat became thunder.

The Dralio surged.

Stand.

Judah rose.

The serpent-masked attacker lunged. Judah pivoted, letting instinct—not training—guide him. His fist connected with the assassin’s ribs, a fiery shockwave rippling from Judah’s knuckles.

The assassin flew backward, crashing into a marble coffee table that shattered under the force.

Sarpong stared.

Judah barely noticed. Another Veiled Fang was streaking toward the client, twin blades glowing with a sickly blue sheen.

Judah sprinted.

The assassin reached the divider just as Judah slammed into him, both of them smashing through a floating holographic gold map.

The Veiled Fang landed gracefully, spinning low, kicking Judah’s legs out. Judah fell, rolled, and a blade grazed his mask—sparking red magic.

The assassin hissed. “Dralio-bonded… the rumors are true.”

Judah froze.

“You shouldn’t exist,” the assassin whispered.

Then came the killing thrust.

Judah’s vision flared gold. His hand shot up, grabbing the attacker’s wrist with inhuman strength. Heat burned under his skin—he could feel the Dralio coiled behind his eyes.

“No,” Judah growled, voice layered with the spirit’s echo.
“You shouldn’t be here.”

He twisted. Bones cracked. The assassin screamed.

Judah kicked him across the room.

Another assassin vaulted over the balcony railings from the upper floor—further reinforcements. The Red Sun guards were being overwhelmed. Sarpong fought fiercely, his dragon aura slashing in sharp arcs of air, but three attackers surrounded him.

Judah scrambled to his feet.

The Dralio bellowed inside him—
Protect. Now.

Judah dashed toward Sarpong faster than he ever moved before. One assassin slashed down at Sarpong unguarded side—

Judah intercepted the blade with his forearm.

Pain seared through him, but the Dralio’s energy hardened his skin, golden sparks scattering like embers.

Sarpong spun, astonished. “Mensah—?!”

Judah didn’t respond. He reached inward, letting the Dralio’s fire pulse through his muscles.

Then he roared.

Not a human roar—
A lion’s roar layered with the thunder of a dragon.

The sound shook the entire floor.

Glass cracked.
Lights burst.
The air vibrated.

Every Veiled Fang assassin staggered, clutching their masks as the force disrupted their spirit link.

Judah charged.

He moved with ferocity he didn’t know he possessed—striking, shoving, breaking, overwhelming.

Sarpong regained his footing, cutting down another attacker. The guards regrouped and pushed back.

Within seconds, the assassins realized they’d lost the advantage.

“Retreat!” hissed the serpent leader, voice sharp with frustration.

The three remaining Veiled Fangs sprinted toward the shattered elevator. One tapped the control panel with a bloodied hand; the elevator flashed purple, a spirit-coded escape technique.

Before they vanished, the leader pointed at Judah.

“The dynasty you serve will fall,” he spat. “And the Dralio-bearer with it.”

The doors closed.

Silence.

Only the hum of damaged electronics remained.

Judah doubled over, breathing hard. The Dralio’s energy receded slowly, leaving his limbs trembling.

Sarpong approached, mask cracked along one edge.

He stared at Judah for a long time.
Disbelief. Awe. And something darker—envy.

“Your spirit…” Sarpong whispered. “It shouldn’t be this strong yet.”

Judah swallowed.

“I didn’t mean to—”

Sarpong cut him off. “You saved us. All of us.” He glanced around at the bodies, the destruction. “But this ambush means something. The Veiled Fangs don’t move without reason.”

Judah looked toward the window, where the city lights blinked like stars.

“What reason would they have to come after Tyrone Ansong?”

Sarpong exhaled heavily.

“They weren’t after him.”
He turned slowly to Judah.

“They were after you.”

Judah’s blood went cold.

The Dralio rumbled in agreement.

And far below, on the street level of the Meridian Tower, a single serpent-masked observer watched the shattered windows of the forty-second floor—then melted back into the shadows.