The night air in Serbia was cold, biting against Jack's skin. He had traded his usual clothes for thick, woolen coats and boots, blending with the locals. His collar was pulled up, a cap drawn low to hide his face. The coordinates burned in his pocket as he moved through the narrow streets, past wooden houses and dimly lit shops.
He followed the directions until the road opened into a wide square. At the far end, looming like a fortress, stood a grand building — massive stone walls, iron gates, towers lit by floodlights. It was no simple house. It looked like the palace of a king.
Jack's eyes locked on it. The Zlatan estate.
"Excuse me," he asked a shopkeeper quietly. "The Zlatan family...?"
The man froze for a moment, fear flashing across his eyes. Then, silently, he raised a shaking hand and pointed to the palace at the end of the road.
Jack's chest tightened. He adjusted his coat and stepped forward.
High above, cameras rotated.
Inside a guard post, a man's headset crackled.
"External entry detected. Unknown target. Lock him in."
Red dots blinked across monitors.
Jack walked calmly down the long stretch of road toward the palace. His boots crunched on the gravel. But after a few steps, the hairs on his neck rose. His muscles tensed.
He could feel them.
Footsteps. Dozens. The air vibrated faintly as if the earth itself warned him. His heightened senses told him the truth: he was being followed.
More footsteps joined. Left. Right. Behind.
Jack didn't look back. He kept walking, his jaw set. But when the road narrowed between two walls, the trap snapped shut.
Dozens of men emerged from the shadows — guards in black coats, armed with rifles. More spilled in from the front, cutting off his path.
The street filled with the sound of safeties clicking.
He was surrounded.
Jack's chest rose and fell slowly. His heart thundered, but his face stayed calm.
Then, without warning—
Bang!
A rifle cracked. The bullet screamed toward him.
Jack moved. Faster than any normal man could. His body twisted, the shot tearing past his shoulder. He dashed forward, slammed his elbow into one guard's jaw — bone crunched, the man collapsed.
Another swung a rifle at him. Jack grabbed the barrel, wrenched it free, and smashed the butt into the man's chest, sending him flying against the wall.
The others fired wildly. Jack ducked low, his body moving in a blur, his reflexes almost supernatural. Bullets shattered the wall behind him as he rolled forward, grabbing a loose steel pipe from the ground.
With a roar, he swung. The pipe smashed into one guard's legs — he screamed and crumpled. Another lunged with a knife — Jack twisted, slammed him face-first into the dirt.
The fight was chaos. Guards came from every side, but Jack was everywhere at once — dodging, weaving, striking with fists, elbows, knees. He didn't kill, but every hit landed like thunder, leaving men broken and gasping.
One tried to shoot point-blank. Jack's hand shot up, slapping the barrel aside. The blast lit the night. Jack's fist slammed into his stomach, folding him in half.
He ripped a wooden board from a cart and swung it wide, knocking three men down at once. His movements were raw, animal, unstoppable.
For a moment, the guards hesitated. Fear spread in their eyes.
Then—
BZZZZZT!
A crackling blast ripped the air. Jack's body convulsed, pain exploding through his chest.
He fell to his knees, the steel pipe clattering from his hands. His muscles locked, twitching. The stench of ozone filled the air.
A tall figure stepped from the line — the senior guard, holding a long shock gun. Its blue coils still hissed with electricity. He aimed it at Jack's back and fired again.
Jack screamed, collapsing onto the cold ground. His vision blurred, his breath ragged. He tried to rise, but another wave of electricity burned through him, flattening him against the dirt.
Chains clattered.
Two guards rushed forward, wrapping heavy iron around his wrists and ankles, pulling them tight until the metal bit into his skin.
Jack's chest heaved. His eyes burned with fury, but his body refused to move.
The senior guard loomed over him, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
"Take him to the palace."
Jack was dragged across the gravel, the chains rattling with each step. The towering gates of Zlatan's fortress opened slowly before him. The palace swallowed him whole, and the doors slammed shut with a thunderous boom.
The hall was colossal, its marble floor glowing faintly beneath the cold shimmer of chandeliers. Shadows clung to the corners, thick and heavy. In the center, Jack knelt in chains, his head bowed but his eyes burning with defiance.
The silence broke.
Thud.
Thud.
The massive doors at the far end swung open.
Victor Zlatan entered.
He didn't need an announcement. His presence alone shifted the air. A towering figure, broad and iron-built, his face carved with years of power and war. At sixty , he moved with the weight of a man who had ruled through blood — calm, deliberate, unstoppable.
Every step echoed like a hammer striking stone. Guards lowered their eyes. No one dared breathe too loudly.
Victor's aura was suffocating. He was not just a man — he was the head of the Zlatan family, the shadow that had loomed over nations for decades.
He reached the throne at the end of the hall and lowered himself into it. Slowly. Like a king who owned time itself. His eyes fixed on Jack, sharp as blades, unreadable.
For a moment, the silence roared louder than any words.
Then, finally, Victor spoke. His voice was deep, controlled, heavy with authority.
"What do you want?"
Jack lifted his head, chains rattling. His voice didn't tremble.
"Something stolen. Forty Five years ago."
Victor's eyes narrowed faintly. No flicker of recognition.
Jack's lips parted. A single word cut the silence.
"Zytheron."
The effect was instant. Victor's expression hardened, his gaze sharpening as the name stirred ghosts buried deep. For the first time, a shadow of unease crossed his face.
But he said nothing.
He only raised one hand, and the order was clear.
"Release him."
The chains crashed to the floor. Jack stood slowly, rubbing his wrists, but his eyes never left Victor.
Victor rose from the throne. Without a word, he turned and walked. Jack followed, the guards keeping distance but watching closely.
The two men moved through the corridors of the palace — halls lined with relics of war, faded banners, shattered blades. Until at last they entered a chamber heavy with dust, its walls covered in old paintings, its shelves stacked with relics.
Victor stopped before a shelf. From it, he pulled a worn photograph. He held it in silence, his eyes lingering on the faces frozen in time. Then he handed it to Jack.
The picture showed eleven scientists, standing shoulder to shoulder, white coats gleaming, their eyes filled with the fire of ambition.
Victor's finger pressed against one face.
"Valtrix Zlatan." His voice was cold, final. "My blood. He gave us the path to Zytheron. T was the time our village covered by drought and starvation. No food, no water we suffered a lot. He said it was salvation. If we have Zytheron all the problem will solve and we can save our people. And Darian... my brother... he takes it from lab...."
Victor's jaw clenched. His next words were a low growl.
"But he made a mistake."
He turned, his eyes like stone.
"Love."
The word lingered in the chamber like a curse.
Victor's silence after said more than any speech could. The weight of history, betrayal, and blood hung in the room.
And in that silence, Jack understood — Zytheron was never just an artifact. It was a wound that had never healed.
Victor stood in the dust-choked chamber, his massive frame half-hidden by the shadows. He stared at the old photograph of the eleven scientists for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice a low rumble, like distant thunder.
"Zytheron was found forty-nine years ago," he began. "From that day, our eyes never left it. For years, the scientists worked in secret... until they discovered how to use it properly. That was the moment my brother entered their world."
Victor's jaw clenched. His gaze turned distant.
"But Darian did not go there only for Zytheron."
Jack narrowed his eyes, listening.
"He went there... for a girl. Her name was Martha."
The name cut through Jack like a blade. His breath caught. His eyes widened.
Victor didn't notice. He continued, his tone flat, heavy with disdain.
"A mistake. The greatest mistake he ever made. They were in love — secretly. But Martha was no ordinary woman. She was ambitious... dangerous. She spoke of changing humanity forever. Evolution, she called it. But her first plan failed. She turned to Zytheron."
Victor's voice darkened.
"She promised Darian that with Zytheron she could create a serum. A loophole the scientists themselves could not see. Darian believed her. And so... he betrayed us. He stole Zytheron from the lab."
Victor looked down at the photograph again, his fingers tightening on its edges.
"We thought he gave it to us, to our blood. That he would honor the family. But no. He chose her. Over his blood. Over his people. With Zytheron, they vanished."
He exhaled slowly, a faint tremor in his voice.
"For a year, they hide. Researching, trying, failing. She could not complete the serum. And then... Martha became pregnant."
Jack's heart pounded in his chest. He stayed silent, but his fists were clenched.
Victor's eyes burned with old fury.
"While they played at love and dreams, our people starved. Our father... he would not allow it. He swore Zytheron must be found, no matter the cost. Even if it meant killing his own son."
The chamber seemed to grow colder.
"It was night when our guards found them. A small house at the edge of the city. Inside... Darian and Martha. She was heavy with child. Darian fought like a demon. He was always strong... skilled. A bloodbath followed. Our guards fell one after another."
Victor's hand tightened into a fist, veins bulging.
"I remember the screams. The clash of steel. And then... Father arrived."
He paused. His next words came like iron.
"He killed Darian with his own hands."
The silence was suffocating.
"But in his last moments, my brother saved her. Martha escaped. Father seized Zytheron. That night, our family regained its power. Our people lived again."
Victor's gaze darkened further, his voice growing harsh.
"But it was also the night we lost Valtrix. He died there, in the chaos. Only Father returned alive, Zytheron in his hands. And later... he sold it. To men who dressed always in white coats, white suits. I do not know who they truly were. Only that Father struck a bargain that has haunted us since."
Victor turned slowly toward Jack, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"Father is gone now. My brother taken by him. And I remain."
The chamber went still. Dust drifted in the pale light.
Jack swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he said softly:
"Can I... see Darian's face?"
Victor said nothing. He stepped to a drawer, pulled out an old family photograph, and handed it to Jack.
Jack stared at it. His hands trembled. His breath caught in his throat.
Slowly, the word fell from his lips, soft, broken, disbelieving.
"...Grandpa!!!!!!!"
Victor froze. His head snapped toward Jack, eyes wide with shock.
"What?"
The silence was deafening. Two men, divided by blood and fate, staring into the abyss of a truth neither expected.
Chapter Sixteen – Blood of the Zlatans
The chamber was silent. Jack's voice had already shaken the air.
"...Grandpa."
Victor's face froze, disbelief carved into his features. The old photograph trembled in Jack's hands.
Jack's voice broke again, his eyes locked on Victor.
"Martha... is my grandmother."
Victor's eyes widened. His breath caught.
Jack reached into his pocket, pulling out a worn leather wallet. With shaking hands, he opened it and revealed a faded photo — a young woman, Martha, smiling gently, standing beside a boy.
Victor leaned forward. His hands shook as he took the photo, staring at the face that had haunted him for decades. His lips parted, but no words came.
His gaze rose to Jack. Slowly, Victor reached forward, gripping Jack's hands tightly. His voice cracked for the first time, heavy with shock and awe.
"Zlatan blood..."
Jack swallowed hard. His hand moved again, he showed green ring— worn, but shining with memory.
"This... she gave me. My grandmother's ring."
Victor's eyes widened, his entire body stiffening. He stared at the ring as though it burned his soul. The truth hit him like thunder.
Jack's voice steadied as he explained, his words tumbling out in waves.
"My family... my mother... she was also Zlatan blood. I never knew the full truth until now. I thought I was just chasing answers, but everything was connected."
He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing.
"The men in white... they're not finished. Now they're behind the Red Zytheron. I think they're planning something. Something big."
Victor's breath grew heavier, his chest rising and falling.
Then Jack's voice softened, almost broken.
"And Luis... he told me about Martha. About how she betrayed him. About their love... and how she left him. She was selfish. She used everyone. Even Darian. Even Luis."
The weight of the words hung heavy. Victor's jaw tightened. His eyes closed, as if the past itself was stabbing him. When he opened them again, his gaze was sharp, burning with resolve.
"Then only Martha knew the truth," he said slowly. "And she is gone. Dead. Unless..." He paused, his face grim. "Unless she could be reborn. But that cannot happen."
Jack nodded. He understood.
Victor stepped back, his massive frame looming, his voice hardening with command.
"Then the mission is clear. If Zytheron is truly dangerous, we cannot let it fall to those men in white. Not again. We must find it before they do."
He placed a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder, his eyes locked onto him.
"You are Zlatan blood. My blood. From this moment, you are not alone. We are with you... dear son."
The chamber seemed to tremble at the words. For the first time, Jack felt the weight of legacy on his shoulders — not just as a seeker, but as a Zlatan.
And in that silence, a new fire was lit.
The mission had begun.