UnBooks:Ivan the Cursed Castellan

The early morning sun filtered through the windows of Croft Manor, casting a warm glow over the ancient stone walls. Ivan walked down the corridor with Lara at his side, her familiar presence now intertwined with the soft echo of their steps. They had just returned from their wedding ceremony days before, settling into the quiet routines of the manor together. But today, the air was different, laden with anticipation.

In the grand hall, Lara turned to Ivan, her expression a mixture of excitement and regret. “Ivan,” she began, “there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve planned an expedition—across the world. I’ll be gone for some time.”

Ivan’s face tightened. He’d known Lara’s adventurous spirit couldn’t be tamed, but the thought of her venturing out into danger again filled him with unease. “You’re serious?” he asked, though he knew the answer. She nodded, a glimmer of determination in her eyes.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know to care for the manor,” she continued, leading him toward the study, where her loyal castellan stood waiting, a stoic man of many years who knew every stone, every secret of Croft Manor. Together, they guided Ivan through the roles and responsibilities of a castellan, showing him the routines, the hidden passages, the layers of history embedded in every corner. It was a demanding position, but Ivan took to it, learning quickly.

As they finished, Ivan turned to Lara, his concern evident. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Lara. I don’t want to lose you again.”

A soft smile touched her lips as she looked at him. “Don’t worry. I’ve made it this far.” Her voice was light, but her eyes softened as she reached out, touching his arm. “And besides, I always come back.”

Hours later, they stood in the driveway, a polished black Mercedes 220Sb waiting beside them. Ivan, dressed in a dark coat, held the door open for Lara, who climbed in with her usual grace. The drive was quiet, both of them savoring these last moments together. Soon, the winding road brought them to the harbor, where her gleaming yacht waited, sails furled and ready for the long journey ahead.

They stood by the car, facing each other. Ivan reached out, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, before leaning in to kiss her, slow and gentle, as if trying to make the moment last forever. She kissed him back, then pulled away, her gaze lingering on his.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she said with a reassuring smile, her eyes dancing with the promise of adventure.

Ivan watched as she boarded the yacht, standing tall at the helm as the vessel began to pull away from the dock. He stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on her until the boat was a mere speck on the horizon. Only then did he turn back to the Mercedes, a quiet resolve settling over him.

For now, Croft Manor was his to protect—and he would guard it, keeping it ready for her return.

Chapter 1

The days at Croft Manor took on a quiet, steady rhythm after Lara’s departure, the grand estate feeling larger and somehow emptier without her presence. Ivan found himself immersed in the duties of managing the manor, a role that was both challenging and fulfilling. While he had learned the basics from Lara before she left, the manor’s sheer scale and history made it clear he’d need all the help he could get.

Fortunately, the manor’s castellan—a man of experience and deep knowledge of every corner, secret, and stone in the manor—was there to guide him. Reserved yet reliable, the castellan had been Lara’s trusted advisor and caretaker for years. He and Ivan soon struck up an easy camaraderie, spending countless hours together as Ivan learned the details of managing the estate. From inspecting the ancient library to maintaining the vast grounds and securing hidden chambers, there was always work to be done.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the manor’s technical wing, Zip continued to assist Lara from afar. Hidden away in his high-tech setup, Zip was constantly in communication with Lara, providing her with the support she needed on her expedition. Their banter and occasional jokes over the intercom added a bit of lightheartedness to the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the manor.

One afternoon, as Ivan was returning from inspecting the garage—a task he had taken to with a surprising amount of enthusiasm—his phone buzzed with a video call notification. It was Lara. He quickly accepted, her face filling the screen as she beamed at him, sunlight glinting in the background.

“Hey, Ivan!” she greeted cheerfully, her eyes bright with excitement. “How’s my castellan-in-training doing?”

Ivan chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through him just at the sight of her. “Keeping the place in one piece, I think,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at the grand expanse of Croft Manor behind him. “Though it’s no small feat without you here.”

Lara laughed softly. “I knew you could handle it. And with our castellan and Zip helping, you’re in good hands. But…” She leaned in, a playful sparkle in her eye. “I do have one favor to ask.”

“Anything,” he replied, leaning forward, eager to hear her request.

“Take care of my cars, will you?” she said, grinning. “Give them a drive once in a while. They’ll need to be ready for action when I’m back.”

Ivan’s smile widened at the thought. “It’d be my pleasure,” he said with a chuckle. “And don’t worry, I’ll treat them like the treasures they are.”

They spent a few more moments talking, her voice warm and encouraging. When the call ended, Ivan put his phone away with a renewed sense of purpose. The days ahead would be filled with responsibility, but the connection with Lara, even from afar, gave him strength.

And so, as weeks turned into months, Ivan found his place within Croft Manor. He tended to the estate with care, followed the castellan’s guidance, occasionally joined Zip in the technical room to see updates from Lara’s journey, and, of course, took Lara’s prized cars out on drives along the manor’s scenic roads. It was a life of quiet dedication, a promise kept with each passing day, as he awaited her safe return.

Chapter 2

Since Lara’s departure on her latest expedition, Ivan had adjusted to the responsibilities of Croft Manor with surprising dedication. With the guidance of the ever-patient castellan and technical support from Zip, who kept Lara updated on Ivan’s progress, Ivan’s days were a mixture of learning, troubleshooting, and, occasionally, a bit of unexpected chaos.

One afternoon, while inspecting a guest bathroom, Ivan noticed a loose tile above the sink. He stepped onto the toilet seat to get a closer look. But as he stretched out his arm to inspect the tile, his foot slipped on the smooth porcelain. In a flash, he toppled forward, his leg sliding straight into the toilet bowl. He was stuck—tight.

“Of all the things…” Ivan muttered, squirming and tugging his leg with no success. After a few minutes of struggle, he resigned himself to his predicament.

The castellan, hearing the noise, appeared in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. “Sir, do you need any assistance?”

“Oh, just a bit,” Ivan replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he continued to tug at his leg. “I seem to have underestimated the… resilience of this particular toilet.”

Suppressing a chuckle, the castellan moved closer to inspect the situation. “It appears to have quite the hold on you. Shall we try to free you the, ah, traditional way?”

They tried twisting, tugging, and even a bit of wiggling, but the porcelain held fast. The castellan finally stepped back, scratching his head. “I think, sir, that we’ll need to take a more…drastic approach.”

Ivan sighed, knowing where this was heading. The castellan returned with a circular saw. “Are you sure this is necessary?” Ivan asked, eyeing the buzzing blade warily.

“With all due respect, sir, it’s either this or waiting for the next rain to erode it naturally.”

With Ivan braced against the wall, the castellan carefully began to cut around the toilet bowl. Bits of porcelain cracked and shattered, until, at last, Ivan was freed—albeit with a significant portion of the bowl still wedged around his calf.

Just as they were catching their breath from the ordeal, Zip’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Hey, Ivan! Lara’s on the line and wants a quick video call. Says she’d like to see how things are going!”

Ivan froze. “Right now?”

“Right now!” Zip confirmed cheerfully, oblivious to Ivan’s predicament.

Seeing no way out, Ivan, the castellan, and his porcelain-encased leg limped their way to the tech room. As the screen flickered on, Lara’s face filled the screen. Her expression brightened as she saw Ivan—until her gaze drifted down to the hunk of toilet bowl still encasing his calf.

For a moment, she seemed speechless. Then, unable to contain herself, she burst into laughter, her chuckles filling the room. “Ivan, what on earth happened?”

“Let’s just say my attempt at routine maintenance didn’t go as planned,” Ivan replied, trying to keep his dignity intact.

Lara’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re keeping things lively at Croft Manor, I see. Do try to keep yourself out of the plumbing from now on!”

Ivan grinned sheepishly. “I promise, no more climbing on toilets.”

Lara shook her head, still smiling. “And please, tell the castellan I’m grateful for keeping an eye on you.” She paused, glancing back at him with a softer look. “Just… take care of yourself, alright?”

Ivan’s expression softened. “I will. And you do the same.”

After the call ended, Ivan sighed with relief. With some further effort, the castellan and Zip managed to remove the porcelain from his leg, and Ivan was finally able to put the embarrassing ordeal behind him.

The next day, Ivan decided to do something meaningful for his old friend Görgy, whose birthday was approaching. Over breakfast, Ivan casually mentioned to the castellan, “I’m thinking of getting Görgy a special gift for his birthday. Something a bit… unconventional.”

The castellan raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be, sir?”

“A T-72M1 tank. The same model he drove back in his military days.”

The castellan blinked. “A tank, sir?”

“Yes, indeed,” Ivan said, a twinkle in his eye. “Nothing says ‘happy birthday’ quite like a fully restored tank.”

A few phone calls and logistical arrangements later, Ivan secured the purchase of a meticulously restored T-72M1. The paperwork complete, he arranged for the tank to be transported to the Tank Museum in Bovington, where he and Görgy would meet.

The morning of Görgy’s birthday, Ivan took Lara’s prized Rolls-Royce Phantom Mark VI out of the garage, admiring its immaculate condition before starting the drive through the countryside. The smooth purr of the engine was a welcome contrast to the day’s excitement ahead.

Upon arrival, Görgy greeted him with a warm hug, though a quizzical look flickered in his eyes. “What’s all this about? You’re up to something, Ivan.”

“Just a little surprise,” Ivan said, grinning. “Come on. There’s something I’d like you to see.”

They walked to the museum grounds, where, parked outside under a tarp, was the T-72M1, painted in its original green and bearing the military insignia of Görgy’s unit.

“Alright, Görgy, on three,” Ivan said, hands poised on the tarp. “One… two… three!”

With a dramatic sweep, Ivan pulled off the tarp, revealing the massive machine in all its glory. Görgy stared, mouth agape, before placing a hand over his heart. “Ivan, is this…?”

Ivan grinned, clapping him on the back. “Happy birthday, old friend. It’s yours.”

Görgy’s eyes shone with gratitude as he took in the sight of the tank. “Ivan… you didn’t have to do this. It’s too much.”

“Nonsense,” Ivan replied, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve always talked about those days, and I thought it was time you had a piece of your own history back.”

Görgy laughed, climbing up into the tank’s driver’s seat, visibly moved. He ran his hand over the controls, familiarizing himself with every switch and lever. “I never thought I’d see the inside of one of these again—let alone own one.”

With a deep breath, he started the engine, and the low growl rumbled across the grounds. Ivan stood back, arms crossed, watching with satisfaction as Görgy drove the tank around the grounds, maneuvering it with the skill of someone who hadn’t forgotten a single lesson from his military days. It was a sight to see, and passersby even paused to watch the tank in action.

Later, the two old friends found a quiet spot in a nearby pub, where Görgy raised his glass to Ivan. “To friendship and to memories we never lose.”

Ivan smiled, clinking his glass with Görgy’s. “To memories worth keeping.”

As they shared stories over drinks, Görgy shared one from his service days, laughing about a particular misadventure involving a convoy gone off-course, much to Ivan’s amusement.

By the time Ivan returned to Croft Manor that evening, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. Though the past few days had been challenging, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be. And as he parked the Rolls-Royce in its designated spot, he couldn’t help but feel that, wherever Lara was, she would have approved of his adventures.

The manor stood tall and serene in the twilight, and Ivan knew that he was ready for whatever the next chapter held—plumbing accidents, tanks, and all.

Chapter 3

In the week following the toilet debacle, Ivan and the castellan found a steady, almost peaceful rhythm to life at Croft Manor. The manor had its secrets, its hidden rooms and labyrinthine corridors, but Ivan was determined to master its maintenance. Every day, he and the castellan tackled the estate’s upkeep, handling repairs and preserving the legacy of the Croft family.

One evening, as they took a break over a cup of strong black tea, the castellan surprised Ivan by sharing some of his past. Although he was a quiet, no-nonsense man, he occasionally opened up, revealing fragments of his life that Ivan found both humbling and remarkable.

“Didn’t expect this kind of life after the service,” the castellan said, a slight smile in his eyes as he looked around the grand room. “The Commandos trained me well, though. They sent me to Ireland, and then later, the Falklands.”

“Commandos, you say?” Ivan asked, intrigued. He’d long suspected the castellan’s military background but had never asked.

The castellan nodded, his face reflecting memories both bitter and proud. “It was a different life. The missions weren’t easy, but they taught me things I’d never forget. Discipline, loyalty, and a sense of duty.” He took a sip of tea, his gaze distant. “This place… It feels like another kind of duty.”

Ivan respected him deeply for his past, and the two men shared a quiet understanding as they sipped their tea, appreciating the manor’s peaceful isolation—a stark contrast to the world outside.

The following week passed with a comforting routine. Every morning, Ivan would check on the manor’s grounds, accompanied by the castellan. Occasionally, Zip would patch Lara through to update her on their progress and seek her input on various tasks around the estate. On these calls, Lara shared bits of her own journey, sending Zip images of ancient temples or rare artifacts she’d uncovered. Zip relayed updates on the condition of her cars and mentioned how diligently Ivan was caring for them, especially her prized Rolls-Royce Phantom Mark VI.

One evening, as Ivan was polishing the Phantom, Lara’s voice came through Zip’s device, jokingly reminding him, “Ivan, make sure it’s spotless. That car means as much to me as the manor itself.”

“Of course, Lara,” Ivan replied with a smile, admiring the polished silver gleam. “Nothing but the best for Croft Manor’s finest.”

The days blurred together in this quiet, ordered way, each one feeling a bit like a page in a book—a record of Ivan’s newfound life of duty and tranquility at Croft Manor.

But the peace didn’t last.

It was late one afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the manor’s grand halls. Zip was on a call with Lara, who was discussing a delicate artifact she’d just uncovered. She was describing it in detail when the doors to the manor suddenly burst open, the violent sound echoing down the corridor.

A beat of silence hung in the air. Then gunfire erupted, its harsh staccato breaking the stillness.

Lara and Zip froze. Zip looked confused, glancing at the monitor, but his expression quickly turned to alarm as more shots rang out. “Lara, is that coming from your end?”

Lara shook her head, her face pale with realization. “No… that’s coming from the manor!”

In an instant, Ivan and the castellan leaped into action. Ivan sprinted to the weapons room, where he grabbed a Colt Monitor, a rifle he hadn’t handled in years but still remembered well. The castellan, calm and focused, took down an L1A1 rifle from the wall and nodded at Ivan. This was not unfamiliar territory for either of them.

As they moved swiftly through the manor, they saw shadowy figures moving with intent down the corridors. Ivan and the castellan communicated silently, each covering the other’s movements, advancing step by step.

The manor had transformed into a battlefield.

“Two up ahead,” the castellan whispered, signaling with a quick hand gesture.

“Got it,” Ivan murmured, gripping his rifle tightly. He leaned around the corner and fired, the Colt Monitor roaring to life, sending one intruder crashing to the ground. The castellan took out the second with a precise shot from his L1A1, the echo of gunfire reverberating down the hall.

They advanced methodically, clearing each room as they went, covering one another as they had in countless training exercises. The attackers, well-armed and relentless, seemed intent on pushing further into the manor, their footsteps echoing through the marble halls.

“Stay sharp,” the castellan muttered as they reached the next corridor. “There may be more waiting for us.”

They pressed on, tension thick in the air. Ivan’s mind raced, calculating each step and recalling Lara’s presence in every corner. He couldn’t allow anyone to destroy the home she had entrusted to him.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the last attacker fell, the halls once again silent. Ivan and the castellan stood for a moment, catching their breath, scanning for any sign of movement. The manor was secure, and they had held their ground.

The two men shared a nod of respect, each understanding the other in a way only shared by those who had faced combat together.

Exhausted, bruised, and stained with blood, they made their way to the tech room, where Zip and Lara were waiting anxiously on the screen. Zip’s eyes widened as the image of Ivan and the castellan, both smeared with blood, filled his monitor. Lara looked stricken, her gaze moving over every detail of their worn faces and torn clothes.

“Are you both… all right?” she asked, her voice trembling with relief and shock.

Ivan managed a reassuring smile, though his eyes betrayed the intensity of the ordeal. “We’re all right, Lara. Just a little more excitement than we expected today.”

The castellan nodded, his expression stoic but his voice steady. “Croft Manor is secure, ma’am.”

Lara’s face softened, her eyes filled with gratitude and pride. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Zip, still processing the scene before him, gave a nod of respect. “That’s… that’s some serious dedication, gentlemen.”

The weight of the day settled over Ivan as he exchanged a final look with the castellan. Though both men had seen combat in their pasts, this was different—it was a fight for a place that had come to mean something deeper to them both. The battle had solidified their bond, a silent acknowledgment that they were now protectors of Croft Manor.

As Ivan and the castellan cleaned up and restored the weapons, they shared a sense of purpose. Ivan knew that, though he was a caretaker, he was also a defender of Lara’s legacy. And as he locked away the Colt Monitor, he knew that no matter what lay ahead, he was ready to face it, with the castellan at his side and the spirit of Croft Manor guiding him.

Chapter 4

The morning after the attack, Croft Manor stood silent, its grand hallways and rooms cast in the first light of dawn. A faint scent of gunpowder lingered in the air from the previous night’s firefight, mingling with the earthy aroma of morning rain that had settled over the grounds. Ivan and the castellan had spent the night securing the manor, meticulously checking each door, window, and hallway to ensure there were no remaining intruders.

Despite the manor’s outward calm, Ivan sensed a heightened alertness. He and the castellan had faced down danger before, but the suddenness of the previous day’s assault left him uneasy. And with Lara thousands of miles away, he felt the weight of his responsibility more acutely than ever. The two men hadn’t slept, instead focusing on reinforcing the estate, reviewing surveillance footage, and arming themselves with a quiet resolve to defend Croft Manor at all costs.

Their precautions proved wise. Just after midday, a flicker on the security monitors caught their attention—more movement beyond the front gate. The castellan adjusted the screen’s brightness, and Ivan leaned in, watching intently. Figures were advancing, moving with calculated precision toward the manor.

“Looks like they’re not done with us,” Ivan muttered, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

The castellan nodded grimly. “This time, let’s make sure they know Croft Manor isn’t easily taken.”

They made their way quickly to the weapons room, where Ivan took down his Colt Monitor rifle again, feeling its familiar weight settle in his hands. The castellan strapped on a vest, his face set in the same determined calm he’d shown the previous day, then selected an MP5 from the rack. Once they were ready, they made their way to the entry hall, keeping low and listening for any sounds from outside.

The first sounds of the assault came with the muffled thud of feet on gravel. Ivan crouched by the door, signaling to the castellan. With practiced coordination, they took up positions on either side of the entryway, watching the shadows as they drew closer. The attackers approached with caution, clearly aware of yesterday’s outcome, but it wouldn’t save them.

A flashbang exploded in the entryway, lighting up the room and disorienting Ivan momentarily. But he recovered quickly, aiming down the sight of his rifle. One attacker breached the threshold, only to be met by Ivan’s Colt Monitor. The blast echoed through the manor as the first intruder fell. The castellan moved in sync, his MP5 taking down another two as they crossed the doorway.

A third attacker came in fast, firing wildly down the hall, forcing Ivan and the castellan to duck for cover. They exchanged a quick glance, their years of training allowing them to communicate without words. With swift precision, they each took a position on either side of the corridor, slowly advancing, step by step, towards the invaders who’d made it deeper into the manor.

“Cover me,” Ivan whispered, signaling the castellan to move up the staircase as he kept his weapon trained down the hallway. The castellan moved quickly, scanning each side room until he reached the end of the hallway, where he saw a lone attacker attempting to hack into the manor’s security system.

Ivan appeared just in time, stepping into the room and training his rifle on the man. “Don’t move!” he ordered, his voice firm and unyielding. The intruder froze, his hands hovering over the keyboard as he processed the dire situation he’d found himself in.

The castellan joined Ivan, keeping his MP5 trained on the intruder as they approached. The man seemed young, his face pale and eyes wide, a stark contrast to the calm determination that had guided Ivan and the castellan.

“Hands behind your head, and kneel,” Ivan commanded, voice cold.

The intruder hesitated, but a warning click of the castellan’s weapon convinced him. Slowly, he raised his hands and sank to his knees, his gaze darting nervously between the two men. Ivan noticed the patch on the man’s jacket—a crest from an obscure paramilitary group, known for corporate sabotage and theft.

As they restrained him, Zip’s voice crackled through the intercom, relaying the news to Lara. “Lara, they’ve taken one alive. Looks like this was more than a random attack,” he said, his voice tense with concern. Lara’s voice came over the line immediately, filled with equal measures of relief and apprehension.

“Make him talk, Ivan. We need to know who sent them.”

Ivan nodded, locking eyes with the captured intruder. “I think we’ll be getting some answers soon,” he replied, the weight of his duty to protect Croft Manor—and the Croft legacy—firmly grounding him.

As he and the castellan escorted their captive to the manor’s basement, the intruder’s bravado began to falter. With every step, his face grew paler, and by the time they reached a small, unassuming room beneath the manor, he was visibly trembling.

Ivan set down his rifle, crossing his arms and regarding the man with a cold intensity. “Now, you’re going to tell us why you’re here, who sent you, and what you hoped to accomplish by attacking Croft Manor,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Or we can do this the hard way.”

The intruder swallowed hard, clearly torn between his loyalty to his employers and the threat in Ivan’s eyes. Finally, he began to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We…we were hired. By a corporate entity…wanted information on the Croft holdings. Thought there might be something hidden in the manor—documents, plans… maybe an artifact or two.”

The castellan stepped forward, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a growl. “Who hired you? Give us a name.”

The man hesitated, but Ivan’s steady gaze offered no room for defiance. Finally, he muttered, “It was a private security firm… Phoenix Holdings. They handle high-risk jobs for corporate interests. I don’t know much else, just that they’re well-funded.”

Ivan and the castellan exchanged a glance, both men recognizing the implications of the information. Phoenix Holdings was known for its ruthlessness, for its willingness to pursue profit at any cost. Lara had undoubtedly made enemies over the years, but a coordinated attack on her home was more brazen than they’d expected.

“Why attack Croft Manor? This isn’t some corporate office,” Ivan pressed.

The man shifted uncomfortably, struggling to find an answer. “They think she… might have something here, something valuable. A map, maybe? They weren’t specific, just said to search every corner.”

The answers weren’t enough, but they would do for now. With a curt nod, Ivan ordered the castellan to lock the intruder in the manor’s storage cellar. As they emerged from the basement, Ivan felt a renewed sense of resolve. Whoever Phoenix Holdings was, they had made a mistake in targeting Croft Manor. And as long as he and the castellan were there, the estate—and Lara’s legacy—would remain safe.

As they regrouped and prepared for any further threats, Ivan took a quiet moment, reflecting on the previous day’s battle and their unexpected capture. The manor, once a peaceful refuge, had now become a fortress—and he, its staunch protector.

Chapter 5

A month had passed since the attacks on Croft Manor, but the tension lingered like a shadow over the estate. Ivan and the castellan, though they meticulously fortified the manor each day, couldn't shake the nagging questions about Phoenix Holdings. What exactly had they been searching for? Was it merely a heist for profit, or did their interest in the Crofts hold a darker, more personal motive?

Often, Ivan found himself by the window in the library, staring down the long driveway, half-expecting to see Lara returning home. Her absence cast an unsettling silence over the manor, one that no amount of diligent work could fill. The castellan, sensing Ivan’s distraction, focused on their tasks, but even he noticed Ivan’s mind was often elsewhere.

Finally, word arrived that Lara was on her way home. For a brief moment, relief and excitement swelled within Ivan—until the day of her expected return came and went, and she didn’t arrive. She’d planned to dock her yacht at the local harbor, but when Ivan called, he was told that while the boat had indeed arrived, there was no sign of Lara aboard. Her radio silence was complete, her phone unreachable, and Ivan's mounting worry turned into an unshakeable dread.

That evening, after exhausting all attempts to contact her, Ivan decided to speak to their captive—the Phoenix operative they had held under close watch in a sealed-off section of the basement. The castellan, ever watchful, stood nearby as Ivan approached, his expression calm but his eyes reflecting the urgency of the situation.

“Tell me again what you know about Phoenix Holdings,” Ivan began, his voice hard with anxiety over Lara. “What exactly did they want with her?”

The captive, looking haggard and weary from weeks in confinement, raised his head, glancing between Ivan and the castellan. There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, tempered by a certain resignation, but he still seemed hesitant, as though his own fear of Phoenix restrained him from speaking freely.

“Phoenix has an interest in anything even remotely connected to the Crofts,” the man said after a long pause. “Lara Croft has a reputation… She uncovers secrets wherever she goes, hidden artifacts that most people would rather leave buried. Phoenix believes she has something that could change everything.”

Ivan listened intently, his face a mask of neutrality, but a storm brewed within him. “What exactly do they think she has? Why go after her directly?”

The captive’s answer was vague but chilling. “I don’t know the details. They’ve been tracking her for a long time, but no one told me exactly what they were after. All I knew was that if we found anything connected to her at the manor, we’d have leverage over her. But whether it was here or with her… I wasn’t in a position to ask questions.”

Ivan stared at him, weighing every word. Phoenix wasn’t just after the Croft family’s possessions—they were after Lara herself. They had deliberately followed her, and now, with her disappearance, it was clear they were dangerously close to achieving their aim.

“You’re saying Phoenix is only after her findings?” Ivan pressed, though he felt the answer would be more complex. “Then why would they need her personally?”

The man hesitated, his eyes shadowed. “She… knows things. Things that most people would never even imagine. Phoenix might be after her knowledge or the source of it, for all I know. She’s their link to something powerful and hidden. But this is only my speculation,” he added quickly, as though hoping to avoid further interrogation.

Ivan took in his words, feeling both frustration and a grim sense of purpose. Phoenix wasn’t just chasing artifacts; they were chasing knowledge—knowledge that apparently only Lara possessed. Ivan left the captive in his cell and returned to the castellan, who gave him a knowing look, his expression calm but questioning.

“Do you think Phoenix could have any lead on her whereabouts?” the castellan asked quietly, his voice steady as ever.

“I don’t know,” Ivan replied. “But we’ll find her, one way or another. If they have anything that could lead us to her, I’ll get it, no matter what it takes.” His tone was resolute, with an edge that allowed no room for argument.

The two men exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. The castellan had come to respect Ivan’s loyalty to Lara, even though he himself did not know her well. He understood, though, that her safety was more than a matter of duty for Ivan.

Though he was weary from sleepless nights and ceaseless worry, Ivan’s resolve only grew. He would not rest until he uncovered the truth, even if it meant following Phoenix’s trail across every continent. For Lara, for Croft Manor, and for the unshakable bond of trust between them, he would stop at nothing.

Chapter 6

Ivan sat in the dimly lit tech room, his face shadowed with both worry and a simmering rage. Lara’s disappearance weighed heavily on him, and as time passed, his patience was wearing thin. He turned to Zip, who had been furiously working at his laptop, searching every possible lead on Phoenix Holdings that might explain their connection to Lara.

“Zip,” Ivan said firmly, breaking the tense silence. “I need you to find everything you can on Phoenix Holdings. Their leadership, their objectives—anything that could tell us why they’re after her.”

Zip gave a sharp nod, his fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard, pulling up layers of information, hacking through secure files, and tapping into networks he hadn’t accessed in years. A series of documents began appearing on the screen, and Zip leaned in closer as he skimmed through them. Then, suddenly, he froze. His face turned ashen as he read a name, glancing over at Ivan with shock.

“Wait… Ivan,” Zip said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This can’t be real… The man behind Phoenix Holdings… his name is Evert.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, the name unfamiliar but ominous. “Evert?” he repeated slowly, trying to place it.

Zip’s face was drawn, his expression darkening. “Yes. Evert Keating. He’s Amanda Evert’s cousin—the same Amanda Evert you… you know…” Zip hesitated, remembering the dark episode in Ivan’s past. “The one you hanged.”

Ivan’s eyes narrowed, the memory flashing back, as if a door he had long shut had been forced open again. A flame of anger ignited in him. “So Amanda’s bloodline didn’t end with her,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “And now her family is seeking revenge?”

“It looks that way,” Zip said, his face grim. “He’s been building his influence and power quietly, but now he’s resurfaced with Phoenix Holdings… and he’s using it to go after Lara.”

Ivan clenched his fists, rage coursing through him. “If this Evert thinks he can touch Lara, he’s going to regret it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Zip, call Görgy. We need all the firepower we can get.”

Zip nodded and quickly dialed Görgy, filling him in. It didn’t take long for Görgy to arrive, his face a mask of grim determination. As soon as he heard the full story, he understood the gravity of the situation.

“So, Ivan,” Görgy said in his deep, steady voice. “What’s our next move?”

“We’re paying a visit to Phoenix’s district office,” Ivan replied. “This Evert has crossed the line, and I won’t let him get away with it. We’re going in prepared—fully armed. This ends tonight.”

Görgy gave a fierce nod, his expression one of agreement. “Understood. I’ll get my gear.”

The men walked to the garage, where Ivan’s beige Mercedes 300TD Turbodiesel stood, its polished exterior casting faint reflections under the dim lighting. Ivan opened the driver’s door, his mind focused and darkly determined.

Görgy climbed into the passenger seat, his PPSh-41 submachine gun resting on his lap, its weight familiar in his hands. In the back seat, the castellan settled in with a calm but intense focus, holding his L1A1 rifle, its worn grip a testament to the years of service it had seen.

Before getting into the car, Ivan selected his own weapon—a massive elephant rifle, its polished barrel and engraved stock catching the light. He knew it was overkill, but that was exactly the point. They were sending a message tonight.

As Ivan started the engine, the deep rumble of the Mercedes filled the garage. With each heartbeat, his resolve hardened. The men were silent, each of them preparing for what lay ahead. Tonight, they weren’t simply driving; they were on a mission.

Chapter 7

The beige Mercedes glided up to the district headquarters of Phoenix Holdings, its presence masked by the late-night shadows. Inside, Ivan’s face was set, his jaw tight as he considered the mission ahead. This was no ordinary rescue—this was about Lara. He’d do whatever it took to get her back.

The team exited the vehicle in silence, each moving with military precision. Görgy checked the magazine on his PPSh-41, giving a dark nod of satisfaction, while the castellan gripped his L1A1 rifle, an expression of hardened resolve across his face. Ivan held his elephant rifle at the ready, a monstrous firearm chambered for .700 Nitro Express rounds—overkill, certainly, but he wanted to make a statement. They advanced toward the entrance, shadows in the night.

The guards barely had a moment to realize what was happening. Görgy unleashed a spray of gunfire, his PPSh-41 rattling with brutal efficiency, mowing down one of the men. Ivan followed suit, leveling his rifle at another guard and firing a shot that sent the man sprawling backward. Even the castellan, normally stoic and controlled, seemed to revel in the chaos, each precise shot marking his satisfaction. Within moments, the building’s entryway was strewn with bodies, the pungent odor of gunpowder thick in the air.

They moved inside, clearing the hallways as they went. Phoenix’s security, though well-armed, was no match for the ferocity of Ivan and his team. Step by step, they advanced deeper into the building, the sounds of their assault echoing down the empty corridors.

Finally, they reached the main office. There, standing defiantly in the middle of the room, was a woman with sharp features and cold, unyielding eyes. She held a Beretta 93R in both hands, her gaze locked on Ivan, defiance etched into every line of her face. This was no ordinary executive—she was Phoenix’s chairwoman, a woman used to control, used to power.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded, her voice filled with contempt.

Ivan didn’t answer. He raised his elephant rifle, aiming it squarely at her. The barrels gleamed menacingly, the lethal ammunition within promising utter destruction.

The chairwoman’s hands remained steady on her Beretta, her finger hovering over the trigger. She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. She was daring him, challenging him to pull the trigger. “You think that scares me? I’ve faced worse than a man with a fancy rifle,” she spat.

But Ivan was unfazed. His gaze was icy, piercing. Without a word, he fired—a deafening blast that echoed through the office as the bullet struck the wall inches from her head, splintering it into a thousand shards.

The woman’s face paled, her mask of bravado cracking for the first time. Her breath hitched, her eyes darting to the hole in the wall, then back to Ivan. She knew he wasn’t bluffing.

“Next one goes through you,” Ivan said, his voice calm but deadly serious. "Now tell me where Lara is."

The woman hesitated, her grip loosening as the Beretta dropped from her hands and clattered to the floor. She took a shaky breath, the steel in her eyes softening into fear. “All right… all right. I’ll talk,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at him, knowing there was no escape from this.

“We took a woman—a brunette, five-foot-six,” she began, her words tumbling out now. “She matched the description. We took her to our Durham branch in a black Range Rover. She’s… she’s still alive. No one was supposed to harm her—she’s valuable to us.”

“Why?” Ivan’s voice was low, unrelenting.

The woman swallowed hard. “She has something Phoenix needs. Something Evert needs. Information… artifacts… maps. I don’t know the details, only that it’s critical to him. He gave orders to keep her safe until he could question her himself.”

Ivan’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “Let’s hope for your sake she’s unharmed,” he said. He exchanged a look with Görgy and the castellan, signaling the next part of their plan.

“Wait—what are you doing?” the chairwoman asked, panic creeping into her voice as Ivan took a step forward.

Without a word, Görgy and the castellan moved quickly, grabbing her by each arm, securing her firmly. She struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grip was iron-strong.

“You’re coming with us,” Ivan said coolly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he walked towards the door. “If you want to see tomorrow, I’d suggest you cooperate.”

They led her out of the building, her heels scraping against the floor as she resisted. She continued to struggle, curses spilling from her lips, but Görgy and the castellan maintained their hold, their expressions impassive. The chairwoman’s defiance crumbled as they reached the car, the night air biting against her skin.

The beige Mercedes idled in the lot, its engine a steady hum as Ivan opened the back door. Görgy and the castellan forced her into the back seat, securing her tightly between them.

As the car pulled away from Phoenix’s headquarters, the chairwoman’s face shifted from anger to fear, realizing the gravity of her situation. Ivan drove in silence, his focus on the road, while Görgy and the castellan kept watch over her. In the silence, the woman seemed to shrink, her confidence draining as the weight of the night’s events settled over her.

They had their lead now. And with the chairwoman as their unwilling guide, Ivan was ready to bring Lara back, whatever it took.

Chapter 8

As the beige Mercedes cruised along the darkened roads toward Durham, the tension inside was thick and palpable. Ivan’s eyes, cold and unreadable, flicked toward the young woman in the back seat. The Phoenix chairwoman sat between Görgy and the castellan, her initial defiance replaced by a wary compliance. Ivan decided it was time to dig deeper.

"Your name," he said, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

After a pause, she muttered, “Eva.”

Ivan let the name sink in, weighing its significance. “Eva,” he repeated. “This operation—you’re after Lara Croft. Does this have anything to do with Amanda Evert?”

Eva’s face tightened, a flicker of anger crossing her expression. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “It’s tied to Amanda.”

Ivan kept his focus on the road but couldn’t help the tension in his grip. “And why is Phoenix interested in Lara?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous low.

Eva hesitated, glancing at him defiantly. “Maybe you’d know if you hadn’t hanged her yourself. Why did you condemn her? Why did you kill Amanda?”

At that, Görgy spoke up, his voice hard as steel. “That was me,” he said flatly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Eva. “Amanda killed the first Lara—my Lara,” he said, his voice rough with old anger. “Ivan did what he had to do, and I helped him.”

Silence fell over them, the memories stirring emotions in the men that they had long since buried. Görgy’s hand tightened on the barrel of his PPSh-41, the old Soviet weapon feeling as familiar as an extension of himself. Eva’s demeanor shifted slightly, her resolve seeming to crack under the weight of their words. In her eyes, a strange, reluctant respect was beginning to form.

The journey stretched on, and by the time they neared Durham, Eva had fallen into an eerie silence, the psychological tug of Stockholm syndrome subtly beginning to take hold. She was starting to realize the lengths Ivan and his team were willing to go.

When they finally arrived, Eva pointed out a sleek, corporate-looking building hidden behind a row of old warehouses. Ivan parked the Mercedes nearby, turning to face her one last time. "You’ll stay here. And don’t get any ideas,” he said, locking her in the car with a firm warning.

They moved toward the building in formation, ready for what was to come. Inside, Phoenix’s Durham headquarters was eerily quiet, but that silence was soon shattered. Ivan and Görgy led the assault, firing with brutal precision, while the castellan unleashed a relentless hail of bullets that shocked even his companions.

At one point, Ivan exchanged a look with Görgy. “Didn’t think the old man had it in him,” he muttered, surprised by the castellan’s ferocity.

The castellan merely shrugged, a dark glint in his eye. “I’ve been bored since the Falklands,” he said with a faint smile before reloading and moving forward.

Finally, they reached an office tucked away in a back corner. Inside was a woman, sharp-featured and steely-eyed, roughly 35 years old, standing poised with an MP5 submachine gun trained on them. Her grip was steady, her face fierce. "I’ll kill every last one of you," she snarled.

Before she could act, Görgy stepped forward with a speed that belied his age. In one smooth motion, he swung the butt of his PPSh-41 at her, knocking the MP5 from her hands and sending it clattering across the floor. She stumbled back, dazed but defiant.

They surrounded her, and Ivan leaned in, his voice menacing. “We need answers. Where is Lara Croft?”

Her eyes darted between them, trying to keep her composure. Ivan decided to switch to some old interrogation methods he hadn’t used since his days as a criminal investigator in Czechoslovakia. He didn’t hold back—sharp slaps echoed in the room, paired with mocking questions and caustic words that gradually broke her resistance.

Finally, under the pressure, she let out a reluctant, shaky breath. “They took her… to our facility in Doncaster,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ivan gave a satisfied nod, wiping his hands of the matter—until she suddenly spat in his face, defiance flashing in her eyes one last time. For a second, Ivan simply stared at her, his face expressionless, and then rage flashed in his eyes. He raised his heavy elephant rifle, and with one swift motion, struck her over the head, the weight of the gun sending her crumpling unconscious to the floor.

Without a word, they turned and left, retracing their steps out of the building and heading back toward the Mercedes. Eva sat up, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as they loaded into the car. Ivan started the engine, his expression unreadable as they turned onto the road, bound for Doncaster.

Chapter 9

The road to Doncaster stretched long under the gray skies, but the tense atmosphere inside the beige Mercedes was broken by Görgy’s sideways glances toward Eva. There was something captivating about her presence—the defiance in her gaze, her intelligence, and the subtle calm that suggested she was used to handling dangerous situations.

As they drove, Görgy leaned back, resting his hand casually on his PPSh-41 submachine gun. “Eva,” he began, glancing her way, “you know more than you’re letting on, don’t you?”

She held his gaze, eyes sparkling with a flicker of amusement. “I might,” she replied smoothly. “But Phoenix operates on a need-to-know basis. They don’t exactly hand out memos with the boss’s plans.”

The candor in her voice surprised him. Eva was attractive, no doubt, but it was her nerve that Görgy found most intriguing. He chuckled, his laugh a low rumble. “Tough woman,” he said, nodding with respect. “Not every day you meet someone who can stay calm with a gun pointed at them.”

The conversation turned, and soon they were talking about Lara. Görgy pressed for information, but Eva only offered what little she knew. “It’s possible she’s been hurt,” she admitted cautiously. “But… look, Phoenix is a massive machine. Even those of us who think we’re on the inside often don’t know everything. The top-level decisions are kept quiet.”

Her words left a cold chill in the car, especially for Ivan, who tightened his grip on the wheel. Görgy frowned, his expression growing more serious. “Well, they’ll have to answer for it, then,” he murmured grimly.

As they pulled into the Doncaster branch, Ivan parked a short distance from the building. He turned to the castellan, who gave a curt nod; they knew what had to be done. Without bothering to arm themselves, Ivan and the castellan stepped out of the car, ready to make an impact that would leave no doubt about their intent.

Inside the car, Eva’s gaze lingered on Görgy, her curiosity clearly piqued. Despite his rough exterior and the gray beginning to streak his dark hair, there was something undeniably magnetic about him. Their conversation softened, turning unexpectedly personal as she probed a bit, trying to get a read on him.

“So,” she began, smiling slightly, “a man like you… in this line of work… ever thought of doing something a little less dangerous?”

Görgy chuckled, shaking his head. “Danger’s what I’m made for, love. That’s how I got here.” He paused, his eyes lingering on her, and for a moment, they just looked at one another. Their connection deepened, and neither could resist the pull that had been building between them since the moment they met. In the enclosed quiet of the car, they gave in, their passion an intense release from the tension surrounding them.

Meanwhile, Ivan and the castellan made their way through the stark corridors of the Doncaster branch with deliberate, calm strides. They headed directly for the director’s office, pushing through the staff who were too intimidated to raise an alarm. They wanted this to be swift, powerful, and clear—Phoenix would soon know they’d made a grave mistake.

Inside the director’s office, a tense board meeting was underway. The director herself, a sharp-eyed woman in her forties, looked up, instantly suspicious. Her instincts kicked in fast, and without a word, her hand shot toward the compact Uzi lying on her desk. In an instant, she raised it, aiming at the intruders and unleashing a hail of bullets.

But the castellan was faster, moving with the precision of a seasoned soldier. He darted forward, deflecting her arm and disarming her with a powerful twist. The Uzi clattered to the floor as Ivan grabbed it and shoved the other meeting attendees out the door, leaving just the director in the room, her defiance now tempered by the controlled anger in Ivan’s eyes.

Back in the car, Görgy and Eva’s passion had reached a crescendo. They were lost in each other until a sudden knock on the window startled them apart. Blinking, they looked up to see the castellan watching with an arched eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and impatience. Eva straightened her clothes, and Görgy gave her one last look, his hand lingering on hers for a moment before they composed themselves.

The castellan’s amusement turned back to focus as he gestured for Görgy to join him, leaving Eva behind as he and Ivan re-entered the car.

With everyone back in the vehicle, they shared a brief look of understanding. They were one step closer to getting answers, and Eva’s information was proving more valuable than they had hoped. Now they had a new destination: the warehouse in Southampton.

Chapter 10

The hours passed slowly as the team drove through the darkness toward Southampton. Silence blanketed the car, with only the low rumble of the engine filling the air. Ivan sat behind the wheel, his face a mask of determination, while the castellan kept watch out the window, his eyes scanning the empty roads ahead. In the back seat, Görgy and Eva exchanged glances, her gaze lingering on him with a newfound curiosity and trust she couldn't quite explain. But all thoughts drifted away as the lights of Southampton’s coast appeared on the horizon.

The Mercedes crept along the quiet streets until they reached a secluded area by the docks. Ivan pulled off the road, parking behind a row of metal containers that shielded the car from view. The night air was thick with the scent of saltwater and rust, a damp chill seeping into their bones. They could see the dark outline of a warehouse up ahead, looming over the dockyard with broken windows and a faded sign that bore no name—just a ghostly reminder of a time long gone.

"Stay with Eva," Ivan ordered Görgy as he and the castellan got out of the car, weapons drawn. Görgy gave a short nod, his gaze briefly catching Eva’s in a silent reassurance before he settled back, his hand resting on his weapon, ready to defend their position.

The castellan and Ivan moved swiftly and silently toward the warehouse, slipping into the shadows. Every step echoed in the empty dockyard, the sounds amplified by the silence around them. They reached a side door, its paint peeling and rust creeping along the edges. Ivan pushed it open carefully, wincing at the squeal of the old hinges. They slipped inside, swallowed by darkness as they advanced deeper into the cold, damp building.

And there, under the faint glow of a single flickering light, they saw her.

Lara was tied to a metal pillar at the far end of the warehouse, her wrists and ankles bound with thick rope, her body slumped and lifeless. The sight sent a chill through Ivan’s veins, an icy fury rising as he took in the bruises that covered her face and arms, her once-strong figure now battered and pale. Her head hung limply, and around her were signs of a brutal struggle: scuff marks on the ground, a broken chair tossed to one side, and remnants of vomit near her feet—a grim testament to the torture she had endured.

Ivan swallowed hard, forcing down the anger that clawed at his chest. He reached her side with the castellan close behind, their faces tight with horror and concern. Gently, Ivan placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling the faintest flicker of warmth beneath his touch.

"She's alive," he whispered, relief flooding his voice. "Barely, but she's alive."

The castellan knelt beside him, pulling a knife from his belt. With steady hands, he cut through the ropes binding her wrists and ankles, catching her as she slumped forward. They laid her gently on the cold floor, checking her pulse, her shallow breathing barely audible. Every bruise, every mark on her skin was a testament to the suffering she'd endured, each one deepening Ivan’s resolve to bring her tormentors to justice.

They moved quickly, carrying her out of the warehouse and back to the car. Görgy opened the trunk, and they laid Lara carefully inside, padding her head with a jacket to keep her as comfortable as possible. Her face remained eerily still, her body lifeless, but Ivan refused to believe that she wouldn’t make it through. She was stronger than anyone he had ever known.

But as they prepared to leave, gunfire shattered the night.

Bullets slammed into the metal containers around them, echoing across the dockyard. Görgy slammed the trunk shut, scrambling into the driver’s seat as Ivan and the castellan dived into the car. A burst of gunfire struck the Mercedes’ side as they sped off, bullets ripping through metal and glass, shattering the rear window. The car lurched forward, Görgy's hands gripping the wheel tightly as he navigated the narrow streets, their attackers' shadows flickering in the rearview mirror.

“Return fire!” Görgy barked, his voice a mix of urgency and fury.

Ivan and the castellan leaned out of the broken windows, unleashing a volley of bullets at their pursuers. Each shot rang out loud and clear, the muzzle flashes illuminating their faces, fierce with determination. The attackers continued their pursuit, but the team’s relentless fire soon forced them back, disappearing into the darkened streets.

By the time they were clear, the Mercedes was riddled with bullet holes, the metal dented and scratched, but it held together. They drove in silence, the only sound their heavy breathing and the soft hum of the engine as they left the chaos of the docks behind.

They didn’t stop until they found a small, rundown motel on the outskirts of town, its neon sign flickering weakly in the darkness. Ivan parked the car in the shadows, and they moved quickly, bringing Lara inside with as much care as they could muster. The room was dimly lit, its walls worn and the furniture battered, but it was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Inside, they laid Lara down on the bed, her figure motionless and fragile. Görgy found a first aid kit and began tending to her wounds, his hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned her cuts and bruises. Ivan watched, his face grim as he took in the full extent of her injuries. The castellan stood by the door, his posture rigid, eyes scanning the dark parking lot outside, prepared for any sign of trouble.

Minutes stretched into hours as they worked, the room filled with an unspoken bond of shared purpose and determination. They had risked everything to bring her back, and Ivan knew, as he looked down at Lara, that they would not rest until those responsible paid for what they had done. The fury simmered beneath his calm exterior, his mind replaying the sight of her bound and broken, each bruise a reminder of the cost of their mission.

As dawn began to break, casting a pale light across the room, Ivan finally allowed himself a moment to breathe. He sat beside Lara, his hand resting gently on hers, feeling the faintest pulse beneath her skin. She was alive, and that was all he needed to know. But he also knew that this was far from over. Phoenix had crossed a line, and he would not stop until they were brought to justice.

For now, they would rest and regroup, drawing strength from the small victories they had won. But as Ivan looked around the room at his friends, he knew they were ready—ready to face whatever lay ahead, and to protect Lara with everything they had. The battle was far from over, but together, they would see it through to the end.

Chapter 11

The air in the motel room felt thick, heavy with memories and unspoken fears. Ivan sat silently beside the bed, his gaze fixed on Lara's bruised and weary face. He could hardly believe they'd found her alive; the image of her, bound and barely conscious at the docks, had carved itself into his mind. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled for his phone and dialed Zip, needing to tell someone, anyone, that she was safe.

“Zip? We found her,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “She’s alive. Barely, but she’s here.”

A relieved exhale crackled over the line. “Thank God, Ivan. Is she going to be okay?”

Ivan looked at Lara, still unconscious, her chest rising and falling in a soft, steady rhythm. “I hope so. She’s tough... tougher than most, but she’s been through a lot.” His fingers tightened around the phone. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

After hanging up, Ivan lit a cigarette, the familiar ritual calming him in the dim silence. He sat back, watching over her, smoke curling around him as the minutes dragged by. Then, just as he was about to let himself sink into a rare moment of calm, he noticed her eyelids fluttering.

She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim room, her gaze searching until it found him. Ivan felt his chest tighten as she recognized him. Her eyes softened, and, despite her exhaustion, a small, relieved smile spread across her lips.

“Ivan...” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He leaned forward, a rare warmth in his gaze. “You’re safe now, Lara. We found you just in time.”

She tried to sit up, wincing, and he quickly reached over, supporting her as best as he could. “They… they took me,” she started, voice trembling. “I don’t remember much. Just bits and pieces… They kept mentioning Mjölnir and Amanda. I don’t know why.” Her face clouded with confusion, and she looked at him, lost.

Ivan gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, Lara. You don’t need to remember everything right now. You’re here, that’s all that matters.”

But suddenly, Lara’s face crumpled, and tears began to pool in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they spilled over, tracing paths down her bruised cheeks. She covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling as she let out a shaky breath.

“I-Ivan… I thought… I thought I was going to die,” she managed, her voice breaking. “I couldn’t get free, and they kept…” Her words dissolved into soft, choking sobs as she buried her face in her hands.

Ivan’s heart twisted. He’d seen Lara face down danger countless times, fearless and unbreakable. But here she was, utterly vulnerable, a woman forced to confront her own mortality in the worst way. Without a word, he reached out and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders, letting her lean into him as she cried.

“You’re safe now,” he said softly, his voice rough but filled with a quiet, fierce determination. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I promise.”

They sat together in silence, her quiet sobs filling the room. Ivan didn’t let go, his hand resting on her shoulder, steady and protective, as if shielding her from any lingering fear. After a while, her breathing evened out, and she looked up, wiping her tears with trembling fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to fall apart.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ivan replied gently, meeting her gaze with a rare softness. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Lara managed a small, grateful smile. She took a shaky breath, composing herself, and Ivan helped her to her feet. They slowly made their way to the motel lobby, where Görgy, the Castellan, and Eva were waiting. The room lit up as Lara entered, everyone’s expressions a mixture of relief and unspoken emotion. Even Eva, once guarded, looked at Lara with genuine warmth and happiness.

They shared a brief moment of joy before Ivan spoke. “We’re heading back to Croft Manor,” he said firmly. “We need answers, and it’s time we find out exactly what Phoenix wants and why they targeted Lara.”

They loaded up into the car, and Ivan helped Lara settle into the backseat, keeping a watchful eye on her. The drive back to Croft Manor was filled with a quiet but steely determination, each of them feeling the weight of what had happened and the knowledge that this was only the beginning.

Back at the manor, they wasted no time. After settling Lara in one of the manor’s guest rooms, the team gathered in the study, where maps, files, and a video call from Zip awaited them. As Zip’s face flickered onto the screen, he looked visibly relieved to see Lara safe and back in familiar surroundings.

As they began piecing together the fragments of Lara’s memory and what they knew about Phoenix, Ivan felt a renewed sense of purpose. Protecting Lara, uncovering Phoenix’s intentions, and understanding Amanda’s link to all of this – it all felt more urgent, more personal. He stole a glance at Lara, who was quietly listening, still bearing the marks of her ordeal.

He knew they were far from the end, but with his team by his side, he felt a resolve that ran deeper than ever. Together, they would fight, unearth the truth, and ensure that no one would ever harm Lara – or her legacy – again.

Chapter 12

The mood in Croft Manor was tense as Ivan, Lara, Eva, and the Castellan gathered in the study, pouring over the intel Zip had pulled together. It had taken hours to identify Phoenix’s main headquarters, hidden in plain sight within London. As the map flickered on the screen, Ivan’s heart sank. He knew that building well.

Zip’s voice crackled over the video call. “That’s it. Phoenix’s headquarters. They’ve been operating out of the old Zero Agency building.”

The room fell silent. Ivan and Görgy exchanged a look, the weight of memory filling the air. Months ago, Zero Agency had been their home base, the place where they’d planned countless missions, risking everything to keep the world safe. Back then, he, Görgy, and Lara—another Lara, fierce and unbreakable—had faced down threats that could have ended nations. Now, this new Lara had taken up that torch, facing her own battles. But knowing Phoenix was entrenched in their old headquarters felt like a violation, as though everything they’d once stood for had been twisted.

“It’s… Zero,” Ivan said quietly, a strange mix of nostalgia and bitterness coloring his words. “I never thought I’d see that place again.”

Lara, standing beside him, placed a hand on his arm. She knew the stories, even if she hadn’t been there herself. Zero Agency had been a legend, and to learn Phoenix had turned it into their lair was deeply unsettling. “This place was yours once. We’ll take it back.”

Görgy, who had been silent until now, nodded, his expression steely. “They don’t deserve to walk those halls. Not after everything we did there, everything we lost.”

The drive to Phoenix’s headquarters felt like the calm before a storm, an eerie silence stretching between the passengers. Ivan’s eyes were fixed on the road, his hands steady on the wheel as they carved a path through London’s dimly lit streets. Next to him, Görgy sat in tense quiet, his gaze hardened and his fingers flexing around the MP 18 he held in his lap. For both men, this was far more than just a mission—it was personal. Phoenix had crossed a line, and tonight, they would pay.

In the back seat, Lara watched the city roll by, her mind a blur of memories and fears. She clenched her hands tightly, steeling herself against the creeping thoughts of her captivity. Beside her, Eva sat with her hands folded, her face pale and pensive. She knew Ivan and Görgy well enough to recognize their quiet fury, but it didn’t ease the worry that gnawed at her. The Castellan sat beside Eva, his usual calm now tempered with a grim determination as he cast glances at Lara, silently conveying his unwavering support.

When they finally arrived, Ivan parked a block away, choosing an isolated spot where they could watch the building without drawing attention. This wasn’t the same Mercedes they had used earlier; this time, Ivan had chosen his older, restored 220Sb—a subtle but powerful nod to the history he and Görgy shared. They all knew this was a darker mission, one they wouldn’t talk about when it was done. Ivan turned off the engine, letting a tense silence settle over them.

“Stay here,” Ivan said, his tone unyielding as he looked at the others in the back seat. His gaze softened slightly when it met Lara’s, but only for a second. “We’ll take care of this.”

Lara wanted to protest, but she saw the resolve in Ivan’s eyes and knew he wouldn’t be swayed. She settled back, giving him a nod of reluctant understanding. Eva and the Castellan exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring the silent concern they shared. The two men stepped out of the car, leaving their companions behind as they melted into the shadows.

The building loomed before them, a relic of their past—a former Zero Agency headquarters. Memories flashed through Ivan’s mind as they approached, reminders of missions past, of battles fought, and of friends lost in these very halls. He remembered working here with Lara and Görgy in the agency’s heyday, when they’d still believed they could change the world. And yet here it was, now a twisted shell of what it once had been, repurposed by Phoenix for their own dark agendas.

Ivan’s jaw tightened as he and Görgy moved silently through the building’s hallways, memories mixing with a seething anger that fueled his every step. He raised his Remington 870, the cold weight in his hands steadying him as he prepared for what lay ahead. Görgy, following close behind with the MP 18, mirrored his movements with equal resolve. Each room they entered, each corner they turned, felt like a statement—an assertion that they were reclaiming this space, clearing out Phoenix’s infestation room by room.

The silence shattered with the first gunshot, echoing through the corridors like thunder. Ivan’s shotgun roared as he fired, taking down Phoenix operatives in swift, brutal succession. Blood splattered against the walls as Görgy cut through the remaining guards with merciless efficiency, his MP 18 spraying bursts of bullets that left no one standing. Their movements were practiced, almost surgical, honed from years of fighting side by side. This wasn’t just violence; it was a message, a stark warning that Phoenix had woken a fury beyond their comprehension.

As they reached the heart of the building, they found their primary target: Evert, Amanda’s cousin. His eyes widened when he recognized Ivan and Görgy, and he instinctively backed away, panic flashing across his face. But there was no escape. Görgy slammed him against the wall, pinning him down with ease as Ivan secured him with rough, unyielding hands. Evert’s defiance dissolved into terrified compliance, and they dragged him out of the building, oblivious to the carnage they left in their wake.

When they returned to the car, Lara’s face went pale at the sight of Evert. Memories of her captivity surged forward—the darkened room, the cold metal restraints, the taunting laughter. And Evert, standing over her with that cruel, satisfied smirk, confident that she’d never see freedom again. She shuddered but held his gaze, her fear laced with a new strength as she saw him now, defeated and helpless.

Without a word, they headed back to Croft Manor, the ride steeped in a tension that left everyone silent. Upon arrival, they escorted Evert to a stark room in the manor’s basement, a space Ivan had prepared specifically for occasions like this. The room was cold, dimly lit, and devoid of anything but the metal chair Evert was forced into. Ivan’s calm demeanor had hardened into something cold, something dangerous, as he stood before their captive.

As the interrogation began, Ivan’s methods were relentless. His voice, usually measured, was now sharp, cutting through Evert’s defiance with precision. When words didn’t yield answers, he didn’t hesitate to use other means, his blows deliberate and calculated. Evert’s smug composure crumbled under the assault, and he quickly realized there was no escape from Ivan’s wrath. The man before him wasn’t just an investigator; he was an avenger, exacting justice with a brutal intensity that left Evert cowering.

Eva, who had come downstairs to witness the questioning, stood back, her face turning pale as she watched Ivan unleash a rage she had never seen before. She took a shaky step back, her fingers instinctively curling into her palm as a cold fear gripped her. Sensing her distress, Görgy, who had become close to her, gently took her hand and led her away, his own face troubled. He understood the need for vengeance, but he couldn’t ignore Eva’s fear.

Back upstairs, Görgy sat with her in the quiet of one of the manor’s drawing rooms, offering her silent comfort. His hand rested on hers, a gentle reassurance that anchored them both. She leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his presence calm her racing heart. He hadn’t said anything, but his silent support was enough.

Meanwhile, back in the basement, Ivan’s relentless questioning finally broke Evert. Through clenched teeth and gasping breaths, he confessed the twisted motive behind Lara’s kidnapping. “It was for Amanda,” he spat, his voice filled with venom. “You killed her, and Phoenix wanted you to suffer for it.”

The name hit Ivan like a blow. Memories of Amanda’s final moments surfaced, a reminder of all the battles they’d fought, of the friends and allies lost along the way. Phoenix’s vendetta, their twisted desire for revenge—it all fell into place, but it only stoked a fury he could barely contain. Amanda had been dangerous, yes, but they had thought that battle had ended long ago. Now her specter was back, haunting them with renewed vengeance.

But Evert wasn’t finished. With a twisted smirk, he delivered one final revelation, his words dripping with malice.

“Phoenix… it’s only part of the picture,” he sneered, his voice filled with a twisted satisfaction. “Natla Industries has been backing every move, every single effort. Phoenix is just a tool—a means to an end.” He met Ivan’s gaze, relishing the shock he saw there. “You remember Jacqueline Natla, don’t you?”

Ivan’s face darkened at the mention of Natla. Only two months ago, he had faced her in a final showdown, severing her head and ending her twisted schemes once and for all—or so he’d thought. He’d believed that by taking her life, he had brought an end to her legacy, that the world was finally rid of her godlike ambitions. But now, learning that her influence lingered, intertwined with Phoenix’s resurgence, filled him with a cold dread. If Natla’s shadow still loomed over their lives, if her influence had endured beyond death, the fight ahead was far darker than they had anticipated.

Just then, Lara entered the room, her face pale as she absorbed Evert’s words. Her gaze met Ivan’s, the shock and recognition in her eyes mirroring his own. They both stood there, silent but resolute, knowing that this revelation changed everything. Phoenix was no longer just a lingering threat—it was a remnant of Natla’s twisted legacy, an empire that was far from dead.

In that moment, a shared resolve passed between them. They were bound not just by their past but by the knowledge that a far greater battle lay ahead. Phoenix, Natla, Amanda—all of it was part of a legacy they would have to confront, together.

Chapter 13

A black Mercedes materialized in front of Natla Industries’ headquarters in Seattle, its occupants delivered here through Ivan’s teleportation device. Together with Lara, Görgy, Eva, the Castellan, and Evert, Ivan took in the imposing structure before him. It was an icy, deceptive fortress, its gleaming exterior masking whatever dark secrets lay inside. They entered as a team, each prepared for the worst, as shadows stretched along dimly lit hallways, almost seeming to whisper of the horrors awaiting them.

They barely made it past the first corridor before a security team sprang out, guns blazing. But Ivan was ready. With deadly precision, he shot each guard at point-blank range. When his ammunition ran out, he swiftly drew a hunting knife and drove it through skulls, slicing through flesh and bone with ease. Görgy and Eva moved like silent phantoms behind him, while the Castellan, armed with his trusty Walther PP, dispatched each target with a smirk that twisted his face with every shot.

At one point, the Castellan noticed Evert lingering behind, clutching an odd amulet. A flicker of suspicion crossed his face, and without hesitation, he raised his Walther PP, aimed carefully, and shot Evert in the back. The body dropped, the amulet clattering to the floor. Unfazed, the Castellan pocketed the amulet and pressed on, without sparing so much as a second glance at his fallen companion.

At last, the team reached the top office. It was a sprawling, extravagant space decorated with maps, trophies, and sleek glass sculptures. Behind a massive desk sat a woman who looked disturbingly like Natla, the ancient goddess Ivan had stripped of her powers and ultimately defeated. But unlike Natla, this woman’s face betrayed fear — a terror that made her seem human, vulnerable.

Ivan took a measured step forward, the Remington 870 Express in his grip gleaming under the cold office light. His eyes never left her as he moved, circling the desk until he was mere inches away. Without warning, he lifted the shotgun and shoved its barrel deep into her mouth. The hard, icy metal forced her mouth open painfully wide, pressing against her tongue and back teeth, making her gag in terror. Her eyes widened in sheer horror as Ivan stared down at her with a look devoid of mercy. She tried to speak, but only strangled sounds came out, distorted by the gun filling her mouth.

“What’s your name?” Ivan demanded in a voice cold and unyielding. She stammered, unable to answer clearly with the weapon still inside her mouth. After a moment of frustration, Ivan slowly pulled the shotgun out, letting her catch her breath. She gasped, shuddering with relief as she whispered, “Thank you.”

Ivan’s gaze hardened. “That doesn’t mean you’ll survive this. So? Name.”

Swallowing, she forced herself to speak. “Miriam… Miriam Natla,” she answered shakily, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to hold his gaze, clinging to the desperate hope that her family name would mean something, that it might buy her even a moment’s reprieve.

“Natla,” Ivan repeated slowly, his tone a venomous echo. “And why do you want to kill Lara?” His voice sliced through the air with cutting clarity.

“Because she’s a threat,” Miriam managed, her voice cracking with each syllable. “Natla was… she was powerful, unstoppable. And Lara — she’s trying to ruin everything we’ve built!”

A slow, dangerous smile crept across Ivan’s face. He glanced at a Smith & Wesson Model 27 lying on the desk, picking it up with deliberate care. The revolver, with its gleaming eight-inch barrel, felt heavy in his hand. He took his time, savoring every second as he approached Miriam. Her gaze flickered between the gun and Ivan’s eyes, and all traces of defiance crumbled into raw, unfiltered terror.

Without a word, he raised the revolver and inserted the barrel back into her mouth, forcing her lips to stretch painfully around the metal. She felt the cold weight pressing against her teeth, the steel invading her mouth as she tried to speak. The revolver’s long, gleaming barrel filled her mouth almost entirely, making her gag slightly as she struggled to breathe, her panicked breaths stifled by the weapon.

“Feel that?” Ivan murmured, his voice like ice. Miriam’s wide eyes darted in desperate, silent pleading, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t nod, could barely make a sound. She attempted to speak again, the gun muffling her words into indistinct, choked noises. Her face was contorted with fear, her body trembling under Ivan’s gaze as her eyes flicked wildly between him and the weapon.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Ivan hissed, the cold metal pressing further into her mouth. She tried to form words, her muffled attempts coming out as broken sounds. Every breath she managed was shallow and labored, the barrel nearly blocking her airway, reducing her pleas to an incoherent, pitiful murmur.

From across the room, Lara’s voice cut through the silence, calm but edged with urgency. “Ivan… do it.”

Ivan didn’t break his gaze from Miriam. He could feel her terror, see it reflected in her eyes, which were wide open, straining to convey a desperate plea. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and with cold resolve, tightened his grip on the revolver. Slowly, her eyes began to register the impending doom, her pupils contracting as if trying to escape the inevitable.

Her eyes stayed wide open for an agonizing moment, and then, with an unrelenting finality, Ivan pulled the trigger. The explosion of the .357 Magnum shattered the room’s silence. The bullet ripped through the back of her skull with devastating force. Miriam’s head jerked violently as the bullet tore through, disintegrating bone, blood, and brain matter in a grisly eruption. Shards of skull and fragments of flesh sprayed across the office, splattering everything within reach.

Her lifeless eyes stayed open a fraction longer, the shock of death lingering, her pupils dulling as her final, terrified gaze began to lose focus. Her eyelids started to droop, as if releasing the last vestiges of consciousness. Gradually, they slid shut, her expression frozen in a ghastly mask of terror, as her body slumped forward, lifeless, collapsing to the floor with a sickening thud.

Ivan stared down at the body, unflinching as he watched the final traces of life fade from her face. The room fell into silence, thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder.

Chapter 14

In the dim light of the office, a tense silence hung in the air. Ivan, a man in his fifties with silver streaks in his hair and eyes that held a history of battles and hard decisions, stood broodingly by the desk. He seemed haunted by guilt, his thoughts clouded by the recent memory of the woman whose life he had taken. He could still feel the chill of regret.

He placed his hands on the cold wooden desk and closed his eyes, but a soft touch on his shoulder brought him back to the present. It was Lara, his wife. She looked at him with concern, her gaze both steady and gentle.

"Ivan," she said softly, "I know what you're thinking. You did what was necessary. You saved us." Her words were like a lifeline, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. "Sometimes, we don't get the luxury of choosing the perfect path."

Ivan gave a slight nod, his expression softening just a bit. But the haunted look in his eyes remained as he began to search the room with Lara. They went through drawers, shelves, and documents, looking for anything that might bring them closer to resolving this web of danger. As they moved to a corner of the office, they became aware of a figure standing at the doorway.

A young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with striking dark hair and a defiant glint in her eyes, leaned against the door frame. Her face wore a smirk, the kind that spoke of bravado and arrogance. She looked over the room with an almost mocking amusement before her gaze finally settled on Ivan and Lara.

Before Ivan could fully register the surprise, the woman made her move. Swiftly, she pulled a Glock 43 from her coat, aimed, and fired at Ivan. The bullet struck his leg, sending a sharp, searing pain through his body. He gritted his teeth as he fell to one knee, clutching his wound.

"Ivan!" Lara's voice was full of shock and worry. She reached for him, but before she could do more, the young woman aimed again, a cold satisfaction in her gaze.

The castle’s steward, a loyal but unnamed servant who had served the manor for years, reacted quickly. He and Lara rushed at the woman, wresting the gun from her grip and pinning her to the ground. Lara noticed a curious pendant on a chain around the woman's neck, something that looked ancient and oddly powerful, and with a swift tug, she removed it.

Meanwhile, Ivan forced himself to his feet, the pain in his leg almost unbearable. He staggered outside to where his own Mercedes was parked, grimacing but determined. The steward helped him into the car, and with everyone finally secured, they set off back to Craft Manor, where safety awaited.

Back at Craft Manor, Ivan had his wound quickly tended to. As soon as he could stand, he made his way to the manor’s parlor, where their mysterious intruder sat tied to a chair, a smirk still playing on her lips despite her predicament. Lara was nearby, arms folded, her expression cold and unyielding.

Ivan approached the woman, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Now," he said in a low, commanding voice, "you’re going to tell us who you are and what you’re doing here."

The young woman chuckled, her expression dripping with disdain. “And you’re the one who thinks he’s going to get answers?” she sneered, her tone mocking. "Old man, you could barely handle a simple bullet."

Ignoring the taunt, Ivan’s voice grew firmer. "Your name."

She raised her chin defiantly. “It’s Laura,” she said slowly, as if savoring the words. “Though I doubt it means anything to you. And honestly, I’m not sure you have the brains or the guts to handle what’s coming.”

Ivan’s jaw tightened, but he held his composure. “I don’t have time for games, Laura. You’ll answer my questions or—”

She interrupted him with a smirk. "Or what? You’ll silence me like you did the last poor fool who got in your way? Come on. You’ve made a career out of hiding behind your wife and pretending to be something you’re not."

Lara took a step forward, visibly angered, but Ivan raised a hand, signaling her to stop. “You don’t understand the position you’re in, Laura. If you want any chance at walking out of here alive, you’ll start cooperating.”

Laura rolled her eyes, then sighed, feigning boredom. “Save your threats, Ivan. You’re not as terrifying as you think.” She let her eyes dart to the room’s corners, sizing up her options. In a flash, she reached inside her coat and pulled out a concealed Micro Uzi. Her eyes narrowed as she leveled it at Ivan.

“You really think you can intimidate me?” she said, voice icy. "Neither of you can stop what’s coming."

But she never got the chance to pull the trigger. Ivan lunged forward, knocking the gun from her grip and grabbing her by the throat. His fingers tightened around her neck, and despite her struggles, he held firm, his face unreadable. The sound of her gasping filled the room, her fingers scrambling weakly at his hands as he applied pressure.

Her defiance finally crumbled. The Micro Uzi slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a hollow clatter. Ivan held her until she stopped moving, her final gasps fading into silence. He released her and stepped back, breathing heavily.

Lara, who had watched the scene with steady resolve, came forward and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “You had no choice, Ivan. You defended yourself.”

Ivan gave her a weary nod, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and sorrow. He and the steward quickly wrapped up the scene, removing Laura’s body from the manor grounds. In the dead of night, they found a secluded area far from Craft Manor, where they buried her without ceremony or witness.

Back at Craft Manor, a somber peace settled over the house. Lara took a final walk through the grounds, her steps echoing the silence of the night. She noted with a soft smile that during her absence, the manor had been meticulously tended to. Every detail, from the carefully pruned gardens to the freshly painted walls, bore Ivan’s touch.

Craft Manor stood as a testament not only to Lara’s legacy but also to Ivan’s dedication—a fortress they had built together, one that they would defend, come what may.