The tension within the auction chamber changed. Tension and riches blended together in something more real than mere power. Five remaining groups only stood, each the representation of undisputed influence.
Sorin, on his left, adjusted his purple glasses. "Watch. This isn't just about money."
Phantom smirked. It never was.
"Five VVIPs remain standing."
Phantom rested back in his chair, fingers crossed as he observed the auction. His wolf mask hid the top half of his face, leaving only his pointed, calculating smile visible beneath. The grand auction hall was filled with a regal light, the golden chandeliers casting a glow off obsidian walls polished to a sheen.
Sorin went on, his voice lowering.
"Sentinel."
That was them. Him and Phantom—one observing, the other playing the game.
"Aspen Technology."
The world's second-most dominant corporation. Some claimed that it had beat the first, just not quite officially.
"Global Awakeners Association."
A global organisation controlling Awakeners. They had power competing with governments themselves.
"Global Merchant Association."
Technically belongs to Zyphorion. But everyone suspected they were a nation within their own.
"Last but not least… the mysterious organization."
A name which was never said. A force which could never be denied.
Five titans of the world. And still, all five of them simply sat in silence, expecting the next to act.
Phantom's golden eyes flashed behind his mask. He shifted to the side. "You feel it?"
Sorin didn't even need to ask what he meant. His smirk barely shifted. "Yeah."
Something was approaching.
Something none of them could quite put their finger on yet.
The auctioneer emerged, clearing his throat. "Shall we proceed?"
The next war of wealth was set to begin.
A lone gloved hand rose.
"100 billion."
Aspen's side. A man in a dark suit, calm, unreadable.
The next moment—
"110 billion."
The mysterious organization. Still no movement, no change in expression.
Then—
"120 billion."
The Global Awakeners Association.
No hesitation.
The numbers rose. 130. 140. 150 billion.
There was no debate. No panic. No worry.
These weren't men tossing money around.
They were powers controlling destiny.
And yet—
As the bid reached 200 billion—
The Global Awakeners Association stopped.
Glitch, hovering invisibly alongside Phantom, flashed. "That's strange. Why would they withdraw now?"
Not because they couldn't pay for it.
Because they decided to drop out.
Phantom furrowed his brows.
The other three delegations immediately registered it.
No explanation. No deliberation.
They just ceased bidding.
Seconds ticked by.
Then—
The unknown organization ceased, too.
And then the Global Merchant Association.
Phantom drummed his fingers against the armrest of his chair.
Now, there were only two contenders left.
Sentinel.
Aspen Technology.
Sorin's smile not even wavering as he raised a hand.
"210 billion."
Aspen countered on the spot. "220 billion."
Sentinel once more. "230 billion."
Aspen did not wait. "240 billion."
The war continued raging, and yet—
Something wasn't quite right.
Phantom could sense it.
Sorin could sense it.
And by the flicking glances of the remaining VVIPs—
They sensed it too.
Something was coming.
Quickly.
And Sentinel was only bidding now in order to maintain facade.
Phantom let out a slow breath. "Tch. They sensed it too."
Sorin did not cease smiling. "Let's see then how they react."
Aspen placed the last bid of the evening.
"300 billion."
Silence.
The gavel came down with a sharp, echoing sound.
"Sold. 300 billion to Aspen Technology."
A soft murmur flowed through the room, but it was not a murmur of surprise. It was a murmur of power recognizing power. The delegates of the losing factions remained unresponsive—at least on the surface. Phantom, behind his mask, simply observed. Waiting.
Aspen's delegation glided with precise ease. A silver-haired tall man in a jet-black business suit—one of their senior executives—stood up from his seat. His pace was deliberate, yet absolute power trailed behind him as he strode down the aisle towards the stage. His footsteps resounded off the shining obsidian floor.
Trailing behind him, two colleagues attended in immaculate, tailored suits. Each of them carried a sleek, biometric briefcase—one with the documents for transaction, the other with the definitive codes of authentication.
The auctioneer waved across the side of the stage, where a blast-resistant pedestal had burst forth from beneath. It bore at its center, ensconced within multiple layers of security-grade glass, the artifact.
An obsidian-black case of containment, emitting an almost undetectable hum of power. It was as if the space itself around it would not stay still.
Aspen's chief executive took the stage. A nod was shared between him and the auctioneer. No words were needed.
One of Aspen's associates placed the briefcase on a panel. A soft beep verified the electronic handshake. In seconds, encrypted digital transactions were flashing across holographic screens, figures so massive they could bring empires to their knees.
A voice confirmed from overhead speakers. "Transaction authenticated. Funds received."
A silence settled over the room as the containment case was opened. Security layers released with a series of slick, mechanical clicks. A robot arm extended, pulling the relic out of its housing. The last transfer was almost done.
The silver-haired executive reached out his gloved hands, poised to accept the prize.
And then—
BOOM.
The ceiling exploded.
The roof blew, a controlled blast rippling shockwaves through the chamber. The golden chandeliers overhead trembled wildly, casting wild shadows across the unfazed VVIPs.
Through the hole in the ceiling, a figure dropped, moving with a physics-defying grace. Their body rotated in mid-air, the reflective visor on their black helmet glinting off the shimmering auction lights.
And then—
A snap of their fingers.
A sharp, calculated movement.
From the shadows above, more silhouettes dropped, falling into synchronized silence.
Phantom's golden eyes squinted beneath his mask, calculating.
Sorin, standing next to him, did not flinch. If anything, his smirk grew deeper as he leaned in, interested.
On the opposite side of the hall, Aspen's executive retreated half a step, his gloved hand drifting close to the relic but not making contact.
His actions were slow, calculated—assessing the moment in a flash.
The rest of the VVIPs hardly flinched. No hysteria, no tantrums. But there was something else. Silence. The sort that came only from those who possessed real power—the sort that didn't move without knowing precisely what they faced.
The intruders?
Their attire—sleek, midnight-black, adorned with faint golden circuitry.
Their mask—featureless. No eyes. No mouth. A smooth, empty surface.
And yet—one of them tilted their head ever so slightly. Not toward the relic. Not toward the auctioneer.
But toward Phantom.
A voice echoed—distorted, amused.
"Now, now. What's a Grand Auction without a little chaos?"