The night breathed slow and heavy over the city — a dull, silver pulse wrapped around glass towers and sleepless lights. Somewhere between the static of rain and neon, his empire hummed, invisible, precise, deadly. They called him Eryx Vale, but the underworld whispered another name with reverence and fear alike: White Serpent.

They said his words could start wars, his silence could end nations. A phantom woven into the underbelly of global power, Eryx Vale built an empire not on gold or gunfire, but on secrets, delicate, dangerous, divine. Men with guns bowed before him; presidents spoke his name like a curse they couldn’t exorcise.

He didn’t touch weapons. Didn’t need to.

He owned everything that mattered, fear, loyalty, and information. The kind of man who smiled while watching kings tremble, because power wasn’t about muscle or bullets. Power was about knowledge, and Eryx Vale knew everything.

Or so he thought.

When the breach came, it wasn’t noise or chaos that announced it. It was silence, that kind of silence that makes the air colder, the world sharper.

“Boss” a voice broke through the intercom, shaky, almost apologetic. “Level-three vault…breached.”

Eryx didn’t move. He just watched the surveillance screens flicker, blue and sterile, reflecting in the glass of his untouched whiskey.

“No alarms?”

“None, sir. No prints either. They took the Interpol data. The only copy.”

The clock ticked once — twice.

And then, the faintest curve ghosted his lips.

“…The phantom thief.”

The words tasted like amusement. Like venom. “S” he said softly, almost fondly. “She finally made her move.”

He rose from the chair, the white of his suit blinding beneath the dim light. When he slid his gloves on, it wasn’t rage that filled the room, it was calculation. Cold, meticulous, almost beautiful.

“Ready the car” he murmured. “Let’s welcome the lady properly.”

A black sports car tore through the midnight streets, rain hissing against asphalt. You were a blur of motion, the infamous Phantom S, the one who could slip through laser grids and facial scans like a ghost. Your laughter rippled softly inside the confined space as you glanced at the glowing hard drive beside you.

“White Serpent, huh?” you whispered, licking your lip. “Let’s see if that snake’s fangs are real or just for show.”

Then you saw it, the shadow following in your mirror. No sirens, no plates, just headlights that never blinked. Smooth. Silent. Relentless.

Inside that car, Eryx Vale drove one-handed, calm as sin. The city slid past in ribbons of light, and for the first time in years, he felt something close to interest.

He clicked on the private frequency, his voice pouring through the static like warm honey laced with poison.

“Well” he drawled, tone slow, deliberate. “I must admit, meeting you in person is far more entertaining than heard your legend suggested.”

You let out a soft laugh through the comm, feigned and teasing.

“Aren’t you going to thank me for sparing your guards? They were shaking too hard to aim straight.”

“I will” he murmured, pressing harder on the accelerator, his voice lowering until it coiled right into your ear.

“When you stop the car.”

Your smirk widened. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll make you.”

Then his voice came again — quieter, richer, dangerous.

“After all…” A pause. The faintest smile. “What man doesn’t enjoy a woman covered in thorns?”