Chapter 391: The War Council

The harsh red lights from the earlier crisis meeting had dimmed, giving way to a cold, white light that seemed to drain color from everyone in the room.

The once-blaring holographic displays were now flashing slowly, rhythmically, like a predator waiting to pounce.

The ten CEOs of Concord sat around a sleek black glass table, a representation of their arrogance, strength, and sheer will to survive.

Darius Veyne was the first to break the heavy silence. His voice had dropped to a lower tone, layered with the calmness of someone who had channeled their anger into a strategic mindset.

“Alright, we’ve panicked enough; it’s time to strategize!”

Lira Solmarr leaned in, her angular features highlighted by the soft glow of the table’s holograph. “We’ve been through this before,” she remarked. “We know how this ends.”

Working quickly on her datapad, she pulled up an old Osborn patent: the AMHP-9 Emerald Rebirth Pod. Its sleek emerald surface and silver wiring sparkled in the air.

“When Osborn first emerged,” she continued, “they revolutionized regenerative medicine. Our synthetic skin graft market took a massive hit, down forty percent overnight. But we survived. We managed to absorb those losses, convincing ourselves it was just innovation and competition.”

Rook Kael scowled from the other end of the table. “Control. That’s what we thought with the launch of their VitaCore Emerald Liquid too. It nearly wiped out my gene-repair division at Pandora Labs.”

Lira nodded in understanding. “Yet we let them prosper because they didn’t seem to threaten us at the time. They were just letting them go because at that time we didn’t take them serious.”

Her tone turned serious as she added, “But ONCURA is different.”

Darius looked up from his screen, his voice steady and somber. “ONCURA is draining our resources.”

Although they didn’t mention him by name, every CEO knew there was a mastermind behind Osborn’s strategies, someone working with insights that surpassed ordinary understanding.

Darius flicked his wrist, and the holograms shifted above them: a cascade of numbers fell like stock prices, loss estimates, and red graphs swirling through the air like dying embers.

“Forty-seven percent of Aetheris’ synthetic organ sales..gone,” he declared.

He made eye contact with everyone as he spoke. “A sixty percent drop in Pandora’s trauma division. A seventy-three percent collapse in BioVertex’s burn recovery units. Four hundred fifty-six trillion Unicreds lost collectively in just seventy-two hours.”

Each statement landed with the weight of a hammer strike.

Korin Veyd’s knuckles turned pale as they gripped the table tightly. “In three days, we’ve lost more than we did during the last two economic crashes combined.”

“They’ve beaten every contingency plan we had,” Senna Voss murmured. “Every scenario we prepared for has been thrown out the window.”

An oppressive silence fell across the room until Draven Sol of Obelisk Biotech, leaned in.

Even in the bright light, he seemed to fade into the shadows, his voice low and methodical.

“Then we need to change the game,” he suggested. “Let’s turn their greatest strength against them.”

Darius raised an eyebrow. “Their science?”

Draven shook his head. “Their reputation.”

All eyes focused on him as he laid out his idea. “We need to expose the origins of their research, challenge their ethics, and fill the media with narratives that present Osborn not as a hero, but as a villain in a white coat.”

He paused, locking eyes with each person at the table. “The media thrives on fear more than the truth.”

Senna nodded slowly, her face revealing little. “Disinformation..old but effective.”

Then her tone sharpened. “Or we can infiltrate from the inside. We can buy their talent; everyone has a price.”

Veyra Aldis let out a brief, humorless laugh. “How do you even acquire employees when no one knows where they actually work? Their headquarters is basically a legend. Their operations are guarded more tightly than a military black site; you can’t bribe what you can’t get to.”

Senna shot her a defiant glare. “So we find someone who can get in touch with them.”

Before tensions could escalate, Lira stepped in. “We approach this legally and bureaucratically. The PHA won’t allow ONCURA’s expansion without regional trials. If we can coordinate some lobbying efforts and smooth some paths with the regulators, we could postpone their international rollout by several months.”

Mira Hel gave a faint smile, almost in approval. “But even a few months might not be enough; they’re already ramping up production at unprecedented rates.”

Darius stood up as the holographic displays changed again, showcasing ONCURA’s distribution network: thousands of Osborn hospitals, drones, and laboratories scattered like veins across the globe.

“We’ll come at them from all angles,” he asserted.

He looked at Senna. “Economically.”

To Lira, he said: “Politically.”

To Draven, he added: “In terms of reputation.”

“And what if those strategies don’t work?” Mira Hel’s calm but penetrating voice cut through the conversation like silk concealing steel.

“Then,” Draven responded, his face darkening, “we’ll have to resort to the same tactics that built this empire.”

He locked eyes with Mira. “The shadows that once whispered secrets into our ears.”

The atmosphere in the room thickened after those words were spoken. Everyone grasped what was being suggested, the concealed networks behind the GENEBANE Virus, the political syndicates, and the influential families whose power reached back generations.

Lira tried to lighten the mood. “We’re taking huge risks here. If the public finds out it’s us, we’re done for.”

Darius’s expression hardened. “If we take no action, it’s already over.” Rook Kael pounded his fist on the table, the force echoing across the room.

“We can’t afford to show mercy. Osborn has belittled everything we’ve built, taken our scientists, our clients, our governments.”

Mira Hel tilted her head slightly, a smile barely visible. “And stripped us of our dignity.”

Veyra Aldis crossed her arms defiantly. “What’s the plan then, Darius? Are we forming another syndicate? Another secret network like VULTURE?”

“No, that’s a concern for those above us!” he replied, shaking his head. Darius paused, his eyes fixed on a holographic map of ONCURA, with bright lines linking hospitals, satellites, drones, and distribution hubs.

The Osborn crest glowed softly at its center, shining gold like an empire that thought it had already won.

Finally, he spoke. “No. We need something more significant.”

Standing taller, he declared, “A temporary alliance. A concord.”

He looked at each member of the group. “The Concord of Ten.”

Draven Sol was the first to nod in agreement. “We’ve been at odds for a century; now is the time to come together for our survival.” Senna eased her stance slightly.

“And what happens once this threat is gone?”

“Then we go back to our old ways,” Darius said, his tone matter-of-fact. A rare wave of dark amusement passed through the group, with even Mira Hel managing a smirk.

“Alright,” Lira said decisively. “Let’s deplete their resources first.”

Darius tapped the table as holograms shifted to show ten distinct symbols, one for each involved corporation. “Our goals are clear,” he stated firmly: “Sabotage. Infiltration. Disinformation. Political interference. Every operation will be deniable; there will be no names, no records.”

He turned to Draven with intention: “Reopen our old networks and find those who still owe us.”

To Lira, he directed: “Take control of regulatory bodies; bog down their approvals in bureaucracy.”

To Mira: “Acquire media outlets.”

To Rook: “Oversee security protocols; I want to make sure we prevent any data leaks or sabotage that could disrupt their advancements.”

One by one, the CEOs nodded in agreement, their reflections blending together on the sleek, black glass table, transforming them from individuals into a single, powerful entity, an authentic representation of corporate dominance.

As the directives were given and the lights dimmed again, Darius lingered at the table, his eyes locked on the final display,the glowing emblem of ONCURA casting its light across the world.

“They think they’ve triumphed over death,” he muttered. “Let’s remind them that death is still our commodity.”

The others departed quietly, their footsteps echoing in the metallic corridor. Mira Hel was the last to exit.

She paused at the threshold and glanced back, her voice low. “You do know,” she said, “that beings like us don’t just engage in wars; we engineer them.”

Darius didn’t respond. The door closed softly behind her with a quiet hiss.

In the silence that followed, the red holographic lights dimmed one by one until only the Osborn crest remained, calm, golden, and undisturbed above the table.

Darius’s reflection flickered against it like a ghost caught in the light of his rival’s success.

He spoke to the stillness, his voice icy and determined. “Let the world adore them. Soon enough, they’ll remember who their real gods are.”

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