Magnus Kane was nobody until Bitcoin hit $100,000. A coder with a knack for patterns, he’d mined early, hodled through crashes, and cashed out at the peak. By 2023, he was a billionaire at thirty-five, untouchable in a world of volatility. But wealth wasn’t enough. Magnus craved legacy.

He bought Isle Cedara, a rugged speck off Scotland’s northwest coast—mist-soaked, pine-choked, forgotten. His vision: a utopia for crypto’s true believers, free from fiat’s chains. He called it the Cedars. Fifty followed him—coders, traders, dreamers—drawn by his charisma and promises of a new world. They built cabins, rigged solar grids, and mined stablecoins in a bunker. Magnus was their shepherd, his word law.

At first, it worked. The Cedars thrived on shared purpose. Magnus mediated disputes, allocated resources, and preached self-sovereignty. But power, like code, has bugs. His rulings grew sharp, his patience thin. Dissenters vanished—sent to “rethink” in solitary cabins. The community whispered of his late-night rants, eyes wild, speaking of “forces” guiding him. Good intentions curdled into control.

The Call to Cedara

Detective Inspector Lena Fraser and Sergeant Jamie Kerr stood on Oban’s pier, wind slicing through their coats. The call had come from a Cedars defector, now in hiding: Magnus Kane was unhinged, the island a cult. Missing persons reports tied to Cedara piled up—five in six months. Lena, a skeptic of tech messiahs, smelled a con. Jamie, younger, saw a puzzle worth solving.

Their boat rocked across slate-gray waves to Cedara. The defector’s warning echoed in Lena’s mind: “He knows everything. Eyes everywhere.” No signal reached the island; their radios crackled uselessly. As pines loomed into view, Lena’s gut tightened. Something watched.

They docked at a deserted jetty. Cabins stood silent, doors ajar. Solar panels glinted, but no hum of life stirred. Jamie checked a bunkhouse—beds made, plates clean, as if the Cedars had vanished mid-breath. “They knew we were coming,” he muttered.

Lena found a ledger in the main hall, entries in Magnus’s sharp script: Dissent logged. Realignment assigned. The last page bore one word, scrawled in red: PURGE. Her pulse quickened. “We’re not alone.”

Hunters in the Mist

The first trap snapped at dusk. Jamie’s boot caught a wire, and a log swung from the pines, grazing his shoulder. He cursed, blood seeping through his jacket. Lena yanked him behind a boulder as footsteps crunched nearby. Shadows moved—Cedars, cloaked in gray, faces blank but eyes burning. They carried blades, not guns. Silent. Precise.

Lena whispered, “They’re hunting us.” Jamie nodded, gripping his baton. Their training kicked in—move fast, stay low. The island became a maze of mist and roots. Every snap of a twig was a threat. Lena spotted a symbol carved into a tree: a cedar branch circling a coin. It marked every path, as if the island itself served Magnus.

They reached a cliffside cave for shelter. Inside, Jamie found a crypto rig—servers humming, screens flashing wallet addresses. “He’s still profiting,” Jamie said, tracing transactions. Billions flowed to untraceable accounts. But one file stood out: Cedar Protocols. It detailed surveillance—cameras in cabins, mics in communal halls. Magnus had watched every word, every doubt.

A scream tore through the night. Lena peered out. A Cedar dragged a body—another defector, throat slit. The cult wasn’t gone; they’d retreated to strike. “We find Magnus,” Lena said. “End this.”

The Maniac’s Throne

Clues led to the island’s heart: a stone circle ringed by cedars, Magnus’s sanctum. They crept through fog, dodging patrols. Lena’s torch caught glints—cameras in branches, wires under moss. The Cedars were a panopticon, and Magnus its god.
He waited in the circle, alone. No guards, no traps. Just Magnus Kane, taller than Lena remembered from newsreels, his face gaunt, eyes like oil slicks. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said, voice low, resonant. “The Cedars are mine. The world’s next.”

Jamie stepped forward, baton raised. “You’re done, Kane. They’re gone.” Magnus laughed—a sound that clawed at Lena’s spine. “Gone? They’re everywhere. My will is theirs. My will is His.”

Lena frowned. “His?” Magnus’s smile widened, unnatural. “The one who speaks in the dark. He showed me truth. Power. You’ll see.”

The duel erupted. Magnus moved like a wraith, dodging Jamie’s swings, landing blows with a blade from nowhere. Lena fired her taser, but the prongs sparked uselessly against him. He knocked Jamie cold, blood pooling. Lena dove, tackling Magnus. They rolled, her fists meeting his jaw. But his strength was wrong—too much, too fast.

The Demon’s Price

Magnus pinned Lena, his breath hot, words spilling like venom. “I built paradise. They betrayed me. So I gave myself to Him.” His eyes flickered, pupils slitting vertical, then human again. Lena’s skin crawled. This wasn’t madness—it was worse.

She kneed his ribs, breaking free. Jamie stirred, groaning, and tossed her a rock. She smashed it against Magnus’s temple. He staggered but didn’t fall, laughing. “You can’t kill what’s eternal!”

The Cedars emerged, encircling them, chanting low: “Cedar, coin, master, one.” Lena and Jamie backed to the circle’s center, outnumbered. Magnus raised a hand, and the cult froze. “Your lives for my truth,” he said. “Join, or burn.”

Lena spat. “You’re no god.” She lunged, not for Magnus, but the altar behind him—a slab etched with that coin-cedar mark. She smashed it with Jamie’s baton, cracking stone. Magnus screamed, clutching his chest, as if the blow struck him. The Cedars faltered, confused.

Jamie tackled a cultist, grabbing a blade. Lena kept smashing. With each hit, Magnus weakened, his form flickering—human, then shadow, then human. “You can’t stop Him!” he roared, but his voice cracked.

The final blow split the altar. Magnus collapsed, eyes blank. The Cedars froze, then fled, their trance broken. Lena knelt by Jamie, checking his pulse. Alive. Barely.

Epilogue: The Empty Isle

Dawn broke over Cedara, mist burning off. Lena and Jamie limped to the jetty, radio finally crackling. Backup was hours out. The island felt hollow, its menace bled dry. Magnus’s body lay in the circle, human again, empty.

Lena burned the ledger. “No one needs his poison spreading.” Jamie nodded, wincing. They’d report a cult collapse, a madman dead. The demon? That stayed between them. Some truths were too heavy.
As their boat pulled away, Lena glanced back. A cedar branch swayed, though no wind stirred. She shivered and turned to the horizon.