The warehouse still felt like an afterthought—a rusted structure on the edge of the industrial district, buried in the city's forgotten corners. Nirvikar stepped inside, boots clicking against cracked concrete, a place as empty as his patience.
"This it?" he asked, looking at Rika with a raised brow.
She leaned against the half-open sliding door, arms crossed. "What, you expecting a mansion?"
He didn't say anything, just looked at the bare walls, the flickering light overhead.
"You want a home? Go buy one," Rika shot back. "This is where you're starting. No charity. I'm investing in you. You make it, or you don't."
Nirvikar clicked his tongue. She wasn't wrong. Power wasn't handed over; it was carved out.
The next few days, He used what was left of his bounty money to turn the warehouse into something useful. A cot in the corner, a steel table, cheap chairs that creaked when you sat down. He bought essentials—old fridges, shelves, a few basic tools. And then he ordered ammo. Lots of ammo.
Word spread fast. It started with whispers—Nirvikar was building his own crew. People said he was working with Rika, but didn't know the details. Others said he was recruiting, even though he wasn't officially a part of any gang.
It didn't take long for the rumors to build. Someone had seen him in the slums, taking down devils like they were nothing. They said he didn't ask for favors. No power plays. No alliances. Just his own strength. And people were watching.
One night, a low-level devil showed up in an alley near the warehouse. Some easy prey, a hungry beast that fed on fear—a Flea Devil, scuttling through the streets and leaving people sick. Nirvikar handled it quick, slicing it apart with his scythe arms. Barely five minutes, and it was nothing more than a pile of twitching parts in the alley. By the time Public Safety showed up, there was nothing to find but a smoldering fire where Nirvikar had dumped the remains.
The next day, some kid—skinny, ragged clothes—showed up at the gate.
"You lost?" Nirvikar asked, watching him hesitate.
The kid lifted his head. "I saw what you did. You're the one that killed that Flea Devil, right?"
"Yeah," Nirvikar said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "So what?"
"I wanna help," the kid said, stepping forward. "I wanna fight like you."
Nirvikar leaned in the doorframe, considering him for a moment. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm tired of getting stepped on."
Nirvikar didn't have time to babysit. But the kid didn't back down.
"Fine. Sweep the floor," Nirvikar said. "Don't be a liability."
From that day on, more started to show. Some saved by Nirvikar from a devil attack. Others looking for protection from rival gangs. A few had heard the rumors, talking about the devil hunter who wasn't playing the politics game. Word was he was building his own crew.
Soon enough, even the smaller gangs started getting antsy. The ones who thought they were top dogs on this side of the city. They didn't like the idea of a devil hunter like Nirvikar gathering people under his roof without playing the game—no tribute, no alliances, no bowing down to their so-called power.
That's when a mid-level gang, The Crimson Fangs, started watching.
They didn't move on him directly. Not yet. They ran drugs, extorted weak businesses, and controlled a few blocks not far from the industrial edge. But Nirvikar's name had started to echo too close to their turf. A new player with no affiliations, who'd taken down devils and people without hesitation, wasn't something they could ignore.
So they kept tabs. Watched who went in and out of the warehouse. Listened to whispers about his deals. They didn't make noise, just waited to see if Nirvikar was really building something—or if it would all fall apart before it mattered.
Rika had sent Nirvikar out on a job—cleaning up a rival gang that had been making trouble. He'd handled it. Quietly. Swiftly. A couple of the gang members didn't make it out of their hideout. Word spread fast, as always. People started whispering that Rika had a real player on her team now.
But Nirvikar wasn't building a kingdom. Not yet. He didn't want to fight those petty turf wars. He just wanted to keep the warehouse alive. Keep growing. Keep stacking bodies, not just in terms of people, but power. His devils had made him capable. But it wasn't enough.
One night, Nirvikar found himself standing on the roof of the warehouse, staring at the city sprawled before him, his hands jammed in his jacket pockets. The wind wasn't cold, but it had a bite to it.
Rika was right about one thing—this wasn't charity. This was a way up. But what came next?
There was no answer.
===========
Nirvikar leaned back against the cold wall of the warehouse, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, watching the small crew that had gathered around the place. Some were sweeping the floor, some were lifting boxes of ammo and supplies that he had ordered the week before. The place had become a sort of halfway house for the city's rejects, people who needed something to do.
Daiki approached him, his usual grim expression betraying a hint of concern. "Hey, Nirvikar," he started, his voice low, as though not wanting to disturb the others. "The guys… they're getting antsy. We've been cleaning streets, standing around, doing nothing but waiting."
Nirvikar glanced over at the young man, unimpressed. "And?"
"They want to do something more. Something that isn't just cleaning up after others. I don't think we can keep them here much longer with just sweeping and guarding this place. Some of them are talking about leaving."
Nirvikar raised an eyebrow. "They want action. But not dirty action."
"Yeah," Daiki said, nodding. "We're not about that life. But, uh... you could use that talk to your advantage."
Nirvikar gave Daiki a slow look. "What's your point?"
Daiki hesitated but then spoke up, his tone more confident. "There's a local distributor I know. Small-time, but they've got the market cornered on imports and tech repairs. The owner's been having trouble with some smaller gangs harassing his shipments. If we take care of them, we could get a cut of his business. He's willing to pay for protection."
Nirvikar stared at the kid for a long moment. "Protection money."
"Not exactly. It's a job, not a shakedown. It's the kind of thing that keeps our hands clean, and it's not illegal enough to make a mess." Daiki paused, his gaze steady. "We can do this and show everyone we mean business. You're starting to get a name, and this would give you the influence you need to keep growing. The gang's already pissed off with us. If we can shut them down quietly, we show them we're not just taking orders, but calling the shots."
Nirvikar mulled it over for a moment. He wasn't fond of running protection rackets, but this didn't feel like that. It wasn't like he was forcing anyone into anything. He would be securing a business deal with someone who wasn't involved in the darker side of crime. It could give him legitimacy. Something clean for the crew to do that would keep their hands dirty without getting involved in trafficking, drugs, or debt collection.
"Alright," Nirvikar said, breaking his silence. "Set it up. I'll deal with it myself. And make sure no one gets any ideas about stepping on toes. We don't do threats. We do business."
Daiki nodded, looking more than a little relieved. "Got it."
---
The next evening, Nirvikar found himself outside a small tech warehouse on the fringes of the city. It wasn't much to look at—grimy windows and faded signage, but there was something about it that felt different from the usual hustle. Inside, a middle-aged man with glasses sat behind a counter, tinkering with a broken piece of machinery. When he saw Nirvikar enter, he looked up, pushing his glasses higher on his nose, but his eyes darted nervously.
"Uh... can I help you?" the man asked, clearly sizing him up. He wasn't used to seeing people like Nirvikar standing in his store.
"I'm here about the shipment problems you've been having," Nirvikar said, walking further inside. He wasn't here to waste time. "Word gets around."
The man seemed to relax, though just a little. "I see... So, you're the one people are talking about. You... want to help?"
Nirvikar leaned against the counter, his posture casual. "I don't help unless it's worth something. Those gangs messing with your deliveries won't be a problem anymore. But it'll cost you. Protection's not free, and the bigger the threat, the higher the price."
The man's eyes darted toward the back, like he was deciding whether to get up and make a run for it. "I don't know… I'm not sure I can afford—"
"You don't have a choice," Nirvikar cut him off. "You want to keep your business, don't you? Let me handle it, and you'll never have to worry about them again."
The man swallowed hard, then sighed. "Alright… fine. What do you need?"
"I need a cut of every delivery. We'll handle the guys trying to take you down. You won't have to lift a finger. The price is reasonable—considering what you're paying to keep those gangs off your back. And don't worry. I'll make sure they know you're not to be messed with."
The man's face hardened, like he knew there was no way out. He extended a hand. "Alright, we've got a deal. I'll set up the first payment for next week."
Nirvikar took his hand firmly. "Good. You won't regret it."
As Nirvikar left the tech shop, he felt a small satisfaction at the deal. It wasn't much, but it was a start—a legitimate one. The word would spread fast. Not only was Nirvikar getting his hands on a little bit of money, but he was gaining a foothold in the city's underworld. And he wasn't compromising.
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AN:
Nothing big but he's finally moving up and my schedule is around Tuesday and Friday, either that or something came up. Just needed to get through this Month and then Vacation baby!
Do give me suggestions and Criticism cause I want to improve and I'm genuinely having fun, been a long time since I had fun. So yeah I think I'll continue this. Whooohoooo!
Word Count: 1754