The city didn't sleep that night. Not really. Not after what happened at the warehouse. Word spread like wildfire—through the streets, the alleys, the underground. Elric's men were rattled. Meetings were canceled. Calls were intercepted. And everywhere Dre's name was whispered, it was no longer with pity or mockery. It was spoken with fear.
Dre sat in the back room of a run-down boxing gym, wrapping tape around his knuckles in silence. The hum of a flickering fluorescent light buzzed above him. He wasn't there to train. He was there to think. To feel. To remember who the hell he was. The floor beneath him was stained with old sweat and blood, and the walls were lined with photos of fighters who had once mattered. He looked up at them not for inspiration, but for a better understanding. None of those men had ever fought what he was fighting now. Not in a ring. Not with rules.
Lasko walked in, bruised and tired, but alert. "They're rattled. We got calls from two of Elric's lieutenants asking for negotiations."
Dre didn't even blink. "We don't negotiate with cowards who sent kids to do their dirty work."
"They're scared of what's next."
"Good. Let them be scared."
Lasko hesitated. "But there's something else. Elric… he's making moves too."
Dre raised an eyebrow.
"He's hiring outsiders. People who don't care about rules. People who kill families just to send messages."
Dre's jaw tightened. The air in the room thickened with tension.
"Let him try," Dre said quietly. "But when he does, I'll burn everything he's ever built."
Outside the gym, Mira was sitting in the backseat of a tinted car, arms crossed, staring at the people walking by. Normal people. People with lives untouched by blood, betrayal, and vengeance. She envied them, but she didn't hate them. She just wanted to survive. And for Dre to survive too.
A soft knock on the window made her jump. She looked up to see Jayla, Dre's cousin, standing with a calm face and wild eyes.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked.
Mira nodded, and Jayla slid in.
"Dre's in deep," Jayla said immediately. "He won't stop until he either wins… or bleeds out in the street."
"I know," Mira said softly.
"And you're still here. Why?"
Mira looked out the window. "Because he never asked me to be. And sometimes that's more powerful than begging someone to stay."
Jayla leaned back. "You're braver than you look."
"I'm scared every day."
"That's what makes you brave."
Later that night, Dre stood on top of an abandoned overpass, overlooking the west side of the city. Below him, a line of Elric's armored cars were pulling into a supposedly secure compound. Dre watched with sharp eyes, noting every pattern, every security flaw, every blind spot.
This was where the next strike would happen. But this time, he wasn't going for supplies.
He was going for heads.
"We move tomorrow," he said into the radio clipped to his shirt. "Be ready. No mistakes. No mercy."
The next morning hit hard. Dre and his team were in position before the sun rose. Everyone knew their role. The plan was tight. No improvising.
As the compound gates opened and the first guards moved out for patrol, Dre led the charge. Silent takedowns. Smoke bombs. Jammed cameras. Within minutes, the outer perimeter was theirs.
Inside, chaos exploded.
Elric's men weren't ready. They weren't trained for war. Dre's crew wasn't just angry—they were focused. Every punch, every bullet, every decision was made with precision.
At the heart of the compound, Dre found a steel door. Reinforced. Locked. Protected. The kind of door someone hid behind when they thought fear could save them.
He placed a charge and stepped back.
Boom.
The smoke cleared.
Elric stood there, gun in hand, three of his guards shielding him.
Dre stepped through the smoke like a ghost made of rage.
"Elric."
"Dre. I expected you would come. I just didn't expect you to get this far."
"I always get this far. You just never thought I'd live long enough to prove it."
Elric smiled coldly. "You don't know what you're doing. You're not built for this."
Dre didn't respond. He just raised his gun.
The fight was short. Bullets flew. Guards fell. And then it was just Dre and Elric, face to face.
No more talk.
Fists flew. Rage unleashed. The room shook with the sound of bones meeting flesh.
Elric was strong, but Dre had something stronger—memory. Pain. Purpose. He fought with every scar they gave him.
And when Elric finally collapsed to the floor, bleeding and broken, Dre stood over him, chest heaving.
"You killed my brother," Dre said, voice shaking. "You lied to my face. You took everything."
Elric tried to speak, but blood choked his words.
"And now," Dre continued, "I'm taking your empire. One piece at a time."
He walked out, not looking back. The silence behind him was louder than any scream.
By nightfall, the city knew.
Elric was gone.
And a new king had risen from the ashes.
Dre didn't celebrate. He didn't smile. He just stood on the same rooftop as the night before, staring down at the streets.
It wasn't over.
Not yet.
But for the first time, it felt like he had taken the first step out of hell.
And maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to live for.
Like the girl who refused to walk away.
Like the peace he never thought he deserved.
Like vengeance finally tasting like victory.
Tomorrow would bring more war.
But tonight, for once, he allowed himself to breathe.