Dawn came slow, crawling over the slums like a wounded animal. The rain had stopped sometime before, leaving the alleys slick, the air heavy with the stink of rot and wet iron. A pale light slipped through the cracks of the safehouse walls, weak and unforgiving.Jayden hadn’t slept. He sat on the floor, back against the wall, blade resting across his knees. His eyes burned, his body ached, but his mind was sharper than ever. Today he would cut away the poison. Today he would prove to his crew, to himself that betrayal had no place beside him.The door creaked. Malikah entered first, already awake, face hard and calm. She carried no smile, no hesitation. Her loyalty was her shield. Behind her, Tariq strolled in, yawning like it was any other morning. He wore his cocky grin, but there was something off in the corners of it like a man trying too hard to pretend.Amara was already there, seated at the corner, shadowed in the dim light. She hadn’t spoken much since last night. She didn’t n

The den still stank of blood. Even after Malikah scrubbed the floors and the boys hauled out the bodies, the scent clung to the walls. Iron Fang coin clinked in sacks by the door, and half-burned playing cards littered the corners.Jayden sat in the old dealer’s chair, machete leaning against his leg. He hadn’t slept. Smoke curled from the cigarette in his lips as he watched his recruits count loot, whispering nervously.It wasn’t just money he had stolen from Razor it was reputation.By morning, the alleys sang with new verses.“Jayden Cole slit Razor’s men in their sleep.”“Jayden Cole drinks blood instead of water.”“Jayden Cole killed his own brother without blinking what chance does Razor have?”The slums thrived on whispers. And now, every whisper carried his name.At the food lines, old women muttered it while serving bowls of thin porridge. At the gambling tables, dice-rollers used it as a curse. On rooftops, lookouts spat it as a warning.Jayden Cole.Some said it with fear.

The days after the storm brought no calm. Instead, the air in the slums thickened with rumor and unrest. Word spread fast Razor was moving. Not just with the Iron Fangs anymore. He was pulling in smaller crews, swallowing them like fire takes dry wood.Jayden heard it first from Kola the Thin, the nervous broker whose twitchy eyes never missed the whispers of the streets.“They’re flocking to him,” Kola said, licking cracked lips as he leaned in close during a meeting in the safehouse. “Crews from the docks, the bottle gangs, even a few corner hustlers who used to run from your name. They’re not running anymore. They’re standing with Razor.”Jayden leaned back, expression calm though inside his gut tightened. “Why?”“Because he promises blood,” Kola answered. His voice dropped to a hiss. “Your blood. Says you’ve lost the streets, that you hide behind women and scraps. Says you’re weak.”Malikah slammed her knife into the table, the wood cracking. “Then we cut out their tongues and fee

The slums were quiet the next morning, too quiet.Ash still clung to the walls, and the alleys smelled of charred flesh. Dogs dragged bones into corners. Men walked with heads low, their voices hushed as if the ghosts of the dead were still listening.Jayden sat inside the half-burned warehouse they had claimed as a base. His machete leaned against the wall, but he hadn’t touched it since dawn. His hands were still raw from gripping it too tightly, knuckles split and swollen.Every time he closed his eyes, he saw bodies falling. Every time he opened them, he saw the faces of the ones still alive, watching him with a mix of awe and fear.He had won, but the victory tasted like rust and ash.Malikah entered, her arm strapped tight, her expression sharp even through exhaustion. “Scouts say Razor pulled back into the south blocks. He’s bleeding, but he’s breathing.”Jayden’s jaw flexed. “Breathing means he’s plotting.”Malikah hesitated before lowering her voice. “There’s more. Some of th

The throne was no longer enough.Jayden wanted the crown.The safehouse-turned-palace was lit with firelight. Torches lined the cracked walls, shadows dancing like restless spirits. Jayden stood at the center, his machete gleaming, his coat torn but regal in its own savage way. Around him, Malikah, the Burned Boy, and what remained of his loyalists watched in silence.Tonight wasn’t just about holding ground. It was about claiming it.He raised the machete high. “From hunger to fire, from betrayal to blood, we crawled. We bled. And now we rise. No Council owns us. No Iron Fangs command us. No Razor shadows us. This is our kingdom!”The crew roared, stamping feet against the concrete, fists pumping in the air.Jayden lowered his blade and spoke the words he had been rehearsing in his head since the first night he was beaten in the dirt.“I am Jayden Cole King of the Slums!”The roar doubled, shaking the walls. Malikah’s eyes shone with both pride and unease. The Burned Boy stared at hi