The city never slept, but it learned quickly when to keep quiet. Word of the butcher who carved through a squad of Serpent enforcers spread faster than wildfire. In smoky bars, in back alleys where deals were made, and in the whispered gossip of street vendors, his name traveled like a curse.Leon. The Butcher.Some spoke of him with awe, others with dread, but all agreed on one thing: he was no longer just a shopkeeper. He was something else now, something dangerous.The BountyHector Ruiz didn’t wait long to act. By morning, posters bearing Leon’s face—grainy from an old ID photo—were plastered across the underground districts.WANTED: LEON “THE BUTCHER” Reward: ₦20,000,000 (Alive). ₦10,000,000 (Dead).The bounty was a declaration of war. Mercenaries, rogue killers, washed-up ex-soldiers, and desperate thugs all felt the pull of that number. A small fortune dangled in front of anyone bold enough—or foolish enough—to try their luck.Leon heard about it before the ink even dried. One

The night carried a heavy silence, the kind that wrapped itself around the city like a shroud. Leon had learned to pay attention to silence. Noise was chaos, noise was distraction, noise was life. Silence meant hunters. It meant someone had their eyes on you and was patient enough to wait for the right moment. The System had warned him earlier that day—Hector had released his wolves. Not street-level trash. These were men who had tasted blood on battlefields, men who carried the calm of executioners in their bones. Leon knew what kind of soldiers Hector kept on his leash. These weren’t killers who asked questions. These were killers who didn’t need to.He first felt their presence near the abandoned train yard. He had been scouting for weaknesses in Hector’s supply routes, keeping his head low while his instincts sharpened like knives. Then it came—that prickling at the back of his neck, the subtle shift of air, the weight of eyes following his steps. He didn’t turn his head. He kept

The city never truly slept, but the docks had a way of breathing differently at night. The water lapped against wooden posts, the salty air mixing with the stench of diesel, fish, and old sweat. To Leon, it smelled like opportunity. Hector’s empire was bleeding, and the docks were one of the main arteries. Drugs, weapons, cash—they flowed in and out through the cargo containers stacked like iron fortresses.The System had marked the location as a high-value target.Quest: Disrupt Hector’s Supply Line at the Docks. Reward: New Combat Technique (Slaughter Sweep).Leon adjusted the strap of his coat and crouched on a crane overlooking the vast port. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their rifles slung casually, but he saw how tightly their fingers curled on the triggers. Hector had learned from the warehouse fire. This time, his men were ready for a fight.Leon smirked. Good.The first kill came easy. A guard wandered too close to a blind spot between containers. Leon dropped silently behi

The city was never quiet at night, but that evening, the silence stretched like a blade. In the underworld, whispers spread faster than fire—Hector’s hounds had been wiped out. Six men, killers feared across the docks, carved apart by one butcher with a cleaver.Every bar, every gambling den, every dark alley buzzed with the same name.Leon.But while the streets murmured with fear, one man listened in silence.He sat alone in a dimly lit room, the single bulb overhead flickering with each passing second. His black coat hung loosely over broad shoulders, the hood casting shadows that swallowed his face. A long case rested against the wall, unassuming but heavy with violence.They called him Raven.No one knew his true name, not even Hector. He had appeared in the underworld years ago, a shadow that moved between gangs, selling death to the highest bidder. He was no wolf, no hound, no brute. He was the silence before the kill, the cold breath on the back of your neck before the knife s

Word of the butcher’s duel spread like wildfire. Some swore Leon had stood toe-to-toe with the Raven, others whispered that he had barely survived. But everyone agreed on one thing: the war had shifted.No longer was this a simple clash of gangs. A predator had entered the field.And predators didn’t just kill. They hunted.The first strike came at dawn.A courier—one of Leon’s young runners—was found hanging upside down beneath the bridge that crossed the river. His throat had been slit clean, not ragged like a street thug’s work, but precise, a surgeon’s cut. Carved into his chest was a single black feather.By noon, another ally—a small-time smuggler who had sworn loyalty to Leon—was discovered in his own warehouse. His guards hadn’t heard a thing. His body sat slumped against the wall, eyes open, mouth sewn shut with black thread.The message was clear. Silence.Fear began to spread. Men who had sworn fealty two nights before suddenly went missing, their loyalty crumbling like old