All Chapters of BLOOD AND ASHES : Chapter 101
- Chapter 110
113 chapters
THE BROKEN GLOVES
The locker room beneath the Docks of Madero smelled of salt, rust, and second chances. The flickering lights buzzed like nervous insects, cutting through the mist of sweat and liniment oil.Nico Alvarez sat in front of a cracked mirror, his reflection glistening with purpose. His jaw was set, his muscles coiled beneath the sheen of oil. It was a body built from hard years and harder luck.For once, the fire in his eyes wasn’t desperation — it was belief.This was supposed to be the night that changed everything. The night he clawed his way out of the underground circuit and back into the spotlight he’d once dreamed of.He had worked hard to convince his former coach El Rico to promote the event and invite scouts so that his talent will be spotted and he could go pro.He wound the white tape around his knuckles, slow and methodical, the ritual steadying his heartbeat. Every pull of the wrap felt like the tightening of destiny itself.“Careful, champ,” said Miguel ‘Old Migs’ Romero, his
A LEGEND BROKEN, A KING WATCHING
“But coach, this is supposed to be my—”“Enough!” Migs’s voice cracked. His lips quivered as he looked into Nico’s eyes — eyes that once made men believe in miracles. “You don’t understand, Nico. It’s not up to us anymore.”The silence that followed was unbearable.Nico stood frozen, his heart pounding, his dream collapsing in slow motion. The muffled cheers from the arena outside — the rhythmic chants of “Mu-le! Mu-le!” — sounded distant now. Hollow.He looked down at his gloves, the same ones that had carried him to ten straight hard fought wins in the docks. For the first time that night, he didn’t see a champion.He saw a man being asked to break his own spirit.The underground arena was a furnace of smoke and noise. Shouting gamblers slammed wads of cash onto barrels, their voices clashing with the pounding of drums. Women in cheap dresses swayed to the rhythm; the air smelled of sweat, salt, and whiskey.The ring itself sat beneath a single hanging bulb, its ropes stained with b
SIXTY THOUSAND PIECES OF SHAME
The locker room smelled of sweat, rust, and failure. The cheers from the docks had faded into distant echoes, replaced by the faint dripping of a leaking pipe somewhere above. Nico Alvarez sat on a stool, motionless. His gloves dangled from his hands, torn and blood-stained — a pair of broken promises. His breath came shallow, his chest heaving from a fight he could’ve won… but wasn’t allowed to. He gritted his teeth so hard they squeaked. His reflection in the cracked mirror mocked him — swollen lip, bloodied brow, and eyes that no longer recognized themselves. His coach Miguel “Old Migs” Romero hovered by the corner, hesitant. The silence between them was heavier than the blows Nico had taken in the ring. “Kid…” Migs started softly. Nico’s voice was a low growl. “Don’t.” Migs took a slow step closer, guilt carved deep into his face. “You did what you had to—” “—What I had to?” Nico shot up from the stool, his chair clattering against the wall. His voice thundered throug
THE FIXER'S FALL
Rico turned, his tone was sharp. “And who the hell are you?”Tobias took a slow drag from his cigarette. “Just someone who likes to see a fair game.”“Well, what is going on here isn’t your business, stranger. Get out.”Tobias’s gaze flicked to the open briefcase. “When money walks into the ring before the fighters do… it is my business.”Rico laughed. “You some kind of journalist? A detective?”Tobias smiled faintly. “Something like that.”He stepped closer, his voice was soft but dangerous. “You sent a messenger before the fight. Told the coach to make sure the Mule fell by round two. The odds skyrocketed. The ring closed early. And you walked away richer than the house itself.”The air turned razor-sharp. Migs stiffened. The man in the suit’s words echoed in his head — “Sixty thousand for complying.”Rico’s grin faltered. “You’re crazy.”“Am I?” Tobias asked. “Then why did the betting pools lock thirty minutes before the bell? Why did your own assistant wire ten thousand to the sam
THE SNIPER’S DREAM
The night was restless.Rain had begun to fall in a thin silver thread, weaving through the cracked gutters of Madero District. The lights of the Docks burned far behind Tobias, but their echo still followed him — the roar of a crowd devouring its own hero.He walked through it without looking back, his shoes crunching on wet gravel, the faint scent of blood still clinging to his coat. The match-fixer, the mob, the cash — all left behind like burnt pages. Tobias’s mind was already on the next line of the story.A storm was rising over Sanvelis. And storms, he knew, always brought ghosts to the surface.The Madero Bridge crouched low over a forgotten canal. It was a skeleton of steel and cracked concrete. The kind of place where city lights dared not reach. Here, the rain fell harder, hitting the metal girders like the drumming of machine-gun fire.Tobias stopped under the arch. Smoke from his cigarette curled upward, caught briefly by the wind before dissolving into the dark.He had f
EYES THAT STILL SEE
The man’s breath hitched. His hand trembled. The barrel lowered slightly.“How… how do you know that?”Tobias shrugged. “Because it’s what dead men do when they forget they’re still breathing.”The pipe clanged as it hit the ground.Ricardo lunged — a reflex from muscle memory, not thought. He swung a fist. Tobias sidestepped easily, letting him stumble forward.“You want to hit me?” Tobias murmured. “Go ahead. Maybe it’ll make you feel alive again.”Ricardo growled, threw another punch. Tobias blocked, twisted his arm, and pushed him down — hard.Ricardo’s chest hit the concrete. He gasped, with rainwater splashing over his cheek.Tobias crouched beside him, his voice was like a whisper of thunder.“If you’re going to die in your memories,” he said, “at least make them useful.”Ricardo stared up at him, rage colliding with shame.“Who the hell are you?”“Someone who doesn’t waste good eyes,” Tobias replied.The rain poured heavier, drowning the silence that followed. Ricardo lay ther
THE WAKE-UP CALL
The bridge had stopped roaring hours ago.Morning bled pale through the clouds, gray and cold. Under it, Ricardo “Ghost Eye” Valdez sat by a gutter-fire that had gone out sometime before dawn. His hands trembled as he tried to light another match. It snapped in two.The tremors weren’t from the cold. They were from memory. Kandara Ridge again — the shouting, the children, the rifle that refused to miss.He pressed his palms to his temples, whispering, “Stop… please stop…”But the ghosts never listened.“Hey!”The shout cracked through the morning like a whip.Ricardo looked up. Three men in filthy coats were walking toward him from the underpass. Their leader was a thick-necked brute with half his teeth missing and a grin that didn’t know kindness. The locals called him the Warden — the self-proclaimed king of the bridge.“Well, well,” the Warden sneered, kicking Ricardo’s empty can of beans across the puddle. “Our war hero’s awake.”Ricardo said nothing.The man circled him like a hy
THE WATCHER JOINS
The rain had washed the night away, but the bridge still smelled of metallic bullets and regret.When dawn broke, a pale light crawled across the horizon like an exhausted soldier.Ricardo “Ghost Eye” Valdez followed Tobias without asking where they were going.Every step echoed on the wet road, every silence between them felt like a test he hadn’t yet passed.They stopped at an abandoned railyard at the edge of Sanvelis — rusted trains, shattered glass, and tracks that led nowhere.A cold wind blew through the broken windows, stirring dust like ghosts of steel.Tobias set a heavy case on a crate.“Two hundred meters,” he said quietly, pointing to a bent iron beam half-hidden by fog. “There’s a bird on that wall.”Ricardo frowned. “A bird?”Tobias’s lips barely curved. “Take it.”Ricardo hesitated, then knelt by the case and opened it.The rifle gleamed inside, black and smooth, smelling faintly of oil and rain.His fingers trembled when he touched it — as if the weapon recognized him
SMOKE OVER SANVELIS
The city woke up angry.Gray smoke rolled over Ciudad de Sanvelis like a dirty blanket.Election posters hung torn on the highways. Those posters contained smiling faces promising peace to people of Sanvelis. Even to the ones who still fought to buy bread.Tobias stood by his black car, smoking slowly. The red tip of his cigarette glowed in the cold.Cielo sat near him, fixing her small drone.Nico wrapped tape around his hands like he was ready for a fight.Ricardo “Ghost Eye” Valdez sat high on a broken billboard, his scope pointed at the city below.“We’ll put Doña Valdeza in the Governor’s chair,” Tobias said. His voice was calm but sharp. “Not for love — for power. We need a voice in the state government.”Cielo looked up. “Politics is dirtier than the docks.”“Then we’ll learn to swim in dirt,” Tobias said.Nico asked, “And if we drown?”Tobias took a long drag. “Then we rebuild from what’s left.”No one laughed.A truck passed by and shook the bridge.Ricardo stayed quiet.Tobi
THE MARKET OF BROKEN TRUST
Within ten minutes, they arrived at the Central Sanvelis market.Tobias clapped his hands once. “It’s time. Let’s move,” he said quietly. “We’ll find where Saavedra’s men are doing their dirty work.”The car door opened, and heat and noise rushed in like a storm. The smell of fish, sweat, and smoke filled the air. The narrow streets were alive with voices — traders calling customers, bus horns screaming, radios shouting the latest lies about Doña Valdeza.Posters of her face hung crooked on poles. Some had been scratched through, with words written in red ink: “THIEF.” “BLACK HAND.” “FAKE MOTHER OF THE POOR.”Tobias’s jaw tightened. “They’re really trying to break her,” he said under his breath.Cielo, small and fierce as ever, adjusted her hoodie and held the drone bag tight. “Then we’ll show them what truth looks like.”Nico nodded. “Let’s go hunt.”Ricardo “Ghost Eye” Valdez stayed back, climbing the stairs of an old building for a better view. His rifle wasn’t with him — only bino