All Chapters of The King in the Dark.: Chapter 11
- Chapter 20
94 chapters
Chapter 11 - Birth of Los Reyes
By the time the city learned to whisper Los Reyes del Barrio with caution instead of contempt, nearly five years had passed since the fire that took their home.What began as a collection of hungry boys and bruised men had become a kingdom carved from rust and river mist - the southern docks, the alleys that never slept, the clubs that pulsed with smoke and half-truths.The south side belonged to Diego Flinch now.He didn’t rule from a throne; he ruled from the corner booth of La Sirena Azul, a nightclub whose lights flickered like a heartbeat and whose bartenders spoke more in nods than words.Outside, his men moved with quiet confidence - dockhands by day, enforcers by night - dressed in plain clothes but marked by the same invisible gravity that kept strangers from asking questions.The docks themselves were no longer a battleground but a business. Cargo moved where it shouldn’t, crates found buyers they shouldn’t, and the city
Chapter 12: The Shadow's Whisper
By the time the city learned to fear the whisper more than the bullet, Harold Flinch had already become its ghost.He moved like the wind between rooftops - not fast, not loud, but with that slow, inevitable purpose that made silence heavier than footsteps. The skyline of the southern district stretched beneath him like an open wound, stitched together by smoke and broken lights.From his perch above La Sirena Azul, he could see everything - Diego’s men loading crates at the docks, the shifting dance of street crews marking territory, the glow of a patrol car two blocks down pretending to be disinterested.He scribbled in his small black notebook, the one he’d carried since the night the world ended. It was thicker now - pages worn soft, corners folded, filled with notes that didn’t read like strategy but prophecy.‘Observation: Fear has a scent. Sweat, cheap cologne, and silence.Action: Use children - no one looks twice at hunger.’Harold
Chapter 13 - The First Book (The Anatomy of Power)
It appeared without warning.One humid morning in the southern quarter, a black-market vendor laid a thin, hand-stitched booklet on his wooden table beside the usual contraband - fake IDs, rusted pistols, and bootleg cigarettes. The cover was plain, matte gray, no title except for the words stamped in fading ink:‘The Anatomy of Power.’He sold it for twenty pesos before noon. By dusk, copies had multiplied like fever.Within forty-eight hours, every gang lieutenant, fixer, and crooked cop in the lower city had heard of it. Some said it came from the north docks, others claimed it was printed by the police themselves. A few whispered it was prophecy.-----------------In truth, it was neither police report nor a prophecy. It was a map - written with such unnerving precision that it might as well have been drawn by the devil himself.Each page described, in chilling detail, the structure of the Culebra Cartel - names, positions, habits
Chapter 14 - The Cover-Up
The chaos birthed by The Anatomy of Power didn’t stay confined to the streets - it leaked upward, staining the badge and the gun with the same rot it had exposed in the underworld.By the time the third cartel fell apart in as many weeks, the police had learned to see opportunity in the ashes.In the downtown precinct, Captain Mendoza sat at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, cigarette burning between two thick fingers. He watched his men count confiscated bills from a recent “operation.” The money was damp, smelling faintly of gasoline and mold, but none of them cared.“Leave a third for the official report,” Mendoza said lazily. “Split the rest between you. Keep it quiet.”One of the officers - young, still unsure of how far corruption bent before breaking - hesitated. “What about the paperwork, sir?”Mendoza smirked. “Write that we recovered half. The rest got burned in the shootout.
Chapter 15 – Rumors of The Writer
The story of El Escritor began as smoke - a whisper passed between drunks, a rumor traded for a cigarette, a myth to fill the silence between gunshots. By the end of the month, it had become scripture.In a backroom of a nightclub pulsing with reggaetón and sweat, Diego Flinch leaned against the bar, listening to two low-level dealers argue over the invisible man running the city.“I’m telling you, bro,” one of them said, eyes darting. “They say El Escritor writes your name before you die.”The other laughed uneasily. “Man, that’s bullshit. Nobody’s writing anything. The guy’s just another ghost story.”“Then how come everyone he marks ends up dead or in jail?”“Coincidence.”“Coincidence my ass. Even the cops are scared now. Saw Mendoza himself pulling his men off the docks. Said he aren’t fighting a ghost.”Diego sipped his drink quietly, hiding a smirk. When they noticed him watching, the talk stopped cold. Respect - or fear - filled the silence.He waved them off. “Go on,” he said
Chapter 16 – Diego’s Public Ascension
The night began with music. Loud, proud, relentless music that shook the cobblestones of the southern docks and filled the air with the scent of roasted corn, gasoline, and cheap beer. Streamers hung between lampposts like faded prayers, and children ran through the crowd with plastic crowns that read Los Reyes del Barrio in gold paint.From the balcony of a makeshift stage, Diego Flinch watched the scene unfolding thousands of people, most of them poor, some dangerous, all cheering his name. The banners below bore his face beside slogans like “Our King of the South!” and “El Jefe del Pueblo.”It was a strange kind of worship, built on fear and admiration in equal measure.“Boss, you ready?” Luis asked beside him, adjusting the microphone stand. “Press is already here. They’re calling this thing ‘The Festival of the King.’”Diego tugged at his collar, glancing at the flashing cameras and smiling politicians below. “Festival of the King, huh? Sounds like a funeral waiting to happen.”L
Chapter 17 – The Silent Benefactor
The ledger arrived wrapped in brown paper, no note, no seal - just a name scrawled on the back: For the King.Diego Flinch found it on his desk one morning, left by an accountant who claimed it came from “a friend of the organization.” The man’s hands trembled as he spoke. “Sir, I… I checked it twice. The numbers inside are perfect. Down to the peso.”Diego frowned, cutting through the twine. The paper smelled faintly of tobacco and old ink. Inside were clean, tight columns - profits, losses, distribution schedules, payroll - mapped like arteries through a body. Someone had traced every peso in Los Reyes del Barrio’s growing empire. Every hidden front. Every bribe.He skimmed a page, then another, and muttered under his breath, “This... this is the work of a genius.”That afternoon, the accountant - Esteban Rojas, a quiet, gray man who wore the same brown suit every day - sat across from Diego in the back office of Club Rosario. Ceiling fans turned lazily above them, stirring ciga
Chapter 18 – The Code of Kings
The night the Code of Kings was born, the southern docks were quiet, heavy with rain. The thunder came slow, like a drumbeat, as the men of Los Reyes del Barrio gathered in a converted warehouse lit only by candles and the dull red glow of a brazier.They stood in circle-lieutenants, runners, young initiates barely out of boyhood - all dressed in black shirts and jackets embroidered with the golden crown insignia. At the far end of the room, beneath a faded banner that read LOS REYES DEL BARRIO, stood Diego Flinch, arms folded behind his back, his expression solemn and almost priestly.Before him lay a small wooden box. Inside, folded neatly, was a torn page from a notebook - old, creased, and smudged with soot. Diego didn’t need to read it; he’d memorized every line year ago.Luis stepped forward, whispering, “They’re ready, boss.”Diego nodded once. “Then let them remember what we stand for.”He turned to face the circle. “We built this from nothing,” he began, his voice carryi
Chapter 19 – The Return Signal
Overnight a single mark sprayed in red and black on the crumbling wall opposite Diego Flinch’s mansion gates: a crown with an open book beneath it.At first glance, it was just graffiti - one of a thousand scrawls that stained the barrio. But to the men guarding the gate that morning, it was something else. Something that made their stomachs sink.They called for their boss before sunrise.Diego came out barefoot, a glass of rum still in his hand, the night’s exhaustion hanging from his eyes. The fog from the docks drifted around him, mixing with the smell of iron and seaweed.“What is it?” he asked.One of the guards pointed to the wall. “We thought it was some punk tagger, boss. But then we saw… that.”Diego stepped closer, squinting. The shape was clear. Sharp. Intentional. The crown, simple but precise, tilted forward as though in motion. The book, its pages half-open, was outlined in red.The color of fire.He didn’t breathe for a moment. Then he whispered, “No…”Luis arrived mome
Chapter 20 – Empire in Bloom
The city had changed its face but not its soul. From the rusted cranes of the southern ports to the neon veins running through the nightlife districts, every street hummed beneath the banner of Los Reyes del Barrio.And at the center of it all sat Diego Flinch, the man everyone called El Rey.He looked at the part now - tailored suits, dark silk shirts, a watch that cost more than the block he grew up on. He moved through meetings like a man who owned the room but never raised his voice to prove it. Politicians shook his hand. Businessmen called him a “private investor.”The same man who once slept in an abandoned car now signed contracts with million-dollar smiles.But Diego’s empire was built on ‘ghost architecture’s plans and projections that appeared, as always, without origin.Every month, an unmarked envelope slid beneath his office door or appeared in a briefcase delivered by some courier who swore they didn’t know the sender. Inside: maps, trade route diagrams, coded expense sh