Rise of the Street King

Chapter 36: The Ruined Feast

The air was too still.

That was Jayden’s first thought when he entered the old recreation hall. Once, this place had echoed with the laughter of children, music, the shuffle of card games and cheap dancing shoes. Now, stripped bare by years of decay, the hall was a skeleton of itself broken ceiling fans hanging limp, cracked windows letting in only a gray slice of moonlight.

But tonight, it was dressed up again, almost mockingly.

Plastic tables lined the center, covered in mismatched sheets. Plates of rice, oily stew, and roasted chicken sat waiting, steam curling into the stale air. Bottles of cheap beer and soda glistened with condensation. Men and women gang leaders, lieutenants, hustlers sat around with forced smiles, each eyeing the others like predators disguised as dinner guests.

Peace. That was the word tossed around for this gathering. A feast to “end the blood.”

Jayden didn’t buy it for a second.

Tariq stood at his side, stiff as iron. Malikah lingered behind them, her gaze sharp, the faint shimmer of silver bracelets clinking when she folded her arms. Even Amara was there, though she kept her hood low and her presence quiet, like smoke in the corner of the room.

The hall hummed with low voices, rival gangs eyeing Jayden’s crew as they entered. Jayden met every stare with a flat look, his body burning with restrained fury. Razor’s name still echoed in his blood, a poison he couldn’t spit out.

“Sit,” one of the organizers urged—a tall man with a scar across his scalp, his tone desperate to keep the illusion of civility. “Tonight, we eat as brothers. Tomorrow we can talk business.”

Jayden sat. Tariq didn’t. He stood just behind him, a silent wall, his hand close to his belt. Malikah slid into the seat beside Jayden, her shoulder brushing his.

The food was served. Steam rose, heavy with spice. People dug in, some too eagerly, like hunger outweighed suspicion. Jayden picked up a fork but didn’t eat. His eyes wandered, scanning the hall. Every flicker of movement, every twitching hand, every laugh that felt too forced.

Something was wrong.

The peace didn’t smell like peace. It smelled like bait.

And then it happened.

The doors slammed open.

The sound crashed over the tables like thunder. Men leapt to their feet, chairs screeching across the cracked floor. And through the doorway strode Razor.

He wasn’t hiding anymore. His frame filled the entrance, leather jacket glinting in the dim light, his scarred grin slicing across his face. Behind him trailed five men, all armed, their eyes gleaming like jackals waiting to feed.

The hall froze.

Even the air seemed to choke.

Razor’s eyes found Jayden immediately. He smiled, wide and cruel.

“Well, well,” Razor drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “They really invited everybody. Even the boy who thinks he’s king.”

Jayden didn’t rise. His hands tightened on the edge of the table until his knuckles ached. His heart pounded, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

“You don’t belong here.”

Razor’s laughter boomed through the hall. “Don’t I? This is a feast of leaders. And me…” He spread his arms, as if embracing the room. “…I lead more than half these rats already. Isn’t that right?”

Several heads turned away, guilt flashing in their eyes. Jayden’s gut twisted.

Razor had already bought some of them.

But the moment of silence broke when Razor moved fast, too fast for anyone to react.

He grabbed a knife straight from one of his men’s belts. And with the same motion, he plunged it into the throat of the gang leader sitting closest to Jayden.

The blade sank with a sickening crunch.

Blood sprayed across the table, splattering plates of food, staining Jayden’s arm. The man gagged, choking, his hands clawing at his own neck before slumping forward, face-first into the half-eaten rice. The room erupted into screams.

The feast shattered in an instant.

Chairs toppled. Men pulled weapons. Malikah gasped, her hand darting for the pistol under her jacket. Tariq was already moving, shoving Jayden back against the wall as the chaos ripped through the hall.

Razor yanked his knife free, blood dripping onto the tiles, his grin widening. “You see? This is peace, Jayden. This is the only peace you’ll ever know.”

Jayden’s chest burned with rage. His ears rang with the screams, the shouts, the pounding of boots as bodies clashed.

The Ruined Feast.

Razor hadn’t just killed a man. He had killed the illusion of unity, the fragile hope that maybe the bloodshed could end. He had slaughtered it in front of everyone and made Jayden look powerless to stop it.

“Cover him!” Tariq shouted, dragging Jayden behind an overturned table as bullets cracked through the air. Plates shattered, food spilled, chairs splintered. The smell of stew and iron mixed into something foul.

Jayden gripped the pistol at his side, his eyes never leaving Razor. His enemy wasn’t fighting like the others. He stood tall, knife in hand, as if daring Jayden to rise and meet him.

And Jayden wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. Every fiber of his being screamed to lunge across the chaos, to drive steel into Razor’s chest and end it all here.

But his crew needed him alive.

Tariq barked orders, returning fire, his movements sharp and ruthless. Malikah dragged one of their wounded allies to cover, blood staining her white sleeve. Amara’s voice cut through the noise calm, urgent warning them of enemies circling the back entrance.

Jayden’s head pounded. The room swam in red and smoke.

He forced himself to breathe, steady and sharp. This wasn’t just rage anymore. This was strategy.

He rose from cover, pistol raised. His shot cracked through the hall, striking one of Razor’s men in the leg. The thug dropped with a howl. Another lunged forward, blade glinting, but Malikah’s bullet took him down before he reached them.

The hall had become a slaughterhouse.

Tables flipped into barricades. Blood and food mixed on the tiles, a grotesque banquet of death. Men screamed, fell, rose again. Razor moved through it all like a demon, his laughter cutting through the carnage.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, Razor retreated.

He whistled sharp, his remaining men falling back toward the door.

But before leaving, Razor turned once more to Jayden. Their eyes locked.

He raised the blood-drenched knife and licked the blade clean, slow and deliberate, before disappearing into the night.

The silence that followed was worse than the chaos.

The survivors stared at the ruined feast at the corpse still slumped over the table, at the blood soaking into the cloth, at Jayden.

Whispers began. Doubts. Fear.

Razor had proved his point.

And Jayden knew, with a hollow weight in his chest, that this war had only just begun.