Rise of the Street King

Chapter 44: The Streets Whisper

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. Some said it with awe. All said it with certainty he was no longer just another hustler clawing for scraps. He was becoming something else. Something untouchable.

The Burned Boy came to him at dusk, face still twisted by old scars but eyes shining with loyalty.

“They’re talking about you everywhere. Some kids in Mama Nuru’s line said you’re the slum’s king now.”

Jayden gave him a faint smile, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “A king without a crown is just a target.”

The boy straightened. “Then let’s make you one.”

Malikah, sitting nearby sharpening her blade, snorted. “Crowns don’t mean shit here. Blood does. You’ve got plenty already, Jayden. Too much.”

He ignored her, staring at the city lights bleeding through the night haze. “They’ll keep whispering until I make them shout.”

But whispers aren’t loyal.

That same night, Kola the Thin slithered into the den, his eyes darting like rats. His arms trembled as he spoke.

“Jayden, you’ve lit a fire too big. Razor’s hurting, yes, but he’s not beaten. He’s gathering the smaller packs the Knuckle Rats, the Black Teeth, even the scrapboys from the riverside. You’ve made him desperate, and desperate men are dangerous.”

Jayden leaned back, expression unreadable. “Good. Let him gather them. The bigger the crowd, the louder their fall.”

Kola swallowed hard. “Or yours.”

Jayden’s hand tightened around his machete handle. For a moment, silence weighed heavy in the room. Then he released it, standing.

“If you’re too afraid, Kola, crawl back to the shadows. But me? I’d rather drown the streets in blood than live as prey.”

Kola shrank back, muttering excuses. Malikah’s gaze followed him like a knife.

Outside, the whispers grew sharper.

Some called Jayden savior someone who would break Razor’s iron grip. Mothers spoke his name as a warning to their sons: follow him, and you’ll eat… or die.

Others painted him as a devil.

“He killed Tariq, his own brother. What would he do to strangers?”

“He doesn’t bleed he just cuts.”

Fear and faith blurred together until they became the same thing.

Amara watched it all quietly. She sat with Jayden on the roof as the city murmured beneath them. Her dark hair caught the faint glow of lanterns, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“They’ll love you until they fear you,” she said softly. “Then they’ll destroy you.”

Jayden exhaled smoke, eyes hard. “Let them try. Fear lasts longer than love.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “That’s what Razor thinks too.”

For a flicker of a second, her words dug under his skin. But he buried it deep, as he always did.

The test came quicker than expected.

Two nights later, Jayden’s men caught a runner sneaking near the den. A boy no older than sixteen, clothes torn, sweat pouring down his face. They dragged him before Jayden, who sat with his boots on the table, watching calmly.

“Talk,” Jayden said.

The boy stammered, eyes darting. “R-Razor sent me. Said to map your guards… your numbers…”

Jayden leaned forward. His voice was soft, almost gentle.

“And what did you tell him?”

“N-nothing yet! I swear

The machete came down in a blur. The boy’s scream cut short as blood sprayed across the floorboards.

The recruits froze. Even Malikah blinked, just once.

Jayden wiped the blade clean, his face cold as stone. “Let Razor know. Anyone he sends dies. Anyone who betrays me dies. That’s the law of my name.”

Whispers spread again before dawn. Now, they carried fear sharper than any blade.

Days passed, and Jayden’s legend grew. Children traced his name in chalk on crumbling walls. Drunks toasted to him in broken bottles. Small gangs offered tribute, hoping to avoid his wrath.

But shadows lengthened too. Every whisper carried not just awe, but envy. Men who once laughed at Jayden now clenched their fists when his name came up. Old allies weighed his growing power and wondered how long before he turned on them too.

The streets whispered, yes but whispers are sharp, double-edged.

Malikah found him alone one night, staring at Tariq’s grave marker scratched into wood.

“You’re climbing fast,” she said. Her tone carried no pride, only warning. “Too fast. The higher you go, the more knives point at your back.”

Jayden didn’t look at her. His eyes stayed locked on the crude cross. “Knives don’t scare me. Silence does. If the streets stop whispering, it means I’ve been forgotten. And I’ll never be forgotten.”

Malikah shook her head. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll end up sitting on a throne of bones.”

Jayden finally turned, and in his eyes burned something Malikah had never seen before—something colder than hunger, harder than rage.

“Then let it be bones.”

By dawn, the slums whispered louder than ever.

Jayden Cole king without a crown, killer of his brother, slayer of Razor’s men.

The name that rolled like smoke through every alley carried both promise and curse.

And deep in the shadows, Razor listened too… and sharpened his knives.