Rise of the Street King

Chapter 46: Razor Strikes Back

The days after the storm brought no calm. Instead, the air in the slums thickened with rumor and unrest. Word spread fast Razor was moving. Not just with the Iron Fangs anymore. He was pulling in smaller crews, swallowing them like fire takes dry wood.

Jayden heard it first from Kola the Thin, the nervous broker whose twitchy eyes never missed the whispers of the streets.

“They’re flocking to him,” Kola said, licking cracked lips as he leaned in close during a meeting in the safehouse. “Crews from the docks, the bottle gangs, even a few corner hustlers who used to run from your name. They’re not running anymore. They’re standing with Razor.”

Jayden leaned back, expression calm though inside his gut tightened. “Why?”

“Because he promises blood,” Kola answered. His voice dropped to a hiss. “Your blood. Says you’ve lost the streets, that you hide behind women and scraps. Says you’re weak.”

Malikah slammed her knife into the table, the wood cracking. “Then we cut out their tongues and feed them to the gutters.”

But Jayden stayed silent, thinking. Razor had always been a snake, whispering in ears, twisting loyalty. But this was more. This was war brewing in every shadow.

That night, the safehouse buzzed with unease. Recruits shuffled cards with jittery hands, laughter too loud, too forced. Even The Burned Boy the scarred child who followed Jayden everywhere was quieter than usual, eyes darting at every noise outside.

Jayden sat with Amara near the window. She touched his arm, voice low. “They’re afraid.”

“Fear keeps them sharp,” Jayden muttered.

Her eyes searched his. “And you? Are you afraid?”

He didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, he lit a cigarette, the glow briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. “I’ve been waiting for Razor to show his hand. Now he has.”

The attack came sooner than expected.

Two nights later, Jayden’s lookouts stumbled into the safehouse bloodied and gasping. “They’re moving!” one shouted, clutching a gash on his shoulder. “Iron Fangs and others twenty, maybe thirty men. They’re sweeping through the west alleys, burning shops, looking for you!”

Chaos erupted. Malikah barked orders, grabbing blades and loading guns. The recruits scrambled. The Burned Boy clung to Jayden’s side, eyes wide with terror but jaw set with stubborn bravery.

Amara stood calm amid the panic, her gaze steady on Jayden. “This is it,” she said quietly. “He’s coming for you.”

Jayden exhaled smoke, crushed the cigarette beneath his boot, and rose. “Then we don’t wait. We meet him.”

The alleyways lit with fire. Razor’s men marched like a tide, torches raised, machetes gleaming. Their laughter and shouts echoed through the rain-slick streets. Shops shuttered, doors slammed, mothers pulled children into dark corners.

Jayden led his crew straight into the storm. Malikah at his left, Amara at his right, the Burned Boy just behind him despite Jayden’s order to stay. Recruits trailed, blades and makeshift weapons clutched tight.

The clash was sudden, brutal.

Steel rang on steel. Knives flashed. Gunshots cracked like thunder. Jayden’s blade caught the torchlight as he slashed through the first man in his path, blood spraying against wet brick. Malikah moved like a shadow, cutting throats, her eyes burning with fury.

Jayden caught sight of Razor through the chaos the older man stood tall amid the carnage, scars twisting his grin into something monstrous. Around him, smaller gang leaders flanked like dogs on a leash.

“Jayden Cole!” Razor’s voice boomed over the din. “The boy-king of nothing!”

Jayden’s teeth clenched. He shoved an enemy back, stabbed through his ribs, and roared back: “Come take it from me, old man!”

The fight dragged deep into the night. Blood mixed with rain, turning alleys into rivers of red. Bodies fell, screams echoed, fires spread.

Jayden fought like a demon, every cut and strike fueled by rage. But the numbers pressed heavy. For every enemy he cut down, two more filled the gap. Malikah took a blade to the arm but kept swinging, face twisted in pain and defiance.

Amara moved with frightening grace, her strikes precise, almost too precise for a street fighter. She downed three men in as many heartbeats, her movements fluid, trained. Jayden noticed even amid the chaos and the doubt gnawed at him.

Then he saw Razor again, cutting through the melee, eyes locked on him.

The two leaders crashed together in the center of the storm.

Their blades rang loud, echoing down the narrow street. Razor was stronger, older, more brutal — but Jayden was faster, sharper, driven by fire. Each strike shook his arms, each block sent pain up his bones.

“You think you’re me, boy?” Razor snarled, slamming his weight forward. “You’re not even my shadow.”

Jayden spat blood into his face. “Then why are you afraid?”

Razor’s grin split wider. “Afraid? No. I’m savoring this.”

Their blades locked. Jayden twisted, kicked Razor back a step, then slashed across his chest. Blood sprayed, but Razor only laughed mad, booming, echoing through the chaos.

The fight was far from won.

By the time dawn crept over the slums, the alleys were littered with bodies. Jayden’s crew held the ground, but barely. Half their number were dead or too wounded to stand. The Burned Boy knelt among the fallen, clutching a broken blade, his eyes hollow but burning with fierce pride.

Razor had pulled back, his men dragging him away, blood trailing from his chest wound. But his laughter lingered in the air, mocking even in retreat.

Jayden stood in the middle of the carnage, chest heaving, blood soaking his clothes. Malikah leaned against a wall, pale but alive. Amara walked to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder, her eyes unreadable.

“You held the line,” she whispered.

Jayden looked around at the corpses, the blood, the broken walls. He shook his head.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “This was just the beginning.”

Because Razor hadn’t been crushed. He’d grown. And the slums were tilting toward war.