Rise of the Street King

Chapter 50: Crown of Blood

The throne was no longer enough.

Jayden wanted the crown.

The safehouse-turned-palace was lit with firelight. Torches lined the cracked walls, shadows dancing like restless spirits. Jayden stood at the center, his machete gleaming, his coat torn but regal in its own savage way. Around him, Malikah, the Burned Boy, and what remained of his loyalists watched in silence.

Tonight wasn’t just about holding ground. It was about claiming it.

He raised the machete high. “From hunger to fire, from betrayal to blood, we crawled. We bled. And now we rise. No Council owns us. No Iron Fangs command us. No Razor shadows us. This is our kingdom!”

The crew roared, stamping feet against the concrete, fists pumping in the air.

Jayden lowered his blade and spoke the words he had been rehearsing in his head since the first night he was beaten in the dirt.

“I am Jayden Cole King of the Slums!”

The roar doubled, shaking the walls. Malikah’s eyes shone with both pride and unease. The Burned Boy stared at him like he was staring at a god. For one breathless moment, Jayden believed it. He was king.

But kings drew war like blood drew flies.

The warning came with a scream.

A lookout stumbled in, face pale, chest heaving. “They’re coming! Razor he’s not alone!”

The crew rushed outside. The night air was thick with smoke, the stink of oil and sweat rolling through the alleys. Torches flared in the distance, hundreds of them. The sound of boots, steel, war cries carried through the dark like a tide rising to swallow them whole.

Malikah cursed under her breath. “It’s not just the Iron Fangs. He’s pulled the others too.”

She was right. From the rooftops, Jayden saw the banners of smaller gangs those who had bent knee to him weeks ago. Now they marched beside Razor, weapons raised, eyes wild with the promise of blood.

Razor had united the broken.

And he was bringing them to crush the King.

The first wave hit like thunder. Iron Fangs poured into the yard, machetes flashing, bats cracking bone. Jayden’s men roared back, steel clashing in sparks. The Burned Boy leapt into the fray with reckless fire, his scarred face twisted in fury. Malikah cut through enemies with ruthless precision, her daggers painting arcs of red.

Jayden himself waded into the chaos, every swing of his blade a proclamation: I am King. Come take it if you dare.

Bodies fell. Screams tore the night. The ground grew slick underfoot.

And then Razor stepped into the torchlight.

He looked untouched by the chaos, dressed in a dark coat, his machete long and polished like it had been waiting for this night. His grin was sharp, cruel, a wolf’s grin.

“King of the Slums,” Razor called out, his voice carrying over the battlefield. “I almost believed it myself. Almost.”

Jayden spit blood, eyes locked on him. “Then come take the crown, Razor.”

Razor’s laugh cut through the screams. “Oh, I will. And I won’t just take it I’ll burn your throne until no one remembers your name.”

Behind him, more gangs surged forward. Jayden’s men faltered as the numbers grew overwhelming. For every enemy that fell, two more pushed through.

The yard became a slaughterhouse.

Malikah fought to Jayden’s side, blood streaking her arms. “We can’t hold this, Jayden!”

He gritted his teeth, cutting down another attacker. “Then we don’t hold we kill until they choke on us!”

The Burned Boy screamed his loyalty, his blade sinking into an enemy twice his size. For a moment, Jayden believed they could still carve victory from the storm.

But then he saw the truth hundreds more shadows pouring into the alleys, torches lighting the horizon like dawn made of fire.

This wasn’t a fight.

It was a siege.

Razor pointed his machete at Jayden, eyes burning. “Your crown is made of blood, Jayden. Let’s see if it spills as easy as the rest.”

The gangs roared. The ground shook.

Jayden stood in the center of it all, blood dripping from his blade, crownless but defiant. His crew circled around him, ready to die on his word.

The night closed in, fire and steel and betrayal pressing tighter.

And as Razor’s forces surged forward, the last thought in Jayden’s mind was not of fear, but of fire:

If I must fall, I’ll make sure the whole slum burns with me.