The Damned Path: Chronicles of Damien

I didn't sleep that night.

Not because of guilt—Vic had sealed his fate the moment he chose to betray me. No, my mind was locked on the war ahead. Kross had been playing his little power games for too long. It was time I stopped reacting and started controlling the board.

By dawn, I had a plan.

The auto shop smelled like oil and rust, the metal table still covered in maps and notes from the night before. Razor leaned back in his chair, flipping a knife between his fingers. Leo was nursing a coffee, dark circles under his eyes.

Neither of them had slept either.

"Alright," I said, straightening. "Kross thinks he's untouchable, but that's because we've been playing by his rules."

Razor smirked. "And you're about to change the game."

"Exactly."

I tapped the map, my finger landing on a nightclub in the heart of the city. The Crimson Den. It was Kross's prized possession, the place where he entertained his high-rollers, politicians, and dirty cops. A fortress disguised as a party.

"We take it from him," I said, locking eyes with my crew.

Leo exhaled sharply. "That place is crawling with guards."

Razor leaned forward, interested now. "And you're saying we storm it?"

"No." I smiled, cold and sharp. "We make Kross burn his own house down."

I spent the next twelve hours pulling strings. Calling in debts. Making sure all the right people would be at the Crimson Den tonight—people Kross couldn't afford to lose.

The final piece of the puzzle? A rumor.

Word spread fast in the underworld. By the time the sun set, whispers were everywhere—someone was selling Kross out to the feds, and the meeting was happening inside his own club.

Paranoia was a weapon sharper than any blade.

11:47 PM – The Crimson Den

The club was packed, bodies moving under flashing lights, bass vibrating through the floors. From the VIP balcony, I had the perfect vantage point. Kross was here, just as I knew he would be, flanked by his top enforcers. His eyes scanned the room, his usual arrogance tainted by unease.

Leo's voice crackled in my earpiece. "You sure he's gonna take the bait?"

I watched as one of Kross's lieutenants whispered something in his ear. Kross's jaw tightened. He motioned for his men to move.

"He already has."

The beauty of a well-placed lie? It made people destroy themselves.

Fifteen minutes later, the first gunshot rang out.

The club erupted into chaos. Kross's men turned on each other, accusing, yelling, shooting. The VIPs fled, civilians screamed. In the madness, I moved through the crowd like a shadow.

By the time Kross realized what had happened, it was too late.

I cornered him in his private lounge, his last two guards bleeding out on the floor. He stumbled back, rage and disbelief in his eyes.

"You…" he hissed, shaking his head. "You set this up."

I stepped closer. "It was never about stealing your turf, Kross." I flicked open my knife. "It was about making you destroy it yourself."

His hand moved toward his gun—too slow. I was already there, slamming him against the wall, blade pressed to his throat.

"You took everything from me," I whispered. "Now I return the favor."

Blood dripped onto the marble floor.

Checkmate.

As I walked out of the burning club, Razor fell in step beside me, smirking. "So, what now?"

I lit a cigarette, taking one last look at the wreckage of Kross's empire.

"Now?" I exhaled smoke into the night air.

"We build our own."