The Damned Path: Chronicles of Damien

The night belonged to us.

Kross's empire crumbled in flames behind me, and for the first time in years, I felt a strange sense of clarity. I had spent so long chasing revenge, but now that it was over, there was only one question left—what next?

Razor walked beside me, his smirk never fading. "You did it, Damien."

Leo followed closely, hands stuffed in his jacket. "The city's about to change. Everyone who was under Kross? They'll be looking for new leadership."

"They'll be looking for weakness," I corrected. "And we're not giving them any."

The streets were quieter than usual, news of the Crimson Den's fall spreading like wildfire. Every dealer, enforcer, and rat in Kross's organization was either running or waiting to see who would claim the throne.

I wasn't interested in being a king.

Kings made enemies. Kings became targets. I wanted something bigger.

2:00 AM – The Auto Shop

We regrouped at our base, the dim light flickering as Razor poured drinks. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving exhaustion in its place.

"So what's the move?" Leo asked, rubbing his temple. "We took Kross down, but his business? It still exists. The suppliers, the buyers—they'll just find someone else."

I leaned back, swirling the whiskey in my glass. He was right. Kross wasn't the disease, just a symptom. If I wanted real control, I had to think ahead.

"We don't just take over his business," I said. "We reshape it."

Razor raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we use it against them. Every corrupt cop, every dirty politician, every crime family Kross worked with—they all relied on him to keep things running. Now that he's gone, they're exposed."

Leo frowned. "That's a lot of powerful people who'll want you dead."

I smiled. "Let them try."

The First Strike

The next week was spent doing what Kross never did—listening.

I sent Razor and Leo to different parts of the city, gathering information, finding out who was making moves. There was no shortage of vultures circling Kross's corpse.

The first to step up was Salvatore Russo, an old-school mobster who had been waiting for Kross to slip. He thought he could just waltz in and claim everything.

Big mistake.

Midnight – Warehouse District

I met Russo at one of Kross's old docks, where his men were already moving in shipments. He sat on a crate, cigar in hand, like he owned the place.

"I heard you made quite the mess, kid," he said, smirking. "Kross's empire, up in flames. Gotta say, that takes balls."

I didn't bother responding. I just looked around at the men loading the trucks. "You're moving in fast."

Russo shrugged. "Business waits for no one." He gestured to me with his cigar. "Now, I could let you live, maybe even give you a piece of this if you play nice."

I smiled. "You don't get it, do you?"

Russo frowned. "Get what?"

BOOM.

The first explosion took out the fuel tanks near the docks, flames lighting up the night. His men panicked, reaching for their guns—but my crew was already in position. Shots rang out, bodies dropped.

Russo stumbled back, face pale. "You crazy son of a—"

I grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. "I didn't burn Kross's empire just to hand it to someone else."

His breath hitched. "You can't kill all of us."

I pressed my knife against his throat. "I don't need to. I just need to make an example out of you."

A single, clean cut.

Russo's body hit the ground, his empire burning with him.

New Rules

By dawn, the word was out—the city belonged to Damien now.

Not a king. Not a ruler.

Something worse.

Someone who didn't play by the old rules.

And anyone who thought they could take what was mine?

They'd burn just like the rest.