The Damned Path: Chronicles of Damien

The moment I read that message, something inside me clicked.

This wasn't just a job anymore.

This was a hunt.

And I wasn't about to play someone else's game.

The Clean-Up

The steel mill was quiet now, except for the crackling of a small fire where one of the bodies had landed on an oil spill.

I stood over the dead leader, his face frozen in that smug, dying smirk.

Ghost crouched beside the laptop, fingers working fast.

"I can't trace it," he muttered. "Whoever sent this is good. Real good."

That didn't surprise me.

I had spent years dealing with men who thought they were ghosts.

But this?

This was different.

Whoever was behind this wasn't just trying to kill me.

They were watching me.

And they wanted me to know it.

A Trail of Blood

I took one last look at the dead mercs before we moved out.

No time to bury the bodies. No point.

By morning, Kross's remaining men would find the carnage.

They'd know I was still alive.

And that meant they'd be coming.

Let them.

We slipped through the city, back to one of Ghost's safehouses. It wasn't much—a rundown apartment, a stash of weapons, a bottle of whiskey on the table.

It would do.

Ghost leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

"We need a plan."

I sat down, lighting a cigarette.

"We already have one."

Ghost raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Care to share with the class?"

I exhaled smoke, staring at the laptop screen.

"They want me to play their game. I say we flip the board."

Turning the Hunt Around

Ghost and I spent the next few hours going through every lead we had.

Whoever sent that message had resources. They had information. And they knew how I operated.

But they'd made one mistake.

They thought they were the only ones watching.

Ghost tapped the screen, pulling up security feeds from across the city.

"I've been running facial scans. Got a hit. One of the mercs—he's been spotted in an underground club near the docks."

I crushed the cigarette out.

"Then that's where we start."

Into the Lion's Den

The club was exactly what I expected.

Loud. Crowded. Filled with the kind of people who didn't ask questions and didn't care about the answers.

Perfect.

Ghost stayed outside, monitoring from a rooftop across the street.

I walked in alone.

The bouncer gave me a look, but one flash of cash and he stepped aside.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting everything in red and blue shadows.

I spotted my target in the VIP section, laughing with two women on his lap.

He had no idea he was already dead.

I moved fast, cutting through the crowd.

By the time he saw me, it was too late.

I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the glass railing.

People screamed.

Music stopped.

But no one moved to help him.

"Who hired you?" I asked, voice calm.

He gasped, hands clawing at mine. "I—I don't know—"

I slammed him against the glass again, harder.

"Wrong answer."

Blood trickled from his nose. His eyes darted around, looking for an escape.

"There's a name," he choked out. "Came through encrypted channels. No face, no voice. Just a name."

I leaned in. "Then say it."

He swallowed. "Raze."

The name sent a chill down my spine.

I let him go. He collapsed to the floor, coughing.

"Run," I told him.

He didn't need to be told twice.

As he scrambled away, I pulled out my phone and called Ghost.

"We've got a name."

Ghost was silent for a moment. Then—

"Yeah. We have a problem."

A Shadow from the Past

Back at the safehouse, Ghost had already pulled up everything he could find.

There wasn't much.

No records. No history.

Just whispers.

Raze.

A name I hadn't heard in years.

A name I hoped I'd never hear again.

Because the last time I did, an entire city block burned to the ground.

Ghost looked at me. "You know who it is, don't you?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Yeah," I said.

"And if Raze is involved?"

I exhaled slowly.

"Then this isn't just a fight."

Ghost nodded grimly. "It's a war."

I picked up my gun and checked the clip.

Then I smiled.

"Good."