The Damned Path: Chronicles of Damien

I sat alone in Evelyn's war room, the maps still spread out before me. Names and places swirled in my head, but there was only one thought that mattered—I needed a crew.

Problem was, most people I used to trust were buried six feet under or locked up because of Kross. Still, there were a few ghosts from my past who might crawl out of the shadows if I asked.

The first name that came to mind was Marcus—a demolitions expert with shaky morals but steady hands. Last I heard, he was laying low in an abandoned factory on the south side, running illegal card games to keep himself afloat.

I left Evelyn's place just as the sun dipped behind the skyline, painting the city in streaks of blood-red and gold. It felt right. Like a warning for what was coming.

The factory was a crumbling relic of a better time, now just rust and shattered glass. But as I approached, I noticed something—watchers. Two guys in hoodies stood by the door, pretending to smoke but keeping their eyes sharp.

I walked straight toward them, hands in my pockets.

"Looking for Marcus," I said calmly.

One of them snorted. "Who's asking?"

"Tell him it's Damien. He'll know."

They exchanged a glance—part surprise, part worry—before one slipped inside. A few moments later, I was waved in.

The inside smelled like sweat, smoke, and old beer. Makeshift tables, stacks of cash, and guys with more tattoos than teeth. And there he was—Marcus, sitting at the head of a table, cigar in hand, watching me with a smirk.

"Well, well," he said, leaning back. "Damien. I thought you were dead."

"Not yet."

He gestured for me to sit. "To what do I owe this pleasure? Or are you here to collect on old debts?"

I shook my head. "I'm putting together a crew. I need someone who knows how to make things go boom."

Marcus chuckled. "That's cute. What makes you think I'm still in that game?"

I leaned forward, voice low. "Because you hate Kross as much as I do. Maybe more."

His smirk faded, eyes darkening. "What's the job?"

I laid it out for him—the shipment hub, Kross's operation, bringing it down to ashes.

When I was done, he sat silent for a long moment. Then, with a sly grin, he said, "You always did have a death wish."

"Is that a yes?"

He took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling smoke into the room.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I'm in. But if we're doing this, we'll need muscle."

"I'm working on it," I said.

Marcus stood, clapping me on the shoulder. "Well, find them fast. Because if Kross catches wind of this…" He let the sentence hang, but I knew how it ended.

I nodded. "We all die."

As I left the factory, I felt that familiar chill running through my veins. This was more than a fight—it was a war. And wars need soldiers.

Time to gather the rest of mine.