The meeting with the lower-tier gang leaders was going exactly as Vane expected: poorly.
Five demons sat around a heavy iron table in the heart of the Chaos District. There was a shark-demon in a cheap suit, a flaming skull in a leather jacket, and three others who looked like they had crawled out of a trash heap. They were the ones who ran the "street level" operations the drugs, the petty theft, and the small-time soul-trading.
"We don't like the new taxes, King," the shark-demon growled, slamming a webbed hand on the table. "You're taking thirty percent of our cut just to 'keep the peace.' We were doing fine before you showed up."
Vane sat at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair. He wasn't wearing his armor, just a sharp suit that looked far too expensive for this room. He looked bored.
"You were doing 'fine'?" Vane asked softly. "Three months ago, your warehouse was burned down by a rival gang. Two months ago, half your men were wiped out in an Extermination because you didn't have a secure bunker. Last month, you almost lost your head to a loan shark."
Vane leaned forward, and the lights in the room began to flicker in sync with his heartbeat. "I provided the security. I provided the bunkers. I provided the order. Thirty percent is a bargain for the fact that you're still breathing."
"We think we can handle ourselves now," the flaming skull added, his voice hissing. "We got new weapons. Carmine-grade."
Vane felt a spark of internal amusement. He knew exactly where those weapons came from, considering he had signed the shipment orders himself last night while sitting in Carmilla's lap.
"Is that so?" Vane asked. He stood up, walking slowly around the table. "You think having a fancy gun makes you an Overlord? You think power comes from the trigger?"
He stopped behind the shark-demon. The air in the room became thick, like walking through deep water. The "noise" of the city outside vanished, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in the demons' ears.
"Power," Vane whispered, "is knowing exactly where to strike so that the whole building collapses without you ever touching a wall."
Suddenly, Vane snapped his fingers.
The shark-demon's chair disintegrated into dust. The demon fell to the floor with a yelp. Vane didn't use fire or a blade; he used Entropy. He had simply accelerated the "age" of the chair until it crumbled.
"I can do the same to your guns," Vane said, his voice echoing with a demonic reverb. "I can do the same to your bones. I can make your empire turn to ash before you can even scream."
The gang leaders scrambled back, their bravado vanishing instantly. They saw the violet static dancing between Vane's fingers and the cold, empty look in his eyes. This wasn't a man who enjoyed cruelty; this was a man who saw them as a math problem he was about to erase.
"The thirty percent stays," the flaming skull stammered, bowing his head. "We... we understand, King."
"Good," Vane said, the pressure in the room vanishing instantly. The lights stopped flickering. He went back to his seat as if nothing had happened. "Get out. And tell the others: the Chaos District is a place of business. If you want to play at being warlords, go to the Pride Ring and let the Vees turn you into a reality show. Here, you follow the rules."
As the demons rushed out of the room, Vane slumped slightly in his chair. The use of high-level entropy was draining. It wasn't just physical; it was a strain on his soul.
A shadow moved in the corner of the room. Alastor stepped out, his grin as wide and sharp as ever.
"A marvelous display! Truly! The way you turned that furniture into history was quite a treat for the eyes," Alastor chirped, his voice buzzing with radio static.
"What do you want, Alastor?" Vane asked, rubbing his temples.
"Oh, just a neighborly visit!" Alastor twirled his cane. "And perhaps a small observation. You spend so much time making these little ants fear you, Vane. But I noticed a curious thing. You didn't kill them."
Vane looked up. "Dead men can't pay taxes. And dead men can't keep the streets moving."
"True, true!" Alastor leaned in, his glowing eyes scanning Vane's face. "But I think there's more to it. You rule with 'logic,' you say. But I see a man who is trying very hard to be the 'good' king. A man who wants to be powerful, but doesn't want to be a monster."
Alastor's grin turned predatory. "In Hell, my friend, that is a very dangerous middle ground to walk. Eventually, the chaos you claim to king will demand a sacrifice. And I wonder... when that day comes, will you choose your crown, or will you choose your heart?"
Vane stared at the Radio Demon, the purple energy in his veins sparking. "I'll choose both, Alastor. And I'll break anyone who tries to stop me."
Alastor laughed, a sound like a thousand radios tuning at once. "I certainly hope so! It would be such a bore if you ended up being just another disappointment."
With a tip of his hat, Alastor vanished into the shadows, leaving Vane alone in the cold, iron room. Vane looked at his hands, watching the violet light fade. He was the King of Chaos, the secret husband of the Queen of Steel, and the brother of the Princess. He was a man of a thousand secrets, but as the darkness of the room closed in, he realized Alastor was right about one thing.
The game was getting bigger, and soon, he wouldn't be able to stay in the shadows anymore.