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Chapter 8 - Chapter -8, Ashes of Retribution

The night began wrong.

Even the air smelled like trouble — a mixture of smoke, wet asphalt, and the kind of silence that came before someone pulled a trigger.

[Dmitri Volkov's POV]

He sat inside the Syndicate's main hall — a vast concrete chamber lined with LED maps and glass walls that looked down over the city like the eyes of a god. Dmitri Volkov was not a man who believed in panic. Panic was for subordinates, not predators. But tonight, even the steady hum of generators felt off-beat.

"Boss—one of our warehouses just blew up near Dockside," said a trembling soldier. "We're losing comms with Sector Four."

Dmitri leaned back, expression cold. His heavy coat creaked as he moved.

"How?"

"No idea, sir. It was fast—like someone planted—"

The man didn't finish. The second explosion lit up the screens on the wall, bright enough to cast reflections on Dmitri's pale face.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Dmitri smiled — the kind of smile wolves gave when surrounded.

"Let him come," he muttered. "Kyle thinks he's a ghost. But ghosts bleed too."

He poured himself a drink, the liquid trembling slightly in the glass.

"Prepare the Syndicate. Nobody leaves. Nobody breathes without my command."

[Lucian Kade's POV]

Across the room, in the mirrored section of the base, Lucian Kade's voice snapped through the comms like a whip.

"Who's handling perimeter surveillance? I want eyes on the ground now!"

He was leaner than Dmitri, sharper, his tone cutting through the rising chaos. Unlike Dmitri, Lucian didn't smile. He calculated. Every sound, every tremor — all of it meant something.

But even he couldn't deny the pattern.

Every fifteen seconds, somewhere in the city, another hideout went dark.

Boom.

A shockwave in the industrial zone.

Boom.

The docks.

Boom.

A hideout in Old Town that no one but the top circle even knew existed.

Lucian clenched his jaw. "He's hitting all of us. Every single base."

His lieutenant stammered, "It's like he knows the exact coordinates."

Lucian turned toward the glass wall overlooking the city. The skyline flickered with faint orange dots — explosions blooming like dying stars.

"Of course he does," Lucian said quietly. "He's not improvising. He's orchestrating."

He looked at Dmitri through the glass. The two men locked eyes across the hall, separated by tempered glass and years of mutual hatred. For the first time, neither looked like the one in control.

[The City's POV]

Outside, the city itself seemed to sense the collapse.

Cars stopped in intersections, horns silent. Dogs barked at nothing. The sky glowed in patches of fire and smoke. The underworld heartbeat — the hum of engines, the coded chatter, the constant exchange of power — had gone still.

Rumors spread faster than the explosions.

Kyle was back.

No one had seen him since that night a month ago — the night both gangs thought they'd buried him along with the fire.

But now, he was everywhere.

And nowhere.

[Kyle's POV]

In an unmarked black SUV on a ridge overlooking the Syndicate's fortress, Kyle chewed absently on a strip of jerky.

Binoculars in one hand, Bluetooth earpiece in the other.

The explosions below glimmered like distant fireworks reflected in his eyes.

He didn't smile.

He didn't need to.

Each detonation was a line in his message — a rhythm he'd built himself. Fifteen seconds apart. Not a second more, not a second less.

He pressed the mic on his earpiece.

"Almost done," he murmured.

In his ear, static hissed back. The voice that answered wasn't a man — it was a machine relay. "Final node ready. Awaiting signal."

Kyle wiped a crumb off his shirt, leaned back, and tapped the screen of his phone.

The Syndicate's feed blinked open — live camera access to the bosses' chamber.

Two men. One war. Neither realizing the reaper had already drawn their borders in ash.

[The Call's POV]

Dmitri's phone buzzed first. Then Lucian's.

Same number.

Unknown.

They exchanged a wary glance.

Lucian answered. Dmitri leaned in, listening through the speaker.

"Kyle," Dmitri said, his voice low. "You finally found your courage."

Static filled the line. Then came a calm, level voice — no anger, no emotion.

"I didn't lose it. I was just waiting for the right silence."

Lucian barked, "Where are you?"

Kyle's voice didn't change.

"Close enough."

Both men froze as, right on cue, another explosion thundered somewhere in the city. The floor vibrated under their boots.

Kyle continued, "Every fifteen seconds, one of your holes closes. Dockside. East Sector. Midtown. The last one is the Syndicate — your little kingdom."

Dmitri slammed his glass down, the shards scattering.

"You think you can scare us with fireworks?"

"Not fireworks," Kyle said softly. "Reminders."

The line went silent.

Fifteen seconds later, another explosion rolled across the horizon.

Lucian looked toward the screens — red markers fading one after another.

"Why?" he asked, his voice lower now. "Why us?"

"Because you forgot," Kyle replied. "You forgot what fear feels like. I'm just giving it back to you."

Dmitri snarled, "Come face me like a man."

Kyle chuckled — just once, under his breath. "I already have."

---

[Dmitri Volkov's POV]

He turned to his men.

"Seal the entrances. Full lockdown."

Inside, the Syndicate buzzed like a nest under fire. Soldiers moved fast — too fast. You could hear it in their footsteps: the pulse of panic.

Dmitri walked to the center of the chamber, shoulders squared, breath steady. But there was a tremor now, subtle, in the hand that reached for his sidearm. He looked across at Lucian, whose calm had begun to fray.

"You brought this," Dmitri growled. "You and your damned obsession with control."

Lucian's eyes flashed. "This was your mess first. Your arrogance painted the target."

The walls around them rumbled again. Dust trickled from the vents.

And then — silence.

Too quiet.

Too sudden.

[Kyle's POV]

He turned off the Bluetooth. The explosions stopped.

He let the city breathe again.

Through the binoculars, he could see the Syndicate's roof shimmering faintly under the emergency lights. The structure looked untouched — but every approach was sealed, every exit watched.

Perfect.

He put away the binoculars, wiped his hands clean of snack crumbs, and stepped out of the SUV. His boots sank slightly into the wet gravel. A faint wind carried the echo of sirens.

He adjusted his coat, glanced toward the fortress below, and smiled just once — not in joy, but recognition.

Time to end the silence.

[Third person's POV]

The great hall's doors creaked open without warning.

Two dozen guns turned toward the entrance.

No one entered. Just the soft shuffle of boots echoing from the corridor.

Dmitri and Lucian both turned.

The air thickened.

A figure emerged from the shadows — black coat, gloved hands, expression unreadable. The light caught his face just enough to make the scar on his jaw visible.

Kyle.

No guards moved. They couldn't. It wasn't fear alone — it was disbelief.

He was supposed to be dead.

Kyle's steps were slow, deliberate.

Each one sounded like a clock ticking down to something inevitable.

He stopped a few paces from them.

No words yet.

Just the faint echo of dripping water somewhere in the rafters.

Dmitri broke the silence first, voice low but shaking.

"You… should've stayed buried."

Kyle tilted his head slightly, his eyes moving between Dmitri and Lucian.

"Maybe," he said. "But then who would remind you what it feels like to bleed?"

Lucian's fingers brushed the edge of his holster. Dmitri tensed, weight shifting forward.

For a second, the world held its breath.

No sound. No movement.

Three men — each trained, each waiting for the other to blink first.

The Syndicate's neon lights flickered once overhead.

And then — *clap*.

Soft.

Measured.

Kyle's hands came together once, twice, the sound echoing through the empty hall.

Neither boss moved.

The clap slowed, fading into silence again.

Kyle lowered his hands, eyes steady on both of them.

The fight hadn't begun.

Not yet.

But it was coming.

And in that silence — heavy, electric, alive — it was clear that for the first time, both Dmitri Volkov and Lucian Kade finally understood:

Kyle wasn't hunting them anymore.

He'd already cornered them.

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