Deep beneath the city, in a wine cellar that had long since become a fortress of shadows, the most powerful gang leaders gathered.
It was a rare thing. These men and women who spent their lives tearing at each other's throats now sat at the same table, their empires trembling from a single name whispered through the streets:
The Wolves.
The table was long and heavy, carved from black oak. Around it sat seven figures—each more dangerous than the last.
Daimon the Crow, whose spies infested every corner of the city.
Helena of Knives, a woman draped in silk, her fingers never far from the hidden blades strapped across her thighs.
Viktor the Hound, scarred and hulking, a butcher who commanded fear with his bare hands.
The Twins, masked and silent, who controlled the city's flow of drugs and poisons.
Kaito the Ghost, whose assassins could kill without ever being seen.
And at the head of the table, Moraku, an old man with silver hair and eyes like ice—the one who had once been Ryuga's closest rival.
Their voices clashed, sharp as blades.
"These pups are nothing!" Viktor growled, slamming his fist on the table. "I'll crush their skulls myself."
"They've already cut down Ryuga's remnants, the Crimson Fang, and the Iron Vultures," Helena purred, sipping wine. "If you think they're just pups, then you'll be the next carcass."
"They fight like predators," Daimon said, his voice thin and sharp. "But predators can be hunted. All they need is a trap."
Moraku raised a hand, silencing the arguments. His voice was calm, but carried weight that none dared ignore.
"The wolves are young. Bold. Hungry. And that makes them dangerous. If we allow them to keep carving through our ranks, the city will belong to them before we even notice."
He leaned forward, his icy eyes narrowing.
"So we won't allow it."
The council fell into silence as Moraku laid out his plan.
Every gang would contribute soldiers, killers, and informants. They would choke off every safehouse, every supply line. They would flood the streets with fire until the wolves had nowhere left to run.
And then, when the city was a cage, they would set the trap—a final strike that would bury Luv and Ayu beneath the weight of every predator left in the underworld.
But in the shadows of the cellar, a single pair of eyes watched unseen.
One of the council's servants, carrying wine and bread, slipped silently away when the meeting ended. His hands trembled as he disappeared into the alleys.
By midnight, the message reached the wolves.
The city wasn't just hunting them anymore.
The entire underworld was preparing for war.