The city belonged to shadows—until Lucius Draxion rose. His name was no longer spoken like an ordinary man's. It was a curse. A nightmare. The whisper of his name made enemies tremble, and those who faced him directly collapsed, their pride drowning in piss and fear.
Lucius was more than human. His laughter was cruel, sharp, echoing like steel scraping on bone. Cold and brutal, he killed without mercy, yet those who followed him knew another side. He valued loyalty. Betray him, and death was certain. Serve him, and he would raise you higher than kings.
Around him gathered demons who became his circle. Darius Veylan, the Left Hand, was the Butcher of Shadows, breaking men with his fists and leaving streets painted in crimson. Across from him sat Silvio Marcellus, the Right Hand, the cunning Fox. When Lucius was gone, Silvio became his mind and voice, weaving webs of strategy no rival could escape.
There was Ravenna Veyra, the Black Widow, a psycho bitch whose devotion to Lucius bordered on obsession. She laughed in madness, killed with passion, and saw murder as a gift to her master. Then came Cain Mortalis, the Silent Executioner, whose axe sang death in silence. He never spoke, for silence was his promise: where he stood, life ended.
Dr. Adrian Crowe, the Devil's Advocate, was no killer of flesh but a killer of laws. His twisted devotion made him Lucius's shield against the world of justice. With a single word, he bent courts, bribed judges, and turned laws into weapons. His loyalty to Lucius was not just service—it was worship.
But the Devil's Mafia was not only blood and death. It was wealth and power. And wealth came through Victor Draemont, the Iron Tycoon. Victor was the master of the country's business empire. He owned banks, corporations, and industries. Every coin, every trade, every contract in the land passed through his invisible hands. To the world, he was a respected billionaire. But in truth, he was Lucius's man—funding the Mafia, laundering their blood into gold, and crushing economic rivals as easily as Lucius crushed bones.
Together they formed the Devil's Mafia. Not a gang, not a syndicate, but an empire of shadows and gold. Each member had once been broken, betrayed, discarded by the world. Lucius picked them up, sharpened them, and turned them into monsters loyal only to him.
That night, in the obsidian chamber lit only by fire, Lucius raised his glass of crimson wine. His eyes glowed, his grin curled, and his cruel laughter filled the hall. "The city belongs to us now," he said. "And when they hear our name, they tremble. When they see me, they piss themselves. This is the reign of the Devil's Mafia."
The circle bowed their heads. The Devil's legend had begun.