The East Docks smelled of salt, smoke, and rot. The Vescari Syndicate ruled this place, filling the warehouses with stolen goods, weapons, and men too proud to fear anyone. They laughed, drank, and spoke of power as if it belonged to them. But tonight, the docks would drown in their screams.
From the shadows, Darius Veylan led the charge. His massive frame moved like a beast unleashed. With one swing of his fists, he shattered a guard's jaw, the crack echoing like thunder. Blood sprayed across the wooden crates as Darius roared with savage joy. "Lucius sends his regards!"
Beside him danced Ravenna Veyra, her knives gleaming under the pale moonlight. She laughed wildly as she slit throats and carved her way through the panicked men. Each scream only fueled her madness. "Do you hear it, Lucius?" she whispered between kills. "They sing for you!"
The Vescari soldiers scrambled, but none could stand against the Butcher and the Black Widow. Bodies fell like broken dolls, the docks quickly turning crimson. Some tried to flee, but Cain Mortalis was already there. Silent as the grave, he swung his executioner's axe with surgical precision. No words. No hesitation. Just death.
From the shadows, Silvio Marcellus watched with cold calculation. He had already mapped every escape route, every guard rotation. "Cut off their leader," he instructed calmly, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Panic spreads faster when the head is gone." He gave a subtle nod, and Cain vanished into the warehouse.
The massacre was swift, merciless. The Vescari Syndicate's boss, Marco Vescari, stumbled out of his office with a pistol shaking in his hand. He tried to scream orders, but his men were already dead or fleeing. His courage shattered as he looked around—blood, fire, and shadows closing in.
Then the laughter came. Cold, cruel, echoing across the docks. Marco's blood ran cold before he even saw him. From the smoke walked Lucius Draxion, his crimson eyes burning like coals in the dark. Every step he took made Marco's knees weaken. The pistol fell from his trembling hand. A dark stain spread down his trousers as the Devil himself stopped before him.
Lucius leaned close, his voice a whisper sharp as a blade. "You thought this city belonged to you. But it belongs to me." His laughter cut through the night, and Marco collapsed, sobbing, begging for mercy. Lucius smiled, then snapped his neck with one brutal twist.
The docks fell silent. Only the sound of the sea remained, mixed with the scent of blood. Lucius raised his glass of stolen Vescari wine, his council standing behind him. "Tonight, the Devil's Mafia takes its first throne," he declared. "And tomorrow, the city will tremble."
The Devil's Mafia had announced itself in blood. And the underworld would never forget.