The city slept under the weight of a heavy, suffocating fog, unaware that a storm was already in motion. In a small, dimly lit office on the 32nd floor of an abandoned building, Ethan Cross examined his plans. On the table lay blueprints, stock reports, and photographs—proof of every betrayal, every slight, every weakness of those who had dared to touch him in his past life.
Hana Seo's sharp voice broke the silence. "Ethan… this is dangerous. You're talking about people with guns, enforcers, and connections that could bury us before we even start."
He didn't flinch. He barely looked up. His aura, invisible to the untrained eye, had begun to radiate, pressing down on her like the weight of a collapsing building. She instinctively stepped back, feeling the raw intensity of his presence.
"Dangerous?" Ethan's voice was low, calm, yet deadly. "Hana, danger is the world. I've already died once. Now, it's time they feel what death really looks like… and I'm going to give them a preview."
He slid a folder across the table. Inside were photos of Michael Carter's private gatherings, his underground dealings, and the small army he had recruited to crush competitors. Ethan's lips curled into a predator's smile.
"I want every one of Carter's men accounted for… quietly. But if they resist, make them scream."
Hana's heart skipped a beat. She had seen the cold calculation in his eyes before, but this—this was different. This was something inhuman, a shadow of death wearing a man's face.
By midnight, Ethan moved. Dressed in black, blending with the shadows of the city, he slipped into the underground warehouse where Carter's minor syndicate was meeting. The room smelled of sweat, cheap cologne, and fear—the kind of fear that only life-or-death situations could produce.
Ethan's presence entered the room before he did. His aura, now tangible, made the strongest men stumble. Their guns felt heavy in their hands, their minds clouded with sudden dread. One of Carter's men whispered a curse—and his voice was choked off as Ethan's piercing blue eyes locked onto him.
A single word left Ethan's lips:
"Leave."
The men laughed nervously, shaking their heads. "Who the hell are you?" one demanded.
Ethan stepped forward, and the room's temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. His aura was suffocating, a wave of power that made hearts race and veins freeze. "I'm the debt you forgot you owed… and the nightmare you ignored."
Within minutes, the room descended into chaos. Ethan moved like a shadow, precise and lethal. No one heard the subtle crack of bones before screams filled the air. Blood splattered the concrete, staining the walls crimson. Every strike he delivered was controlled, deliberate—sending a message that would ripple through the underworld: Ethan Cross is no longer a man to be trifled with.
By the time the police found the warehouse, the syndicate was gone—most fleeing in terror, others… unrecognizable. Carter would hear of this. Carter would feel fear like never before.
Back at his office, Ethan cleaned his hands, eyes cold yet satisfied. Hana watched him, awe and horror mingling in her gaze.
"You… you killed them all," she whispered.
"I didn't kill them all," Ethan said softly, almost amused. "I gave them a choice. Most ran. The ones who stayed… they learned what happens when you oppose me. Let Carter take note. He will learn too. Soon, everyone will."
Outside, the city seemed smaller, insignificant under his growing power. Wealth, influence, and now fear—three weapons in his arsenal, each sharper than the last. And the first strike had only begun.
Ethan sat back, hands clasped, eyes closed. The blueprint of vengeance in his mind was clear. Blood and wealth would pave his path. No one would stand in his way.
The world will kneel… or bleed.