Gormon City never rested.
Even at night, the streets were alive with noise, smoke, and flashing lights. Gangs ruled the alleys. Fear ruled the people.
But one man stood above them all. Gian Kayne.
Some called him a devil. Some called him a saint. Most knew him as "The Demon Angel."
That night, a fruit seller was attacked on Ironclaw Street. Five thugs smashed his cart and stole his coins.
"This is our tax," their leader laughed. "Pay us, or bleed."
Before they could hit the man again, a shadow appeared at the end of the alley.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Black coat.
It was Gian Kayne.
The thugs froze. The Demon Angel said nothing. He only walked closer, his boots echoing on the ground.
"Get him!" the leader shouted.
The fight was quick. Gian's fists cracked jaws and broke bones. One man flew into a wall. Another crashed to the floor. The rest fell screaming, broken but alive.
When it was over, Gian picked up the scattered coins and gave them back to the vendor.
"Go home," he said simply.
The man cried with relief. But when he looked up, Gian was already gone.
On a rooftop nearby, rival gangsters watched.
"He thinks he owns the city," one growled.
"Everyone falls," another answered. "Even him."