The night sky was cloaked in thick, ominous clouds, mirroring the tension in Dylan's eyes as he watched his men silently line up in formation. Fully armed. Fully alert.
The Black Viper Squad—his elite strike unit—stood at the front. Their faces betrayed no emotion. Trained killers, all loyal to him. No questions. No hesitation.
"Move in from the eastern flank," Dylan ordered into the radio, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Cut off all exits. Richard doesn't leave that place breathing."
Jayden, standing beside him with a rifle strapped to his chest, hesitated. "You sure about this?"
Dylan's eyes flickered with cold fire. "He threatened Heaven. That was his last mistake."
Jayden didn't argue further. He had seen that look before. Years ago. During the Black Syndicate war—when Dylan lost Samantha.
He had been ruthless then.
But now? Now he was wrath itself.
—
At Richard's hideout…
Smoke and chaos filled the tunnels. Dylan's men had moved in like ghosts—silent, precise, lethal.
Richard, dressed in a dark combat jacket, moved through the flames like a viper. He shot two intruders before spinning behind cover, barking orders at his guards.
"Pull them into Corridor C. Activate the traps. I want their bodies stacked before dawn!"
Luka rushed toward him. "Dylan's leading this one himself."
Richard's smile widened.
"Perfect," he whispered.
He yanked open a case from the wall—a steel box holding a sleek silver pistol. It had Dylan's name engraved on it.
"Time I returned the favor."
—
Back at Dylan's estate…
Heaven stood at the balcony, watching the distant horizon flicker with fire and gunshots. Her chest tightened. Every explosion felt like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
Martha approached her, worry etched across her face. "You should rest, dear."
"I can't," Heaven whispered. "I feel like something terrible is about to happen."
Martha hesitated. "You care for him."
Heaven didn't answer.
She just stared harder into the distance, as if willing the war to end. As if searching for the man who made her feel things she wasn't ready to admit.
"Come back safe, Dylan," she murmured. "Come back to me."
—
Underground Tunnel – Sector 9
The walls trembled from the blasts. Dylan moved like a phantom through the smoke, his team cutting down resistance with brutal efficiency.
He kicked a door open and entered the heart of Richard's lair—only to find it empty.
Suddenly, the metal door slammed shut behind him.
And Richard stepped out of the shadows, clapping slowly.
"Well, well… big brother," he said with a venomous smile.
"You're not my brother," Dylan replied coldly.
Richard cocked his head. "Still holding onto that? We share the same blood, even if yours came from the bastard side."
Dylan didn't flinch. "That blood will stain this floor tonight."
Richard laughed, drawing his gun. "We'll see."
In the next instant, gunfire erupted—sharp, wild, and personal. No guards. No armies. Just two men. Two legacies.
Two kings at war.