The city barely had time to recover from the inferno at the casino before the real storm arrived.
At exactly midnight, the power across three major districts suddenly blacked out. Streetlights flickered before dying, skyscrapers plunged into darkness, and communication networks jammed.
It wasn't a coincidence.
It was a message.
In the penthouse, Ochieng watched as the city lights vanished. From this height, he could see the full scale of the blackout, the way the skyline had become nothing but a jagged silhouette against the night sky. A slow smile crept onto his lips.
"They finally made their move," he murmured.
Jeff, leaning against the bar with a glass of whiskey, smirked. "Took them long enough."
Naima, draped in a silk robe, swirled her glass of red wine and tilted her head. "This means The Ghost King is acknowledging you."
Ochieng chuckled. "No, this means he's pissed."
---
At an abandoned warehouse on the city's outskirts, a gruesome sight awaited the police.
Twelve bodies lay scattered, their throats slit with surgical precision. The floor was painted red with blood, yet there was no sign of a struggle. It was clean. Methodical. Ruthless.
In the center of the room, a single chair stood beneath a flickering lightbulb. Tied to the chair was the casino owner—the same man Ochieng had let live just nights before.
A knife had been plunged into his chest.
Pinned to his body was a note, written in a single line of elegant calligraphy:
"He who plays with fire must be ready to burn."
It was a direct message to Ochieng.
A warning.
A declaration of war.
---
As the city reeled from the bloodbath, another figure arrived in the shadows.
She moved unseen through the crowded airport terminal, a lone traveler in a sea of strangers. Her beauty was cold and untouchable—long silver hair flowing over her shoulders, eyes as sharp as daggers.
She walked with the grace of a predator, her movements calculated, deliberate.
Her name? Ivy Duan.
The Ghost King's deadliest assassin.
Her mission? Eliminate Ochieng.
And she never failed.
She boarded a sleek black car waiting for her outside the terminal. Inside, a man in a suit handed her a dossier. She flipped it open.
Inside were photos of Ochieng.
One taken from the night of the casino attack. Another of him exiting a luxury restaurant. A third of him standing on his penthouse balcony, looking out over the city.
She studied his face for a long moment before closing the file.
"I'll finish this within three days," she said, her voice like ice.
The man beside her nodded. "The Ghost King expects nothing less."
The car disappeared into the night.
---
Back at the penthouse, Ochieng stood at the rooftop, the wind howling around him.
He could feel it in the air—the weight of the battle ahead.
His enemies had finally started moving in full force.
And he welcomed it.
He turned to Jeff. "It's time to prepare for war."
Jeff took a slow sip of whiskey, then set the glass down. "What's the plan?"
Ochieng's eyes glinted dangerously. "We don't wait for them to come to us. We strike first."
The city wouldn't be the same after tonight.