The city had changed.New gangs rose. Old ones fell.But one name never disappeared—Crimson Vultures.
Once just a violent faction on the edge of chaos,now they ruled the underworld with quiet precision.
They didn't scream for power.They whispered for it.And whispers could kill.
Levan sat alone in his apartment that night, staring at an old photograph.
His mother, holding Alea when she was just a baby.Both of them smiling.Both of them gone—One to time.The other… not yet.
He clenched the photo frame, fingers trembling.
Thirteen years ago
Gunfire.Smoke.Screams.
He'd come home too late.
She was already on the floor—blood staining the white tiles.
Her eyes still open,but her voice barely a whisper.
"Stop, Levan... Please... Stop all of this... before Alea gets pulled in..."
Her hand reached for him.
"Promise me... protect her... Not like this..."
He had sworn.Through gritted teeth.With blood on his clothes.
And the next day,Blood Crown vanished from the streets.
So did Levan.
Now.
His phone buzzed.
An encrypted message.No name.Just a logo.
A crimson vulture, wings spread, claws bloody.
And below it, a single sentence:
"We're back. And we remember."
Levan stood from his chair, jaw tight.The past had returned.
He opened his drawer, revealing an old chain.The last remnant of Blood Crown.He stared at it for a long time—before shutting the drawer again.
In the streets, Black Fangs and White Reapers thought they were at war.But they were just chess pieces.
Because the true players...hadn't even stepped on the board yet.
To be continued...