Birmingham – The Night Before the Mission
The Peaky Blinders had always thrived in chaos. It was their currency, their way of life. In the shifting, murky streets of Birmingham, where corruption ran as deep as the canals, they carved their name into the walls, into the history of the city. But tonight was different.
James stood before his brothers, ready to walk with them once more into the fire.
He hadn't spoken of Velakar to them. The burden he carried was his alone, the war inside his mind a silent battle that raged while the rest of the world continued on, oblivious. He had made his decision—to take part in this mission, to regain a sense of normalcy, and to fight for the Shelby name alongside his family.
But even as he stood there, clad in his Peaky Blinders coat, his fists clenched in anticipation, a part of him still heard the whispers of Velakar in the corners of his mind.
"You are mine, James. The Blinders are weak. I am your future. All you must do is embrace the flame."
But James pushed those thoughts aside. He had made a promise to himself. A promise that he wouldn't be consumed.
Birmingham Docks – The Target
The Peaky Blinders' target was a rival gang—a network of corrupt businessmen and smugglers who had been encroaching on their territory. They had made too many moves, and now it was time for a response.
Tommy stood at the helm, his mind sharp, calculating every move. Arthur was by his side, his hands twitching with barely-contained energy, always eager for a fight. Polly, ever the strategist, had already laid out their plan, keeping them all focused on the task at hand.
But James wasn't focused on the docks. He was feeling the power—the fire—that burned just beneath his skin. It was as if the air around him had changed. The weight of his connection to Velakar was heavier than ever, an oppressive force pressing against his chest.
As they approached the docks, the lights of the rival gang's base flickered in the distance. The air smelled like salt and oil, a familiar scent that used to bring him comfort. Now, it only made him aware of how much had changed.
He stood beside Tommy and Arthur, trying to focus on the job. But the shadows seemed darker tonight. And the voices in his head?
They were louder.
The Plan Unfolds – Chaos and Blood
The plan was simple—get in, take control, and take out their opposition. They moved quickly and efficiently, like a well-oiled machine. The Blinders split into groups, each taking their assigned positions. The docks were eerily quiet, the only sound the occasional rustling of the wind.
James stayed close to Tommy, his eyes scanning the area, alert to every movement. His hand rested on the knife at his side, the weight of it grounding him, pulling him back from the swirling chaos in his mind.
Tommy looked at him briefly, his expression unreadable. "Stay sharp, James."
"I always do," James replied, his voice calm, though his heart raced in his chest.
The signal was given. A single flare shot into the air, and the Peaky Blinders descended on the docks like wolves. A dozen men armed with knives, guns, and anger were ready to face them, but it didn't matter. The Blinders moved with precision, cutting down the opposition like reeds in a field.
Arthur roared, charging into the fray with his usual abandon, a wild storm of violence. James followed closely behind, but there was something off. His movements felt too precise, too controlled, almost as if the fire inside him was taking over.
He took down a man with a swift, calculated strike, his blade slashing across the man's throat before he even had a chance to react. His eyes locked onto the next target, the familiar bloodlust rising within him, but then—a voice.
"This is not you. This is not your fight. You belong to me."
James stumbled, his vision blurring for a moment as Velakar's voice thundered through his mind. The fight around him continued, but the edges of his reality seemed to bend. His heartbeat quickened, the sound pulsing in his ears. It was so easy. So damn easy to just give in.
But then he heard Tommy's voice.
"James!"
He snapped out of the haze just in time to block a strike from one of the gang's men. His body moved on instinct, slashing the man's chest with a precise cut. Blood spilled, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the fight.
He wasn't ready to give up yet.
Aftermath – A Moment of Clarity
The docks were silent once more, the ground littered with bodies and the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air. The Blinders stood victorious, but the victory felt hollow to James. His mind was still reeling from the battle, from the power that had surged through him like wildfire.
Arthur walked over to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You did well, mate. Real clean work."
But James didn't respond. He just nodded, his eyes distant. He wasn't sure if it was the blood or the fire inside him that made him feel so empty.
Tommy approached, his gaze scanning the battlefield before settling on James. "You alright?"
James met his brother's eyes. "I'm fine."
But the words felt like a lie.
Tommy studied him for a moment before nodding. "We'll talk about it later. Let's get back to the garrison."
As they made their way back to their cars, James felt the weight of the night pressing down on him. He had fought for his family, for the Blinders, but inside, something was unraveling. It wasn't just the battle on the docks. It was the war inside him. The war against Velakar's pull, the war for his soul.
Back at the Garrison – The Weight of Power
The Blinders gathered back at their usual haunt, the Garrison. The men had a drink, some laughter shared, and yet the mood was strained. James took a seat at the bar, his hands trembling as he gripped the glass of whiskey in front of him.
Polly approached, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. "You've been quieter than usual, James."
James looked up at her, forcing a smile. "I'm fine."
But Polly didn't believe him. "You're not fine. I can feel it. The power inside you, James, it's eating away at you. You're not just fighting for the Blinders anymore. You're fighting for your very soul."
James swallowed hard. He wanted to tell her everything—about Velakar, about the voice that whispered in his mind, about the temptation to give in. But the words caught in his throat. No one could understand. He was carrying a burden that none of them could fathom.
Tommy sat down beside him, his expression unreadable. "You're with us, James. But I need to know that you're still with us. That this—" He gestured around the room, "—this is what you want. That this is your fight."
James looked at his brother, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He could feel Velakar's presence stirring, the flames licking at the edges of his mind. But he had made a decision.
"I'm still with you, Tom," he said, his voice firm. "But I need to fight on my terms."
Tommy nodded, his face softening for just a moment. "Good. We need you. All of you."
James looked around the room at his family—the Blinders. They were his anchor, the only thing that kept him tethered to this world. And for a moment, he felt the flicker of something familiar—humanity.