War in the Shadows

A blinding white flash. Then darkness.

The next moment, Shaoran and Jerry stood on a cracked rooftop, the neon skyline of City 403 flickering around them. The familiar stench of rust, smoke, and oil filled the air. It had been four months since they left this place, but now, standing here again, everything had changed.

Below, 403 was still the same rotten corpse of a city, but Jerry had carved out a piece of it for Shaoran. His three-story building stood tall, a fortress among crumbling ruins. Around it, dozens of armed men patrolled, their coats marked with the emblem of Jerry's growing empire. The land beside the house—once abandoned slums—was now a private compound, reinforced with drones, turrets, and armored vehicles.

Boom. Boom.

Explosions echoed in the distance. Shaoran's sharp eyes caught a column of black smoke rising from the far end of the district. Gunfire crackled like fireworks, followed by the unmistakable roar of plasma cannons.

Shaoran glanced at Jerry. "Damn. That was loud."

Jerry ran a hand through his short, greying hair and sighed. "The Triads still haven't given up."

Shaoran remained silent. He didn't need to ask why. This war wasn't something Jerry wanted.

Inside Shaoran's place, the air was cold. A mix of polished steel, reinforced walls, and hidden gun turrets made it clear—this wasn't just a house anymore. It was a fortress.

Jerry tossed his coat aside and grabbed a couple of metal cups from the counter. He poured water from a glass container, handing one to Shaoran before taking a long sip.

Shaoran took the cup, feeling the cool liquid hit his throat.

Jerry sat down on the worn-out couch, rubbing his temple. "I tried negotiating first, you know? Thought maybe the Triads could be reasoned with. But Xiao…" He scoffed. "That bastard doesn't negotiate."

Shaoran leaned back against the wall. "And now you're fighting a war on three fronts."

Jerry nodded. "Solva, City 403, and the Business across multiple planets." He exhaled. "This shit is draining resources fast."

Shaoran glanced at the large holo-screen mounted on the wall. He grabbed the remote and flicked it on.

The news feed rolled in.

"The Terran Senate continues its denial of ongoing conflicts in the outer colonies…"

"Venusian elite hold emergency meetings over trade disputes…"

"Martian military confirms full mobilization against rebel forces in District 596…"

Shaoran's eyes narrowed. No mention of Jupiter.

He changed channels. More political garbage, corporate reports, war updates… but not a single word about the Nightmare Gate or the war raging there.

Someone was hiding the truth.

Jerry stared at the screen. "Jupiter's wiped off the news." His fingers drummed against the table. "If it's not being reported, then that means…"

.........

City 403 had never belonged to any government. It belonged to the Underworld Organizations. And at the top of it all was Xiao, leader of the Crimson Triad.

Xiao wasn't just some street thug—he was a legend. Ruthless. Cold. A man who built his empire from blood and fire. They said he once walked into a government official's mansion alone, and by sunrise, every single person inside was dead.

Jerry had tried to make peace. But Xiao? Xiao didn't do peace.

And now, as the war escalated, Xiao sat in his underground stronghold beneath Old ChinaTown, watching a live feed of the battle raging outside.

Flames danced in the dark streets. His men—hundreds of trained killers—were in a brutal firefight with Jerry's forces. Xiao sipped his drink, unfazed.

A Triad rushed in. "Boss, they took Tiger Market. with that We lost 20/24 areas ."

Xiao exhaled a stream of smoke from his cigarette. "How many dead?"

"Over seventy."

Xiao's expression didn't change. "And how many did we kill?"

The soldier hesitated. "…20 somthing."

Xiao leaned forward, eyes like cold steel. "Jerry thinks he can carve out a piece of my city?" He crushed the cigarette against the table. "Then he better be ready to bleed for it."

He stood up. Behind him, his personal enforcers—a group of elite cyborg assassins known as the Red Phantoms—watched in silence.

"Send a message. Tonight, we burn his fortress down."

Jerry's base in Sector 4 had been reinforced, but nothing could fully prepare them for the chaos that hit at midnight.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Rocket barrages slammed into the outer walls. The reinforced steel held, but the shockwave sent men flying. Alarm klaxons blared.

"Incoming attack! They're breaching the west side!"

Jerry grabbed his rifle and barked orders. "All units, battle positions! Defend the gates!"

The first wave of Triads hit fast. Motorbikes with plasma rifles weaved through the streets, unloading shots at Jerry's snipers. Grenades exploded against barricades.

Then, the second wave arrived.

From the rooftops, dozens of figures in red cloaks dropped into the compound like ghosts. The Red Phantoms.

Silent. Deadly. Their razor-thin monoblades sliced through defenses like paper. Men screamed as limbs were severed.

Shaoran, standing near the main entrance, exhaled slowly.

One of the assassins rushed him. The cyborg's blade gleamed under the neon lights—a straight stab aimed for his throat.

Shaoran moved.

A blur.

One second, he was standing still. The next—his hand was around the assassin's wrist. With zero hesitation, Shaoran twisted—CRACK. The cybernetic arm snapped like a twig.

Before the assassin could react, Shaoran pulled him forward, twisting his head in one clean motion. SNAP. The body collapsed.

Jerry whistled. "Damn, man. You didn't even blink."

Shaoran rolled his shoulders. "They're not that fast."

More assassins landed around them.

Shaoran cracked his knuckles. "Alright, let's clean this up."