The Tables Turn – Death Unleashed

The air in the warehouse was thick with gunpowder and smoke. Aksh's jaw clenched as he ducked behind a stack of crates, his body taut with lethal precision. Bullets whizzed past, embedding into the steel and concrete around him. His enemies thought they had him cornered, thought they could break him.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Meanwhile, across the city, the safe house was a battlefield. The assassins moved like phantoms, closing in on Ahana. She pressed herself against the cold marble wall, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Then—

A deafening explosion shattered the windows.

Men in full combat gear stormed in, their movements swift and merciless. At the forefront, Meher led them like a war goddess, her icy gaze scanning the chaos. "Take them down," she ordered, her voice cutting through the carnage like a blade.

Ahana gasped as the assassins, once so confident, now stumbled back in sheer panic. They had expected an easy kill. Instead, they had walked into hell itself.

Back at the warehouse, Aksh exhaled slowly, stepping forward. His enemies smirked, thinking he had surrendered.

Then—his men moved.

They didn't just appear; they descended, surrounding the entire area like an unrelenting storm.

Every single one of them bore the same mark—an insignia burned onto their thumbs, a silent declaration of loyalty. Recognition dawned in the enemy's eyes, followed by something far more potent—fear.

Aksh tilted his head, his smirk slow, lethal.

"You thought I was just another man in the dark," he murmured. "You didn't realize… darkness itself belongs to me."

Terror rippled through the ranks. The ones who had laughed moments ago now shook. They had underestimated him.

And now—death was upon them.

The silence was deafening. It started as a whisper—a single realization creeping through the enemy ranks like venom. Then, like wildfire, the fear spread.

It's him… The one no one had ever seen. The one every underworld king whispered about in hushed tones, never daring to speak his name aloud.

Their hands trembled on their weapons, but they knew—no amount of firepower could save them now.

Aksh stood still, his posture relaxed, almost lazy, but the smirk on his face held a promise of destruction. The mark on his men's thumbs was a symbol only the most powerful recognized. The greatest of warlords had fallen before that mark. The strongest crime syndicates bowed in its presence.

And yet, these fools had dared to think they could kill him.

Aksh had played them from the start. Every move, every moment of weakness they thought they saw—it was all a lie. His lie. A game designed to lure them into his web.

"You should've done your research," Aksh said, voice calm, deadly. "Because the moment you walked into my trap…" His smirk deepened, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

"You were already dead."

And just like that, the world around them shattered.

The mark on their thumbs was small but unmistakable_ A black wolf with burning crimson eyes, its fangs sinking into a shattered crown—a symbol that whispered of empires fallen before him and rulers who had dared to stand in his way.

A mark whispered about in the darkest corners of the underworld, a signature of power and absolute dominance.

The moment they saw it, their breaths hitched, their bodies stiffening with raw terror. It wasn't just any mark—it was his mark.

Akuma

For years, Akuma had been nothing but a whispered myth, a shadow in the underworld's nightmares. No face. No identity. Only a force that struck from the darkness, dismantling his enemies piece by piece. And now, as his men displayed the inked wolf sigil on their thumbs, realization dawned.

They had not been facing a mere rival. They had been walking toward their own doom.