King of rats

[Victor Ironjaw's POV]

I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled as I let my gaze drift from the scattered papers on my desk to the room around me.

The soft glow of the lamp cast long shadows across the relics of the past—ornaments of another time, another life.

They sat on their shelves like silent witnesses, reminders of what had been built, what had been lost, and what still remained within my grasp.

The air was thick with the scent of old wood and faint traces of cigar smoke, clinging to the fabric of the heavy curtains drawn against the outside world. A world that, for all its chaos, still bent to the will of those who knew how to pull the right strings.

And those little Vipers? They thought themselves untouchable.

A low chuckle rumbled in my throat as I thought of them—arrogant, reckless, biting off more than they could chew.

They truly believed they were safe, hidden away in their little den, secure in the illusion that shadows would keep them unseen.

But shadows don't conceal.

They reveal.

And it hadn't even taken much to find them. Just a little patience, a little pressure in the right places, and there it was—laid bare before me.

Like they wanted to be found. Like they were inviting me in. And now? Now, they'd learn just how foolish that mistake had been.

A sharp knock echoed through the room, pulling me from my thoughts. I didn't move at first, letting the silence stretch, watching the door as if willing it to open on its own. Then, finally, I spoke, my voice measured, low.

"Come in."

The door creaked as it swung inward, revealing a battered man—blood on his temple, a split lip, his stance uneasy like a dog expecting a swift kick.

Speak of the devil.

He hesitated on the threshold, but fear was a familiar scent in places like this. It clung to men like him, men who lived in the cracks of the world, crawling in the dirt for survival.

"Boss," he muttered, bowing his head slightly, the gesture stiff with tension.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk, fingers intertwined. "So..." My tone was steady, cold. "How did it go?"

He swallowed hard. "W-we got one of them," he stammered, his voice barely holding steady. "They fought like beasts... and most of them managed to escape in the end."

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple with two fingers before leveling my gaze at the man trembling before me.

"One?" My voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but the weight behind it made him flinch. "I sent twelve men—twelve—to hunt down a group of street rats. And you come back here telling me you managed to take down one?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his fear morphing into something closer to sheer, unfiltered terror. Good. He should be afraid.

"S-sorry, boss," he stammered, his words tripping over themselves. "They—one of them's awakened. And the NightViper…" He hesitated, his face twisting, searching for the right words.

"He fought like a man possessed. We weren't expecting that. But next time—next time, I swear, we'll get them."

"Next time?" I echoed, letting the words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken malice. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my fingers tapping against the wood in slow, measured beats. "Tell me something."

My voice dropped to a whisper, the kind of quiet that sent chills down a man's spine. "How the fuck did a kid put ten of my men in the dirt, in the span of a few days?"

His mouth opened, but no words came. He had no answer. None that I wanted to hear.

Pathetic.

"Now get the fuck out of here, or I'll be forced to do something I might deeply regret."

I watched as the man scrambled out of my office, bowing hastily, his movements jerky with panic. His feet barely touched the ground as he bolted for the door, eager to escape whatever lingering threat hovered in the air.

Fucking dogs. I gave them just a taste of power, just a sliver of control, and they think they can handle it. Sloppy. Weak. Incompetent.

They couldn't even follow through with something as simple as a hunt. I could smell the failure in the air, like sweat and fear.

I let out a low growl as the door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the room. My fingers drummed on the desk, each tap a steady reminder of how beneath they all were.

Why was I surrounded by such filth? Why was I playing king among rats?

I leaned back in my chair, staring out the grimy window as the sky slowly darkened. The slum had a way of looking empty, even when it wasn't.

A hollow, oppressive silence that filled the spaces between the flickering streetlights. It was a reflection of me. Empty. Hollow. Waiting. Always waiting.

Waiting for something that would never happen. She had abandoned me, just like everyone else. Like a dog left in the cold, chained up, its leash yanked just out of reach, its food barely enough to keep it alive.

Why? Why had she left me, when I was doing everything she wanted? But there was no answer, only the gnawing hunger, a hunger for something that would never return.

I let out a breath, the weight of it heavy in my chest. My eyes lingered on the shadows that pooled at the edges of the room.

A thought flitted through my mind. What would things have been like if… she was still with me? If things had gone differently, if I'd been someone else?

But no, that was a useless thought. A thought for fools. I had given up on that long ago. The past was the past, and there was no point in drowning in the what-ifs. No point in holding on to a dream that had crumbled years ago.

And yet, even in that cold acceptance, there was something bitter that still lingered at the back of my throat. Something I couldn't quite swallow.

My thoughts shifted, drifting toward another matter. The NightViper. Tony's son. What a surprise that was. The boy's presence, his relentless pursuit—he had no idea what he was walking into.

It made me smile, a bitter, dark smile. It was almost amusing, the way he carried himself, all fire and anger, thinking that revenge could fill the void. His mother… I remembered her well enough, though not with any fondness.

The things we did to her, the things I did to her, they weren't a part of me I would flaunt. No, I wasn't proud of it.

But that was a different me back then, drowning in regret, drunk on power, enjoying the sick freedom that came with doing whatever I wanted without fearing the consequences.

I chuckled darkly, imagining the boy's face, so full of conviction. He thinks he can defeat me, I thought. The fool doesn't understand who he's really up against.

The Death Angels—my legacy. He couldn't even begin to comprehend the depths of what I had built, what I had done to get here, to remain unchallenged. The things I'd sacrificed. And now he wanted to stand against me.

Such a childish notion, a reckless, naïve dream. What he doesn't understand is that I'll make his life hell. I'll drag him through every bit of suffering he could never have imagined.

I would make him regret ever thinking he could defy me. Forcing me to even dirty my hands with someone like him?

His life would become a lesson, one he'd never forget. Every step he took toward revenge would be another step into a pit of despair, and I would be the one to watch him fall deeper, piece by piece.

And when he finally realized the truth—when he understood that standing against me was the gravest mistake he could ever make—it would be too late. By then, I would have already taken everything from him.

The door creaked open once more, this time revealing Joey—a towering figure, easily a head taller than me. His broad shoulders filled the frame of the doorway, and the sheer size of him seemed to darken the room.

He was a beast of a man, the kind you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, not unless you were looking for trouble.

"Joey, you fucking giant bastard," I greeted with a smirk, leaning back in my chair. My voice was lighter, almost amused.

He was a man I could rely on, a weapon more than a person in some ways.

The kind of guy you sent into a fight expecting the job to be done, no questions asked. He didn't come back empty-handed.

"What did you come for this time?" I leaned forward slightly, feeling the weight of the moment begin to settle in.

He let out a chuckle, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "Victor, I heard about those little shitheads botching the ambush. What a bunch of incompetent fuckers, aye?"

He smirked, already knowing where this conversation was headed, and that made me smile too.

"Joey," I began, letting the words hang in the air for a moment.

"You know, these little pests have started to think they can challenge us. It's time someone teaches them how to act proper. Don't you think?"

There was a pause as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes gleaming with a certain darkness.

This wasn't the first time I'd asked him to deal with a problem like this, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Joey wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he got things done. That was what mattered.

"Yeah, boss," he grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "But where the hell are they? I bet they're too scared to show their faces now that they've been dug out of their little den."

The sadistic grin that spread across his face told me everything I needed to know about the kind of "lesson" he was planning to teach them.

I didn't respond immediately, just stared at him for a moment, savoring the tension in the air. Then I let my words fall with the weight of a decision made. "You should visit the link. He might be able to point you in the right direction."

Joey's grin widened, his eyes alight with the promise of violence. "I'll take care of it, boss." He said, before turning to leave.

I could already hear the sounds of his heavy footsteps as he walked out, the door slamming behind him with finality.

Another problem was about to be solved, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do to stop it.