Blood In The Dust
The street was on fire.
Not literally—but the air was thick with chaos. Sirens howled in the distance, boys on bikes sped past with machetes clutched in hand, and somewhere near the junction, someone was screaming.
Dre didn't blink.
He tightened the laces on his black boots, pulled the hood over his head, and stepped into the madness.
"Elric's boys just hit Miracle's corner."
The voice came through a cracked burner phone, breathless. "They're pushing in from three angles. Dre, if you're coming, come now."
Dre didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
---
He reached the back of the supermarket—where it all began. Where he'd first heard Elric's name whispered like a god among monsters. Where Dre had chosen war instead of forgiveness.
Tonight, it was going down.
He slid open the back door and entered the underground. The place was darker now. Emptier. Like it could sense what was coming.
Waiting for him was Ghost—lean, wild-eyed, knife already spinning between his fingers.
"You're late," Ghost said, eyes glinting. "Boys are out there bleeding."
Dre pulled up his sleeves, revealing taped fists. "Then let's go paint the street."
---
They emerged into the open just as a pipe bomb exploded two blocks ahead.
BOOM.
Glass shattered across the road. A sedan flipped. People screamed.
Ghost ducked behind a truck, yelling, "We've got visuals—three of Elric's lieutenants. They've got ARs!"
Dre didn't flinch.
He charged.
Straight into the smoke. Into the blur of bullets and blood.
A bullet grazed his arm—he didn't stop. He tackled the first gunman to the ground, slammed his fist into his jaw until he felt bone crunch, then rolled and grabbed the fallen AR.
Click. Loaded.
Now Dre had a voice.
---
From the rooftops, a sniper adjusted his sight.
He had Dre in his crosshairs.
Three... two...
Before he could pull the trigger, a dagger flew through the air and sliced into his neck. He staggered back, blood spurting, falling silently into the alley below.
Ghost smiled. "You forgot I was here."
---
The streets had turned into a chessboard soaked in red.
Dre advanced block by block, clearing corners with military precision. He wasn't just fighting—he was sending a message.
You tried to erase me.
Now I'm rewriting the rules.
---
He reached Miracle's block just in time.
Miracle was pinned behind a broken fence, bleeding from the shoulder, her pistol empty.
"DRE!"
He dropped beside her, firing cover shots. "You still alive?"
"Barely."
"You still mad at me?"
"Definitely."
"Good. Means you're not dead yet."
---
They pushed forward together.
Dre took down two more men, then ducked into cover as a grenade rolled his way. He kicked it into a trash can, grabbed Miracle's arm, and dove—
BOOM!
The blast shook the road, but they were clear.
Smoke everywhere. But Dre kept moving.
Miracle coughed beside him. "This isn't just another turf fight. This is something bigger."
Dre wiped blood off his face. "Yeah. It's a war."
---
Then the radio cracked.
It was Tomi—voice shaking.
"Dre. We have a problem. It's not just Elric. It's Oga Rex. He's backing Elric now. Full militia style. Heavy weapons. Tanks."
Dre's blood ran cold.
Oga Rex was an ex-warlord. The kind of man who buried people alive for fun.
"Where?" Dre asked.
"He's heading to your end. Dre, he's bringing the real war."
Dre stared down the bloody street, the smell of smoke and iron rising.
"Then let him come."
---
Suddenly, headlights flooded the street ahead.
A black armoured truck rolled in, followed by two Hilux pickups. Men in dark vests jumped out, their guns heavy, their eyes dead.
One of them carried a flamethrower.
Ghost froze. "That's Rex's crew."
The flamethrower sparked to life with a hiss.
"RUN!" Dre shouted.
He grabbed Miracle and sprinted behind a rusted bus. The street behind them ignited like a furnace—glass melting, air burning, screams ripping through the smoke.
They dove into a busted shop window, rolling hard onto the floor as flames licked at the street.
Miracle gasped. "He's not playing."
"No," Dre said, panting. "He's here to erase everything."
---
And then they heard the voice.
Loud. Calm. Echoing through a megaphone attached to the armoured truck.
"Dre. Come out. Let's.Or watch every one you know burn."
Dre looked at Ghost.
At Miracle.
At the city behind him, turning to ashes.
Then he stood up slowly.
"Time to meet the devil."
---
To be continued