Chapter 11 – Echoes of the Syndicate

The roar of The Cage still rang in Malik's ears long after the crowd dispersed. But the victory's high was fading fast, replaced by a deep, gnawing feeling — he'd been seen.

Jinx sat next to him on the locker room bench, a pack of ice on her elbow. "You okay?"

"Not sure," Malik muttered, staring at the black card Roman's guy had dropped. The flaming chain around a basketball… it pulsed with menace, like it was watching him. "The Apex Syndicate. What do you know about them?"

Jinx's face hardened. "Enough to be scared."

Malik raised a brow.

"They don't play for clout. They don't play for money. They play for control." She leaned in. "They're ghost kings of Blaze Point. No team runs without their blessing."

Malik looked down at the bruises on his knuckles. "Then why show themselves now?"

Jinx hesitated. "Because you lit a fuse."

That night, Malik didn't sleep. He lay on his mattress staring at the ceiling, the city's sirens and bass thuds echoing through cracked windows.

Around 2 a.m., his phone buzzed.

A single message from an unknown number:

"Time to face the flame."

Attached: GPS coordinates.

He showed Jinx in the morning.

"You're not going," she said flatly.

"I have to."

"No, you don't. You can lay low. Build your team. Prep for the mid-season clashes."

"If I wait, they'll come for me when I'm not ready."

She sighed, pacing. "I'll go with you."

The coordinates led them to an abandoned transit terminal under the city. Train tracks rusted. Neon graffiti bled across the walls. The only light came from flickering barrels and low, humming lanterns.

They walked past a ring of silent watchers in hooded jerseys — no logos, just black flame emblems. They parted like a wave.

In the center stood three figures.

The tallest wore a chain with a scorched whistle. The woman beside him had a scar over one eye and brass knuckles on both hands. The last was a teen — Malik's age — bouncing a ball like it was alive.

"You're the one who cooked Roman," said the leader, voice like gravel. "Name's Cipher. And you just skipped about six levels of clearance."

Malik stood tall. "I didn't skip anything. I earned it."

A low chuckle from the woman. "That ego'll get you buried, kid."

Cipher stepped forward. "This League has rules. Unspoken ones. You rise too fast, people get nervous."

"You nervous?" Malik challenged.

Cipher smiled. "Not yet."

He motioned to the teen, who stepped forward.

"This is Blaze."

Malik tilted his head. "Wait — Blaze? As in—"

"Yeah," Blaze cut him off, spinning the ball behind his back. "The name you shout when you're on fire? That's me."

He stepped into the center of the court. "One-on-one. Right now."

Malik raised an eyebrow. "This why you brought me here?"

"Yup. You beat me, Cipher lets you move without Syndicate heat. Lose? You disappear for a while."

Jinx's eyes flared. "You can't be serious."

Malik dropped his bag. "Fine. Game to seven. Blaze Point rules?"

Blaze grinned. "Of course. No fouls. No friends."

The court was cracked concrete. No lines. Just bloodstains and ashes.

Blaze started with the ball. He moved like smoke — slippery, fast, impossible to pin. First bucket: a double cross into a step-back three. Net.

"1–0," he called, smiling.

Malik didn't flinch. He'd studied Blaze's tape. Now it was time to test what he'd learned.

He took the ball, faked left, hard drive right. Blaze slid to meet him — but Malik spun, reversed the ball behind his back, and rose.

"Boom!"

Tied.

The game became chaos.

2–2.

3–3.

4–4.

Blaze dunked so hard at 5–4 it cracked part of the rim. Malik answered with a no-look layup through a crowd of watchers at 6–5.

Now game point.

Both players dripping sweat, breathing fire.

Malik held the ball at the top of the key. Blaze crouched, eyes locked.

Then — pop.

The lights flickered.

The shadows shifted.

Malik broke left, stopped, hesitated.

Blaze bit.

Malik crossed right, rose — Blaze jumped.

They collided midair.

Time slowed.

Malik twisted in the air, switching hands — and floated the ball over Blaze's fingertips.

Swish.

7–5.

Complete silence.

Then — a single clap.

Cipher.

He nodded. "Alright. Let him walk. Let him play."

Malik landed, heart thundering.

Blaze picked himself up, smiling through the pain. "Okay… you're real."

Cipher stepped in. "You're not Syndicate. Not yet. But you're on the board."

He handed Malik a patch — black flame, stitched in red.

"Keep that hidden. And remember… now that you're in the game, there's no off-season."

Outside the terminal, Jinx was shaking. "You insane?! You played Blaze himself!"

Malik grinned, still catching his breath. "And I won."

Jinx stared at the patch. "You know what that means, right?"

Malik nodded. "Everyone's coming for me now."

She smirked. "Good. Let them come."