The neon lights of Crescent City flickered in the distance as Ochieng stood at the edge of a rooftop, his silhouette blending into the darkness.
The fire at the Devil's Club had left a mark on the city, but it was nothing compared to the war brewing beneath its surface.
They thought they could bury him.
They forgot—he was a ghost.
He pulled his hood over his head and descended into the alleyways, vanishing into the chaos of the city.
---
Ochieng's journey led him to a hidden courtyard behind a centuries-old temple.
A figure sat in the center, surrounded by candles that refused to flicker despite the night breeze.
Master Xu.
The top grandmaster of martial arts.
Ochieng had sought him out once before.
Tonight, the old man's eyes pierced through him.
"You reek of blood, boy," the Grandmaster said without looking up.
Ochieng smirked. "Smells like survival to me."
Master Xu finally lifted his gaze, eyes filled with wisdom—and something darker.
"You came for answers."
Ochieng nodded.
"The Phantom Syndicate is moving. I need to be ready."
The Grandmaster studied him.
"Power alone won't save you. You need precision. Ruthlessness."
Ochieng dropped to one knee.
"Then teach me."
Master Xu exhaled deeply.
"Very well. But be warned, Ochieng—this path demands everything."
---
The night stretched on as Ochieng pushed past human limits.
Fists bled against wooden dummies reinforced with steel.
Legs kicked through bricks as if they were paper.
He was faster. Deadlier.
But it wasn't enough.
"You still hesitate," Master Xu observed, tossing him a wooden staff.
Ochieng barely caught it before a blur came at him.
A disciple attacked.
Ochieng dodged, barely, his instincts screaming.
Master Xu's voice rang out:
"Defeat is not a mistake. Hesitation is."
Ochieng gritted his teeth.
If he was going to win this war—
He had to become something else.
Something unstoppable.
---
Meanwhile…
In a high-rise office overlooking the city, a woman in a crimson dress sipped her wine.
A voice crackled through her earpiece.
"Tariq is dead. Ochieng is still alive."
She smirked.
"Good."
The White Widow never wanted him dead.
She wanted him angry.
Because an angry man made mistakes.
And when he did—
She would be waiting.
---