The Obsidian Club was alive with music, laughter, and the scent of expensive whiskey.
The city's elite gathered here—powerful businessmen, politicians with secrets, and criminals in tailored suits.
But beneath the luxury, something darker lurked.
Tonight, the club was a battlefield.
And Ochieng was walking straight into it.
---
The bouncer at the entrance barely glanced up as Ochieng approached.
"Name?"
Ochieng didn't answer.
Instead, he placed a black card on the podium.
The bouncer stiffened. His throat bobbed as he recognized the symbol.
A dragon entwined with a sword.
A mark of an untouchable.
A moment of hesitation—then the bouncer stepped aside, waving him through.
Ochieng smirked.
Perfect.
As he stepped inside, the club's energy swallowed him whole—flashing lights, the bass-heavy music vibrating through his bones, the mingling of perfumes and alcohol in the air.
He moved through the crowd effortlessly, his steps unhurried.
But his eyes were sharp.
They were watching him.
Hidden figures in corners. Men pretending to be relaxed, but their eyes flickered toward him too often.
The Phantom King's men.
Ochieng exhaled softly.
Time to send a message.
---
A waitress passed by, balancing a tray of drinks.
With a smooth motion, Ochieng bumped into her just enough to make one glass tip over.
The drink spilled—right onto the lap of a large, burly man in a tailored suit sitting nearby.
The man shot up, furious.
"What the hell—?!"
Ochieng barely spared him a glance. "Oops."
The burly man—one of the Phantom Syndicate's enforcers—grabbed Ochieng's shoulder.
"Listen here, you little—"
That was his first mistake.
Ochieng moved.
Before the man could finish his sentence, Ochieng's hand lashed out, gripping the enforcer's wrist in an iron grip.
Snap.
A sickening crack echoed over the music as the enforcer's wrist bent at an unnatural angle.
The man howled in pain, staggering backward.
The entire club went silent.
All eyes turned to Ochieng.
He smiled.
"Now that I have everyone's attention…"
He grabbed a wine bottle from the nearest table—
And shattered it against the enforcer's head.
The man dropped instantly.
The Obsidian Club erupted into chaos.
---
More Syndicate members lunged at Ochieng.
He dodged the first punch with ease, twisting to slam an elbow into the attacker's ribs.
Another man swung a chair—Ochieng ducked, grabbed a fork from the table, and jabbed it into the man's thigh.
Screams filled the air.
Ochieng grabbed a Syndicate member by the collar, yanking him forward. "Where's the Phantom King?"
The man stammered, eyes filled with terror.
Then—a gunshot.
A bullet whizzed past Ochieng's ear, embedding itself into the bar counter.
A voice, smooth and deadly, rang out.
"You're making a mess of my club, Ochieng."
Ochieng turned.
At the top of the grand staircase, overlooking the chaos, stood The Phantom King.
Tall. Elegant. A glass of whiskey in his hand, completely unbothered.
Beside him, the White Widow smirked, twirling a dagger between her fingers.
Ochieng grinned.
"I'm just getting started."
---