The city's neon lights flickered under the moonless sky, but the streets below carried a different rhythm tonight. A slow, unsettling tension.
Whispers of war.
The underworld had sensed it.
Something had shifted.
Ochieng walked through the dimly lit alley, his coat billowing slightly as the wind howled through the cracks of forgotten buildings.
A predator's gait.
A storm's patience.
Every step he took sent ripples through the darkness—echoes of his presence spreading like wildfire.
At that same moment, deep within an underground stronghold, Bai Sheng sat in his grand leather chair, swirling a glass of blood-red wine.
The assassin he had sent last night?
Dead.
Not just dead—obliterated.
The body had been found hanging from a skyscraper with a single message carved into its chest:
"Not enough."
The underworld trembled at those words.
Ochieng was no longer a name.
He was a nightmare.
Bai Sheng smirked, unfazed.
Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table before him.
"Then let's give him something more… interesting."
With a snap of his fingers, the door behind him opened.
A figure stepped in.
No.
Not just a figure.
A legend.
A man whose name sent shivers through even the most ruthless killers.
His face was half-covered by a steel mask, a relic of a battle long forgotten. His eyes—lifeless, cold, inhuman.
He was known as The Reaper.
And tonight, his blade was pointed at Ochieng.
-
Back in the city, Ochieng felt it before he saw it.
The shift in the air.
The unnatural silence.
The sensation of eyes—many, many eyes—watching from the rooftops, from the alleys, from the shadows themselves.
He exhaled.
"So, we're doing this now?"
A single step forward.
And the night erupted into chaos.
Gunfire.
The deafening roar of bullets cutting through the dark.
Dozens of assassins emerged from the darkness, their movements precise, lethal.
Ochieng didn't hesitate.
His body twisted, bending the laws of movement, avoiding death by inches.
The first assassin lunged.
Ochieng caught his wrist—snap—and the man collapsed, screaming.
A knife flashed.
Ochieng turned, dodging by a hair's breadth, before delivering a brutal elbow to the attacker's jaw.
One.
Two.
Three bodies fell in less than five seconds.
But they weren't stopping.
They kept coming.
And then—
A new presence.
A weight that pressed down on the battlefield like a crushing force.
Ochieng's muscles tensed as a figure stepped forward.
Steel mask.
Gloved hands.
The Reaper.
For the first time in years—
Ochieng felt the thrill of a real fight.
---
No words were spoken.
None were needed.
The Reaper moved—fast.
Ochieng barely dodged the first strike, but the second came with the force of a landslide.
BOOM!
The pavement cracked beneath them.
Ochieng countered, his fist aiming for the Reaper's ribs.
But the masked man twisted, avoiding it by a mere inch before delivering a ruthless kick to Ochieng's chest.
Ochieng skidded backward.
The Reaper didn't wait.
He lunged.
Blade flashing.
Speed unnatural.
This wasn't just an assassin.
This was a monster.
Ochieng grinned, wiping blood from his lip.
"Now this is getting interesting."
---