The old lion was dead.
For decades, Edward Vonspear "The DRAGON" had ruled the underworld with an iron fist, his name spoken in whispers, his will shaping the city like a sculptor carves marble. There was no crime, no deal, no life or death in his empire that he hadn't signed off on. He was more than a man—he was a force of nature, a legend.
And now, he was nothing but a body in a coffin, laid out in the grand estate he had built with blood and fire.
His children—seven in total, each bearing a fraction of his power, each with a hunger to take everything—stood in the dimly lit room where his will was to be read. The air crackled, not just with tension, but with something far older and more dangerous.
The air in the study was thick with tension, the kind that suffocates and swells with unspoken words. The dim glow of the chandelier flickered off polished mahogany, casting long shadows across the anxious faces of the gathered heirs. Behind the heavy oak desk, the lawyer—a fat, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses—fumbled through the lower drawer, his hands shuffling through documents with excruciating slowness.
Benjamin Vonspear, the eldest son, leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of deep red wine. A smirk played at the corners of his lips. "The old man, of course, must have chosen an heir to his fortune," he mused, his voice calm yet heavy with entitlement. He took a deliberate sip. "And since I am the eldest, it stands to reason that it should all go to me."
No one spoke, but their silence was deafening. The flickering candlelight caught the narrowed eyes and clenched jaws of his siblings, their barely contained rage simmering beneath the surface.
Across the room, Marylin Vonspear sat rigid, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of her pristine white wedding dress. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she watched the lawyer's slow, aimless search. Every second he spent rifling through his desk only fueled the storm brewing inside her.
Then came the breaking point.
With a furious snarl, she rose to her feet, yanking off her left stiletto—a diamond-plated, 1.5-carat dagger of a heel. Before anyone could react, she lunged forward and brought it crashing down on the back of the old lawyer's head.
A sickening crack filled the room.
The lawyer slumped forward, his glasses slipping from his nose as his lifeless body crumpled against the desk. A crimson stain spread across the polished wood, pooling beneath him. Marylin stood frozen, her chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths, her grip still tight around the bloodied heel.
A drop of blood slid down the pristine white of her dress.
Silence.
Then, Benjamin exhaled slowly, swirling his wine once more before taking another sip.
"Well," he murmured, eyes gleaming as he set his glass down. "That certainly complicates things."
Benjamin Vonspear reclined in his chair, unbothered by the fresh corpse slumped over their father's desk. He had expected blood to be spilled in this room—just not quite so soon.
His siblings were staring, waiting for a reaction, but he wouldn't give them one. That was the game, wasn't it? Control. Power. And he had both.
Benjamin stood, smooth and unhurried, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his tailored suit. He was the eldest, the most accomplished, the rightful heir to Edward Vonspear's empire. His father had raised him for this—groomed him, tested him, forged him in fire. The others? They were scraps, leftovers, mistakes.
Yet, even with his certainty, a whisper of doubt slithered through his mind. If his father had simply left everything to him, why was the will hidden? Why the mystery?
He turned his gaze to Marylin, still gripping her bloodied heel, her white dress ruined. "That was… impulsive," he said, voice edged with amusement. "Though I suppose we're all eager to get this over with."
Marylin's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. The others were silent, too. Watching. Calculating.
Benjamin smirked. Good. Let them stew. Let them wait.
Casually, he reached into the lawyer's pocket, pulling out a ring of keys. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he unlocked the desk drawer. Inside were dozens of folders, neatly stacked—records, ledgers, deeds. But no will.
He exhaled sharply, a flicker of irritation breaking through his polished mask.
"I suggest we start searching," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of command. "We all know the old man loved his games. The will is here, somewhere, and I'll be the one to find it."
His siblings exchanged glances, their own ambitions simmering beneath the surface.
Benjamin turned away from them, his mind already calculating his next move. He would not beg, he would not fight like some desperate, rabid dog. He would claim his birthright with the poise of a king.
Because that's what he was.
And if anyone got in his way?
Well.
Marylin had already set a precedent.
Elias Vonspear was watching.
He always watched.
Benjamin played the role of the king, effortlessly commanding the room, expecting them all to fall in line. And the others—oh, the others—had let him. For now.
Elias clenched his fists. He had spent his whole life in Benjamin's shadow, the second-born, the forgotten one. His father never looked at him the way he looked at Benjamin. Never tested him the same way. Never trusted him the same way.
But Elias was done watching.
He moved to the desk as Benjamin rifled through the drawers, his movements slow, precise. His eyes scanned every detail—the smudges of ink on the lawyer's papers, the faint indentations left behind by a heavy hand. There had to be a clue, a message left behind by the old man.
His gaze drifted to the lawyer's corpse, then to the pool of blood seeping into the wood.
Something was there. A shape beneath the red. Letters.
He crouched, ignoring the way the others shifted as he dipped his fingers into the blood and smeared it across the wood, revealing the hidden text.
"Let the worthy inherit."
A hush fell over the room.
Then the lights flickered.
A sudden pulse of energy rippled through the air, a deep, thrumming force that made the very walls seem to breathe. The chandelier swayed. The fire in the hearth roared to life, burning a shade too bright, too unnatural.
And then the pain came.
Elias gasped, clutching his chest as heat flooded his veins. Around him, his siblings staggered, their bodies seizing as the invisible force ripped through them. It felt like fire, like lightning, like the weight of their father's gaze pressing down on their very souls.
Then—just as quickly as it had begun—it was over.
Elias stumbled to his feet, panting. His hands trembled, but not from fear. From power.
Something inside him had changed. He could feel it humming beneath his skin, whispering in his mind. He turned his gaze to Benjamin and— there it was.
A shimmer, a haze surrounding his brother. Like a ghostly second skin. Images flickered within it—memories, experiences, secrets.
Elias grinned. He saw it all.
Their strengths. Their weaknesses. Their desires.