The night streets were eerily quiet as Luv and Ayu left the burning ruin of the warehouse behind. Smoke curled into the sky like a signal fire—one that every gang in the city would see.
Their enemies would know.
The Crimson Fang was dead.
And two ghosts had risen in their place.
They took shelter in a crumbling motel on the outskirts of the city. The walls were stained, the air damp with mildew, but it gave them cover. Luv cleaned his weapons in silence, laying each gun and blade out with ritualistic precision.
Ayu sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the photograph. The child's face seemed to burn into her mind, the black eyes haunting her even when she closed her own.
"She looks strong," Ayu muttered. "Even in this picture, it's like she knows she's in danger."
Luv glanced up, his voice flat. "Children don't get to choose strength. It's forced on them."
His words carried the weight of experience. Ayu didn't push.
Instead, she held up the photo, turning it toward him. "You recognized the insignia, didn't you? Who are they?"
Luv's eyes darkened. For a moment, he didn't answer. Then, finally:
"The Black Dragon Syndicate."
The name hung in the air like a curse.
"They're older than Crimson Fang," he continued. "Richer. Smarter. Their reach goes beyond this city. If the girl's connected to them… then this won't be a rescue. It'll be a war."
Ayu's lips curved into a smile—not one of joy, but of defiance. "Then we'll give them a war."
The next night, they followed their first lead. A ledger stolen from the warehouse listed a series of transactions—money moved to a nightclub front in the city's red-light district. Beneath the club, it was said, the Black Dragon kept one of their safe houses.
They went armed and ready.
The nightclub pulsed with bass and neon, drunk laughter spilling into the streets. But behind the velvet curtains and expensive drinks, danger lingered.
Inside, Ayu drew stares instantly. Her jade-white skin and dark eyes gleamed under the flashing lights. Men whispered, women glared, jealousy and lust mixing in equal measure.
But when they saw Luv walking beside her—cold, sharp, a shadow wrapped in black—they quickly looked away.
They weren't here for drinks. They moved like predators through a herd of prey, slipping past dancers, up staircases, down hallways.
Until they reached the basement door.
Two guards blocked it—massive, armed, tattoos snaking up their arms in the shape of dragons.
One smirked. "Basement's off limits. Get lost."
Ayu's smile was razor-thin. "We weren't asking."
The guard sneered, reaching for her wrist.
He never touched her.
Her blade flashed, severing his hand in one swift motion. Blood sprayed across the wall as he screamed, collapsing to his knees.
The second guard fumbled for his gun—but Luv was faster. A single shot cracked through the hallway, punching a hole between the man's eyes. He dropped instantly, lifeless.
Ayu wiped her blade clean, her eyes glittering. "Basement's open."
They pushed through the door into the darkness below.
The air was damp, heavy with mold and secrets. The sound of dripping water echoed through the underground corridor.
And there—painted across the walls in fresh crimson—was the same insignia. The dragon wrapped around the crown.
Ayu gripped the photo tighter. "We're close."
Luv's black eyes scanned the shadows, his voice low and cold.
"No. We're walking into their nest."
And from the darkness ahead came the echo of boots. Dozens of them. Closing in.