The scent of blood lingered in the air, thick and metallic. Aiden Xu, the once-untouchable demon of the Zhao Syndicate, remained on his knees, his breath ragged. His fingers trembled as he wiped the blood trickling from his lips.
Ochieng, standing tall under the golden chandelier, wasn't smiling. His dark eyes reflected something deeper than victory—indifference.
Lucien Zhao, the head of the eight-province syndicate, had been silent for far too long.
Then, finally—
He clapped.
Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
The entire hall tensed.
"You," Lucien's voice dripped with amusement, but there was an undeniable edge of curiosity. "You're not just a silent billionaire, are you?"
Ochieng tilted his head slightly.
"Silent?" His voice was low, carrying an eerie calmness. "Perhaps. But ghosts don't need to be loud to remind people they exist."
The weight of those words settled across the room.
Lucien's smirk flickered. "A ghost, you say?"
Ochieng took a step forward.
"And ghosts don't just exist. They haunt."
BANG.
A gunshot exploded from the balcony above.
The bullet tore through the air—aimed straight at Ochieng's head.
Too late.
Ochieng tilted his head at the last second. The bullet grazed past his temple, cutting a thin line across his skin before embedding itself into the golden pillar behind him.
Silence.
Then—
The shooter's body dropped.
Neck twisted. Lifeless.
A low gasp spread through the hall.
No one had even seen Ochieng move.
Lucien's fingers tightened on his wine glass.
Aiden Xu, still kneeling, let out a slow exhale. "You're… not normal."
Ochieng's gaze flickered to him.
"No." His voice was barely above a whisper. "And that's where your mistake began."
Lucien Zhao's laughter suddenly rang through the air.
"Interesting." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Very interesting."
He studied Ochieng for a long moment before nodding.
"Fine. You want a war?"
Lucien smiled.
"Let's give you one."