The Path Of A True King.

The apartment complex was an aging, three-story building, worn down by years of neglect.

Cracked walls, broken windows patched with cardboard, and graffiti-covered surfaces made it clear this place was no luxury residence.

The stench of smoke, sweat, and alcohol clung to the air.

The only light came from dim hallway bulbs that flickered now and then, casting eerie shadows.

Inside, the first-floor hallway stretched ahead, narrow and lined with old doors, most of them locked shut.

The faint sound of a baby crying and a couple arguing behind thin walls added to the building's grim atmosphere.

Tristan and Kevin stood at the entrance, scanning the surroundings.

Their mission was simple—wipe out the gang occupying this place and make an example out of them.

Kevin cracked his knuckles, a smirk playing on his lips. "How do you want to do this? Quiet or loud?"

Tristan rolled his shoulders, his sharp gaze locked on the hallway ahead. "Doesn't matter. Either way, they're getting crushed."

Kevin chuckled. "Good answer."

They stepped forward.

First Floor – Three Targets

The first gang members were stationed near a small table littered with cash, cigarette butts, and playing cards.

Three men, all in their late teens or early twenties, lounged around, half-distracted by their game.

One glanced up, his tired eyes narrowing at the sight of the two intruders.

"Who the hell are—"

He never got to finish.

Tristan moved first.

In a blur, he closed the distance, his fist driving into the first man's gut with brutal force.

The thug's eyes bulged as he coughed out air, his body folding before he collapsed.

The second guy barely had time to react before Kevin's fist crashed into his jaw, sending him sprawling onto the table.

The cards and cash scattered as his head slammed against the wood, knocking him unconscious instantly.

The last one, scrambling for a knife at his belt, found himself yanked forward as Tristan grabbed his collar.

With a vicious twist, Tristan slammed him against the wall, his head bouncing off the concrete with a dull thud. He crumpled to the floor, unmoving.

"Three down," Tristan muttered, stepping over the bodies.

Kevin smirked. "Not even a warm-up."

They moved to the stairs.

Second Floor – Two Targets

The second floor was quieter, but the heavy scent of burnt drugs clung to the air like a filthy veil.

Dim lighting flickered from a single bulb overhead, casting long, restless shadows along the narrow hallway.

More doors lined the corridor, some closed, others slightly ajar, whispers and muffled conversations leaking through the gaps.

One door stood slightly open, laughter spilling out.

A slow, deliberate chuckle, the kind that reeked of cruelty.

Kevin didn't knock.

With a sharp kick, the door blasted open, the wood slamming against the wall.

The laughter died instantly.

Inside, two gang members lounged on a filthy couch, surrounded by cheap liquor bottles and discarded cigarette butts.

The stench of sweat, alcohol, and stale smoke choked the room.

A woman sat on the floor against the far wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her shoulders trembling.

One of the thugs leaned forward, a predatory grin stretching across his face as he reached for her, fingers curling toward her chin.

The moment the two men registered the intruders, their faces twisted—from confusion to anger to the barest flicker of fear.

"The hell—"

Tristan didn't let him finish.

He was already moving, closing the gap in two swift steps.

His fingers clamped onto the thug's face like an iron vice, his grip crushing down over nose and mouth.

With a savage yank, Tristan wrenched him up and drove him backward—hard.

The back of the thug's skull slammed into the drywall with a sickening crack, a web of fractures spreading out from the impact point.

The man's body twitched once before his limbs went slack, his breath escaping in a weak, rattling groan.

The second thug bolted for a knife on the table, his fingers grazing the handle—

Kevin was faster.

A brutal sidekick caught the thug square in the ribs, lifting him off his feet.

He crashed backward over the table, bottles shattering as liquor splashed across the floor.

He gasped, trying to push himself up, but Kevin was already there.

Without hesitation, he drove his boot down onto the thug's chest, pinning him in place.

A choked, breathless wheeze escaped the man's lips as his eyes rolled back, body going limp.

Silence.

The woman sat frozen, wide-eyed, her breath uneven.

Tristan turned to her, his voice calm but firm. "You're safe, So Get out of here."

She hesitated for a split second, staring at the two unmoving bodies, then scrambled to her feet.

Without another word, she bolted past them, disappearing into the hallway.

Kevin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Five down. That leaves the rest upstairs."

Tristan wiped his hand off on the unconscious thug's shirt, then nodded toward the door.

His voice was cold, steady.

"Let's finish this."

Third Floor – Five Targets

The third floor was where the real fight was waiting.

The remaining five gang members stood outside an open room, their bodies tensed, hands gripping weapons—a crowbar, a bat, a switchblade.

The commotion below had already put them on high alert.

One of them, a taller guy with a scar stretching across his cheek, sneered as he cracked his knuckles.

"You little punks think you can just walk in here and—"

Tristan cut him off with a fist to the face.

The force of the punch sent him reeling into the wall, blood spraying from his nose as he crumpled to the floor, dazed.

The others roared in anger and charged.

Kevin met them head-on, slipping past a wild swing from the guy with the crowbar.

He ducked under another attack and drove a brutal uppercut into the first attacker's ribs.

A sickening crack echoed through the hall as the guy let out a strangled gasp, his body folding inward before he collapsed onto the floor, clutching his side in agony.

Tristan barely had time to react before the second thug swung his bat.

He twisted his body, letting the bat whistle past his head, then countered with a sharp elbow to the gut.

The thug stumbled back, but Tristan didn't let up.

He surged forward, driving his knee into the man's chin with crushing force.

Teeth snapped, and the thug's eyes rolled back as he flew backward, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

A third gang member, a wiry man with a switchblade, took advantage of the chaos and lunged at Kevin from behind, aiming straight for his kidney.

Bad mistake.

Kevin felt the movement and reacted instantly.

He caught the thug's wrist mid-stab, twisting it so violently that a sharp snap filled the air.

The gang member howled in agony, his knife clattering to the ground. Kevin didn't stop there.

He grabbed the man by the back of the head and slammed him face-first into the floor.

Blood pooled beneath his broken nose as he went still.

The last one hesitated, his grip on the bat trembling.

His face twisted in panic as he started backing toward the stairs. "W-Wait! We can—"

Tristan was on him in an instant.

He grabbed the terrified thug by the collar and, with effortless strength, hurled him over the railing.

His scream echoed through the building before he crashed onto the second floor with a dull thud.

Silence followed.

The only sounds left were the groans of the broken gang members sprawled across the floor.

Kevin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Well, that was fun."

Tristan glanced around, making sure no one else was hiding in the shadows.

The building was quiet now, save for the muffled whispers of terrified residents peeking from their doors.

"Let's gather them up," Tristan said. Before looking at the residents and he shouted

"People go back to sleep. Don't worry about what's going on it's just a change of management."

Kevin smirked, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Okay but I hate waiting, Kai should arrive early."

As they walked out, the residents who had stayed hidden slowly stepped forward, whispering among themselves, glancing at the blood littering the floor.