My body stills for half a second too long—just long enough for the giant I’m fighting to land a glancing blow to my ribs. It’s the first real hit of the night. I shake it off quickly, shove the pain down deep where I keep the rest of it—but something knocks loose inside me, something I’ve been holding together with nothing but rage and threadbare hope.
Somewhere in the twisted mess of my mind, I know—I know—they couldn’t have helped that night. That there was nothing they could’ve done. But that logic doesn’t do shit for the kid in me who still wanted to be saved. Who hoped, prayed, andbegged—that someone would come. That they’d sense something was wrong. That they’d show up like knights in dented armor and drag us out of hell.
Fairytales. That’s all it ever was.
But it’s dangerous, the “what ifs.” They’re like hooks you can’t dig out once they sink in deep. They’ll haunt you if you let them. And if you’re not careful, they’ll drive you straight off the edge.
I’ve learned that the hard way. Over and over. I can’t change the past. Can’t go back. Can’t rescue anyone.
Not Reign.
Not me.
There’s no hero in this story.
Only rage. Fire. Revenge.
And I’ll gladly extract it—every ounce of vengeance, every last drop of blood debt—from each of them. One by one. Brick by crumbling, burning brick.
Starting with the guy currently stumbling around in front of me, dazed and clueless, just another name on a fight card with no idea he’s been cast as the first domino. He’s nothing—just a warm-up, a distraction to keep me entertained. But time’s no longer on my side.
Because Ronan’s here.
I felt the shift in the air the second he walked in—like lightning pressed against my skin, hot and sharp and familiar in all the ways that make my heart slam against my ribs. I can’t afford to linger, not with him watching, circling, hunting for something he doesn’t know he’s found yet.
So, I end it.
A quick pivot, then a sharp strike—my fist connecting with the side of the guy’s temple in a clean, brutal arc. Just muscle, speed, and purpose. He drops hard, legs giving out as if whatever kept him standing just shut off. No ceremony. No grace.
The crowd roars, but I don’t bask in it. There’s no time for that.
I’m out of the ring before the ref’s even finished checking for a pulse. With my breath still steady and adrenaline buzzing in my veins, I snatch the envelope of cash from the organizer’s clammy grip without a word. My head stays low, my hood pulled tight, every step smooth and calculated. I melt into the crowd like I was never there—just a ghost passing through the chaos.
Because tonight was never about glory. It’s never been about cheers or recognition. It’s about control—taking it back the only way I know how anymore. With my fists. With sweat, blood, and the echo of bone cracking beneath my knuckles.
Sometimes the weight of the last few years presses down so hard it feels like I might break beneath it. The memories, fueling the silence. The fury with nowhere to go. And when it threatens to drown me, this is the only thing that quiets the noise, this violence disguised as purpose.
But tonight, more than any other, Ihaveto stay calm. Focused. I have work to do. Monsters to corner. Justice to deliver.
And I’m already running behind.
I lost track of time—completely. Something I never do. Not anymore. Not since I started this war. But Ronan...hethrew me off. He got too close.Toodamn close. I could feel him watching me from across the room, like his eyes were trying to burn straight through my disguise and into the marrow of who I used to be. It rattled me more than I want to admit. And in the distraction of it—of him—I nearly missed my window.
That’s not a mistake I can afford to make again.
This next target? He’s one of the second-tier monsters. The other man who hurt Reign—not with fists, but with the kind of damage that slips beneath the skin, leaving no bruises, only wounds that never stop bleeding. I promised myself they’d all pay for what they did to her, to us. Dean and Bryce are at the top of the food chain, but I’m saving those bastards for last. I want them to watch the world they built crumble—brick by brick, person by person—until there’s nothing left but smoke and ash.
Tonight, it’s another piece of the puzzle. One more link in the chain snapping under the weight of justice they never thought would come.
This part of the plan works like a rhythm—back and forth, strike and vanish. One building after another, alternating hits to keep them scrambling and off-balance. No time to recover, no way to predict what’s next. The pressure mounts, and with each strike, the cracks spread wider. Eventually, there’ll be nothing left standing. They’ll be alone. Terrified. Watching everything they thought was untouchable get ripped apart.
That’s endgame.
They crowned themselves gods—superior, above consequence. But I’ve become far more ruthless.
Not divine.
Just inevitable.