The Broken Rise of Edward

chapter 3

Edward’s mind flashed. Every cruel word, every smirk, every step leading to this moment—all replayed like shards in his skull.

He didn’t need anyone to call his name. He already knew the man who had marked him for this.

He didn't need them to spell it out. He already knew the cruel puppet master pulling these strings

"Zayden!" Edward muttered through gritted teeth.

The masked men stepped closer. Pipes raised, metal glinting under the harsh lights.

“You got it right,” the tallest hissed, his lips curling into a cruel grin. “And that would be the last word you ever utter before kissing the earth goodbye.”

Edward stumbled backward, chest heaving, blood pounding so hard he could barely hear the jeers around him. The thugs circled him like predators, moving with the confidence of hunters toying with a wounded animal.

Their faces twisted with cruel amusement. Pipes tapped rhythmically against their palms. Grins stretched wide, eager, hungry for violence.

Edward’s mind refused to stay in the alley. It dragged him somewhere else—home.

To his sister. The small girl who depended on him for everything. The only family he had left.

He saw her, standing at the doorway, waiting. Her tiny voice whispered in his memory:

“Edward… don’t leave me. Come home early… Please. It’s already late.”

His throat tightened. His chest burned.

“I can’t die here,” he muttered under his breath. “She… she still needs me.”

A thug snorted sharply.

“Hear that? The mutt thinks he has a future.”

Another stepped closer, tapping the pipe lightly against Edward’s cheek, smirking.

“Say your prayers again, dog,” he sneered. “Maybe your imaginary God will save you.”

“Finish him!” a bigger thug growled. “Kael wants his skull cracked, not comforted.”

Edward tried to dart left, but a boot slammed into his side. He spun right—another thug blocked him, laughing in his face. They shoved him like a toy, each push heavier than the last, crushing the air from his lungs.

The tallest thug hissed, impatient.

“Stop wasting time. Break him already! We’ve got other jobs tonight!”

He raised the pipe.

Then—a sudden roar of an engine tore through the night.

Heads snapped toward the sound. Tires screamed across the asphalt. A black car surged forward, headlights blinding white, barreling toward them without slowing.

The thugs staggered back in shock, cursing. The car’s bumper stopped inches from their legs.

The engine cut. Silence hung thick for a moment.

Then the door opened.

A man stepped out slowly, deliberately, grey hair brushing his shoulders. His coat drifted behind him in the cold wind. He didn’t rush. He didn’t flinch. Every step was measured, controlled, confident—as if nothing in the world could touch him.

His eyes swept the scene, cold and sharp, pinning every thug in place.

Behind him came a mountain of a man—a bouncer built like a fortress. Shoulders wide enough to block moonlight, forearms veined like ropes of steel, jaw locked in stone.

The leader of the g**g finally found his voice.

“Who… who are you?” the leader of the g**g finally barked, recovering his posture with a shaky snarl, his pipe lowering just a fraction as uncertainty crept into his voice..

“And now you dare interrupt us?” he added, his tone calm, but each word weighed like iron.

“I expected a better question,” the grey haired man finally spoke, voice steady, commanding. “But I will spare you and tell you what is relevant. Step away from the young man… or be the ones dying instead.”

The thugs blinked, momentarily confused. Then they laughed—loud, arrogant, and full of contempt.

“Oh, look,” one mocked, voice carrying across the street. “Grandpa decided to go for a night stroll.”

Another spat on the ground, eyes cold. “You must be lost, old man. Leave before we turn you and your overgrown bodyguard into hospital decorations.”

The leader stepped forward, a cruel grin stretching his face. “You’re outnumbered, old man. Ten of us. Two of you. Get the hell out.”

The grey-haired man didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink.

His voice came out deep, calm, deliberate—sharper than any weapon.

“If any of you touches that boy again,” he said slowly, letting each word land, “you will not leave this street alive.”

The words didn’t sound like a threat. They sounded like a law, absolute and immovable.

Power radiated from him—not loud, not frantic, but absolute. A controlled storm that could swallow anything in its path.

The thugs laughed again, trying to mask their unease.

“Wow! Old man has a mouth.”

“This is our street, grandpa!”

“Kael pays us to break people like him. We’ll break you too.”

The grey-haired man tilted his head slightly—a small, almost imperceptible motion—but the authority behind it made the laughter falter.

“I’ll say it once more,” he murmured, voice low but slicing through the night. “Touch him… and die.”

The leader’s face darkened when he realized the old man wasn’t joking.

“You’re not serious, are you?” he sneered. “You think one old man and a muscle puppet can stop us?”

He turned sharply to his crew.

“Finish the fossil. Then break the scholarship rat.”

With a wild roar, the g**g leader rushed forward.

The iron pipe in his hand cut through the air, aimed straight at Edward’s head. Under the harsh alley light, the metal flashed with deadly intent.

Edward couldn’t move.

Then—

The bouncer stepped in.

For a man that big, he moved too fast. Like lightning trapped inside a mountain.

His hand shot out and caught the thug’s wrist in mid-air.

Everything froze.

The leader’s angry face twisted into confusion. He tried to pull back—but he couldn’t. The bouncer’s grip was tight. Unbreakable.

Then came the sound.

Crack.

It echoed through the alley like a gunshot.

The thug screamed. A broken, painful scream that didn’t sound human. He dropped to his knees as his arm bent the wrong way. The pipe slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a sharp metallic clang, rolling across the dirty asphalt.

Silence.

The other thugs stood still. Their cocky smiles disappeared. Pipes slowly lowered. No one dared to move.

They finally understood.

They had picked the wrong fight.

Edward’s heart hammered inside his chest. His breath came fast and uneven. Just seconds ago, he was sure he was going to die.

Now?

The air felt different.

Heavy.

Charged.

Dangerous.

All because of one man.

The gray-haired stranger stood there calmly, as if breaking bones was nothing to him.

Edward stared at him, shock and fear mixing inside his chest.

One question kept spinning in his mind:

Who is this man…

And why is he saving me?