I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 065

It was 3:00 AM, the dead hour where Larkspur was silent save for the settling dust of a fallen empire. The battle for the East Wing was finished. Hector Quinn was dead, his dynasty dismantled in a night of fire and steel. Outside the estate, the air was thick with the acrid stench of spent gunpowder and fresh blood.

Jax Lewis, the behemoth leader of the Warlords, stood atop a mound of rubble surveying his prize: six hundred defeated Brotherhood enforcers. Adrenaline masking his fatigue, Jax bellowed at the kneeling captives.

"Listen up!" Jax roared, gesturing with blood-stained hands. "The Quinn name is buried! You want to keep earning a paycheck? Pledge your loyalty to the Warlords. I don't care about your past; I care about who holds the knife for me tomorrow."

To Jax, the math was simple. Absorbing these veterans would allow him to check Kane Adler’s ambition. The alliance promised a fifty-fifty split, but Jax had no intention of being the 'Little Brother.' He would be the hammer of the city.

"Boss," a breathless scout interrupted. "Movement on the main road. At least a thousand men heading straight for us."

Jax exchanged a confused glance with his lieutenants, Manny Miles and John Rivers. "The Brotherhood is crushed," Manny muttered, shifting his toothpick. "Unless it's our 'allies'..."

Jax felt a flicker of unease. His eleven hundred men were running on fumes. "Relax," Jax said, forcing a grin as his hand drifted to his broadsword. "It’s probably just the Shadow Eagle Clan. Manny, John, bring six hundred boys. The rest of you, watch the prisoners. If they move, execute them."

Jax signaled to three of his bodyguards to hold the perimeter, then strode toward the asphalt road, flanked by his lieutenants and a wall of Warlords muscle.

The moon was high and bright, casting a silver sheen over the cracked pavement. Through the gloom, a phalanx of figures emerged. They moved with a disturbing lack of noise. There was no shouting, no chaotic clatter of equipment—just the rhythmic, synchronized thud of boots on pavement.

They were dressed in black, merging with the shadows. As they drew closer, the moonlight revealed the cold, impassive faces of the Hades Crew.

Leading them was a young man with a face carved from ice. Ethan Skyler.

Jax squinted. "Is that Ethan? The kid who runs their assassination squad?"

John Rivers nodded slowly. "Yeah. That’s him. But... I thought they were supposed to be hitting the nightclubs downtown. Why are they here? Did they finish the job already?"

"Maybe they need our help," Manny suggested, though he didn't sound convinced.

Jax watched the approaching army. They were about a hundred yards away now. The discipline they displayed was unnerving. They didn't walk like gangsters; they marched like a funeral procession.

"Manny, you stay here with the men. Keep them ready," Jax ordered quietly. "John, you’re with me. Let’s go say hello to our partners."

Manny grabbed Jax’s arm. "Boss, maybe you should stay back. Let me go."

Jax laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Scared? What are they going to do, kill me? I’m Jax Lewis. Besides, if I hide behind my men when a kid like Ethan walks up, I’ll look weak. In this business, perception is everything. Let’s go, John."

Jax puffed out his chest, expanding his massive frame to its full width, and swaggered down the center of the road. John Rivers followed a step behind, his hand resting on his weapon.

"Hey there! Ethan, right?" Jax called out, his voice booming through the night air. "I didn't expect to see you here! Don't tell me you cleared out the entire downtown district already? That’s some efficiency!"

Ethan Skyler didn't answer immediately. He kept walking until he was about fifty feet away. Then, without a word, he unbuckled the heavy combat belt holding his signature serrated daggers. He swung the belt in a lazy arc and tossed it into the tall grass by the roadside.

Clatter.

He raised his empty hands, palms open, and smiled. It was a bright, disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just some small fry downtown, Mr. Lewis. My army arrived, and they surrendered without firing a shot. Boring work, really."

Seeing Ethan disarm himself, the tension in Jax’s shoulders evaporated. It was a universal gesture of peace in the underworld. By throwing away his weapon, Ethan was signaling submission to Jax’s seniority.

Jax felt a surge of arrogant satisfaction. That’s right, kid. Know your place. As a veteran boss, he couldn't be outdone in a show of confidence by a junior upstart.

"Haha! Good to hear!" Jax laughed. He unclipped his own massive broadsword and hurled it clattering onto the asphalt.

Behind him, John Rivers hesitated for a split second, then followed his boss’s lead, tossing his machete aside. After all, they were the heavyweights here. Showing fear would be an insult to their reputation.

"Your Hades Crew has a hell of a reputation," Jax said, closing the distance. They were now less than twenty feet apart. "Kane told me you guys were sharp. Where is Kane, anyway? Is he too busy counting the money to come see his partner?"

Ethan chuckled softly, continuing his approach. His steps were light, almost floating. "Kane is waiting at another location. He sent me to bring you to him."

Jax frowned slightly. Bring me to him? The phrasing irked him. It sounded like a summons for a subordinate, not an invitation for an equal.

"He wants me to go to him?" Jax scoffed. "The kid has some nerve. I just took down the main estate. He should be coming to me."

"Oh, don't worry," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. "I’m not taking your whole body. Just your head."

The air seemed to freeze.

Jax’s eyes widened, his brain struggling to process the sudden shift in tone. But before he could open his mouth to speak, Ethan moved.

It wasn't a run; it was an explosion of kinetic energy. Ethan covered the remaining distance in a blur of motion that the human eye struggled to track. He launched himself into the air, his body twisting in a violent, torque-filled 270-degree spin.

His right leg became a steel whip. It slashed through the air with a terrifying whistle, aimed directly at Jax’s neck. The angle was impossible, the speed blinding, and the force generated by the rotation was enough to shatter concrete.

Jax Lewis was a brawler, a man who had survived on instinct for decades. In that fraction of a second, his survival reflex kicked in. He couldn't dodge, so he desperately threw his arms up, crossing them over his head to block the impact.

It was like trying to block a falling I-beam with twigs.

CRACK.

The sound of bone snapping was sickeningly loud.

Ethan’s leg smashed through Jax’s guard as if his arms weren't even there. Both of Jax’s forearms fractured instantly under the colossal impact. But the kick didn't stop. It drove through the guard and slammed into Jax’s left shoulder.

"ARGH!"

Jax screamed as his collarbone disintegrated. The force of the blow dropped him to his knees, his massive two-hundred-pound frame crumbling like a tower of cards.

Ethan landed lightly, absorbing the momentum with the grace of a cat. He didn't pause. He slammed his palms onto the asphalt, using his hands as a pivot point. He swung his legs in a brutal, low helicopter spin, wrapping his thighs around Jax’s thick neck like a python.

Jax, dazed and screaming in pain, tried to reach up with his broken arms to tear the legs away, but it was too late. Ethan roared, his core muscles contracting with explosive power.

He leveraged his weight, twisting his hips.

WHOOSH.

Jax Lewis, the immovable mountain of the Warlords, was ripped from the ground. Ethan hurled him through the air, sending him crashing into the ranks of the Hades Crew standing behind him.

John Rivers, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally snapped out of his trance. "Boss!"

He lunged forward, intending to intercept Ethan, but the assassin had already reset. Ethan crouched low, his eyes locking onto John with the predatory intensity of a viper.

As John moved, Ethan sprang backward, his hands slapping the ground again. He coiled his body, launching a double-footed kick straight at John’s advancing legs.

It was a move that defied physics, a strike targeting the most vulnerable structural point of the human body.

SNAP. SNAP.

Ethan’s boots connected squarely with John’s kneecaps.

John Rivers’ body went rigid. A sound like dry wood snapping echoed across the road. His legs bent backward at a grotesque, unnatural angle.

"AAAAHHH!"

John collapsed forward, his face contorted in a mask of pure agony. But Ethan wasn't done. He pivoted on his left foot, his right leg shooting up in a vertical axe kick that caught John directly under the chin.

CRUNCH.

John’s jaw shattered into dust. His head snapped back, his scream cut short in a gurgle of blood and broken teeth. His body was lifted off the ground by the force of the impact before slamming back down onto the unforgiving asphalt.

He twitched once, then lay still.

"Big Brother!"

Manny Miles, standing fifty yards away with the main force, watched the scene unfold with horror. He had seen violence before—he lived in it—but he had never seen a dismantling like this. It was clinical. It was efficient. It was terrifying.

"Ethan!" Manny screamed, his face flushing red with rage. "You animal! Stop!"

Ethan ignored him completely. He walked over to where John Rivers lay groaning and casually grabbed the man by the throat. With a display of effortless strength, he lifted the broken lieutenant into the air and held him aloft like a ragdoll.

He turned to Manny, raising a single finger to his lips. "Shhh."

Then, he punched John hard in the gut. "Quiet down. You’re ruining the ambiance."

"I’m going to kill you!" Manny roared, taking a step forward. But he stopped dead as Ethan’s cold, dead eyes locked onto him.

It was the gaze of a man who had stared into the abyss and found it comfortable.

"You?" Ethan scoffed, glancing at the stunned Warlords behind Manny. "You and your little club want to share Larkspur with the Shadow Eagle? You want to carve up the territory? You didn't even check your own weight before stepping on the scale."

Ethan looked at the crumpled form of Jax Lewis, who was being held down by Hades Crew members.

"Jax," Ethan called out, his voice mocking. "You thought you were a tiger? You thought you could negotiate with us? There’s an old saying: 'Asking a tiger for its skin.' You were foolish enough to think you could take a piece of our hide without getting eaten."

Jax, held down by two men, spat a mouthful of blood. His arms were useless, his shoulder destroyed, but his pride was still intact. "You... you son of a bitch..." he wheezed. "You backstabbing..."

Before he could finish the curse, a shadow stepped out from the Hades Crew ranks. It was William Anderson, a lieutenant of the assassination squad. He didn't speak. He simply raised a heavy iron pipe and brought it down on Jax’s remaining good shoulder.

CRACK.

"ARGH!"

Jax convulsed, his vision whitening.

William leaned down, patting Jax’s sweating, blood-streaked face. "There’s a limit to stupidity, fat man. You’ve crossed it. I’d suggest you save your breath for praying. One more word, and I’ll feed you to the stray dogs piece by piece."

"Ethan! We can talk about this!" Manny Miles shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He realized too late that they had walked into a slaughterhouse. "We can renegotiate! We’ll take a smaller cut!"

"Renegotiate?" Ethan laughed, a sound devoid of any humor. "You overestimate your value. We aren't here to bargain. We are here to clean up. Kane Adler is building an Empire. An Empire doesn't have partners; it has subjects and corpses. You aren't subjects."

Ethan tightened his grip on John Rivers’ throat.

"Tonight is just the beginning," Ethan declared, his voice carrying to every man on the road. "The Shadow Eagle Clan will stand at the peak of this world. And you? You have the honor of being the first stepping stones on our path to glory. Be grateful."

SNAP.

The sound was sharp and final. Ethan crushed John Rivers’ windpipe with a simple squeeze of his hand.

He dropped the lifeless body onto the road as if it were a bag of trash.

"NO!" Jax let out a guttural roar from the ground, a sound of pure, impotent fury. "I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!"

Thirteen years. For thirteen years, Jax, Manny, and John had fought side by side. They had bled together, starved together, and risen together. They were more than partners; they were brothers in everything but blood. Watching John die like a stray dog broke something inside Jax that physical pain never could.

Tears of rage mixed with the blood on his face. He realized now, with a clarity that cut deeper than any knife, what true power was. It wasn't numbers. It wasn't territory. It was the absolute, ruthless will to extinguish anything that stood in your way.

Ethan ignored the screaming Jax. He looked at William Anderson. "Finish it."

William nodded and raised a machete.

"Damn you!" Manny Miles screamed. He knew it was suicide, but he couldn't stand and watch. "Brothers! Kill them! Kill them all!"

Manny charged. He raised his blade and sprinted toward Ethan, a desperate, solitary figure running into the mouth of hell.

Behind him, the Warlords hesitated. They were terrified. The brutality they had just witnessed had shaken them to their core. But seeing their leader charge, a few of the loyal veterans gritted their teeth.

"Screw it! Let’s go!"

"Kill!"

With a ragged, desperate roar, the Warlords surged forward. It was a wave of chaotic, terrified aggression.

Ethan watched them come. He didn't flinch. He didn't raise a weapon. He simply raised his right arm high into the air and chopped it down.

"Purge," he whispered.

Behind him, the thousand members of the Hades Crew moved as one. There were no war cries. No screaming. No bravado.

They simply accelerated.

A thousand silent shadows, trained in the art of efficient murder, surged forward to meet the screaming mob. The contrast was stark—the chaotic noise of the Warlords versus the suffocating, disciplined silence of the Shadow Eagle.

The two waves collided.