I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 083

In the aftermath of the brutal skirmish, a thick silence descended upon the clearing, broken only by the distant calls of jungle birds and the soft groans of the dying. Kane Adler stood at the center of the c*****e, a statue of cold intent. He watched Noah Grayson with a measured gaze, acknowledging the mercenary’s efficiency with a few slow, rhythmic claps of his hands.

"Well done," Kane said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that seemed to vibrate through the humid air. "You have proven that 'elite' is more than just a label on your file."

Standing nearby, Nathan Black felt a massive, invisible weight lift from his shoulders. He let out a long, shaky breath, a relieved smile finally touching his lips. He had personally scouted Noah and staked his own reputation on the man’s performance; had the mercenary faltered, the Shadow Division would have faced a humiliating loss of face before the The Talons.

Bobby let out a low, rumbling chuckle, scratching the back of his massive head with a meaty hand. "Not bad, kid. You've got some steel in those knuckles after all."

Kane turned his attention away from the warriors and stepped toward the broken, trembling figure of Adam Foster. The high-ranking Vice President of the Firecracker Crew was a shadow of the man who had arrived in the woods. He looked up at Kane with wide, glassy eyes, the shock of his injury finally dulling his peripheral senses.

"Adam Foster," Kane whispered, his voice dangerously soft as he loomed over the man. "The illegitimate son of the former Don. A secret kept behind the high walls of Italian estates for decades. Your life is a very expensive insurance policy, Adam. Your father—the man who still pulls the strings from his villa—would pay a king’s ransom to see you breathe another day."

Adam’s breath hitched. The realization that the Shadow Eagle Clan had uncovered a secret that even the Deep State struggled to track was a psychological blow as devastating as the loss of his hand.

Kane gave a dry, mirthless laugh. "This is the 'secret' I mentioned earlier. Your death won't just be a casualty; it will be an act of war. It will trigger a scorched-earth campaign between the Italians and the Kuro-Ryu Clan faster than any diplomatic incident ever could. I truly thank you, Adam. Your blood is the foundation upon which the Shadow Eagle Clan will build its bridge to the high table."

With a chillingly polite gesture, Kane offered a shallow bow to the dying man. As he bent forward, Dante Romero's hand moved in a blurring arc. A silver throwing star hissed through the air, burying itself in Adam's forehead with a wet, dull thud. The Vice President’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped into the mud, a permanent silence settling over him.

"It’s done," Kane announced, straightened his jacket. "And it was done well. Ford, take a sub-unit and sanitize this site. I want the scene staged precisely. The Talons who took hits, see the medics immediately."

Tia Valentine and Sienna Summers, who had been hiding their faces, finally looked up. They carefully picked their way across the clearing, their designer boots dancing around the dark pools of blood as they rushed to Kane's side.

"Are we leaving now?" Tia asked, her voice small and tight.

Sienna pouted, her lower lip trembling slightly. "Honey, can't we stay just a little longer? We’ve come all this way to the Emerald Triangle, and I don't want to just turn around and go back to that dusty Citadel yet."

Kane reached out, ruffling their hair with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the violence he had just commanded. "The business is concluded, which means the rest of this trip is for pleasure. You've never spent time in a real American wilderness, have you? Today, we take the scenic route. We’ll hunt, we’ll set up a proper camp, and we’ll have a barbecue under the stars. How does that sound?"

"Yes!" the girls squealed in unison, their spirits rebounding with the resilient joy of youth.

Once the cleanup was handled and the tracks were sufficiently confused, the group transitioned from a war footing to a leisure expedition. Kane, wanting to foster a sense of brotherhood between his original death-row inmates and the new mercenaries, organized a hunting game. He paired two members of The Talons with two of Noah's men, forming competitive scouting teams. They were given until dusk to navigate the deep woods and converge at a pre-marked point by the river.

The afternoon was filled with the sounds of laughter and the occasional c***k of a rifle or the whistle of a bow. Kane himself took the lead, at times carrying one of the girls on his back or cradling another in his arms as he moved through the dense brush with the effortless grace of a mountain lion. He bounded over fallen logs and scaled rocky outcrops, his laughter echoing through the canopy, much to the delight of the girls.

By nightfall, the camp was a hive of activity. Trevor and a few others had already established a massive stone-ringed fire pit and were preparing the spits. The hunt had been successful—they had bagged wild turkeys, rabbits, and even a large stag, while some had pulled glistening trout from the cold river.

The mercenaries, who were masters of wilderness survival, took charge of the cooking. Soon, the air was thick with the mouth-watering scent of roasting meat and woodsmoke. Ten large spits were rotating over the flames, the fat dripping and hissing into the embers. The men, hungry and exhausted, began to tear into the half-cooked game with a savage hunger, the tension of the previous days dissolving into a celebration of survival.

The following forty-eight hours were a blur of peace. They moved through the woods like a nomadic tribe, engaging in sparring matches and sharing stories of the Confinement Death Ward and the various battlefronts of the world. It was a rare window of tranquility in a life of constant shadow.

However, the peace was shattered on the third night.

At approximately midnight, as the group sat around a dying fire finishing the last of a roasted deer, a sharp, digital trill cut through the sounds of the night. Elias Thorne's phone was ringing. As he answered, the relaxed, almost warm expression on his face vanished, replaced by a mask of ashen horror.

Kane, who was slicing a prime cut of venison for Tia and Sienna, noticed the shift instantly. He looked at Elias, his eyes narrowing. "What is it? Who’s on the line?"

Elias swallowed hard, his hand trembling as he held the device. "Kane... it’s the Citadel."

"The Citadel?" Kane stood up slowly.

He had left Dixon Jace in charge with four thousand seasoned soldiers. The headquarters was a fortress. What could possibly have happened?

Kane signaled for the group to go silent. The laughter died instantly. He fixed Elias with a piercing gaze. "Speak."

"Kane... Dixon has declared a state of emergency. He has assumed the title of Acting Vice Chairman and has issued an immediate ceasefire across all territories. All division heads are being recalled to the Citadel under a Code Red priority."

Ford’s eyes went wide. "Acting Vice Chairman? Recalling the leaders? Who gave him that authority? Where is Rex?"

Kane’s face was like stone. He had given Dixon that specific contingency authority only for one scenario: the total tactical collapse of their primary leadership.

Bobby, who had just taken a heavy kick to the shoulder during a friendly spar with Noah, limped forward, his voice a low growl. "Elias, stop dancing around it. What the hell happened?"

Elias looked at the mercenaries and then back at Kane, hesitating for a fraction of a second. "Kane... we should step away."

"Say it here!" Kane commanded, his voice like a whip-c***k.

Elias flinched. "The report just came in. Rex Dalton has been critically wounded and taken prisoner. Titus King is missing in action, presumed dead or captured. The Mad Tiger Crew has been shattered—they are in full retreat across the border."

A collective gasp went up from the group. The air in the clearing became impossibly cold. Kane's grip on his small carving knife was so intense that the steel snapped between his fingers. The broken blade bit deep into his palm, but he didn't seem to feel it.

Tia and Sienna scrambled forward, frantically using tissues to stem the flow of blood from his hand.

"Elias, I want every detail," Kane said, his voice a terrifying, low vibration.

Elias took a breath, trying to steady his voice. "Dixon says the Fenris Division launched a massive, coordinated ambush on our advance units. It wasn't just a street fight; it was a s*******r. Troy Reed managed to pull about a thousand survivors back toward Larkspur, along with a wounded Titus, but Rex... Rex stayed behind to hold the line. He was overwhelmed. Troy says... he says they encountered one of the legendary Thirty-Six Centurions."

The mention of the Thirty-Six Centurions sent a shockwave through The Talons. The high-level "gladiators" of the underground world—men who were whispered to be more than human.

Kane stood up, his aura expanding until it felt like a physical weight on everyone in the clearing. The vacation was over. The hunt had become personal.

"Pack everything," Kane ordered, his eyes burning with a dark, vengeful fire. "We move through the night. We are going back to the Citadel, and then... we are going to burn Jersey City to the ground."

"YES, KANE!" the men roared, their voices echoing through the dark American woods like a promise of death.