The sun had barely risen over the empire when Phantom found himself in the depths of the city’s underground markets. Cloaked in the veil of early morning mist, he moved unnoticed, his mind sharp with purpose. The Black Talon had been shattered, but whispers spoke of something far worse lurking in the shadows.

  Raven had disappeared shortly after their battle in the catacombs, leaving behind only a single message etched into a weathered scrap of parchment: The Red Jackal moves.

  Phantom had heard that name before—a ruthless warlord who thrived in the void left by the Crimson Veil. Unlike the Pale King, the Red Jackal was no sorcerer. He was a man of sheer brutality, a conqueror of the underworld, and one who ruled with fire and steel. His men were said to be ghosts, striking from the dark and leaving behind only death.

  Phantom clenched his fist. He had not fought this long to let another tyrant take control.

  That evening, Phantom tracked his lead to a heavily guarded estate on the outskirts of the merchant district. The estate belonged to Lord Varrin, a noble suspected of funding the Red Jackal’s war efforts. Under the cover of night, Phantom slipped past the guards, weaving through shadows like a wraith.

  Inside, Varrin sat in his study, pouring over maps of supply lines and fortifications. He barely noticed the flicker of movement before cold steel pressed against his throat.

  “Where is the Red Jackal?” Phantom’s voice was no more than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a death sentence.

  Varrin trembled, sweat beading on his forehead. “You… You think you can stop him? He’s coming for the city. He’ll burn it all! You cannot stop what’s already begun!”

  Phantom tightened his grip. “Then I’ll carve my way through his army if I must.”

  A sudden crash echoed from outside. The sound of boots against cobblestone. Varrin’s panicked expression turned to twisted amusement. “They’re already here.”

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  Phantom spun, leaping into the darkness just as the door burst open. Armored enforcers flooded the room, but Phantom was already gone, slipping through an open window and vanishing into the night.

  Perched on the rooftop across the estate, Phantom watched as the enforcers secured Varrin, dragging him away like a captured animal. But there, in the street below, stood a figure clad in crimson and black armor, a jagged scar running across his jawline.

  The Red Jackal.

  A wicked smile played on the warlord’s lips as if he knew exactly who was watching him. Then, without hesitation, he drew his blade and plunged it into Varrin’s chest.

  Phantom’s eyes narrowed.

  The hunt had begun.

  Phantom followed the Red Jackal’s men as they disappeared into the labyrinth of alleys behind the estate. He moved silently along the rooftops, his keen eyes locked onto the warlord’s movements. The enforcers carried torches, their flickering light illuminating the grim faces of killers who had left trails of blood across the empire. The Red Jackal walked at their head, shoulders squared, confidence exuding from every step.

  “Bring the body,” the warlord ordered, his voice gravelly, as if shaped by years of war and smoke. “We’ll make an example of him at dawn.”

  Phantom’s jaw tightened. If the Red Jackal wanted to use fear to control the city, he would find himself hunted in the very shadows he sought to rule.

  Slipping ahead, Phantom reached the abandoned watchtower that overlooked the alley. He needed information—where the Red Jackal’s forces were gathering, where their next attack would strike. And he would get it the only way he knew how.

  He descended like death itself.

  The last enforcer in the line barely had time to gasp before Phantom’s blade found his throat. He dragged the body into the darkness before striking again. Another. Then another. Silent, swift, merciless.

  It wasn’t until the fourth man fell that the others noticed.

  “Intruder!” someone shouted.

  The Red Jackal spun, his crimson armor glinting in the torchlight. His eyes scanned the shadows, and for the first time, Phantom saw something unexpected.

  Recognition.

  “So,” the warlord muttered, hand tightening around his blade. “You finally show yourself.”

  Phantom emerged from the darkness, standing just beyond the reach of the torchlight. “I wasn’t hiding.”

  The Red Jackal smirked. “I’ve heard of you. The Pale King’s slayer. A ghost in the night. But do you think shadows can stop what’s coming?”

  Phantom’s voice was cold. “I stop tyrants.”

  The warlord took a step forward. “Then you’re too late.”

  A distant explosion rocked the city, flames rising into the night sky. Phantom’s stomach twisted.

  The Red Jackal wasn’t just taking power.

  He was burning the empire to the ground.