One man backed away so quickly he stumbled into a chair.
Another cursed under his breath, hands shaking uncontrollably.
A third’s courage shattered entirely, and he dropped his weapon and bolted for the door—
—only to freeze when Riley’s eyes flicked toward him.
That single glance stopped the man in his tracks. Sweat poured down his face.
His breath hitched in his throat. His knees buckled.
And Riley hadn’t even moved yet.
"W–who are you?" one gangster choked out, voice shaking. "What... what are you?"
Riley’s smile widened just a little. "Just soone trying to get a good night’s sleep."
And then Riley walked toward them as if it were just another ordinary day—another dull mont that happened to involve killing.
His expression didn’t change, his steps didn’t falter.
He carried the sa calmness a man might wear while heading to breakfast.
"Let’s end this," he said, voice low, steady.
The group tensed.
Then Riley moved.
He dashed into the heart of the formation like a phantom dropping into their midst.
Confusion flashed across every face, but before a single word could be shouted, the slaughter began.
Riley’s arm swung once, clean and sharp.
A man stiffened, eyes wide, a blade lodged deep in his heart before he even understood he had been attacked.
Riley was already gone, spinning away, his cloak brushing the air like the hem of a dancer’s robe.
Another flash of steel.
Another wet sound.
Another body hitting the ground.
Riley twisted, stepped, pivoted—his movents smooth, perfectly asured, almost artistic.
Blood sprayed across the dirt in thin arcs as his blade plunged straight into the shocked eye of the next man.
The victim didn’t even scream; he simply dropped as though soone had cut his strings.
"Behind you!" soone shouted.
Too late.
A desperate attacker lunged at Riley’s side, but Riley leaned away with an ease so natural it looked preditated—like he had seen the attack long before it happened.
It was as if his skin could feel killing intent, as if he had invisible eyes watching every direction at once.
The stabbing blade passed so close to him it brushed the fabric of his shirt.
Riley didn’t even look at the man.
He simply stepped forward, slashed backward without turning, and the man behind him collapsed, clutching a slit throat.
Panic spread through the rest of the group.
n who had spent years surviving hell suddenly felt like children standing before a monster.
They attacked wildly—shouting, swinging, stumbling.
Riley slipped through their attacks like a shadow between flas, his body bending, swaying, weaving in ways that made it impossible to lock onto him.
Every ti they blinked, he seed to be sowhere else.
Every ti they exhaled, another body hit the ground.
He carved through them with terrifying consistency.
One knife to a ribcage.
A quick jab under the jaw.
A spinning slash that opened a chest from shoulder to sternum.
A backhanded strike that buried a blade into a man’s temple.
n dropped one after another, their screams short and cut off, their blood soaking into the floor.
In less than a dozen breaths the clearing was filled with bodies—so twitching, so already still.
The chaos faded.
The last echo of steel on bone went silent.
Only one man remained.
The leader stood frozen, his knees threatening to buckle, his breath shaking out of his lungs in short bursts.
He stared around at the corpses of his n—n he had trusted, n who had followed him through the apocalypse—now lying like discarded dolls.
Riley finally stopped moving.
He lifted his head, eyes landing on the remaining man with the sa calm he had worn at the very beginning, as if this entire massacre had been nothing more than a chore he needed to finish.
The leader swallowed hard.
Riley took one slow step forward.
And the world suddenly felt very, very small.
"We are from the Night Watch Gang! You’re dead at if you think you can get away with this!" the leader shouted, forcing every ounce of false bravado into his trembling voice.
The na of his gang had weight in this city—a reputation built on intimidation, extortion, and brutality.
He was banking everything on that na saving his life now.
His n were dead.
His confidence was dead.
Only the legend of the Night Watch Gang remained for him to cling to.
Riley raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
He even chuckled softly, as if the threat were nothing more than a poorly delivered joke.
"Oh? Is that how it is?" he asked, slowly stepping forward.
"We’re throwing nas around?" His smile widened into sothing sharp and cruel.
"Fine. My na is Riley... and I’m about to slit your throat. So why don’t you say your farewells to this world before I do it for you?"
The leader’s heart dropped into his stomach.
Riley kept walking—unhurried, relaxed, almost casual.
Each step echoed in the silent, corpse-filled room, the sound like death’s footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.
The leader’s breath hitched. Panic crawled up his spine like a cold hand.
"F-Fuck..." he whispered, his voice cracking.
His hand fumbled for his knife—a long, heavy blade that he usually carried to intimidate.
But right now, it felt useless, like a child’s toy in the hands of a terrified boy.
He raised it shakily, trying to point it toward Riley, but the knife wobbled. His grip wasn’t steady.
His knees weren’t steady. His heartbeat wasn’t steady.
Riley didn’t stop.
The leader took a step back.
Then another.
Then another—
And with a sudden burst of survival instinct, he spun around and fled.
He sprinted toward the door with everything he had, boots slipping on blood-splattered floorboards.
His breath ca out in ragged gasps.
His hands reached desperately for the doorknob, slamming into it so hard it rattled.
He yanked the door open, his entire body leaning forward, ready to throw himself outside, ready to scream for help, for rcy—anything.
But he never made it through.
A cold, thin edge pressed against his throat.
The leader froze mid-step, body locked in terror. His mouth fell open, but no sound ca out.
Even breathing felt dangerous, like the slightest movent would cause the blade to cut deeper.
Riley stood behind him, close enough that the leader could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck.
"Running?" Riley whispered. "Cowardly... but predictable."
The leader’s fingers tightened around the doorfra until his knuckles went pale.
Sweat dripped down his forehead and slid into his eyes, but he didn’t dare blink.
His heart hamred violently in his chest, each beat screaming this is the end.
He slowly closed his eyes.
For a mont, there was silence—just the sound of his trembling breath and Riley’s calm, steady exhalation behind him.
Then the blade slid cleanly across his throat.
Warm blood spilled over his hands as his grip on the door weakened.
His body swayed, stumbling backward as if trying to step away from death—but he had already been claid.
His eyes opened one last ti, empty and hollow, before he collapsed to the floor.
The leader of this group tonight drew his final breath right there at the threshold—so close to the exit, yet impossibly far from escape.
Riley wiped his blade on the back of the corpse’s jacket, straightened up, and stepped away as though he had rely finished another small errand.
Another day.
Another kill.
Nothing more.
Riley wiped his blade on the leader’s coat, sheathed it, and began moving from body to body with the cold efficiency of soone who had done this too many tis to count.
He crouched beside each corpse, unfazed by the blood pooling around him.
Pouches were opened, belts unbuckled, pockets turned out.
He collected gold coins, silver scraps, daggers, small jewelry—whatever the n had carried for intimidation or survival.
It was a quiet, thodical process.
Looting wasn’t greed.
It was habit.
When he finished, Riley walked back into the dimly lit lobby.
The inn’s lanterns flickered in the stale air, casting long shadows across the floorboards still slick with blood.
The room was empty, but it wasn’t silent.
Riley could hear muffled breathing—quick, nervous, shallow—coming from upstairs.
The innkeeper was hiding.
Riley placed fifteen gold coins on the counter, letting them fall one by one.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
Each coin sounded painfully loud in the tension-soaked quiet.
"I know you can hear ," Riley said casually. "Clean this ss up. Here’s your paynt for the cleanup."
Behind the counter, wood creaked softly—the unmistakable sound of soone flinching.
Riley didn’t bother looking toward the sound. The man was terrified already; no need to worsen it.
Riley turned away and walked up the stairs as if he were rely returning from a simple errand.
Not even a hint of guilt or concern crossed his face.
The hallway upstairs was silent, except for the soft groan of old wood beneath his boots.
He reached his room, opened the door, and shut it behind him with a calm click.
Downstairs, the inn remained still.
Minutes stretched into hours.
The innkeeper didn’t co out until he was certain Riley had gone to sleep.
And even then, his hands shook uncontrollably.
He muttered frightened prayers under his breath while dragging corpses toward the back door.
The bodies were heavy, their limbs stiffening as the night deepened.
Blood sared across the floor, across the walls, and out onto the alley.
He worked until the moon began to fade from the sky.
By dawn, when the first pale rays of sunlight peeked over the rooftops, the sight outside the inn beca impossible to ignore.
Fifteen corpses lay in the alley—stacked in a crude line, weapons tossed beside them, faces frozen in terror.
The innkeeper hadn’t dared take anything from them; the looted corpses alone were warning enough.
As the city woke, rumors spread like wildfire.
rchants stopped in their tracks.
Travellers whispered.
Veteran guards exchanged uneasy glances.
"Who did this...?"
"Was it a feud?"
"This many Night Watch gang mbers...?"
"Who could kill them all alone?"
"Soone insane... or terrifying."
The whispers grew louder. A small crowd ford. Children were quickly pulled away by their parents. So n swore they wouldn’t co near this inn again.
Inside, the innkeeper paced nervously behind the counter, glancing upstairs every other second, praying the killer would simply leave without incident.
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