Blade

Blade, originally named Martin Blake, wasn't always at the helm of KnifePoint. He grew up in the rough parts of the city, learning early on that if you wanted something, you had to fight for it.

Starting as a simple pickpocket, Martin quickly found his way into the city's network of small-time criminals. Yet, being at the bottom didn't sit well with him. Martin wanted power, and he realized that in the criminal world, brains could be just as effective as brawn.

So, Martin, taking on the name "Blade", started playing the long game. He spread rumors about other gang members, causing distrust and chaos. He dug up secrets, using them to blackmail those who had more power than he did.

His big move was when he managed to overthrow Rocco, the leader of KnifePoint at the time.

Blade cleverly staged a kidnapping of Rocco's daughter. While Rocco was desperately looking for her, Blade rallied a group to take him down, grabbing the top spot for himself.

Once he was in charge, Blade made sure everyone knew who was boss. He wasn't afraid to be tough or show what happened to those who went against him. But he was also smart. He built connections with cops and other officials, making sure KnifePoint could do its business without too much trouble.

Over the years, Blade's reputation in the city's underworld became the stuff of legends. Whispers filled back alleys and darkened rooms about his cunning strategies, and tales of his ruthless ascent to power became cautionary tales for those who sought to challenge him.

Lost in a moment of nostalgia, Blade's phone buzzed, breaking his reverie. It was one of his trusted lackeys.

"Boss, it's done. We followed your orders to the letter," the voice on the other end reported.

Blade's tone was stern but inquisitive, "You made sure not to break any of his bones, right?"

Lackey hesitated, "No bones broken, boss. Just gave him a good scare. But don't you think we were a bit too lenient?"

Blade replied, showing his usual knack for gathering intelligence, "I got wind that his kid's enrolled at the NSE academy. Means he still has some cash stashed away. If we'd gone too rough, the academy would catch wind, and we don't need that kind of attention."

The lackey, always awed by Blade's foresight, responded, "As expected of boss."

Blade exhaled, a hint of impatience in his voice, "Enough. Just get back here."

After hanging up, Blade took a moment to stretch and then made his way to his office. Located on the second floor of the building, it was his private space.

The walls, painted in rich shades of maroon, were offset by golden accents that lent the room an air of luxury. The room was dominated by a large, sturdy wooden desk, covered with an array of papers and various personal items. Scattered around were pieces of art — some abstract, some more traditional..

But the most striking feature of the room was a glass cabinet, placed directly behind his desk. It held 32 different blades, each one neatly displayed. To any outsider, it might appear to be a collector's pride. But those in the know understood that each blade symbolized a debt collected, a challenge faced, or a life ended.

As the old wall clock, a relic from his father, struck 2:15 a.m., Blade eased into his favorite leather chair. He reached for a cigar from the wooden box on his desk, lighting it up and taking a moment to enjoy the familiar and comforting scent. Just as he was reaching for a bottle of whiskey, probably to pour a small drink to wind down, a loud crash broke the silence. The window on the far side of the room burst open, shards of glass scattering everywhere. Through the broken window, a silhouette stepped forward, landing gracefully amidst the chaos.

The intruder's appearance was enigmatic, to say the least. His outfit was a blend of practicality and stealth — a black ensemble that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room, making him appear as more of a shadow than a man. The material looked lightweight, suggesting ease of movement, but it was tailored to fit snugly, revealing the lean muscle beneath.

His mask was a simple affair, made of a dark cloth, which covered everything below his eyes. It muffled any discernible features, making it difficult for Blade to read any intent or emotion. Above the mask, a low-brimmed hat shielded his eyes, with only the slightest glimmer of them visible beneath — they were cold, sharp, filled with bloodlust.

In the intruder's left hand, there is a small brick. It was neither too big nor too broad.

For a moment, the room was suffused with tension. The kind of hush that falls between two predators sizing each other up. Blade found himself involuntarily assessing the situation. In all his years at the helm of the underworld, he had made countless enemies.

But he had been meticulous in his operations. Every loose end was tied up, every potential threat neutralized. His network was vast, his reach unparalleled. If someone harbored a grudge, they were either in hiding or six feet under.

His mind raced as he tried to recall if he had overlooked any details. Most of the adversaries from his past were old, weakened by time, and stripped of their former power. None of them seemed capable of sending such a formidable emissary.

He had ensured that the younger, rising players in the underworld were either on his payroll or intimidated into submission.

Lately, his dealings had been with elderly "clients," men and women who had once held significant sway in the underworld but were now on their last legs.

They were mostly old debts or favors that needed settling, nothing that warranted such a dramatic confrontation. The nature of these interactions was more businesslike, often ending in amiable handshakes rather than violent confrontations.

Could it be a ghost from the past? Someone he believed he had dealt with? Or perhaps a new player he had underestimated? Thoughts swirled in Blade's mind, but he was careful not to let his guard down.

Rising steadily from his chair, Blade's stance mirrored that of a gangster addressing an audacious intruder in his court. The weight of his authority, the legacy of his reputation, it all bore down on the room, as he spoke, his voice dripping with a mix of disdain and genuine curiosity, "Who do you think you are?"

The intruder remained silent, but the shift in his demeanor spoke volumes. His gaze sharpened, reminiscent of a predator zeroing in on its prey. There was something hauntingly familiar about those eyes, something Blade had seen in the upper echelons of KnifePoint and the shadowy boardrooms where underworld syndicates plotted.

With a sense of growing trepidation, Blade reached for one of his personal blades, its hilt worn from countless confrontations. Setting himself in a defensive stance, Blade demanded, "Answer me! If you don't—"

His words were abruptly cut short. With lightning speed, the intruder hurled a brick he'd apparently brought with him. Instinctively, Blade dodged, sidestepping to his left, ending up near a room's corner. Seizing the momentary advantage, the intruder forcefully kicked Blade's desk, sending it crashing against him, pinning Blade's leg. "Damn it!" Blade grunted, pain evident in his voice.

In a blur of motion, the intruder shattered the glass case housing Blade's cherished knife collection. One by one, he began hurling the weapons with deadly precision. Cornered and vulnerable, Blade tried dodging the relentless onslaught. Some blades merely grazed him, while others found their mark, slicing through flesh or embedding themselves in his limbs.

"ARGHH!" With fury clouding his vision, Blade roared, "You'll pay for this!" Summoning every ounce of strength left, he lunged at the intruder, brandishing his blade with murderous intent.

But the intruder's reflexes were otherworldly. He sidestepped Blade's desperate stab, seizing Blade's wrist with a grip that felt like iron. Panic raced through Blade's mind as he thought, "What kind of monstrous strength...?" A gut-wrenching crunch echoed in the room as Blade felt the bones in his wrist snap. An agonized scream escaped his lips, but it was cut short when the intruder delivered a precise, powerful strike to the nape of Blade's neck. The world around him turned black as consciousness slipped away.