The world rarely noticed when evil smiled.
But when evil frowned—when evil tasted humiliation, when it felt the sting of a superior intellect—entire empires learned to brace for collapse, and the very air grew still with anticipation.
And tonight, somewhere across the indifferent ocean from Luciano's calm, predatory planning…the Marrow Prince was not just frowning.
He was seething.
---
The sprawling, freight yard was swallowed by the cold indifference of the late hour. It was silent, abandoned save for the low, internal rumble of distant machinery and the steady, rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Marrow Prince's gloved index finger against the rusted, corrugated metal of the shipping container.
The sound was not impatient; it was precise, echoing the calculated fury of a man whose meticulous plans had just been demolished by a single, elegant stroke.
A single floodlight flickered overhead, washing the scene in an sickly, unsettling yellow glow. The shadows around him clung thick and deep to his imposing figure, refusing to leave his side, as if afraid to be exposed to the harsh reality. Even the cold air felt tighter, heavier, like something was holding its breath in anticipation of a catastrophe.
Two of his security men stood nearby, rigid with fear, their obedience tested by the intensity of the silence. His principal assistant, Andrej, lingered a few careful, almost reverent steps behind him, the collar of his suit damp with nervous sweat.
Marrow Prince said nothing. His silence was a weapon, pressurized and lethal.
He simply stared into the container.
At.
The.
Tissue.
Papers.
Not heavy stacks of currency, not secured crates of precious metals, but soft, white, antiseptically useless fluff. Tissue papers. Stacked in neat, mocking columns that reached the ceiling.
One hundred million dollars. A hefty, insulting payment for the privilege of being mocked. Gone. Reduced to biodegradable fluff.
And not even premium tissue, Marrow Prince noted with a spike of cold disgust. Just cheap, mass-produced garbage.
One of his men—the bravest, or perhaps the most foolish—could no longer stand the pressure of the silence. He opened his mouth, his voice a dry rasp.
"Your High— I mean, s-sir… the cargo seems to be…"
The man didn't finish the sentence. Marrow Prince merely raised one gloved hand. The gesture was minimal, yet silence slammed across the yard with the visceral shock of a physical blade.
His voice, when it finally came, was soft. Velvet-lined. Precisely articulated. Deadly.
"A tissue paper?"
The man instantly went pale, fear seizing his throat.
Marrow Prince stepped inside the container, boots crunching lightly against the cardboard boxes. He reached down and picked up a packet of the offensive material, turning it slowly in his hand, assessing its worthlessness. He peeled one delicate sheet out between two fingers.
It was thin. Soft. Insultingly cheerful in its whiteness.
He stared at it, expression impossible to read beneath the black mask that concealed the lower half of his face.
Then he laughed.
It was not the sound of genuine amusement. It was not even the unsettling laugh of a man losing sanity.
It was worse.
It was the quiet, controlled, elegant laugh of someone who knew exactly who had dared to do this to him—a laugh that promised a reckoning, the sound of a king who was already planning the precise, horrifying shape of the grave he would bury his enemy in.
"So," he murmured, folding the tissue once, twice, again, the delicate process drawing out the insult. "Luciano Solis De La Vega gives me tissue."
His voice sharpened, slicing through the cold night air like the finest obsidian edge.
"As if I am someone who cries."
He let the folded tissue fall from his gloved fingers. The faint wind caught it, carrying it across the concrete floor—light, pathetic, fluttering away like a visual representation of surrender.
His men watched it drift, their hearts tied in tight, anxious knots of horror. The insult was not just financial; it was an existential offense, a statement that Luciano had anticipated his moves, trapped him, and then collected his payment for humiliating him.
Andrej cleared his throat, terrified but loyal.
"We… discovered that the man who handled the transaction has been captured, sir. William. His last known location was a warehouse. He is reportedly in critical condition. Nearly dead, sir."
Marrow Prince paused… then turned, the motion slow, deliberate, contained rage.
"Nearly?" He asked, the single word dripping with lethal intent.
"Yes, sir. We have visual confirmation of a severe beating, and… medical trauma."
"Good."
Andrej blinked. "G-good?"
Marrow Prince stepped out of the container, that controlled rage radiating from him like frostbite. He walked across the concrete with slow, precise steps, boots echoing in the cold yard.
"Bring him back," he said simply.
Andrej hesitated. "Sir, his injuries… there's massive trauma to his—"
"I am aware."
Marrow Prince's tone was refined, calm, aristocratic—far too calm for anyone's comfort.
"In fact," he continued, "that is precisely why he will be… useful."
The shadows around him seemed to deepen, almost vibrating with malice.
"A man robbed of his pride. His manhood. His worth." His voice dipped lower. "A creature defined by his humiliation becomes a creature defined by his rage. And rage, Andrej… is an excellent leash."
Andrej felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"So treat him," Marrow Prince instructed, his eyes fixing on some distant, invisible point. "Not well. Just enough that he lives. Enough that he breathes. Enough that he remembers."
He paused.
"Enough that he hates."
Andrej bowed his head. "Yes, sir. Right away."
But Marrow Prince wasn't finishedpsychological engineering.
"When he wakes," he murmured, "do not tell him I am the one who retrieved him. Let him believe fate kept him alive." A soft, dark sound escaped him—half a hum, half a growl. "Men like him cling harder when they think they survive by destiny."
He turned back to the open shipping container, at the mocking mountains of tissue paper.
Luciano's joke. Luciano's intellectual brilliance. Luciano's public, personal disrespect.
This was no longer about a financial loss. It had never been about the money.
It was about power. Dominance. The public measurement of intellect. And Luciano had outplayed him. Personally. Intimately.
And there was no deeper, more intolerable insult to a king of shadows.
---
Andrej approached carefully, tablet trembling in his hands. "Sir, shall I… dispatch someone to replace William? Another spy?"
A stillness settled.
Marrow Prince lifted his head.
And in that moment, even the breeze dared not move.
"No."
His tone was absolute.
"No more proxies. No more disposable toys. No more middlemen who quake when they breathe near the Starling boy."
He stepped deeper into the shadows, as if they parted just for him.
"I will go myself."
Andrej inhaled sharply. "Sir—surely that's too dangerous—"
"Dangerous?"
Marrow Prince's voice sharpened with quiet mockery.
"Luciano believes himself untouchable. That is his weakness. He trusts the height of his walls. He trusts the loyalty of his dogs. He trusts that the shadows bend to him."
Marrow Prince chuckled softly.
"They don't."
His silhouette shifted, almost dissolving into the darkness as he continued.
"Luciano thinks he sees everything. That he knows every threat. That the board belongs to him."
He leaned forward, his masked face inches from Andrej's, making the assistant flinch.
"But he has never played against me."
He stepped back.
"And he does not yet understand the fundamental truth about chess."
He lifted one hand, gloved fingers spread elegantly.
"It is not the king who decides the outcome of the game."
His fingers curled into a fist.
"It is the player."
The shadows around him rippled—alive, listening, loyal.
"I will walk into Luciano's world," Marrow Prince whispered, voice curling like smoke. "Into his circle. Into his operations. Into his life."
His head tilted, expression unreadable.
"And when I am close enough… I will crush him from within."
A soft, delighted exhale escaped him, as if imagining the moment.
"He will not see me," he continued.
"He will not suspect me."
"He will not realize the danger until I have dismantled everything he loves."
He paused.
"Especially that girl."
Andrej froze. "That girl, sir?"
Marrow Prince tapped one finger against his temple.
"The girl."
A long beat of silence.
"You mean miss Marcia, sir? The one who is scheduled to be his fiancée?" Andrej asked, attempting to confirm the target.
"Yes."
A faint note of curiosity entered his voice.
"She is interesting. Not for herself—yet. But because Luciano's father is interested." His voice darkened. "And anything he desires for Luciano becomes a potential leverage point."
He turned his head back toward the glowing streetlamp, its light carving hard edges across the black mask.
"The Starling boy is someone who values family and craves for love. Predictably so. He is his mother's son, after all."
Andrej knew better than to ask what that meant.
But Marrow Prince wasn't done.
"But really… the moment he is engaged to her and brings her to his home…"
The smile sharpened.
"…is the moment he brings me into his home."
The Marrow Prince turned toward him once more, his silhouette tall, lethal, and elegant in the partial glow.
Andrej's breath caught in a silent gasp of absolute understanding.
"Prepare the car," he commanded softly. "Andrej?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I want William stabilized within the hour. Not recovered, but stabilized. He will be my weapon when the time comes to strike the killing blow."
"Very well, sir."
"And one more thing."
The air tightened again, marking the end of the strategic session.
"Inform the cleaners to remove every trace of our presence here." His gloved hand brushed the dusty edge of the container. "Luciano cannot know how quickly I discovered his little joke."
A quiet, deadly smile.
"Let him think he bought himself time."
And with a soft rustle of fabric, Marrow Prince disappeared into the deeper shadows—absorbed, welcomed, hidden.
The tissue in the wind fluttered once more, pathetic in its uselessness.
And somewhere miles away, Luciano Solis De La Vega was sipping caramel and planning to steal a girl he intended to make his fiancée.
While in the dark—
A different king was already moving.
Already hunting.
Already planning the moment their worlds would collide.
A collision Luciano believed he was prepared for.
But Marrow Prince…
He didn't come to play the game.
He came to end it.
And he had just taken his first step.