The cold air of the night hit William's face as he left the building that housed the meeting point for the underworld leaders. The silence of his footsteps echoed in the immaculate hallway, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere he had left behind.
Xander and Bentral, his loyal shadows, materialized at his side, discretion etched in their every movement. The conversation with Lauren Zandermont, Brandon, Ezequiel, and Dairon, the confirmation of Dormetailet Wolm's resurgence, and the mention of Democles all boiled in William's mind.
"Democles," William murmured, his voice barely audible. His hand closed into an invisible fist. The mere mention of the manipulative occultist who had sown chaos and twisted loyalty before Alpha Gamma unleashed a dormant but latent ferocity. Democles had been a challenge, an anomaly in their rise, someone who couldn't simply be "bought" or "crushed" in a conventional way. His power lay in the mind, in the ability to twist another's will to the point of suicide with words. That kind of suicidal loyalty in the "rats" was their signature, a hallmark of aberration.
They climbed into the waiting black Maybach, the leather interior cool and the engine purring. Xander took the wheel.
"Sir, what are your orders?... Do we activate the counterintelligence phase immediately? We can begin tracking the movements of these 'rats' through our contacts on the streets."
William leaned his forehead against the windowpane, staring at the mosaic of city lights spread out before them. "No. Not yet." His voice was a low growl. "They, the others, will coordinate and make noise. They want to catch 'rats' with a mousetrap... Not us, we'll hunt the main rat."
Bentral, sitting in the copilot's seat, turned slightly. "Democles himself? We thought he was dead."
"I thought so too," William replied, irony lacing his voice. "But the suicidal loyalty and surgical precision of those attacks don't lie. Someone must have picked up his mantle, be it an heir or a disciple, as Zandermont said. No matter what, either way, they operate with the same twisted methodology, while Ezekiel's mousetrap traps the disposable pawns... We need to dismantle the network from above."
William's mind was already constructing a map of the threat, drawing invisible lines between incidents and possible locations.
If Democles had returned, or his legacy had resurfaced, the priority wasn't just the protection of their territories, but the annihilation of the root of the problem. And in this, William didn't share the philosophy of his underworld "colleagues."
"I want surveillance doubled at our most vulnerable points," William finally ordered. "But not with visible patrols or obvious deployments. I want a silent intelligence network. Deploy elite observation agents, those who can go unnoticed even in a crowd. Monitor for unusual movement patterns, discreet exchanges, and coded conversations. I don't want confrontation, I want information."
Bentral nodded, his face expressionless. "Detecting those who operate with Democles' invisibility will be a challenge. They're usually ghosts."
"I know," William said, his eyes flashing with cold determination. "But I also know that everyone has a weakness, a routine, a pattern, and Democles, the original, always had a weakness for spectacle. If this new Democles is his heir, he'll seek to leave his mark, his signature. I want you to find him before he knows we've found him."
The conversation drifted into a technical, coded language that only they understood. The names of operatives, deployment zones, and codes for each alert level. William's network was vast and sophisticated, an underground infrastructure that operated with the same efficiency as a multinational corporation, but dedicated to the control and security of its vast illicit interests.
Unlike other mafia leaders who operated with brute force, William preferred the invisible hand, manipulation, and total control spread among the enemy before attacking from the inside out, within his ranks.
His power lay in knowledge, in the ability to anticipate and neutralize threats before they manifested.
As Xander and Bentral began executing the orders, William pulled out his satellite phone, an encrypted device that even the most advanced government agencies couldn't track.
The alpha navigated an internal database, one containing detailed profiles of every individual who had ever crossed his path, every potential threat, every dubious ally. A search for "Democles" yielded a list of classified documents, old reports on the Dormetailet Wolm cult, and analyses of their methods of brainwashing and psychological manipulation. He read with grim intensity about how Democles could exploit his victims' emotional weaknesses, whispering to them exactly what they needed to hear, turning them into pawns loyal until death.
"A disturbingly unwavering loyalty," Ezequiel had said. This group was much more than that. It was absolute control, a subversion of the collective will into an individualistic one where the leader had the first and last word. And the fact that these new "rats" possessed that same trait meant the threat wasn't just military or economic, but also ideological, a war for minds and wills.
The city paraded past the window, indifferent to the shadow looming over it.
But William couldn't allow himself to be. The resurgence of something so personal, a score he thought was settled, coupled with a new person like Erika in his orbit, made the threat even more serious. His obsession with the Omega was dangerously intertwined with his duty to protect its interests. Any weakness, any vulnerability, could be exploited by an enemy as cunning as Democles.
His mind drifted, as always, to Erika. The image of her, smiling with her sisters, the concern in her eyes when she'd sensed his heat. The need to protect her, to envelop her in her security, had become second nature.
"Bentral," William said, his voice lower and laden with an intimacy he rarely displayed. "I want surveillance around Erika's residence reinforced even more discreetly. Deploy the twins. I want them to do their favorite routine, and absolutely no one to approach her or her sisters without our knowledge. Tell them it's a Gamma-13 priority."
Bentral nodded, understanding the importance of the order. Gamma-13 was the highest level of discreet security, reserved for the most valuable assets or the most sensitive threats that required an invisible response.
It meant that William's eyes wouldn't just be on Erika 24/7, without her even knowing it. It was a way of "dancing to the beat she sets" from a minefield that deactivated only when she passed through and activated as soon as she crossed, all while a fortified golden cage was built around her.
William leaned back in his seat. This time it would be nothing like the last time. He would prove that the resurgence of Damocles was nothing more than a passing, annoying breeze.
He was no longer just an Alpha Gamma who was just discovering what he was capable of while simultaneously trying to keep it a secret from the world while waging a battle of minds and wills.
Now he was William Aballay, the supreme predator of the underworld who kept his best cards secret without the need to reveal any. He had no intention of losing. The hunt had begun, and this time, William would not be content with crushing the worm; he would flay it and expose it in such a way that no being would dare to take up his mantle again.