Rhys went for the city with a bellyful of anger. He drove the stolen car he got from the coroner's office recklessly through the outskirts, all in an attempt to narrow the distance between himself and the city that awaited him.

  While Rhys was away from the city, the police had projected his face on every screen and broadcast they had access to.

  Rhys Trefor: Wanted | DANGEROUS CRIMINAL | Murdered 15 & Injured 3

  If you spot him, DO NOT ENGAGE. Report to the Emergency Service Number 777 ASAP.

  For the innocent citizens, it was an unsettling dread perched before them, something to keep them up at night and startle them from their daily lives. But for those who belonged to the Ouroboros Eye, it was a challenge, plain and simple. All across the city, their sub-leaders prepared and armed themselves. If someone wanted to pick a fight with the Ouroboros Eye, they would be ready to meet him head-on.

  Rhys drove straight toward Aeron's workplace. Aeron always talked about how those scum would loiter around the back alleys nearby, preying on the hardworking. If the Ouroboros Eye has taken over the criminal syndicates of Cadwyn, then it was as good of a place to start as any.

  The streets were empty in the late night hours. Still, as Rhys parked by the roadside, he could see a group of six sitting around in a circle, drinking over a lit-up garbage bin. Hearing the stopping car, the group turned their heads toward it but ignored it soon after. Rhys stepped out and slammed the door shut. He grabbed the shovel from the back seat and slammed it again before walking toward the group with the shovel clenched in his firm grip.

  With the repeated noise, the group could no longer ignore it, and they turned toward the approaching man with grim expressions. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

  "Look at this guy! Is he trying to pick a fight?" One of the men whistled and jeered. "Do you know who we are, you dumbfuck? We'll ruin you before you remember how to cry for your mama."

  Rhys' grip tightened around the shovel's shaft. Bulging veins stood out on his thick neck as the moonlight reflected on his silent figure. Once he was a few dozen paces away from the men, they felt a pang of intimidation, immediately sharing a round of glances at one another before standing up and circling toward the silent man.

  They pulled out brass knuckles, metal bats, and knives as they made a wide perimeter around Rhys. "What's with the silent act, tough guy? Who the hell sent you?"

  Rhys smirked coldly at the men that surrounded him, antagonizing their fragile pride in the process. One of the men lunged, with his arm flailing a metal bat down on Rhys' head. Rhys sidestepped the attack, swinging the shovel forcefully and precisely, striking the man with the head of it in the inside elbow. His retaliatory strike drew blood as the man howled and dropped the bat to the floor with a loud clang of metal against concrete.

  "You bastard! Kill him! Kill him now!" The man howled as he curled up on the floor, grasping at his wounded arm.

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  The silence was oppressive and heavy as the group tensed up, seeing how quickly their mate dropped. They attacked without hesitation, striking from all sides as they stabbed and punched. But Rhys rotated his torso, slamming the shovel into their outstretched arms and pushing the group away. He then gripped the shovel and slammed the flat end of it onto one man's nose, causing blood to spew like a fountain as the hell onto the concrete.

  One man took advantage of the moment and punched out with his brass-knuckled fist, striking Rhys' shoulder, but as the brass struck against Rhys's taut muscles, it merely halted in place. Rhys twisted around, backhanding the man in the face and knocking him off balance before stomping on his gut and causing the fallen man to retch from the impact.

  The men were mere ants before a chariot named Rhys Trefor. Within mere minutes, they were injured and dazed beyond belief. Their only blessing was that life still coursed through their veins.

  Rhys grabbed the retching man's hair and pulled him to eye level. "Where can I find Ouroboros Eye's base?"

  "W-what?" The man stuttered with widened eyes. "Fuc—"

  "You're Trefor's brother!" He choked out with sweat trickling down his brow.

  "Word spread quickly," Rhys calmly spoke. "They know I'm coming for them, huh?"

  "That'll make things much easier. Tell me where they are."

  "Screw you, you son of a bitch. The Ouroboros Eye will find you, not the other way around." The man spat.

  Rhys chuckled and dragged the man toward the blazing garbage bin. "Keep that attitude. You're going to need it."

  The man struggled and flailed, but Rhys' grip was like a steel vice that latched onto his skull. Rhys pushed the man's head down into the fire and held him. Agonizing screams bellowed from his throat as the searing flame blanketed his face and boiled the liquid in his eyeball.

  His comrades painfully crawled and shifted on the ground, shocked and startled at the cruelty. "Let him go, bastard. Are you trying to attract the Ouroboros Eye's wrath?"

  "That's right." Rhys coldly replied and pressed the man's head harder, causing the melted plastics and junk to sear into his face. The insurmountable pain consumed him, and he quieted as Rhys' grip loosened and left him keeled over against the bin.

  Rhys then slowly walked toward the men, cracking his neck. The panicked thugs scooted backward, trying to escape but feeling the futility of it as their limbs went numb from the bone-deep terror they felt.

  "I'll talk, I'll talk! Spare me!" One of the men cried out, trembling and tearing up underneath Rhys' shadow.

  "Good," Rhys muttered before driving his boot into a different man's mouth, shattering the jaw and bloodying the ground with specks of teeth and spit. Soon after, he struck down another, and then another, until only one man remained.

  "Let's have a nice chat, just you and me, without interruptions." Rhys warmly smiled as he squatted beside the groveling man.

  "Listen, Trefor. I—I can help you get to my sub-leader! He's one of the ninety-nine eyes! But any higher than that is above our pay grade."

  "Ninety-nine eyes? What a stupid name. Is that what your divisions are calling themselves?" Rhys coldly mocked with narrowed eyes.

  "Y-yes," The man stuttered. "Each eye watches over a part of the city. Our base is on Charter Street by the—"

  Before he could finish, blood splattered, and a hole formed suddenly on his forehead, causing the man to crumple onto the floor with blood pooling beneath his head. Immediately after, sirens blared, and lights flashed as a dozen cars screeched into the area surrounding Rhys.