The Brutal Revenge

Chapter 2: The Rise of Jones

The streets pulsed with raw energy, a battlefield disguised as a city. The college wasn’t a place of learning. it was a war zone, where power ruled and only the ruthless survived. Jones moved with purpose, his every step calculated, his every breath measured. He wasn’t just here to fight. He was here to take over.

For too long, Clinton had reigned supreme, his empire built on intimidation and blood. But Jones wasn’t another pawn in his game. He was the one flipping the board.

The Reapers had been making waves for months—fast, efficient, and unrelenting. Clinton’s gang had the numbers, but Jones had something more lethal: strategy. This wasn’t a war of brute force. It was a war of patience, intelligence, and precision. Clinton didn’t know it yet, but his downfall had already begun.

As Jones walked through the heart of the campus, whispers followed him. Fear lingered in the air like smoke. Eyes darted away when he passed. He had earned that fear, and soon, he’d turn it into obedience.

"Jones!"

Leo’s voice cut through the night. He moved fast, tension clear in his stride. The usual smirk on his face was gone.

"Clinton’s making moves," Leo said, voice low. "He’s pushing into the East Wing. He’s trying to choke us out."

A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Jones’ face. "Then let’s cut off his oxygen."

"He’s got numbers."

"I don’t need numbers. I need weaknesses."

Leo’s grin returned. "Say less. We’ll bleed them dry."

Jones nodded. "Hit his supply routes. Break his connections. If his own people start doubting him, he crumbles before he even sees us coming."

Leo tapped his temple. "Already ahead of you."

Jones watched as his strategist vanished into the night. This was more than a power struggle now. This was war. And Jones never lost.

Days Later

The plan was working. Clinton’s empire was cracking, and the fear Jones had planted was spreading like wildfire. His people were turning on him. Deals were falling apart. The East Wing, Clinton’s stronghold, was slipping through his fingers.

And then, the retaliation came.

Jones stepped into the alley behind the gym, already expecting him.

Victor.

Clinton’s enforcer. A walking wall of muscle, but not just a brute—Victor was smart, lethal, and loyal to a fault.

"You think you can move against Clinton and walk away?" Victor’s voice was a growl, his presence suffocating.

Jones met his gaze, unshaken. "I’m not moving against him. I’m moving through him."

Victor’s fists clenched. "You’re playing with fire."

Jones tilted his head. "Fire doesn’t scare me. It burns everything in its path, just like me."

Silence.

Then Victor took a step forward. "You’re not afraid of dying, are you?"

Jones held his ground. "Afraid? No. Ready? Always."

Victor stared at him for a long moment before stepping back. "Clinton’s coming for you. You should’ve walked away while you had the chance."

Jones smirked. "Too late for that."

Victor turned and disappeared into the night. But Jones knew this wasn’t over.

And he was right.

Two Nights Later

The Reapers’ headquarters, an abandoned science building on the far side of campus—became a battlefield.

Clinton’s crew hit hard, fast, and without warning. Windows shattered. Doors splintered. The night erupted into chaos.

Jones was in the thick of it. His fists met flesh, his movements precise and lethal. Blood spattered the ground. Leo fought beside him, weaving through enemies with speed and finesse. But they were outnumbered.

A hard punch slammed into Jones’ ribs. He gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. He wiped blood from his lip and locked eyes with the man he had been waiting for.

Clinton.

The war around them faded. This was it.

Clinton stepped forward, his face twisted in fury. "It’s over, Jones! You thought you could take what’s mine?"

Jones spat blood onto the ground and smirked. "I’m not taking what’s yours, Clinton. I’m taking what’s mine."

Clinton roared and charged.

Jones met him head-on.

Their fists collided, the impact shattering the fragile balance of power.

This was no longer a game. This was survival.

And only one of them was walking away.