"That night was pure hell. Every criminal in Gotham swarmed Belmont's army, thinking they could break him. But they had prepared for a battle, he had prepared for a war."
----
The thunderous whirl of helicopters filled the air as they surged forward. Vans scattered in different directions, their back doors swinging open as heavily armed men in black stormed out, moving in perfect unison. Gunfire erupted instantly, tearing into the Salvatore Brothers' army and the swarming criminals. A deafening battle cry rose from the mob as they rushed to counterattack—only for a helicopter above to unleash a relentless barrage, mowing them down in an instant.
Bodies convulsed before collapsing lifelessly onto the bloodstained streets. Panic set in as criminals abandoned their weapons, scrambling for escape—but there was no refuge. Those who fled were either gunned down or dragged into waiting trucks for imprisonment. A heavy wave of relief washed over Gotham's citizens, the sight of the nightmare ending etched into their weary faces.
Within the span of one hour, Belmont's army decimated every criminal in Gotham— from the formidable Salvatore Brothers' forces to rival gangs and street thugs. It was a transformation the Mayor, in his 20 years in office, could never have achieved. In just sixty minutes, Belmont had restructured the underworld.
---
"And that was how that night ended. If it weren't for Belmont and his army, I wouldn't be here today—Gotham wouldn't be what it is."
"So what happened to Belmont later?" Jaxon asked.
"Because of everything he did for our city, the Mayor honored him with the title of Vice Mayor."
"The Vice Mayor?" Milo and Jaxon thundered in unison.
"Yeah, but if you ask me, he wields more power than the Mayor himself. He restructured Gotham, made it look better, and on top of that, he commands his own army that answers only to him. What started as a promise of peace quickly turned into brutal oppression—people couldn't move or act freely. He imposed strict orders under the guise of 'the greater good,' and the Mayor let him run wild. It wasn't long before everyone realized that Belmont was the real man in charge, not the Mayor.
And to make matters worse, he destroyed countless livelihoods—mine included. I used to work at a wrestling club until one day…"
---
The cheering screams of the crowd filled the air. People were packed tightly in a circular ring, where two men battled fiercely in the center. With every kick and blow, the shouting grew louder, an electric atmosphere of raw anticipation.
DOOM!
The wooden door behind the arena slammed violently to the floor. A soldier clad in a black uniform stood firm, more soldiers standing behind him. Every eye in the arena fixed on them instantly the troops swarmed in. Panic surged as terrified screams echoed off the walls.
They began smashing everything in their path, breaking chairs, overturning tables, shattering the arena's fixtures. People scrambled for the exit, some of the troops hurled their guns into the air shooting violently causing even more panic.
Outside, the fleeing crowd was met by more soldiers, their weapons trained on the terrified masses.
"You're all under arrest," one of them barked.
In unison, the soldiers cocked their triggers, the sounds slicing through the air.
"Hands behind your head!"
Gripped by fear, the crowd obeyed instinctively, their hands raised fitting behind their heads, eyes downcast in abject terror.
---
Reggie leaned back, his expression darkening. "That, kids, was life under The Belmont Regime. And it stayed that way for ten whole years."
"Ten years?" Jaxon repeated, his eyes widening. "But why only ten? Did he have a change of heart or something?"
Reggie's face turned grave. "No." He held Jaxon's gaze, his voice thick with weight. "Someone took a stand. A single man."
Silence hung in the air, heavy and expectant.
Jaxon leaned forward. "Who was—"
"But," Reggie cut in, his tone abruptly light again, "according to our agreement, I'm not telling you that."
He rose from his chair, stretching lazily before making his way toward the kitchen.
Jaxon and Milo exchanged glances, the suspense clawing at them.
"We have to find out," they said in unison.
****
Later That Evening
A swarm of police vehicles sprawled across the street in front of a towering hotel, their flashing red and blue lights casting eerie reflections against the glass exterior. Officers took cover behind their cars, weapons drawn, while one of them gripped a megaphone.
"You're surrounded! There's no way out. Release the hostages and surrender peacefully!"
Through the hotel's expansive windows, the scene inside was clear. Civilians lay sprawled across the marbled floor, the white overhead lights reflecting off the polished surface. Above them, six masked gunmen stood tense, shifting anxiously as they assessed their dwindling options.
The officer pressed the megaphone to his lips. "Come out with your hands behind your head!" His voice boomed through the tense night air.
Inside, one of the masked gunmen cursed under his breath. "Shit."
Frustration flickered across another's face. His grip on the rifle tightened. "Alright, that's it," he muttered, his patience unraveling.
Storming toward a young woman trembling on the floor, he reached down, his massive hand wrapping around her throat. With a sudden yank, he hauled her to her feet. She gasped, her breath hitching as sheer terror overtook her. Her legs quivered beneath her, barely able to support her weight.
The other criminals exchanged uneasy glances. The tension in the air thickened.
The gunman took slow, deliberate steps toward the glass, dragging the woman with him. When he reached the window, he stopped, shoving her in front of him.
The cold barrel of his pistol pressed against her temple. "Better let us go," he snarled, "or I'll put a fucking bullet through her head!"
The street fell silent. The cops held their ground, hesitation creeping into their eyes.
Click.
The unmistakable sound of the gun cocking sent a ripple of unease through the officers.
The woman let out a choked sob, her body convulsing with terror. Tears streamed down her face as she fought to stay upright.
"Fine," the gunman hissed. "I'll give you five seconds to decide."
His voice rang out like a death sentence.
"Five… Four… Three… Two…"
Thud!
Boots met the floor, knees bent, head bowed. Under the bright overhead lights, his shimmering white hair seemed almost ethereal, a stark contrast to the black ensemble clinging to his frame. Twin sword sheaths jutted from his back, the hilts resting just above his shoulders.
The nearest gunman barely had time to react. His gaze flicked toward the intruder—too late.
A silver blade gleamed under the lights, slicing through the air in a seamless 180-degree arc.
For a moment, the man's body stood still, uncomprehending. Then—
Thud! His head struck the floor.
Thud! His body followed.