Zhekog wrapped his rough hand around his opponent's tiny head and slammed it with brutal force against the brick and drywall wall. With eyes full of terror, the member of the Black Shadows tried to resist, but the difference in their strength and size was so great that it was like a mere ram trying to withstand the charge of a bull.
The Black Shadow’s head punched a hole in the wall, and Zhekog shuddered at the sound of bones cracking. He pulled the man back and turned him around to take a good look. He wanted to see him struggle, to see him fight. He wanted to know if he was strong enough.
He wasn’t.
Zhekog’s face twisted with rage and disappointment as he watched the Black Shadow collapse, unconscious.
"Weak," he thought.
He stepped closer, raised his heavy boot, and crushed the man's skull with force.
"Die, you fucking grok!" someone shouted.
Zhekog turned—not enraged by the insult, but drawn by the prospect of facing a new opponent. Would this one be strong?
A low-caliber bullet struck his horned helmet. His face twisted in disgust, and he gripped his axes tighter. If there was one thing he hated more than the weak, it was firearms.
He sprinted forward and struck his opponent mid-run, sending him flying through the broken doorway of the micro-apartment and bouncing off the hallway wall. The grok stepped toward him and watched him closely.
"Weak," he thought. But he already knew that. Only cowards used firearms.
He raised his axe and drove it into the man’s back. The Black Shadow writhed like a fish.
From the doorway of another micro-apartment, about eight meters to his left, Dero suddenly appeared, as if he had been thrown. Dero—one of his Karnax Fangs.
Cuervo may have defeated him, and they may have joined the Exterminators, but that was only until Zhekog could defeat Cuervo and take back what was rightfully his. According to the rules of the Savages, the moment he won, he would have the right to claim the entire Exterminators gang as his own.
But he didn’t want a gang full of weaklings, whores, and junkies.
He wanted a gang of strong, ruthless fighters. Warriors who, like him, had been hardened in the heat of battle and carried an insatiable thirst for glory.
Dero stood firm and prepared to continue fighting. He wore the same horned helmet and war paint as his leader. A new enemy appeared through the doorway, and Dero spun to dodge the charge while simultaneously driving his saber through his opponent.
The Karnax Fangs were true warriors, and as such, none of them were allowed to carry firearms.
"Chieftain, over here!" Dero called out.
"Chieftain"—in their Khazzuk tongue—was the word groks used to refer to their leaders. Though there were only two groks in the gang, Zhekog had shaped and developed his band according to the traditions of his people.
Just then, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet tore through Dero’s shoulder. The human cursed and dove back into the micro-apartment.
Almost at the same time, another Black Shadow emerged from a different micro-apartment. Half of her head was shaved, while the other half sported long, dyed-green hair. Her brown-hazel eyes gleamed under the dim lights, and multiple piercings adorned her face. She wore an Akro plate vest, dark like the rest of her clothing, and carried two knives.
It was Esthar, the leader of the Black Shadows.
Zhekog eyed her under the flickering bulbs.
"She finally comes out. I was getting sick of wandering this damn maze." He grinned. "Is she strong enough to be worthy of being taken?"
For the groks, combat was not just a means to an end; it was a way of life—an obsession. The only way to earn respect among their kind was through battle. The only path to glory was proving oneself the strongest. And the only way to create powerful bloodlines was by defeating and claiming strong rivals.
"This will be your grave, beast," Esthar spat before charging at him.
"You have guts. Me like that," Zhekog said in his thick accent. Despite all his years in the city, he still struggled to speak common Ibelirian.
Zhekog turned with difficulty to face her. The hallway was narrow—barely enough for two humans to stand shoulder to shoulder. And he was as wide as two men. No doubt the human intended to use that to her advantage. But he didn’t care. A fight was a fight, no matter the conditions.
With raw strength and speed, Zhekog raised one of his axes and swung it down at the human. But with feline agility, she dodged to the side and slashed at his exposed bicep with one of her knives, leaving a red gash across his thick skin.
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She had likely aimed to stab him, hoping to disable his arm, but his hardened flesh and muscle proved tougher than the strength of the Black Shadow.
Before Zhekog could react, the human spun around while leaning forward and struck his chin with an upward kick. Despite his strength, he felt his sturdy legs falter.
The savage attempted a horizontal strike, but the loss of balance and the narrowness of the hallway rendered it ineffective. The Black Shadow dodged the blow, spun again, and delivered a kick directly to his chest, causing Zhekog to stumble back awkwardly.
Without wasting time, and with deadly precision, the Black Shadow threw the knives she was holding.
But Zhekog was no novice in combat; with a swift tilt of his head, he allowed his horned helmet to take the impact of the knives. Sparks flew, and the knives deflected, embedding themselves in a nearby door.
The human, slightly surprised but still focused, drew two more knives and prepared for another attack. Zhekog, having recovered, stood imposingly and snorted.
"Damn it. This way, I won't be able to hit her. Then..."
Zhekog released his heavy axes behind him, flexed his legs, and lowered his center of gravity.
"What are you doing, beast? Is that your way of surrendering?" asked the leader of the Black Shadows.
Zhekog smiled and charged.
Esthar, in a reflexive act, threw her knives again. But her nerves had failed her, and she had thrown them too quickly, allowing Zhekog to block them easily with his armored forearms. Frightened, she decided to risk it all.
At the last second, when the grok was already upon her, she drew one last knife and, with a flick of her wrist, tried to stab him in the neck. However, the force of the tackle caused her to miss, and it partially embedded in his collarbone.
The Black Shadow was sent flying several meters down the hallway.
Zhekog, touching his wound with a grunt, quickly approached his opponent, who lay stunned on the ground. He grabbed her as if she were a sack and, using all his strength, hurled her violently against the ceiling. She bounced off and fell.
The sound of her impact against the floor was deafening. The human was left severely injured and unconscious.
Zhekog had emerged victorious, but his opponent had not been bad. He grabbed her by the Akro-plated vest and lifted her to his eye level. For a moment, he considered capturing her to claim her later. After all, according to Grok traditions, it was his right. Perhaps human pregnancies were not as fast or multiple as those of Grok women, and of course, their union could only produce half-breeds. But still, a strong warrior could be born, one who would carry on his warrior legend.
However, that would mean disobeying Cuervo’s orders to eliminate all members affiliated with the Venomous Serpents. And he was no filthy, treacherous Tralf. He was a Grok, and for that, he had to respect and obey his chieftain. At least, until he could defeat him.
Zhekog let out a grunt of disapproval and, with a swift, forceful movement of his wrist, snapped her neck. Then he cut off one of her fingers and pocketed it.
Suddenly, a tremendous roar echoed, and the massive head of a heavy hammer smashed through the wall of one of the micro-apartments lining the hallway. Bloody remains of a shattered skull slid down the hammerhead and the wall.
"Horcon..."
“Where is cat!? I kill!
“She’s here, idiot”, Zhekog shouted in his language. “I already finished her”.
Horcon cursed and struck the wall again, making the hole double in size. Through it, the Grok’s head appeared, his face furious, his single eye darting desperately from side to side. When he saw Zhekog and the corpse of the Black Shadows’ leader, his expression twisted even further.
Zhekog looked at his old friend. His skin had a pale grayish tone. His sharp teeth, some of them broken, had turned brown from tobacco and poor hygiene. Beneath his helmet, his head was completely bald except for the sides, where the hair formed a semicircle that merged with his thick, unkempt beard. The massive scar running across his blind eye was a reminder of his failed attempt to seize control of the gang.
Of course, Zhekog bore him no grudge. He had lost to Cuervo, and the Fangs of Karnax had been forced to join the Exterminators. So Horcon had deemed Zhekog unworthy of leading them. And as was common among the Groks and the Savages, when someone believed their leader was unfit, they would try to take command either through combat or assassination.
Luckily for Zhekog, Horcon had not been one of the few Groks who resorted to murder.
"You're going to have to try harder if you want to take my place, Horcon."
"Oh, I assure you I will, Zhekog," he replied, emphasizing his name. The fact that he hadn't called him "warlord" was his way of making it clear that he still didn't acknowledge his leadership.
Zhekog growled as he watched Horcon's bearded face disappear. He turned around and continued walking slowly down the hallway toward the micro-apartment where Dero had entered.
The establishment, which took up at least three or four living units, was what they called a "silence nest"—a place removed from the hustle and cruelty of the hive, where customers could immerse themselves in their own world. To achieve this, the place had soundproofed walls and individual hermetic capsules. Using pills that heightened the senses, screens, and a wide variety of sounds, users could experience pre-designed scenarios, emotions, and sensations—such as the feeling of flying above the clouds, diving into crystal-clear waters, or walking through a peaceful forest during the third season.
The place had once been the base of the Black Shadows, and after the battle, numerous bodies lay scattered—both clients and members of both gangs. Much of the furniture was damaged to some extent.
At the center of the establishment, leaning against an open capsule that had been used as a barricade, was Dero, talking to another fighter. The human, covered in wounds, had switched his weapon to his other hand. His black mane was streaked with blood. Upon seeing Zhekog, he started walking toward him, but Zhekog signaled for him to stop.
"Warlord, we've taken control of the Black Shadows' base. All that's left is to find Esthar...That bitch took down Disa and Noloe."
"Yeah, I killed."
Dero, accustomed to his warlord’s lack of grammar and vocabulary, understood immediately.
"As expected!”
“They should be stronger. But they died in battle. Like warriors.”
“I'm sure the war god Karnax is pleased." Zhekog nodded.
Dero holstered his weapon and reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a cyber-tablet. Zhekog disliked those electronic devices, but he knew they needed them to communicate with the rest of the gang, so he allowed a limited number of Karnax’s Fangs to carry them. However, they were always to be kept hidden.
"I’ll report our success to..." he began to say, then stopped. He tapped the cyber-tablet a couple of times and then read something. "Warlord, it seems we have our next target."
“Which one?”
"The Breaker Brothers. They're an independent gang dedicated to extortion and assault. The..." He hesitated for a moment and looked away from Zhekog. "Boss," he returned his gaze to his warlord. "He wants us to go and convince them to join us. He doesn't care how we do it."
"And Penisvulvis and the Brugo Boys?"
"Apparently, the idiots attacked the old base of the Drokis looking for revenge." Dero's eyes widened slightly. "According to the text, Cuervo single-handedly took down both leaders in hand-to-hand combat."
“Damn it! Why are you getting further away every time?”