The room was still vibrating with tension when Emre returned.
Rain clung to his coat. Blood did not.
Every pair of eyes followed him as he stepped back into the gathering hall—Aybeyli, Saygın, Haznedar, Ergün. Men who ruled districts. Women who commanded empires. All of them waiting.
Someone finally voiced what everyone was thinking.
"Where is Emrah?" one of the elders asked quietly.
The question echoed.
Emre didn't sit.
He remained standing—hands loose at his sides, posture relaxed, presence oppressive.
"My brother," he said calmly, "is still very sick."
A pause.
"The MS hasn't magically disappeared because our enemies got brave."
A few faces softened. Others tightened with concern.
"He's resting," Emre continued, his voice firm but controlled. "Thinking. Planning. Doing what he does best."
He let his gaze sweep the room.
"So until he stands again…"
His lips curved into something sharp.
"I enforce his will."
Silence.
No one challenged it.
Cengiz Saygın leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp beneath age and experience.
"And what is his will?" he asked.
Emre finally moved—stepping toward the center of the room.
"We don't wait," he said. "We don't react. We don't hide."
His voice hardened.
"We strike first."
A ripple of unease passed through the women. Some of the men straightened.
"They've shown their hand," Emre went on. "They fired into our gates. They threatened unity."
He smiled, cold and certain.
"Tomorrow, we meet at the location my brother prepared for us—the place none of them can reach."
The words carried weight.
A secret even Emre hadn't fully explained.
"A place where plans are made," he said, "and enemies are erased."
Efsun watched him closely.
This wasn't Emrah.
And yet… it was impossible not to feel safe.
Efsane noticed it too—and didn't like that she noticed.
Emre took a step back.
"That's all," he said. "Prepare your people. Arm them. Say your goodbyes if you need to."
He turned toward the exit.
"Tomorrow," he added over his shoulder, "this stops being politics."
The doors closed behind him.
Above the city, clouds rolled low.
And somewhere in the silence between seconds, Emrah Aybeyli watched through another pair of eyes—his presence hidden, his war already moving.
The enemies believed they had threatened a sick man.
They had no idea they had awakened his shadow.
The next day, Emre stepped into the throne room of his Domain, the air heavy with silence and power. The room seemed alive, as if it knew exactly who had arrived. Beside the throne, his weapons waited like loyal guardians.
He lifted his hand, and without hesitation, the Infinity Blade responded. Space itself bent slightly as the weapon teleported into his grasp. Its form shimmered, unstable yet perfect, and he guided it into katana form, then slid it into the sheath resting on his back.
Next, he grabbed the revolver holster that lay on the throne, secured it around his waist, and slid the Infinity Gun into place. The weapon hummed faintly, alive, as if it recognized its master.
He turned and approached a golden door at the far side of the room. Inside, piles of gold coins, sparkling jewelry, and treasures of forgotten empires filled the space. He picked up a single coin, its warmth grounding him in reality, before allowing it to vanish as he teleported.
In the blink of an eye, he appeared at the entrance of the Lair, the meeting spot prepared for the families. The golden light of sunset reflected off the black SUVs waiting outside, and the air was thick with anticipation.
Emre adjusted his coat, feeling the weight and reassurance of the Infinity Blade on his back and the Gun at his side. The throne of his Domain might be far away, but its presence lingered in his movements—he walked like a king, ready for war.
The families gathered ahead, unaware that the person standing before them was armed with powers and weapons that would make the night's battle a reckoning.
For Emre, this wasn't just a confrontation—it was the beginning of domination.
Emre stepped into the Lair, the echo of his boots against the stone floor carrying an unspoken authority. The gathered leaders of the Aybeyli, Saygın, Haznedar, and Ergün families turned, eyes sharp, calculating—but none dared speak first.
He moved with confidence, each step deliberate, the Infinity Blade subtly resting against his back, its presence unnoticed but felt. The Infinity Gun at his hip hummed faintly, a silent promise of what was to come.
Emre's eyes scanned the room, taking in each leader, each bodyguard, each tense gesture. Then, without raising his voice, he let his presence do the talking.
"Gentlemen," he said smoothly, his tone calm but carrying the weight of inevitability. "You know why we are here. Tonight, we enforce a simple rule: strike first, strike hard, and leave nothing for our enemies to exploit."
The room fell silent. Even seasoned veterans, hardened by decades of power struggles, could feel the subtle dominance radiating from him.
Efsane, standing slightly to the side, couldn't help but notice the difference. There was Emre's boldness, his audacity—it was dangerous, magnetic. Her fingers twisted in her hair, betraying a flicker of admiration.
Cengiz Saygın leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You remind me of myself when I was younger," he murmured, almost to himself. The comparison was not lost on anyone; it was both a compliment and a warning.
Emre allowed a small, confident smile. "It doesn't matter where they are," he said, voice low, deliberate. "It doesn't matter when. By the time they realize we are coming, they will be reduced to a fraction of what they think they are."
The women in the room stiffened slightly at the aggression, but Efsane's gaze lingered longer than necessary, her mind drawn to the audacity, the fire in this new persona.
Before the room could respond, gunshots rang out from outside. The sound shattered the tense silence, echoing through the corridors of the Lair.
Emre's eyes narrowed, and without hesitation, he strode to the entrance. Outside, one of the enemies shouted:
"Disband the alliance, or we will end you."
The system's voice rang clearly in his mind:
"Subject Infinity has unlocked a timed mission: hunt down opposing enemies, one by one, before they get Away"
Emre's grip tightened on the Infinity Blade. A smirk played across his face. "Then we start the hunt."
And with that, the first battle was set in motion.
Emre's eyes locked onto the speeding car. Without hesitation, he ran, his boots barely making a sound on the asphalt. A flick of his hand, and time froze. The world stilled—the wind stopped, the tires ceased spinning, and the shouting men hung mid-motion, trapped in suspended reality.
In an instant, Emre teleported to the driver's side. The Infinity Gun hummed softly in his grip. One precise shot—a single bullet—found its mark, and the driver's head jerked back, lifeless.
He moved to the back seat in a heartbeat. The Infinity Blade shimmered, reshaping itself into a deadly hunting knife. With lethal precision, he slashed the throats of the men inside. The cold efficiency of his movements was almost artistic—silent, swift, final.
Before the car could react, Emre teleported in front of it. The blade shifted into a katana, its edge glinting unnaturally. With a single, fluid swing, he sliced the car clean in half, metal and glass parting like paper. Sparks flew, and debris scattered across the asphalt.
Then, time returned. The frozen second collapsed back into motion. The half-car screeched, skidding to a halt. Shouts erupted, but all eyes were on Emre, standing casually, katana at his side, as if nothing had happened.
The onlookers were frozen in shock. Silence, disbelief, awe. Even seasoned gang leaders stared, mouths agape.
Efsun and Efsane leaned forward slightly, hearts racing, adrenaline surging. Their faces were flushed—not just from fear, but from exhilaration.
"You… you just did that?" Efsun whispered, voice shaky but tinged with excitement.
Efsane's fingers twisted in her hair, her eyes bright and sparkling. "That was… incredible," she breathed. Her lips curved into a small, captivated smile.
Emre sheathed the katana with a practiced flick, his movements calm, measured, almost casual. "And that," he said softly, "was just the beginning."
Emre's eyes locked onto the speeding car. Without hesitation, he ran, his boots barely making a sound on the asphalt. A flick of his hand, and time froze. The world stilled—the wind stopped, the tires ceased spinning, and the shouting men hung mid-motion, trapped in suspended reality.
In an instant, Emre teleported to the driver's side. The Infinity Gun hummed softly in his grip. One precise shot—a single bullet—found its mark, and the driver's head jerked back, lifeless.
He moved to the back seat in a heartbeat. The Infinity Blade shimmered, reshaping itself into a deadly hunting knife. With lethal precision, he slashed the throats of the men inside. The cold efficiency of his movements was almost artistic—silent, swift, final.
Before the car could react, Emre teleported in front of it. The blade shifted into a katana, its edge glinting unnaturally. With a single, fluid swing, he sliced the car clean in half, metal and glass parting like paper. Sparks flew, and debris scattered across the asphalt.
Then, time returned. The frozen second collapsed back into motion. The half-car screeched, skidding to a halt. Shouts erupted, but all eyes were on Emre, standing casually, katana at his side, as if nothing had happened.
The onlookers were frozen in shock. Silence, disbelief, awe. Even seasoned gang leaders stared, mouths agape.
Efsun and Efsane leaned forward slightly, hearts racing, adrenaline surging. Their faces were flushed—not just from fear, but from exhilaration.
"You… you just did that?" Efsun whispered, voice shaky but tinged with excitement.
Efsane's fingers twisted in her hair, her eyes bright and sparkling. "That was… incredible," she breathed. Her lips curved into a small, captivated smile.
Emre sheathed the katana with a practiced flick, his movements calm, measured, almost casual. "And that," he said softly, "was just the beginning."