Evilness of the mind : master of shadows

Ambition demands sacrifice.

Arin knew this truth well. His dream wasn't something that could be wished into existence — it had to be taken. No one in Okama would hand him the power he craved. If he wanted to rise, he'd have to build his empire from the ground up, brick by bloody brick.

He started small — drug deals in the alleys of Utsuro, Okama's most crime-infested city. But Arin didn't want to be another street dealer scraping for change. No, he had bigger plans. Within two years, he wasn't just a player in the underworld — he was rewriting its rules.

With his closest allies at his side — Riko, Jame, Paplo, Diablo, Kade, Riven, and Zane — Arin's influence spread like wildfire. Their drug trade wasn't just profitable — it was untouchable. But Arin wasn't satisfied with that alone. He opened a chain of casinos scattered across Okama's largest cities. These casinos became hubs of wealth and power, drawing in corrupt officials, politicians, and wealthy gamblers. It wasn't just about money anymore.

It was about control.

The Raid

June 12, 2024.

The night was supposed to be routine. Customers lined the floors of "The Gilded Dream," one of Arin's largest and most lucrative casinos. The air buzzed with excitement — gamblers throwing down chips, waiters weaving through the crowd with trays of drinks. Beneath the golden chandeliers, no one noticed the storm brewing outside.

But Arin did.

He watched the door from his private suite at the top floor. Something felt off. The cars parked outside weren't the usual flashy sedans of high-rollers. They were black, unmarked vans.

"Riko," Arin said, his eyes narrowing. "They're here."

Riko, seated at the poker table, leaned forward, his face tense. "How many?"

"More than enough," Arin replied coldly.

Seconds later, the storm hit.

BAM!

The front doors of the casino burst open as armored officers stormed in. "THIS IS A RAID! EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!" Their voices echoed over the clamor of gamblers screaming and fleeing for cover. Armed soldiers in riot gear swept through every floor like a flood.

"MOVE!" Arin barked.

He, Riko, and the rest of his lieutenants sprinted to the backroom. Their secret stash of weapons was hidden in a reinforced compartment behind a steel wall. The code was punched in with trembling fingers, and within seconds, 11 firearms were distributed — one for each of them.

"Stay calm," Arin muttered, loading a magazine into his handgun. "They're expecting panic. We give them precision."

But his heart was pounding. His finger hovered over the trigger. No matter how many deals he'd made, how many threats he'd faced, this was different. The faces behind those riot shields weren't gangsters. They were soldiers of the state.

He glanced at Riko, his right-hand man.

"I can't do it," Arin muttered, his eyes darting between the officers outside and the gun in his hand. His breathing was shallow. "They're not like the others, Riko. They're—"

"THEY'RE IN YOUR WAY!" Riko roared, grabbing Arin by the collar. "If you can't pull that trigger, you can forget your dream of being king. You said you'd lead us to the top. SO LEAD!"

CRACK!

The first officer kicked in the door.

Time slowed.

Arin's heart stopped. His fingers gripped the cold steel of his gun. His eyes met the officer's. It was either him or them.

BANG!

The officer's body crumpled to the floor, his riot shield clattering beside him. Blood pooled beneath his body.

BANG! BANG!

Another officer. Then another. Arin stopped thinking. His mind turned cold, mechanical. Every pull of the trigger was an instinct, not a choice. No hesitation. No mercy.

When the last shot echoed through the air, only silence remained. The bodies of 12 officers lay scattered on the ground like broken dolls. Blood seeped into the cracks of the marble floor. Arin's hands shook as he lowered the gun, his breathing shallow and uneven.

The others stared at him in stunned silence. Paplo leaned against the wall, eyes wide with disbelief. Jame knelt, whispering something under his breath.

Riko stepped forward, looking Arin dead in the eye. His grin was slow, predatory. "There he is," he said, patting Arin on the back. "That's the man I pledged my loyalty to."

But Arin didn't feel like a king.

He felt like a killer.

A New Beginning

They couldn't stay. The police were ruthless, and the media was already spinning the story as the "Gilded Dream Massacre."

Arin and his crew fled the scene in armored vehicles, abandoning their casinos, money, and pride. For weeks, they moved in silence, hiding in the countryside of Okama. When they finally found refuge, it was in an old industrial complex, its walls crumbling but sturdy enough to hide them from prying eyes.

They weren't the same men anymore. They'd killed police officers. The whole country was looking for them now.

But something unexpected happened. People started to follow them. Street rats. Desperate men with nowhere to go. Ex-soldiers tired of following orders. Their numbers grew from seven to 500 in the span of a year. They weren't just criminals now — they were legends.

And at the center of it all was Arin Akama, the man who killed 12 officers and walked away.

A Sudden Tragedy

June 30, 2030.

The news headlines sent shockwaves through the country.

"UNDERWORLD KINGPIN ARIN AKAMA KILLED IN TRAGIC CAR ACCIDENT."

It was everywhere. Broadcasts played images of the crash site, a twisted wreck of metal and flame on the side of a cliff. Officials confirmed that Arin's body had been identified, and his closest allies were wanted for questioning.

The Shadows were in shambles.

Riko smashed a chair against the wall, shouting like a madman. "HE'S NOT DEAD!" he screamed, his voice raw. "HE CAN'T BE DEAD!"

But no one believed him. They all attended Arin's funeral a week later. They lowered his casket into the ground. Jame wiped his eyes as he stared at the headstone. "He deserved better," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

For many of them, this was the end.

But they were wrong.

The Return

A week after the funeral, it happened.

Knock-knock-knock.

The sound echoed through the hideout. Riko, still on edge, stood and grabbed his pistol. He glanced at Zane, who nodded and pulled his own weapon.

"Who is it?" Riko barked. No one answered.

He inched toward the door, weapon raised. Slowly, he cracked it open. What he saw made his heart stop.

It was him.

Not a ghost. Not a memory. Not a hallucination.

It was Arin Akama.

"Miss me?" Arin said, his eyes sharp and cold. His gaze swept over the room. "You look surprised."

Jame's voice trembled. "H-how... how are you alive?"

Arin stepped inside, calm as ever. His eyes scanned each of them, his gaze colder than the Okama winter. "I'm not alive," he said softly, his smirk growing sharper. "I'm free."

He revealed the truth. He had staged it all — the crash, the funeral, the headlines. Everything had been his plan. He knew he was too visible, too well-known. He had enemies watching his every move. So he did the only thing no one could see coming.

He killed himself.

Or at least, that's what the world believed.

"Dead men aren't hunted," he explained, his grin razor-sharp. "Now, I can do what I want, when I want, and no one will see me coming."

The others knelt. Not because they feared him — but because they believed in him.

That day, Arin Akama became something greater than a man. To the world, he was dead. But in the shadows of Okama, he was reborn.

Not as a king.

Not as a criminal.

But as a god.