Chapter 42: Iron Hooves in the Alleys of England
Edward's declared war was no mere gang skirmish; it was a "holy purging," as Tula described it. The convoy set out—a procession of black, iron-clad horse carriages carrying men bound together only by their fear of Edward's wrath. Among them were those who had knelt in previous battles, choosing fealty over a grave. The rhythm of the horses' hooves on London's stone pavements beat like funeral drums.
Liverpool Docks: The Cold Night of Betrayal
Fog blanketed the pier as Edward's carriages surrounded the warehouse belonging to "Barker," leader of the Black Fang syndicate. The lead carriage came to a halt. Edward stepped out, his long cloak billowing, followed by Tula, whose body flickered like black smoke between the legs of the restless horses.
"Edward! Listen to me!" Barker screamed. "They threatened my family! I had no choice!" Edward pulled a wooden chair and sat coldly, lighting his pipe. "The choice is always there, Barker. You chose easy gold; I chose to make an example of you." With a flick of his finger, the "surrendered" gangsters leapt from behind the carriages, descending upon Barker's guards in a silent massacre of blades. Tula leaned toward Barker, whispering words in an ancient tongue that made the man scream as he watched his own shadow rise to throttle him. "Burn the docks," Edward said, rising toward his carriage. "I want everyone in Liverpool to see that the fire of my betrayal never goes out."
Birmingham: Gunfire and Gambler's Grandeur
Two days later, the convoy cut through the narrow streets of Birmingham. The horses exhaled plumes of steam into the frozen air. The target was the "Gentlemen's Club," where the elite traitors gathered. Edward's men stormed the hall, gunfire shattering the opulent crystal chandeliers. The boss, "Miller," stood behind a gambling table, his hand trembling around a pistol. "Edward! You're fighting ghosts!" Miller shouted. "The Ravencloft family will crush you!" Edward laughed—a sound hollow and devoid of warmth. "The Ravenclofts are very far away right now. As for me... I am standing right in front of you." In a blur, Tula surged through the hail of bullets, turning them to ash before they could reach Edward. It ended with Edward driving his dagger into Miller's heart atop a pile of blood-stained banknotes, while the carriages waited patiently outside in the rain.
Manchester: The Witch-Hunt in the Alleys
The journey continued for four more days. In Manchester, the strike of iron hooves on wet ground was the only sound heard. Edward hunted the "Silent Alley" gang. He wasn't content with mere killing; he had Tula cast psychological terror into their hearts. The assassins found themselves trapped in dead-end alleys, only to see Edward's black horses emerge from the mist, their iron shoes glowing with a faint, magical fire. "Who among you wishes to die quickly?" Edward asked, wiping a smear of blood from his face. No one answered; the silence was but a prelude to screams that shook the city's foundations.
London: The Grand Stage at Big Ben
On the seventh day, the force returned to the heart of London. The capital felt heavy; shops were shuttered, and the streets were empty save for the "Ravencloft" patrols. As the clock struck midnight, dozens of black carriages lined up in a semi-circle before the Houses of Parliament, facing the Great Clock of Big Ben.
The scene was majestic. Hundreds of Ravencloft riders blocked the path, wearing leather armor and the family's golden crests, led by the three family patriarchs on massive steeds. A servant opened the door of the royal carriage, and Edward stepped out calmly. He adjusted his coat collar and stood in the center. To his left stood Tula, wielding a scepter of darkness; to his right stood the gang leaders who had transformed from enemies into loyal disciples.
Edward looked at the hands of Big Ben moving slowly, then at the enemy army, and spoke in a booming voice: "I have crossed England's length and breadth to reach you. Behind me are the corpses of all who thought of betraying me... and before you are two choices: either bow now to my horses, or let this clock become the greatest headstone in your family's history."
At that moment, the horses on both sides neighed fiercely, and the Ravencloft commander drew his sword, signaling the start of the battle that would change the face of England forever.