Inside a large conference room, a massive electronic screen dominated the front wall. The screen was split into twelve sections—each one corresponding to a member of the High Table Council. As the video feed connected, one by one, the elders' faces appeared.
But in the end, only nine of the twelve sections lit up. The remaining three stayed dark—those were the members who had been attacked and had sent distress signals.
The atmosphere in the room turned heavy as the council acknowledged the absence of the three.
Elder Maktoum was the first to speak.
"The Assassins' League—after years of silence—they've returned, and this time they've struck three of our own."
"The High Table stands on the brink. We all know how the Assassins' League operates."
A Russian elder responded coldly, "If they want war, we'll give them war."
"The High Table fears no one."
The elder representing the Mafia added, "It's war then. If we stay passive, they'll be at our doorstep soon."
With the room unified in its resolve, Maktoum continued, "I have the footage sent by the attacked elders. You'll see for yourselves I'm not exaggerating."
The blank screens suddenly flickered to life, now playing the surveillance footage from the attacks.
In Komora and Grammont's recordings, the attackers' identities became immediately clear—those gun techniques could only belong to the Assassins' League.
"It really is them…"
Then one of the Asian elders furrowed his brow in surprise and pointed at the third video. "That footage from Casablanca… Are we sure it's not fake?"
"Even Captain America couldn't tank submachine gun fire like that."
The video showed Smith Doyle charging through a hail of bullets from three SMGs and killing the attackers like nothing had happened.
The others watched in silence.
The Mafia elder muttered, "No wonder the League dares to come after us. They've got a secret weapon."
Maktoum's face tightened. "Could they have replicated the Super Soldier Serum?"
Silence fell again.
The Asian elder broke it: "If they really did… we might as well surrender now. If every assassin becomes a super soldier, what hope do we have?"
As pessimistic as it sounded, the others nodded in agreement. One Captain America had nearly toppled Hydra. A whole league of them would mean the end of the High Table.
"But would surrender even save us?" Maktoum said. "This is an organization that sees itself as the world's purifier. They don't leave loose ends."
He went on, "From the footage, it seems only Smith Doyle possesses those abilities. The other attackers, while skilled, fought within our expectations—and they suffered significant losses."
"So I believe Doyle is an exception."
Another elder asked grimly, "But what if he's just the first of many?"
"Then what?"
Maktoum's eyes darkened. "Then we die. Might as well pick a good plot for our graves."
"But before that, we take at least two of their teeth with us."
The Russian elder leaned forward. "Do you have a plan?"
"Yes," Maktoum said. "If you watched closely, even Doyle had to dodge a grenade. His body has limits."
"If we concentrate all our efforts and eliminate him first—if no others like him show up—then the tide turns in our favor."
"I support your plan," said the Russian.
"So do I," said the Mafia elder.
One by one, the council voiced their support. They had no choice. If they wanted to survive, they had to strike hard—and fast—before another super-soldier emerged.
---
Meanwhile — New York, the Continental Hotel.
Without John Wick's help, Winston couldn't withstand the High Table's enforcers and the deadly assassin Zero.
The enforcers were heavily armed and highly resistant to damage. Winston's men were slaughtered almost effortlessly. And without Wick to keep Zero and his apprentices at bay, they rampaged like ghosts of death.
The enforcers breached Winston's panic room. The Adjudicator stepped in, delivering the final judgment.
"Winston," she said, "no one defies the will of the High Table."
"You broke the rules. You never stood a chance."
Winston sighed. He had lost.
Without Wick as his blade, his forces had fallen, and the Assassins' League hadn't drawn enough attention away from the Adjudicator's path.
With a bitter expression, he whispered, "I've lost. I accept the punishment."
The Adjudicator stared down at him. "For defying the High Table, I shall separate your soul from your flesh."
Zero stepped forward and, with a single motion, decapitated Winston, then took the head with him.
---
Elsewhere, the battlefield was different.
In the textile mill, Mr. X drew his twin pistols and activated bullet time. He moved like a storm through the High Table's defenses, cutting through them with surgical precision. Supported by his allies, he tore through their lines with overwhelming force.
Caine barely had a chance to act. One curved bullet hit him square in the head before he could respond—misled by the physics-defying trajectory.
Elsewhere, the missions were just as successful. Grammont had sent his elites out to attack the Assassins' League, leaving his headquarters exposed. He was torn apart with ease.
Komora, still recovering from John Wick's earlier attacks, couldn't put up much of a fight either. Their forces were decimated, their defenses shattered.
The Assassins' League had struck deep—and struck hard.
—End of chapter—
Author's Note:
Enjoying the story and want to read ahead?
Join my Patreon.com/TenaciousHare and unlock 15-20+ chapters in advance, plus faster updates!
Your support keeps this story alive I truly appreciate it!
Thank you, everyone! 🗿👍
~ Tenacious Hare 🥕❤️