Names, he had learned early on, held power. Names could evoke fear and terror, excitement and relief. Names were the essence of existence. With that knowledge, he began building his empire.

Kaz Rietveld.

Kaz Brekker.

Dirtyhands.

Bastard of the Barrel.

He rose from the cold depth of the Harbour like a Phoenix from the ashes, a spirit of rage and vengeance.

People spoke his name behind closed curtains, whispered the titles with bated breath, fearful to summon the demon.

In their minds, he was a warped shape with sharp edges and a sharper mind, cutting down every damned soul in his way. He was a myth, moving with intend and taking down his enemies like a tidal wave of doom, blood painting his shadow red.

They were fools, feeding the rumors that built Kaz Brekker's armor of iron. They fueled the demon with every whisper of "Brekker's hands were stained with blood, were covered in scars".
With every terrifying thought of "Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker's touch burned like brimstone - a single brush of his bare skin caused your flesh to wither and die," he gained power.

And Dirtyhands played into those rumors with every innocent he threatened, every rival gang he tore down with cold ruthlessness. He conned and stole and murdered with no regard to those whose lives he left in ruins.

With every crime, his reputation grew and he was one step closer to the ultimate goal.

Revenge.

Everything he did, every bone he broke, every lock he picked, every battle he won for the Dregs, he did for revenge.

He was a selfish person, rotten like the corpse of his dear older brother.

(He refused to picture what Jordie would think of him now.)

Kaz Brekker did what he did to sate that burning, clawing, vicious rage inside of him.

Tonight was no different.

Despite the steady growth of influence the Dregs gained, opposing gangs made it a habit of trying to undermine their position in the Barrel.

The Dregs had been a part of Ketterdam for years, but before Kaz had made them a player dangerous enough to participate in the game of power, the gang had been a small group of no-ones. Their rise in the Barrel was fresh, barely three years now, and big players like the Dime Lions or Black Tips still thought they could crush the Dregs before too much damage was done.

Kaz grinned savagely at the thought. Too much of his plans were built on the Dregs' success, he would not allow anyone to foil his revenge.

For nearly a month now, the Razorgulls had been trying to extant their territory. Two weeks ago, they had set up a secret meeting with the owner of the Red Tulip, a pleasure house on East Stave, right in the heart of Dregs turf.

Did they really think they could invade his territory without Kaz knowing? The thought made rage simmer beneath his skin, his gloved hand tightening on his cane. He had the best spider in all of Ketterdam in his possession. Nothing went down in the Barrel without him knowing.

The man owning the Red Tulip had been smart enough to decline their advances if only to save his own skin (you did not cross Kaz Brekker and live to see the next sunrise).

Kaz had informed Per Haskell of the new development with the rival gang, and the man had instructed him to set a meeting with the Razorgulls at the Exchange (because talking seemed to be Per Haskell's go-to answer for any gang-related issue). When the Razorgulls refused, he had left Kaz to his own devices.

Kaz was sure the old man would tell anyone who listened (and those who didn't) he'd been the one to make the Razorgulls back off, but the Dregs knew who really run them, so Kaz would let the man keep his illusion of power. Popularity wasn't his goal anyway.

Kaz would make an example of the Razorgulls, to prove once and for all that the Dregs were not to be messed with.

The trap was perfect. He had paid the Red Tulip a visit, instructed the owner, Malcolm Rietzov, to set up another meeting with the Razorgulls.
Six gang members had shown up. (not the leader or even his Lieutenant, Kaz had realized with disappointment). The room Rietzov had led them to was right beneath the roof, so the only escape was the way they had come, which would be blocked by Kaz's people.

Anika and Jesper were flanking him, staring up at the pleasure house with dark glee, anticipation radiating off of them. Jesper touched his hands to his guns.
Kaz couldn't see her, but he felt Inej watching them from the roof of the Red Tulip.

If everything went according to plan, she would stay hidden, a secret weapon in his arsenal. If not... Well, the top floor had two windows in the hallway and one in each room, so Inej would be able to climb through no matter where the fight would be.

Kaz pushed past the door, Jesper and Anika following close behind, the Zemeni twirling his guns, Anika brandishing twin knives. His cane made a sharp noise on the polished dark wood, the rhythmic thump a steady background sound as they marched up two flights of stairs.

"Yo, boss," Jesper whispered, a sharp grin etched into his face, "wanna go out for dinner after this is done? I'm starving." Kaz rolled his eyes, shooting the boy a look. "You're starving because Anika dared you not to eat anything for 24 hours. She can suffer your company after."
Anika made an indignant sound. "Why does that sound like a punishment?"
Kaz flashed her a dangerous smirk, all teeth, and Anika groaned.

They climbed the last steps and the teenagers fell silent. There was always the possibility of this kind of thing going sideways. Gang brawls often ended with people either injured or dead. "No mourners."
"No funerals," they murmured. Kaz collected his thoughts, took a steadying breath, and slammed the door open, Anika and Jesper piling in behind him.

The six Razorgulls sat in front of a wooden desk, papers and ink piled on top, while Rietzov stood awkwardly to the side, searching for something in a small cabinet. Now, they spun around in surprise, hands reaching for something to defend themselves with. Rietzov dove behind the desk with a terrified squeak.

Kaz took quick stock of their weapons. Two guys carrying guns, old revolvers, not cheap, but not expensive either. A dark-skinned girl, Novi Zem born, pulled a dagger on them, while another girl, young, probably younger than Kaz himself, brandished two pistols. The last two Razorgulls, twins, if Kaz had to guess, Kaelish, with dark red curls, a man and a woman in their late twenties, put on brass knuckles, falling into a fighting stance. They were the first to recover from the shock.

Two shots rang out in quick succession and the first two men Kaz had noticed dropped dead, identical holes between their eyes. Jesper's face was split by a lopsided grin, his pearl-handled revolvers smoking. He twirled them around his fingers and blew the smoke away theatrically.

"Now, now, don't be hasty," the sharpshooter drawled, pointing both weapons at the girl with the pistols. She bristled but didn't lower her own firearms from where they were pointed at the Zemeni.

Kaz stepped forward, drawing the Razorgulls' attention to him. The twins blanched, gazes locked on his cane and gloved hands, color draining from their faces. The dark-skinned girl had a look of horror on her face, the other almost dropped her pistols.

The power of names, he mused, letting a small, razor-sharp smirk stretch across his lips.

"You are trespassing. This is Dregs territory."

"Fuck off, Dirtyhands, we're here for business," growled the female twin, flexing her fingers. Kaz watched sweat bead on her upper lip.

"Are you? The Razorgulls have been a little... insolent lately."

"What'cha gonna do about it?" spit her brother, stepping forward to tower over the Dregs' Lieutenant. Kaz felt a small flutter of giddy anticipation.

"I'm not gonna do anything. But you... will die." His eyes flashed, his lips curled, and the rasp in his voice gave him a dangerous and manic edge.

The man flexed his muscles, unease and disgust racing across his features, before settling on anger.
"It's four against two and a cripple. It's not us who'll die."

From the corner of his eyes, Anika's movement was a blur. Kaz heard the body drop before he saw the knife sticking out of the man's chest.

"Oh, I like our chances," she purred, unsheathing another blade.

The red-headed woman screamed. It was a broken sound, laced with anguish, pain, and rage. It was the same noise Kaz heard inside his head every second of the day.

"I'm gonna kill you!" she wailed, throwing herself at Anika with a furious yell.

Jesper and the girl were still trapped in their stand-off, both refusing to lower their guns first.

Kaz raised his cane just in time to deflect the Razorgulls' dagger headed for his chest. The Zemeni girl pulled back and slashed at his legs, the blade glinting dangerously in the candlelight. Kaz side-stepped, the end of his cane cracking across her chins.
She hissed, stumbled, but stayed standing, rushing at him again.

Kaz watched her movements with narrowed eyes, barely missing the strike to his stomach. He swung the cane again, crow head first, but his opponent ducked, twirled around on her knees, and fell into a perfect fighting stance.

Kaz scowled. Those were not street-brawl-level martial arts skills. The grace with which she moved reminded him of Inej, though this girl had nothing on his Wraith.

He took two quick steps forward, feinting left, bringing the heavy crow head around in a short arc from the right.
Leaping unbelievably high, his opponent evaded the attack, her legs striking his torso mid-air.

Stumbling back, he blocked a right hook with his forearms, kicking at her stomach. His leg twinged. She tripped, rolling over her shoulder to soften the landing, rising back to her feet just as Kaz hit the cane's head across her torso.

The breathless gasp that escaped her was lost to the sound of her body striking the ground, her dagger sliding across the floor. She was wheezing for air, coughing roughly, tears beading her eyelashes. Dirtyhands raised his cane to finish it, when her feet shot out, catching him in the sternum, his breath leaving him in a rush.

His back hit the wall, his cane slipping from his fingers. She was on him in a second, her forearms pressing against his throat.

Kaz realized with growing terror that her sleeve had been pushed up during the fight. Her bare skin pressed against the underside of his jaw. He wheezed, pain racing like fire down his throat, but nothing compared to the nausea that came with her touch. His vision shifted, mouth open in an attempt to draw in air.

Water lapped at his feet; deep, clammy, dirty. Her skin was cold. It's winter, she's not a corpse, he reminded himself. It did nothing to ease the claw clasping his heart, squeezing, squeezing.

He couldn't breathe.

Something wet splattered across his face, the weight disappearing from his throat. He lurched away from the wall with a breathless gasp, coughing wetly.
His hands were shaking. He touched his throat gingerly, swallowing with difficulty.

Focus, he hissed mentally, clenching his fists.

Anika stood over the Kaelish woman, her throat torn open, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.
Jesper watched Kaz worriedly, the Razorgulls girl bleeding from a shot to the heart, pistols slipping from limp hands.
The dark-skinned girl that had been choking Kaz had a knife buried in the back of her head. Sankta Marya.

He carefully extracted the weapon, blood bubbling around the blade.

"Inej," he said, offering Sankta Marya to its rightful owner. The window was open, he noticed.
She took it without a word, trying to mask the worry showing on her face. His rasp was even worse than usual. His stomach hurt.

"What now, Brekker?" Anika had a nasty bruise on her face. It would color even darker the following day. Kaz clamped down on the memories threatening to resurface. "We are here to make a point. There's no one better equipped to deliver a message than the dead."
Jesper grimaced and Inej had this disapproving look in her eyes. Kaz raised a challenging eyebrow, daring her to say something. She didn't.

Kaz pulled a hidden knife from his boot, crouching down next to the dark-skinned girl. His hands were still trembling, he noticed. He gritted his teeth, hating himself for the weakness.

With cold eyes, he set to work. The message he wanted to deliver was clear: hands off his territory.
The blade cut through muscle and bone with a sickening sawing sound, blood running over his hands, coating his arms like red paint.
The smell was nauseating; metallic, thick, rich.

His breathing was unsteady. His hands were still trembling faintly. He could feel the disintegrating flesh of Jordie's body on his skin. His gloves were wet with blood.

The knife passed through the last layer of skin and hit the ground. Kaz took the severed hand and stuffed it into the body's lax mouth.

He cut open her shirt next, taking the knife to the Razorgulls tattoo. Five birds flying in a wedge formation. He worked methodically. When he held the piece of flesh in his hand, he carved the Dregs tattoo into her stomach. Blood painted his vision red, his fingers, arms, the body in front of him, the ground. Everything was red, the Ruby liquid moving with a strange, alien rhythm.

His hands were steady, his breathing even. He could no longer feel dead flesh beneath his fingers. There was no water lapping at his feet anymore.

He took a breath. Jesper and Anika were working on the remaining bodies. Inej had her back turned, quiet prayers falling from her lips. Kaz shook his head. Ketterdam was a saintless island. Only profit was worth worshipping.

"Let's move." He picked up his cane, its weight the last reassurance his mind needed to quiet again.

The following day, the Razorgulls found six of their members hanging by their necks from the roof of the Bird of Prey, the gang's home. The bodies had been mutilated; hands trapped between pale lips, their tattoos carved from their bodies, pinned to the wall like grotesque presents. A crow drinking from a cup had been roughly carved into their torso, showing exactly who had played grim reaper.

Dirtyhands struck again.

The Bastard of the Barrel coated himself in more blood.

Kaz Brekker is a feral demon, don't cross him, you will die a horrible death.