KING OF NOTHING as told by Old Man Santo... story by L. Maurelli 3

 Muerto Block, two nights after the last Scarrament

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You wanna know about the Block? About the Scarrament?

Sit your ass down, kid. I ain’t got all night, but this story don’t get told quick.

Yeah, I was there. I been there every year since the first one. Since ’84, when the streets ran red and the sky was black with smoke. Hell, half the ghosts down on 63rd still walk ‘cause of what went down.

You kids today — you see the Burning Ring, the Throne of Guns, and think it’s just some gangland spectacle. A show.

It ain’t.

It’s a debt. A wound that don’t close. We bleed once a year so we don’t bleed all the damn time. That’s the Pact. The Scarrament.

Lemme take you back.

Back then, there were twelve Houses fightin’ for control of Muerto Block. No rules, no alliances worth shit. Just blood and iron and the hunger to rule.

The Sangre Astecas from 89th — jaguar ink and blood rites. Mean bastards.

The Vatos Locos from the South Side — loud, fearless, wild to the bone.

The Concrete Pharaohs on 63rd — kings in gold chains and pyramid tattoos.

And the Sato Clan — honor-bound. The last of the old way. Led by a hard man named Kazuo Sato, married to the strongest woman I ever knew — Helena Chavez, Block-born and fire to the core.

The other Houses? Doomwrench. Kintsugi. La Mannaia Nera. Morrigu Blades. Street Fighter Originals. F.A.N.G. Unit. Red Mist Shogunate.

Nine months the wars raged. Whole blocks burned. Families gone. Cops pulled out and never came back.

And the Sato? Held their ground too long. Betrayed. Burned.

I seen it — three days their compound burned. Smelled the smoke for weeks. Thought none survived.

But one did. Little Kaito — their boy. Dragged out by a street woman. Raised in the ash.

When it was all done, seven Houses stood. The leaders met in the ruins of St. Ignatius — what was left of it.

They made the Pact. The Scarrament. One fight a year in the open. No more wars in the dark. One crowned King or Queen, one ruler for twelve months.

Keeps the peace — mostly.

And so it began.

Doomwrench — twin terrors, Breaker Cain and Brother Hex. Breaker’s half metal now, after Koji carved him up. Still dangerous as hell.

Kintsugi Blood Clan — Oyabun Golden Sun. Walks like a ghost. Bleeds gold. His blade boys worship him like a god.

La Mannaia Nera — King Leo the Third. Thinks he’s Caesar reborn. Cold, cruel, clever.

Morrigu Blades — Red Veil leads ‘em now. Blades and old blood rites. You don’t cross ‘em.

Street Fighter Originals — Chun-Li at the helm. Still the cleanest House in the dirt. Fights for the fight, not for power.

F.A.N.G. Unit — Agent Joe McNamara — yeah, a woman. Coldest mind in the game. Moves like death, plans like war. Precise. Ruthless. You won’t see it coming.

And the Red Mist Shogunate — Mr. Lee and Chef Koji. Silent. Deadly. Reigning Kings.

Chef Koji… that man’s a butcher with poetry in his soul. Current King. And that story, kid — that’s why you’re here.

Every year’s got its ghosts.

’89 — Bloody Valentina. Ran the Block on charm and razors. Left a trail of addicts and corpses.

’97 — Ryu. First to win bare-fisted. Refused the Throne. Left with honor but no crown.

2012 — King Leo III. Ruled with velvet gloves and a steel garrote.

2024 — Chef Koji. Cut Breaker Cain to ribbons in under a minute.

Now his name’s etched in iron on the Ring wall.

Two nights ago — I was there. Wouldn’t miss it.

Block was burnin’ with fire and noise. The Seven OGs gathered at the Throne. Ritual starts — Muerto’s Might hits the street three times for each House.

But before the strikes, before the ritual words — we got the performance.

Saint Marilyn & The Molotov Pyre — the only band that could ever play the Hymn and make the streets shake.

Velvet Fire stalked the stage in blood-red leather, voice like a blade, screamin' the first lines of Fangs on the Flagstone.

Johnny Silverhand shredded like a man possessed — they say his strings snapped mid-solo and he played on with raw wire.

The whole band roared behind ‘em — Penalty Kill driving the drums like gunfire, Main Vein and Noir Static laying down thunder beneath.

And when Killspree the Slayer hit the riff that brings the blood — the crowd went feral.

People punched the air, the walls, each other — pure, primal frenzy.

By the time the last chord slammed down, the crowd was chantin’ death.

Perfect mood for blood.

Then — smoke shifts. A figure walks out.

Hooded. Alone. Blade across his back.

Kaito.

Voice like thunder:

I AM KAITO, leader of the Children of the Ashes, with the fatherless and motherless descendants of The Sangre Astecas from 89th, the Vatos Locos from South Side, The Concrete Pharaohs on 63rd, and the last son of Sato and Helena Chavez from right here on the Muerto Block… I DEMAND MY RIGHT TO BLOOD.

Whole damn Block froze.

Breaker Cain growled — I’ll gut this runt myself.

Golden Sun just nodded slow — The Block remembers all blood.

King Leo? Smirked. We do not honor ghosts.

Red Veil whispered her old chants.

Chun-Li stood straight — If he fights, he earns.

McNamara adjusted her shades — cold as ever.

And Mr. Lee… sipped his tea. Then spoke:

Let him fight the Gauntlet. Blood earns blood.

Place went mad.

Fourteen fighters. Seven Houses. One Ashen Son.

I watched it all.

First came the Blades — razors flashing. He moved like smoke.

Then F.A.N.G. — hard hits, precision. Took ‘em down bleeding and gasping.

Street Fighters — that nearly ended him. Honor held, they let him pass.

Doomwrench came with chains — he fought blind, bleeding, but broke ‘em both.

Kintsugi — scarred warriors. Blades cut deep. He barely stood.

La Mannaia Nera — elegance and death. Took a blade through the shoulder but refused to fall.

Fourteen entered. One walked out.

Kaito — broken, barely breathing — stood alone. The Ring shook with chants:

ASHES REMEMBER! ASHES REMEMBER!

Then came Koji.

Calm. Barefoot. No weapon. Didn’t need one.

Kaito stood. Had nothin’ left but spirit.

The bell tolled.

Koji beat him like no man should survive. Bones broke. Blood poured. The kid fell, rose, fell again. Wouldn’t quit.

The crowd turned — ugly. Chantin’ for death.

KILL HIM! KILL HIM!

Koji raised his hand — coulda ended it.

Instead, struck the street three times with his palm.

Turned to the OGs — voice like the gods themselves:

I CLAIM MY RIGHT AS DEPARTING VICTOR — AND YIELD TO THIS WARRIOR.

LET THE ASHES RISE.

Then faced the crowd — cold as winter:

AND NOW — LET THE SCARREAMENT BEGIN. THOSE OF YOU WITH HOPES OF POWER — STEP UP… AND GET DOWN.

Kid was carried out by his gang. Ashes live now. The Block knows it.

So, you wanna fight in the Ring one day, huh?

Remember this: the Block don’t give nothin’. You take it — in blood, in scars, in fire.

And if you’re lucky, maybe one day… they’ll chant your name in the dark.

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END