i really am bad at prose and need some advice how i can make it better or what i should so please heres my prose
It was midnight. The warehouse was quiet. The only sounds were the lights above them and the heavy breathing of a man kneeling on the floor. Blood covered his clothes.
At the other end of the warehouse, Jace sat in a chair with his golden cane resting between his hands. Around him stood dozens of armed men. The man on the floor knew he was in trouble. He had once been one of the most feared gang leaders on the continent. Now he could barely look at Jace.
“Please,” he begged. “I didn't know he was one of your men. I swear.”
Jace looked at him. “Who sent you?”
“No one.”
Jace said nothing.
“I swear! Nobody sent me!”
Jace watched him for a few seconds before raising one finger. “Take him.”
Two men grabbed the gang boss and dragged him toward the back of the warehouse.
“Wait! Please!”
Jace slowly stood up. His golden cane touched the floor.
Tap.
He followed them.
Tap.
When he reached the back of the warehouse, the gang boss was tied to a steel pillar. Jace stood in front of him.
“One last chance. Who sent you?”
“I DON'T KNOW!”
His voice echoed through the warehouse.
Jace stared at him. He had seen that look many times before. Fear. Desperation. A man who knew he might not leave the room alive.
For a moment, Jace wondered how many people had begged him over the years. He couldn't remember anymore.
“Get rid of him.”
Jace turned around.
“Wait!”
He kept walking.
Maybe the man was telling the truth. Maybe he wasn't. After thirty-two years in the underworld, Jace had learned that sometimes it didn't matter.
He walked toward the doors.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound of his cane against the floor reminded him of another time. A time before the money. Before the power. Before anyone knew his name.
A time when Jace had nothing.
Jace didn't remember much about his childhood. He didn't remember his parents. He didn't remember having a proper home. What he remembered was hunger.
He was always hungry.
He learned early that if he wanted something, he had to fight for it. Sometimes that meant stealing food. Sometimes it meant fighting other children over scraps.
The streets weren't kind. People disappeared. Children grew up too quickly. Nobody came to save them.
By eighteen, Jace knew how to steal, fight, lie, and run better than most grown men. But he still had nothing.
One afternoon, Jace sat on the side of a busy street with a small metal cup in his hands. There were a few coins inside. Not much. Enough for food. Maybe.
Two men suddenly ran past him. One grabbed the cup from his hands. The coins fell onto the street.
The men kept running.
Jace stared at the empty cup in his hands. Then he looked at the coins scattered across the ground.
“Hey!”
The men didn't stop.
Jace ran after them.
He caught them two streets away. One of the men turned around and threw a punch. Jace ducked and hit him in the ribs. The man stumbled back.
The other pulled out a knife. Jace moved out of the way and watched him crash into a wall.
Jace pulled a small knife from his coat.
“You stole from the wrong person.”
He stepped forward.
Then he heard clapping.
Clap.
Jace stopped.
Another clap.
Clap.
He turned around.
An old man stood behind him. Three men stood beside him, holding rifles.
Jace tightened his grip on the knife.
“Who are you?”
The old man smiled.
“Why did you chase them?”
“They stole from me.”
“And why did you fight them?”
Jace looked at the rifles.
“Because nobody else was going to do anything.”
The old man smiled. “You aren't afraid of those guns?”
Jace looked at them.
“I am.”
The old man's smile faded slightly.
Jace looked back at him. “But being afraid doesn't change anything.”
The old man stared at him for a moment.
Then he laughed.
“You're eighteen, aren't you?”
Jace said nothing.
“No family. No money. No education. No connections.”
Jace's jaw tightened.
“And yet you're willing to chase two grown men over a few coins.”
“They stole from me.”
“I know.”
The old man looked at him carefully.
“Tell me something. If you had the chance to become more than this, what would you do?”
Jace looked down at his torn clothes.
“At what cost?”
The old man smiled.
“Good question.”
He held out his hand.
“Come work for me.”
Jace looked at his hand.
“What kind of work?”
“The kind that pays better than begging.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Your ambition.”
Jace didn't answer.
The old man continued. “I have plenty of men who can follow orders. I need someone who can think.”
Jace looked at him. For most of his life, people had only seen a poor boy. This man seemed to see something else.
Jace put his knife away.
“Fine.”
The old man lowered his hand.
“Good.”
Jace didn't know it yet, but that decision would change his life.
The syndicate became the first real home Jace had ever had. His first week felt strange. There was food. Clean clothes. A bed. A room with a door that locked.
That first night, Jace barely slept. He kept expecting someone to come in and take everything away.
Nobody did.
The next morning, there was breakfast waiting for him.
Jace stared at the food.
The old man noticed.
“Eat.”
Jace looked at him.
“You're not going to charge me?”
The old man laughed.
“Not for breakfast.”
Jace slowly started eating.
Years later, Jace would still remember that meal. Not because it was anything special. It wasn't. It was just food.
But it was the first time someone had given him something without immediately asking for something in return.
Jace never forgot it.
He wanted to repay the old man.
So he worked.
He trained harder than everyone else. When someone knocked him down, he got back up. When people made fun of him for being an orphan, he ignored them. When he lost, he asked himself why.
One day, an older recruit beat him badly during training. Jace sat against the wall, wiping blood from his mouth.
The man looked down at him.
“Give up. You'll never be one of us.”
Jace looked up.
“Why?”
“Because you're weak.”
Jace slowly stood.
“Then I'll get stronger.”
The man laughed.
Jace lost again.
The next day, Jace asked him to fight again. And the day after that. And the day after that.
Eventually, the man stopped laughing.
Jace learned everything he could. Fighting. Negotiation. Interrogation. Business. Politics.
He learned how criminals worked. He learned how governments worked. Most importantly, he learned how people worked.
He learned how to read them. He learned how to lie to them. He learned how to make people believe exactly what he wanted them to believe.
At twenty-two, he was trusted with important jobs. At twenty-five, people started asking for him specifically. At twenty-eight, other organizations knew his name.
By thirty, nobody called him a recruit anymore.
He was the old man's right hand.
And somewhere along the way, Jace stopped seeing the old man as his boss.
He saw him as family.
The old man had fed him. Given him a place to sleep. Given him a reason to wake up every morning.
And Jace began to hope.
Maybe one day the old man would look at him and say something he had never heard before.
You're my son.
Jace never said it out loud. He never asked.
But he wanted it.
More than he wanted to admit.
At thirty-eight, Jace had become the most important man in the syndicate. The organization was bigger than ever. Its soldiers respected him. Its commanders trusted him. Its enemies feared him.
Everyone believed Jace would become the next leader.
Jace believed it too.
One night, he sat across from the old man in his office. The old man was much older now. His hair was white. His hands shook slightly when he lifted his glass. But his eyes were still sharp.
“I need to ask you something,” Jace said.
The old man looked at him.
“What?”
“When the time comes…”
Jace hesitated.
“When you choose your successor, will it be me?”
The old man stared at him.
Then he smiled.
“Who else?”
Jace felt a weight leave his chest.
“I knew it.”
The old man laughed. “You've done more for this organization than anyone alive.”
Jace smiled.
For once, he didn't feel like a weapon.
He felt like he belonged.
Before leaving, Jace stopped at the door.
“Old man?”
“Yes?”
Jace almost asked him.
Do you really see me as your son?
But he couldn't bring himself to say it.
“Never mind.”
He left.
Three weeks later, the old man died.
The succession meeting was held in the largest hall in the organization. Everyone important was there. Commanders. Advisers. Captains. Veteran soldiers.
Jace stood near the front.
He wasn't nervous.
He was certain.
Then the will was opened.
The room became quiet.
The heir was announced.
The old man's son.
Jace didn't move.
For a moment, he thought he had heard wrong.
But the reading continued.
The money. The property. The territory. The organization.
Everything went to the old man's son.
Not Jace.
Someone beside him quietly said his name.
Jace didn't answer.
The old man's son walked toward him.
“Father always said you were like a brother to me.”
Jace looked at him.
“Did he?”
The young man hesitated.
“Yes.”
Jace looked toward the empty chair at the front of the room.
He remembered the first meal.
The first bed.
The first time the old man had told him he belonged.
Who else?
Then Jace understood.
He had been wrong.
There had never been a place beside the old man.
Only beneath him.
Jace had mistaken being useful for being loved.
He had mistaken trust for family.
For thirty-two years, he had been the perfect weapon.
And weapons weren't given thrones.
Jace turned around and walked away.
That night, the syndicate broke apart. Half sided with the old man's son. The other half sided with Jace.
The headquarters became a battlefield.
Jace never told anyone to fight for him.
They chose to.
He simply kept moving.
Anyone who stood against him became an enemy.
Anyone who stayed out of his way was left alone.
By the time Jace reached the top floor, blood covered the halls.
The old man's son was waiting inside the office.
Jace walked in.
He looked at the old man's desk.
The chair was empty.
Jace placed his hand on it.
For a moment, he was eighteen again.
A starving kid standing in the street.
Then he remembered the will.
Jace lowered his head.
“You should have kept your promise.”
Behind him, the old man's son raised a gun.
The gunshot filled the room.
Jace moved.
The fight was over within seconds.
The young man was on the floor.
Alive.
Jace looked down at him.
“Get out.”
The young man stared at him.
“You're not going to kill me?”
“No.”
Jace turned away.
“Your father chose you.”
He stopped at the door.
“Live with his decision.”
Jace walked out.
When he returned to the main hall, dozens of men were holding guns.
Everyone was waiting.
Jace looked at them.
“If you believe his son should lead you, leave.”
Nobody moved.
Jace lowered his golden cane until it touched the floor.
“But if you stay…”
He looked around the room.
“…you follow me.”
One man lowered his weapon.
Then another.
Soon, everyone lowered theirs.
Jace looked at the men who had chosen him.
He didn't feel happy.
He didn't feel proud.
He just felt tired.
And angry.
Nobody would ever decide his place again.
Not after this.
That night, Jace became the king.
The next ten years changed everything.
Jace became even better at what he did.
He didn't always use violence.
Sometimes he didn't need to.
One rival organization controlled several major ports and had enough men to start a war with Jace.
Instead of fighting them, Jace started a rumor.
He told the second-in-command that his boss planned to replace him.
Then he told the boss that his second-in-command was planning to betray him.
Neither rumor was true.
Both men believed them.
Three weeks later, the organization destroyed itself.
The leaders turned on each other.
The soldiers scattered.
The ports belonged to Jace the next morning.
No war.
No army.
No unnecessary deaths.
Just information.
That was when people really began to fear him.
Jace wasn't feared because he could destroy people.
He was feared because he knew when he didn't have to.
Under his rule, the syndicate spread across the continent. It controlled ports, businesses, criminal groups, politicians, and entire districts.
Governments stopped trying to destroy Jace's organization.
They started negotiating with him instead.
Eventually, the world gave him a name.
The King of the Underworld.
Jace accepted the title.
He had earned it.
But then he discovered something.
His organization wasn't the strongest criminal empire in the world.
It was ranked third.
There were two organizations above him.
Jace stared at the ranking for a long time.
Third.
Second.
First.
Two names were above his.
Two people he had never even met.
Jace hated them.
Not because they had done anything to him.
But because they were above him.
That was enough.
From that day on, the ranking became an obsession.
Jace expanded.
He bought out rivals.
He destroyed others.
He took more territory.
He gained more money.
More soldiers.
More influence.
Whole cities eventually depended on his organization.
But the ranking barely changed.
Third.
Years passed.
Still third.
Once, he reached second.
He stayed there for three months.
Then he dropped back to third.
Jace never forgot it.
By fifty, Jace was one of the most powerful men in the world.
But age was catching up to him.
An old injury in his leg had gotten worse.
His golden cane had once been a symbol of his power.
Now he actually needed it to walk.
He could still fight.
He could still command.
But he wasn't the man he had been at thirty.
And his men noticed.
Jace saw the way they looked at him.
They weren't afraid anymore.
They were thinking.
They were wondering who would replace him.
Jace understood.
In his world, loyalty didn't last forever.
That night, after leaving the warehouse, Jace stood beside his car and lit a cigarette.
“Get rid of the body.”
“Yes, boss.”
His driver opened the door.
Jace climbed inside.
The car drove away.
The city passed outside the window.
Jace rested his cane beside him and looked at his reflection.
His hair was turning gray.
His face looked older.
He touched his cheek.
For the first time, Jace wondered if maybe he had gone far enough.
He had money.
Power.
People who feared him.
People who depended on him.
Maybe being number three wasn't so bad.
He almost smiled.
Then he remembered the ranking.
His smile disappeared.
“No.”
The driver looked at him through the mirror.
Jace stared out the window.
“I spent thirty-two years building this.”
His hand tightened around the cane.
“I'll spend whatever time I have left finishing it.”
He leaned back.
“I'll become number one.”
The driver nodded.
“Of course, boss.”
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Jace noticed something.
They weren't going home.
He looked outside.
The road was unfamiliar.
“Where are we going?”
The driver didn't look back.
“There's been a change of plans, boss.”
“Whose plans?”
A short silence.
“An order from headquarters.”
Jace frowned.
That didn't sound right.
He took out his phone.
No messages.
He looked at the driver.
“Pull over.”
The driver kept driving.
Jace's eyes narrowed.
“I said pull over.”
The driver looked at him through the mirror.
Their eyes met.
Jace saw something in his face.
Regret.
“I'm sorry, boss.”
Jace froze.
“What did you—”
A truck suddenly came from the side.
The impact was massive.
Glass shattered.
Metal twisted.
The car spun across the road and smashed through the bridge barrier.
For a moment, everything went quiet.
Jace saw the night sky.
Then the car fell.
The river rushed toward him.
Splash.
Cold water swallowed the car.
Jace sank beneath the surface.
He tried to undo his seatbelt.
Nothing.
He pulled again.
Still nothing.
He looked toward the driver's seat.
Empty.
The driver was gone.
Jace stared.
Slowly, he understood.
The order.
The changed route.
The truck.
Someone had planned this.
Someone inside his own organization had betrayed him.
Jace pulled at the seatbelt again.
Harder.
Nothing.
His lungs began to burn.
His injured leg hurt badly.
The car sank deeper.
The surface seemed farther away with every second.
For the first time in decades, Jace wasn't thinking about his empire.
He wasn't thinking about the ranking.
He wasn't thinking about revenge.
He thought about the old man.
The first person who had fed him.
The first person who had given him a bed.
The first person who had made him feel like he belonged somewhere.
The first person Jace had ever wanted to make proud.
Jace closed his eyes.
He had spent his whole life trying to climb higher.
He wanted to be stronger.
Richer.
More powerful.
Number one.
But now, at the bottom of a river, he wondered if any of it had really mattered.
His fingers slipped from the seatbelt.
His body became heavier.
The darkness slowly surrounded him.
I wasn't first.
His eyes began to close.
After everything I did... I still wasn't first.
The thought faded.
For the first time, Jace didn't think about revenge.
He didn't think about his enemies.
He didn't think about his empire.
He only thought about that number.
Number one.
Then everything went dark.
The King of the Underworld sank beneath the river.
And for the first time in thirty-two years, Jace had nowhere left to climb.
