Kenneth Warren Worthington VI stood in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, his black wings folded tight against his armor. The city's underworld needed a true ruler, and he would claim that throne. No more petty crime lords squabbling over scraps. He would build an empire that stretched from the streets to the depths below. His first move required a fortress. Not some run-down safe house that cops could raid at dawn. He needed something secure, hidden, and large enough to store the weapons and goods that would fund his rise to power. Kenneth spent weeks searching until he found it—a massive underground facility built like a crypt, all jet black walls and reinforced steel doors. The previous owners had abandoned it years ago, leaving behind the perfect foundation. He recruited mutants with useful powers to guard it: one who could sense intruders from a mile away, another who could melt through metal with a touch, and a third who never needed sleep. The storage facility became his command center, a dark heart pumping life into his growing network. With his base established, Kenneth spread word through the streets. Any criminal with ambition could find work under his banner. Any fool who challenged him would face the Archdemon's wrath. But storage alone wouldn't build the empire he craved. He needed a tower, a symbol of his power that criminals and demons alike would recognize. Kenneth claimed an abandoned high-rise and transformed it into his true headquarters. The slender building rose like a blade above the city, wrapped in blood red and burnt gold accents against jet black walls. He called it the Crow-Nest. High-tech security systems lined every entrance. Demonic energy barriers flickered across the upper floors, protecting his throne room from any who dared attack. From the top floor, Kenneth could see the entire city spread below him. This tower would be the brain of his operation while the storage facility held its muscle. The empire was rising, and he stood at its center, wings spread wide in the darkness. Territory meant nothing without borders. Kenneth needed to mark what was his and warn others to stay clear. He designed sleek drones that combined his tech skills with demonic energy, machines that could fly through the night like mechanical angels of death. Each drone carried his symbol and sprayed messages across rival gang territories: walls, rooftops, anywhere that mattered. The Crow Angel Tactical Drones became his messengers, silent and fast. They painted warnings in red and black, claiming blocks one at a time. Other crime lords received the message loud and clear. The Archdemon had arrived, and he was taking what he wanted. Kenneth watched from the Crow-Nest as his drones spread across the city. His empire had bones now—storage, headquarters, and reach. Soon every criminal would bend the knee or face his wings in the dark.