Six of Crows One Shots

Symphony of The Dead

Prompt: Slammed against a wall
Pre Six of Crows
Kaz-centric/whump 
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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).