"Yo, turn that shit up!"
The warehouse pulsed with raw energy, vibrating with bass heavy enough to shake the graffiti-stained walls. Bodies packed tight, sweat slicking skin, the air thick with anticipation and smoke. Center-stage, beneath glaring lights, stood a young man clutching the mic like it was his lifeline. He was trembling, visibly shaken by the harsh boos erupting from the crowd.
Opposite him, leaning with casual arrogance against a speaker stack, was Diego "Hex" Herrera, the undisputed king of the cypher. He raised a brow, smirking dismissively, gold chains glinting mockingly under the harsh lights.
"You gonna spit or just stare like a bitch all night?" Hex taunted, igniting wild laughter.
The challenger cleared his throat, eyes darting nervously. "I— uh, fuck, yo—"
Hex didn't wait for him to finish. With predatory ease, he stepped forward, mic snapping to his lips.
"Look at this punk, choke artist, out here fumbling,
Your bitch ass quivering, stumbling, mumbling,
I'm a nightmare, motherfucker, Freddy Krueger on beat,
I'll slice your weak rhymes, leave you dead on your feet.
Callin' yourself an MC? More like a goddamn joke,
Spit fire? Nah, your flow barely fuckin' smokes.
Better check your girl, bro, she's riding my dick,
I ain't kidding, motherfucker, you looking real sick.
So step back, pussy, let me show you how it's done,
This cypher ain't yours, bitch, I already won."
The warehouse exploded. Voices roared approval, drowning out the defeated rapper who dropped the mic like it burned his hand, stumbling offstage, head bowed in humiliation.
Watching silently from the shadows was Malachi Rivers, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and hunger. The scene stung him deeply. It wasn't just rap, it was warfare, and he knew exactly where he belonged.
He turned to the woman at his side. Taz locked eyes with him, her expression fierce.
"You ready for this, Mace?" she asked.
Malachi nodded, every muscle tense with determination.
"I'm ready to burn that motherfucker to the ground."
Chapter 1: Welcome to the Jungle
Malachi felt every step toward the circle like he was marching to war. The crowd parted reluctantly, sizing him up, skepticism clear on their faces. His half-black, half-white skin seemed to glow beneath the sharp lights, an easy target for their quick judgment. He could read their doubts, their expectations for him to fail.
"Another clown lookin' for a funeral?" someone jeered.
Malachi clenched his jaw, absorbing the taunts like fuel. He saw Hex lounging arrogantly in the corner, his lips twisted in a lazy sneer, eyes glittering maliciously.
Taz squeezed his arm, whispering fiercely, "Fuck what they think, Malachi. Eat these assholes alive."
Malachi stepped forward, grabbing the mic with confidence he barely felt. Opposite him stood a heavy-set MC named Big G, notorious for brutalizing rookies. Big G eyed Malachi dismissively, raising his mic.
"Aight, skinny motherfucker, let's see if you even belong here."
Big G launched his attack immediately, spit flying, veins bulging.
"Check it, you light-skinned clown, thinking you tight,
Skinny-ass punk, looking half black, half white.
Better sit the fuck down, this ain't Sesame Street,
Got your bitch-ass crying, motherfucker, retreat.
You ain't built for this war, soft as Charmin tissue,
Take your fake-ass rhymes, pussy, nobody gon' miss you.
See, your momma fucked around, your daddy bounced quick,
Now here stands Malachi, product of weak-ass dick!"
Roaring laughter erupted, the crowd circling tighter, bloodlust thickening the air.
Malachi absorbed the blows, breathing deep. Anger surged through his veins, sharpening his mind to a deadly edge. He raised the mic, voice deep, clear, deadly.
"You talk a lot of shit, but it's clear you scared,
Shaking, sweating, faking—yeah, motherfucker, beware.
See, Big G? That's ironic, 'cause you soft as cake,
Acting hard, but every line you spit is fucking fake.
Your rhymes outdated, expired like old milk,
Your flow? Shit, mine cuts throats like silk.
You talking family? You fucked up, clown,
See, your sister in my DMs begging dick right now.
Talking parents? Let's get it straight, quick,
Your momma's working corners, pops a junkie prick.
But fuck that, let's talk rap—you ain't shit, kid,
I'll body your ass twice, make sure the coffin lid fits."
The circle exploded into chaos. Cheers, gasps, screams—Malachi felt the surge of raw adrenaline, realizing he had power. His words were weapons, sharp enough to wound.
Big G staggered back, visibly shaken. Hex's eyes narrowed slightly, watching closely.
Big G lunged back, desperate.
"Yeah, talk big now, but this game ain't for punks,
You're just Hex's appetizer, served up for lunch.
Fuck your weak insults, trying hard to impress,
But in the end, Malachi, you just like the rest."
Malachi grinned coldly, stepping closer, lethal and confident.
"You flailing, Big G, desperation in sight,
Your flow's suicidal, mine's homicide tonight.
They should've warned you not to battle the king,
Now bow down, kiss the crown, hear my blade sing.
Motherfucker, this cypher's mine—didn't you hear?
I'm the grim reaper, bitch, better taste that fear.
So get the fuck off stage, you pathetic-ass bum,
This war just started, and you already done."
The crowd surged, deafening screams shaking the warehouse. Malachi locked eyes with Hex, holding the gaze defiantly. The king smiled slowly, chillingly.
Malachi knew it was just the beginning. He had stepped into the jungle, and there was no turning back now.