All Chapters of The Silent Commander ( God of War) : Chapter 1
- Chapter 10
16 chapters
Chapter 1: The Man Who Forgot About Himself
The rain had been falling since dawn—long, silver knives of water slicing through the fog that shrouded the streets of Blackridge. The city’s skyline loomed like a jagged scar across the clouds, its towers bleeding light through mist and smoke.Ethan Cross stood motionless outside the Vitale estate, an umbrella tilted low, watching the runoff gather at his boots. The rain hit the pavement with the same rhythm as the gunfire he used to hear in another life—steady, merciless, unending.He had once stood at the edge of battlefields like this: waiting, reading the wind, feeling the ghosts of the men he had led. Now he stood at the gate of another kind of war—a domestic one, fought with silence and humiliation instead of swords.The guard by the gate leaned on the iron bars, cigarette smoke curling through the downpour. His uniform was too tight, his smirk too casual. “Forgot your key again, Mr. Cross?”Ethan lifted his gaze, gray eyes cold and distant beneath the shadow of the umbrella. “
Chapter 2: The Blood Oath Awakens
By dawn, Blackridge was humming with rumor.“The Vitale princess lives,” the whispers said.“An ambush at the docks.”“Someone fought like ten men and walked away without a scratch.”They called him the dog who bit back. The newspapers wouldn’t print his name, but the underworld already had one for him: the Ghost Soldier.Inside the Vitale mansion, silence reigned. The marble gleamed as if nothing had happened, but everyone moved a little slower, as though waiting for a storm that hadn’t finished breaking.Ethan stood by the tall window of Don Vitale’s study, hands clasped loosely behind his back, eyes tracing the gray veins of rain across the glass. He’d been summoned. Again.Behind him, the Don sat at his desk, cigar trembling slightly between his fingers. Elena occupied the armchair opposite her father, perfectly composed, though her eyes betrayed the exhaustion of a sleepless night.Finally, the Don broke the silence. “You have some explaining to do, boy.”Ethan turned, face unrea
Chapter 3: The Mafia Princess and the Warlord
The next morning dawned cold and brittle, sunlight sliding pale and uncertain through the tall windows of the Vitale estate. The storm had passed, but the air still smelled of thunder.Elena Vitale stood at her mirror, brushing her hair with mechanical precision. Her reflection was flawless—always flawless—but beneath the perfect poise lingered exhaustion. Her mind replayed the night before, the way the courtyard had glowed, the fear that had crawled under her skin when Ethan told her she should be scared.He wasn’t the man she thought he was.He wasn’t just the husband she’d been forced to marry to cement a fragile alliance.There was something ancient burning behind those gray eyes now—something that looked at her like it remembered a thousand lives before this one.A knock broke her thoughts.“Elena,” came a voice. Matteo. Her cousin, the Vitale enforcer. “Your father’s waiting. Council meeting.”“Coming.”She set the brush down, her fingers trembling once before she steadied them.
Chapter 4: The First Seal Breaks
The following night, the Vitale estate did not sleep.Guards patrolled the grounds in pairs, their radios crackling with tension. The docks were locked down, every shipment under suspicion. And in the east wing, Elena Vitale sat in the dark, staring at the empty space in her bed where her husband should have been.The storm outside had returned, thicker this time. Lightning crawled along the horizon like veins of living silver. Every rumble of thunder made the windows tremble in their frames.She should have been afraid.Instead, she felt drawn—magnetized—to the chapel again.Something inside her whispered that the man she’d married wasn’t gone. He was becoming.Ethan stood in the courtyard, shirtless in the rain. The water poured over his skin, tracing the golden sigil burned faintly into his chest. His breath came hard, his pulse unsteady. Every time lightning split the sky, it was like the mark on his skin flared in answer.The voice had come again—not a sound, but a vibration deep
Chapter 5: Wings Over Blackridge
By the time dawn broke over Blackridge, the sky had forgotten how to breathe.The storm that had rolled in from the east wasn’t made of clouds. It was smoke—black, living smoke—churning with streaks of gold lightning that didn’t flash so much as move, like something alive hunted across the sky.The news stations called it “a weather anomaly.”The Vatican called it “an omen.”And Ethan Cross, standing at the edge of Don Vitale’s balcony with his shirt clinging to his chest and that faint gold sigil burning beneath it, called it what it truly was.“They’ve found me.”Elena’s voice came from behind him, low, uncertain. “You mean the people who—”“The gods,” he said. “Or what’s left of them.”She didn’t laugh, though her father would have. The air was too heavy, too real. She stepped closer, her robe brushing the marble. “What do they want?”“The same thing they always wanted,” Ethan murmured. “Control.”He turned to face her, and she saw how strange he looked in the gray light — not huma
Chapter 6: The Second Seal
Blackridge never truly slept again after that night.The storm had cleared, but the air hadn’t recovered. Every dawn since felt too quiet, too aware, as if the city itself was holding its breath.And somewhere under that false calm, something was spreading—like veins of light beneath concrete, faintly visible at night when the power grid flickered.Elena had stopped trying to rationalize it. After witnessing Ethan’s battle with the winged creature, reason felt like a luxury of the ignorant.She’d seen what he was.And though every instinct told her to run, she couldn’t. Don Vitale didn’t sleep either.The patriarch sat in his study with whiskey untouched and ashtrays full. The courtyard still bore the scars of that battle—craters where marble had melted, a faint residue of gold dust clinging to the air.The Don had buried men for seeing less.“What the hell is he?” he muttered to himself, replaying the footage from the estate’s damaged cameras.Every frame was the same: flashes of li
Chapter 7: Shadows in the Ashes
The rain came down like a sentence that night—unforgiving, relentless.Silver streaks carved across the windshield as Ethan Cross guided the black sedan through the sleeping veins of the Solari District. The city, once gleaming under the gala’s pretense of wealth and grace, now seemed stripped bare. The billboards bled light across wet asphalt, distorted by the downpour into ghosts of color.Behind those flickering images of luxury and power, Ethan saw only lies—gilded cages built by men who had never been forced to bleed for what they owned.He rolled his shoulders, the tension grinding through old scar tissue. The wound beneath his left eye, long faded to a thin white line, throbbed in rhythm with the storm. A scar from a life no mortal should have survived. A mark of divine punishment.The energy inside him hadn’t cooled since the confrontation at the gala. The Viper’s men had been disciplined—too precise, too calculated. Mafia thugs didn’t move like that. They fought like soldiers
Chapter 8: Isabella's Awakening
The Langston mansion glittered like a cage of gold and secrets.Rain whispered against the tall windows, tracing lines down the glass as if the storm itself tried to wash away what lingered inside. Isabella sat at the edge of her canopy bed, the city lights painting her pale skin in shades of amber and shadow. The gala had ended hours ago, but her heart still raced. The image of Ethan—her husband, her supposed disgrace—moving through gunfire like a god in mortal flesh replayed in her mind on a relentless loop.She couldn’t reconcile it.The man who used to quietly serve her father’s guests, who bore every insult with calm, who seemed as invisible as a ghost in their opulent world—had suddenly moved with the force of a storm. Every step, every glance had carried power. Precision. Lethal grace.It wasn’t human.And when he’d caught her gaze amid the chaos, blood on his cheek, fire in his eyes, something ancient had looked back at her.Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging her fro
Chapter 9: The War Lord's Memory
The storm hadn’t stopped.By midnight, Blackridge was drowning in thunder. The city’s lights flickered like dying stars, painting the skyline in shards of gold and electric blue. Ethan stood in the courtyard of the Langston estate, his coat heavy with rain, his mind slipping between centuries. Every heartbeat pulled him deeper into a place he had once sworn never to return.He could hear it again—the sound of war drums rolling through his veins.The pulse of gods. The breath of eternity.Kryos.He closed his eyes. Lightning split the heavens, and for a second, the courtyard wasn’t made of marble and rain but ash and fire. He stood on a battlefield carved into the bones of the earth. Thousands of warriors screamed his name, their blades dripping with celestial blood. He remembered standing on that same soil as a god, watching the world burn for him.Then came the betrayal.Then came the fall.A sudden gust dragged him back to the present. The storm smelled of ozone and danger, but ther
Chapter 10: The Serpent Queen's Hunger
Morning came pale and thin over the Langston mansion. The marble floors still bore the marks of the night’s battle: scorched wood, shattered glass, the scent of smoke. Outside, the city went about its business as if nothing had happened, but inside, a war was quietly taking root.Isabella hadn’t slept. She sat by the window of the east wing, watching the dawn creep across the skyline. Her hands trembled when she lifted her coffee cup. The previous night’s images replayed endlessly: the sigil, the assassins, the impossible light pouring from her husband’s skin.She could still hear his words: They’ve remembered me.Her father’s voice broke her trance. “You’ve brought ruin to this house.”Alexander Langston stood in the doorway, immaculate in his dark suit, eyes cold. Behind him loomed two of his enforcers, men who had served him longer than she’d been alive. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to.“I didn’t bring them,” she said quietly. “They came for him.”“Which means,” her fa