The three robbers exchanged a look of pure, predatory delight.The scarred leader stepped forward, the serrated edge of his knife whistling through the air in a short, mocking arc.“You hear that, boys? The trash in the crates wants us to show the princess a real weapon.” He stepped into Zarek’s personal space, the tip of the blade hovering inches from the silk of Zarek’s tie. “So what’s it going to be? You gonna cry for your driver, or are you going to start stripping?”Zarek finally tilted his head.The frown of displeasure hadn’t faded; if anything, it had deepened into something more permanent, something glacial.He didn’t look at the knife. He looked through the man holding it.“You think I haven’t suffered,” Zarek said.His voice was a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of the robbers’ bones. It was a sound that didn’t belong in a street fight; it belonged in a burial chamber.“You think because the suit is clean, the man inside is soft.”He took a si

However, before Zarek could react as he wanted, the men began chuckling loudly.“The God of War,” Jaco repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like a bad joke. He wiped rain from his eyes, chest still heaving from laughter.“What even is a God of War, anyway? Sounds like something a bunch of kids whisper about in a basement. Is that supposed to be the god of soldiers? Mercenaries? What?”The first guard snorted, leaning heavily against the doorframe.“Yeah, something like that. Some old myth from the border wars. Supposed to be the ultimate soldier… a monster that clears battlefields before the sun comes up. Real boogeyman nonsense for people who can’t handle a real gun.”He scanned Zarek up and down again, eyes lingering on the sharp cut of his shoulders, the flawless knot of his tie.“But I doubt they even exist,” the guard continued, his voice thick with condescension. “Men like that are fairy tales.”He rubbed his jaw slightly. “And even if some God of War did walk this earth,

He studied the room with cold, analytical detachment. Twelve guards were stationed at the exits. He noted the steel cage’s weaknesses, rust creeping along its base. Finally, his gaze settled on the woman in the emerald gown, who blew him a mocking kiss.“You’re all so eager for a price,” Zarek murmured.Though low, his voice seemed to anchor the room’s frantic energy. He looked up at the digital board, where MALAKAI VOSS pulsed in red.“You treat lives like chips on a table,” Zarek continued, his gaze snapping to the VIP box where the Master sat. “You talk about suffering as if it were a vintage wine… something you’ve sampled but never had to make. You want to see if I’m afraid to get my hands dirty?”Slowly, he peeled the leather glove from his right hand, finger by finger, revealing pale, scarred skin as steady as stone. He tossed the glove onto the blood-stained sand below.“The bid is five million and a head,” Zarek said, eyes fixed on the shadowed figure of the Master. “I don

The sound cracked like a thunderclap inside the arena.Fissures spider‑webbed up the pillar.The balcony above groaned, mahogany railings splintering as the floor tilted five degrees.Panic replaced greed in an instant. Diamonds and silk became burdens.The wealthy spectators scrambled for the exits, tripping over their own shoes, screams bouncing off the blood‑red velvet walls.“He’s bringing the whole place down!” a guard yelled, dropping his weapon and bolting for the side gate.Zarek didn’t pause. He yanked the hook free and lashed it at the second pillar.“The ledger, Master,” Zarek called, his obsidian eyes locked on the VIP box as dust and plaster rained from the ceiling. “Hand it over, or become part of the foundation.”Inside the box, the Master’s laughter had vanished. He frantically punched codes into the console, trying to engage the emergency shutters, but the system, already screaming ERROR, refused to obey.He looked down into the pit and finally saw it: the cold, ance

The crowd’s bitterness had curdled into a suffocating silence. The Master watched from above, face pressed against the glass, breath fogging the window as he witnessed his expensive security force reduced to a literal mound of flesh and Kevlar.“My money…” the man in the pinstriped vest whimpered, but the words felt hollow. This wasn’t about money anymore. This was annihilation.Zarek finally stopped. The last mercenary, the one so confident in his Siren-7 chemicals, was hurled onto the summit of the heap.The human staircase was complete: a grisly, tangled ramp of broken men, leading directly from the blood-stained sand to the protruding ledge of the VIP balcony.Zarek stood at the base of his creation, his suit remarkably clean, save for a single droplet of crimson on his white cuff. He looked up at the Master, who frantically clawed at his console, attempting a last-ditch hard-drive wipe.“The ledger doesn’t belong to you anymore,” Zarek’s voice echoed, cold and final. “Nothin