"I know," Zarek said, his voice barely a whisper. "Extraction implies an asset. It means they didn't just save him because he’s a kid; they saved him because he’s useful. Because they’ve turned him into a weapon that works for them."He looked up at Shaw, his eyes bloodshot and weary. "You said earlier it might be a good thing he’s rebellious, that an organization might protect him. But look at what that protection cost.""He moves like a machine, Shaw. He didn't just fight Vargus; he dismantled him. My little brother shouldn't know how to track a man's carotid artery with his eyes."Shaw took a slow sip of his coffee, the steam rising between them. "Maybe. But he survived the Apex. He survived Vargus. In this city, innocent boys get buried in basements or sold to collectors. At least this way, he has a chance to settle the score."Zarek shook his head, a sudden, sharp pang of grief hitting him. "I just keep thinking about our sister. She’s so fragile, Shaw.”“She doesn't have a dro

Kaelen’s eyes darkened, his pupils constricting into dark pinpricks. For the first time in decades, the air in the room grew heavy with a truth he hadn't permitted anyone to voice: that the empire he had built was only as strong as the hands destined to inherit it."You speak of his shield as if it were a toy," Kaelen said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating octave. "I spent thirty years forging the Veldra Network from the gutter up.”“I bled in rooms far darker than this one so that when my son walked into a lobby, the world would bow before he even opened his mouth. I gave him that entitlement. I earned it for him with every contract signed and every rival buried."He leaned forward, the expensive fabric of his midnight-blue suit straining across his shoulders."I worked so that Soren wouldn't have to be humble," Kaelen hissed. "I built a mountain for him to stand on so he would never have to look up at men like you. To me, that shield isn't useless; it is the culmination

Kaelen’s smile vanished.The warmth left his face, and the air in the VIP suite grew thin and cold. Suddenly, the opulence of the breakfast felt like a funeral shroud draped over the table. He looked at the silver, the fine linen, and the steam rising from the coffee; none of it felt like power anymore. It felt like clutter. He realized then that he wasn't sitting across from a rival businessman or a mere mercenary. He was sitting across from a force of nature that had simply chosen to wear a suit for the morning.Kaelen set his coffee cup down.It met the saucer with a sharp, echoing clack. The momentary unease vanished, replaced by a patronizing smirk. He leaned back, spreading his arms as if to encompass the entire luxurious room."You’re serious," Kaelen said, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You’re actually sitting at my table, eating my steak, and claiming to be a myth. I’ve heard the campfire stories, Riggs.”“The 'God of War', the phantom who cleans up the messes the p

"And right now, the hammers are busy."The operatives dragged Kaelen toward the service elevator, his heels scuffing uselessly against the plush carpet. Zarek walked ahead, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun.The lesson had begun.**The air on the helipad was biting. Two sleek, matte-black VTOL transports sat idling, their rotors creating a localized hurricane that whipped the charcoal fabric of Zarek’s suit. Kaelen was tossed into the back of the lead craft like a sack of grain. Zarek climbed in after him, settling into a command chair facing the trembling businessman."First stop," Zarek commanded into his headset. "The Sector 4 Memorial.""Copy that, God of War. En route."The transport lurched upward, the G-force pinning Kaelen against the cold metal bench. He looked out the reinforced porthole as the Morning Sun Hotel, the crown jewel of his holdings, shrank into a toy-sized dot. For the first time in thirty years, Kaelen Mace realized his money couldn't buy him gr

Within ten minutes, his midnight-blue suit jacket was discarded in the muck. Within twenty, his silk shirt was translucent with sweat, clinging to his ribs as he gasped for air.Zarek watched him with clinical detachment. Every time Kaelen slowed or leaned against the trench wall, Shaw would tap the toe of his boot against the ground, a silent reminder that the God of War was still presiding over his court."My back..." Kaelen groaned, collapsing onto a half-filled bag. "I can't... my heart... I’m fifty-five, Riggs! This is half the training of a recruit, and it’s killing me!""Recruits do this for twenty hours straight while being shot at, Kaelen," Zarek said, remaining seated. "You’ve been at it for forty minutes in a secured trench. You’re doing half the work with none of the risk, and you’re still failing."Zarek stood and walked over, looking down at the man who, just hours ago, thought he held the world in his palm. Kaelen was a pathetic sight: covered in filth, weeping from