The roar of fighter jets shook the heavens above Thornfield International Airport.Thirty F-22 Raptors carved precise formations through the steel-gray sky, their engines screaming a symphony of military might. Below them, ten thousand elite soldiers stood in perfect formation—the Crimson Guard, the nation's most lethal special forces unit. Each man wore full combat gear, assault rifles held at attention, eyes forward and unblinking.They weren't guarding the airport. They were waiting for one man.Behind the security perimeter, hundreds of the city's wealthiest and most powerful had gathered. Malcolm Ashford, CEO of Ashford Industries, worth thirty billion. Victoria Chen, the shipping magnate who controlled half the nation's ports. The Governor of Thornfield Province himself stood among them, his designer suit wrinkled from hours of waiting.None of them dared approach the landing zone.They were here for Dominic Kane—the only man in the nation's history to hold the title of War God,

Three hours had passed since the cemetery.The War God's official motorcade—the one that hundreds had waited for at Thornfield International Airport, had taken an unexpected route. While the city's elite stood in the cold, hoping for a glimpse, Dominic Kane had gone to pay respects to those who truly mattered. Now, freshly changed into formal attire, he rode in silence toward the Thornfield Regency Hotel. The Kane family had no idea. They believed they were hosting a stranger, a legendary hero they could use to elevate their status. They had no idea they'd invited their own executioner.Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across the grand ballroom of the Thornfield Regency Hotel, turning champagne flutes into tiny stars in the hands of the city's elite. Laughter rippled through the crowd like music—carefully practiced, perfectly pitched to convey both sophistication and ease. Every person in attendance belonged to the apex of society: corporate titans who controlled billions, polit

No one answered. Everyone was too busy staring at the coffin.Richard's face had gone from pale to crimson. "Dominic! This is your last warning! Security—" He turned to his secretary, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses who stood frozen near the wall. "Call Gregory! Tell him to get his men up here NOW!"The secretary fumbled for his phone with shaking hands, scrolling through contacts until he found "Gregory Holt - Security Chief." His finger hovered over the call button.He pressed it.From inside the coffin came a shrill, muffled ringtone.The secretary's phone clattered to the floor.Every person in that ballroom felt a wave of primal dread that started in their guts and spread through their nervous systems. Something was very, very wrong.Richard took a step backward. "What... what is..."Dominic walked to the coffin with leisurely confidence. He looked down at it for a moment, head tilted as if listening to the ringtone still echoing from within. Then he raised his boot and kicke

The screech of tires shattered the tense silence. Not just one vehicle, but a convoy.Through the ballroom's towering windows, guests watched in awe as military transport trucks rolled up to the entrance. Doors flew open in perfect synchronization. Boots hit pavement with thunderous precision. Then came, sixty soldiers in full combat uniforms marched through the entrance in formation—not hotel security, not private enforcers, but actual military personnel. Their rifles were slung across their backs, their movements were crisp, their faces were hard with professional authority. They moved like a machine made of flesh and steel, filling the ballroom with an overwhelming presence that made even the wealthiest guests shrink back instinctively.At their head strode a man who commanded attention like gravity commands orbits—General Victor Harrison.Two stars gleamed on his shoulders. His uniform was immaculate, every medal earned through decades of distinguished service. At fifty-eight, he

The blade was in Dominic’s hand before anyone saw him draw it. One clean motion, Marcus’s scream cut off mid-breath.The body collapsed.Silence crashed over the ballroom like a physical force.“NO!” Richard’s howl was animal, inhuman. “No—not my son—NOT MY SON!” He lunged forward, broken ribs forgotten, reaching for Marcus’s body.Webb’s boot caught him in the chest, slamming him back down.Dominic cleaned the blade on a white tablecloth, leaving a streak of crimson across the expensive fabric. “You want to talk about family now, Uncle?” His voice was eerily calm. “You want to invoke blood ties? Where was your sense of family when you murdered my mother? When you poisoned my father? When you broke my hands and sent me to rot in prison?”“That was—we didn’t—it wasn’t—” Richard couldn’t form a coherent sentence through his sobs.“If I spare you now,” Dominic continued, his voice rising, “who spared my parents? WHO?!” The shout echoed off crystal chandeliers. “Answer me, you piece of fi