Becoming A War God: Rise Of Darius Holloway

Chapter 6: Done and Dusted

CHAPTER SIX:

Darius walked over to the table in the sitting room, grabbed the jig and poured its contents into the cup and gulped it down in a go. 

He turned and stared at the two of them, his face devoid of any emotion. 

"You're right," he said quietly. "I am fine. I survived. Against all odds, I survived. And somehow, that's my fault."

Lisa's face reddened. "Don't you take that tone with me. You know what I mean. If you had just called instead of—"

"Instead of what?" Darius interrupted. "Instead of walking thirty miles through the rain with no shoes? Instead of coming home to find my wife taking care of another man while I fought for my life? Instead of standing here while you tell me I need to apologize to the man who tried to kill me?"

“For three years, all I asked for was your attention, your love. Is it a crime to love you, Lisa? I want to know, do you ever love me?”

Immediately Darius asked the question, Lisa's heart stopped abruptly for a second. Her face covered in shock as she couldn't say anything. 

Did she even love Darius? She thought and couldn't find an answer. 

Harry seized the moment. He grabbed Lisa's arm and pressed a hand to his chest. "Lisa," he groaned. "My heart. It's racing. I can't—I can't breathe."

Lisa's attention snapped to him immediately. "Oh no. Harry, stay with me. I'm going to take you to the hospital. Come on, lean on me."

She wrapped her arm around his waist and started leading him toward the door while avoiding his gaze. 

Harry shot a contemptuous glance back at Darius. A vicious smirk spread on his lips.

All of a sudden, Darius chucked loudly.

“Come on, Harry! Don't tell me you are going to keep pretending about being sick to Lisa! We both know the truth" 

Lisa snapped at him instantly, her face contorted in rage. 

“What are you laughing at? It's your fault he is sick again! You keep disturbing and accusing him with lies! Once he recovers, you need to apologize to him properly.”

Darius didn't say anything again  and watched them go. He watched his wife help her childhood sweetheart through the car door, her hands gentle, her voice soft with concern. He watched as they drove out of the compound. 

And then he laughed.

It started as a low chuckle, barely audible. Then it grew louder and wilder until he was bent over, gripping the doorframe, tears streaming down his face. 

He wasn't crying from sadness or hurt. He was crying from the sheer, absurd, heartbreaking stupidity of his life.

Three years. Three freaking years he had given her. Three years of love and patience. Three years of trying to earn something she had never been willing to give.

And in the end, she had chosen a man who didn't love her. A man who had abandoned her once and would abandon her again the moment it became convenient. 

Three years, he thought. And he never meant anything to her. He was just a placeholder. Someone to keep her company until her first choice came back.

He straightened up. Wiped his face and walked inside.

Darius went to the study. He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. And he wrote:

DIVORCE AGREEMENT

He didn't make it complicated. He didn't ask for alimony. He didn't demand compensation. He just wrote the simplest, cleanest divorce possible. She could have everything. The house. The car. The savings. All of it.

Because none of it had ever mattered, if not really. The only thing that had ever mattered was her. And she had proven, beyond any doubt, that she didn't feel the same.

He signed his name at the bottom. Then he walked to the living room, where the light was brightest, where she would see it the moment she walked through the door. He placed the paper on the coffee table, right in the center.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

For the last time.

~~~

The rain had stopped. The sky was still gray, heavy with clouds that refused to break. Darius walked through the empty streets of the city, his hands in his pockets, his mind blank.

He had a little money. It's not much but enough for a motel room for a few nights. Enough to figure out what comes next.

But as he walked, he noticed something strange. His ears were sharper than before. He could hear conversations from blocks away. 

Footsteps. 

Heartbeats. 

The creak of a door opening in a building he had just passed.

The ring on his finger pulsed gently, and he remembered the Mars — God of War. The blessing had changed him.

He tested it. Focused on a streetlamp half a mile away. He could see the individual grains of rust on the metal. He could hear the crackle of the electricity inside. He could feel the faint vibration of the air around it.

This is real, he thought. All of this is real.

And then he heard something else.

A scream, sharp and desperate. Followed by the pounding of running footsteps.

Darius turned toward the sound. His body moved before his mind caught up, the new instincts taking over. He ran faster than he ever had before, his feet silent on the wet pavement.

He rounded a corner and saw them.

A woman —young and beautiful, with dark hair plastered to her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. She was running toward him, her high heels abandoned somewhere behind her, her dress torn at the shoulder.

Behind her, four men—rough-looking, armed with knives that glinted under the streetlights. They moved with the easy confidence of predators who had done this before.

The woman saw Darius. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to scream for help.

But before she could, her foot caught on a crack in the pavement, and she went down hard. She landed on her hands and knees, skin scraping against concrete, a pained cry escaping her lips.

The men were on her in seconds. The leader stepped forward, a knife in his hand, a cruel smile on his face. 

"That's far enough, pretty lady. You know the boss wants you alive, but he didn't say anything about being unhurt."

“Don’t touch me! I'm going to do anything you want. Don't take me back to him!”

The woman scrambled backward, her palms bleeding, her breath coming in sobs.

And then the leader noticed Darius standing nearby.

His smile widened. "Well, well. Looks like we have a witness." He gestured lazily with his knife. "Boys, take care of him. Can't have anyone talking. Dump him into the river when you're done."

Two of the thugs broke off from the group and advanced on Darius. They were big men, broad-shouldered and confident. They held their knives low, ready to slash.

Darius stood very still.

He felt the ring pulse again. Felt the power flood through him like warm water. Felt his muscles coil, his bones strengthen, his senses sharpen.

He didn't think. He didn't plan. He just moved.

The first thug swung his knife in a wide arc. Darius ducked under it, his body flowing like water. His hand shot out, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted. The knife clattered to the ground. The man screamed as his arm bent at an unnatural angle.

The second thug lunged. Darius sidestepped, caught the man by the back of his jacket, and kicked. The thug flew through the air like a ragdoll, crashing into his partner with a sickening crunch.

The leader's eyes went wide. "What the—"