2025-12-21 04:46:38The war zone was already dying when Ryker arrived.
Smoke hung low over the land, thick and gray, dragging the sky down with it. Trenches had collapsed into mud. Burned vehicles lay scattered like carcasses. The air smelled of iron, oil, and rot. Soldiers moved without urgency, rifles hanging loose in their hands, eyes hollow. This was not a battlefield anymore. It was a place waiting to lose.
The chopper didn’t linger.
It dropped Ryker at the edge of the camp and lifted off immediately, blades screaming as it vanished into the clouds. Two soldiers stood waiting for him. Their uniforms were torn. Their boots were caked with dried blood.
They didn’t ask questions. They escorted him straight through the camp.
Ryker felt it as they walked—the absence of command. No structure. No tension holding the men together. Just exhaustion and quiet resentment. Soldiers glanced at him, then away. Some didn’t even bother to look.
The commander’s tent was untouched by the war.
Bright fabric. Clean flooring. Guards posted more for ceremony than defense. Music leaked from inside. Laughter followed.
One of the soldiers hesitated, then cleared his throat and announced him.
“Sir. He’s the one sent by Dr. Clark.”
The laughter inside spiked.
“Send him in.”
The commander sat sprawled across a couch, a bottle of beer hanging loosely from his hand. Two women straddled him, barely clothed, their skin clean and unmarked by war. His boots were off. His uniform jacket lay discarded on the floor.
He looked Ryker over and barked out a laugh.
“This?” he said, pointing with the bottle. “This lanky thing is what Clark sends me?”
He leaned forward, eyes sharp with mockery.
“You’re telling me this kid is supposed to win a war I’ve been stuck in for three months?”
The tent went quiet.
The soldiers stiffened.
The commander glanced at them slowly, deliberately.
“Well?” he said.
They laughed. Not because it was funny. Because not laughing was dangerous.
The commander stood, swaying slightly as he took another drink.
“I’m not here to win anything,” he said lazily. “I’m here to enjoy myself. If you can kill something out there, great. If not, don’t get in my way.”
He waved a dismissive hand.
“Do whatever you can. Or don’t. Either way, I’m done caring.”
Ryker said nothing, he just looked at the commander. And something suddenly shifted in the air.
The commander’s smile faltered for half a second. He straightened, eyes narrowing. The air in the tent felt heavier, thicker, like pressure before a storm.
Ryker’s jaw tightened.
It wasn’t just anger. It was intent. Cold. Focused. Lethal.
The commander took an unconscious step back.
“Get out,” he snapped, covering it quickly. “Go look at maps or something.”
Ryker turned without another word.
Outside, he told the soldiers, “I need the terrain layout.”
They exchanged a glance, then nodded.
The strategy room was cramped, cluttered with outdated maps and flickering screens. Ryker studied them in silence. Enemy positions. Supply lines. Weak points left unguarded because no one believed the camp would counterattack.
That was when the explosion hit.
The ground shook—screams of affected soldiers tearing through the air.
Ryker was already moving when the second blast tore through the outer perimeter.
Gunfire followed immediately.
He burst outside into chaos.
Bodies were everywhere.
Men torn apart mid-step. Limbs scattered across the mud. Blood sprayed across sandbags and tents like paint thrown in rage. Screams cut short by bullets. Fire swallowed what the explosion hadn’t destroyed.
Bullets came toward him.
They were slow. Not in reality—but to him.
Ryker weaved through them without thought. His body moved before his mind caught up. Every step landed where it needed to. Every shift of his shoulder avoided death by inches.
The screen flashed.
ARMORY AVAILABLE
He had one option.
The dagger.
He selected it.
Steel formed in his hand, cold and familiar.
Ryker didn’t charge. He slid.
The first enemy didn’t even see him. The blade opened his throat cleanly. The second lost his knee, then his life. Ryker moved through them like water through broken stone, never stopping, never hesitating.
The system fed him.
KILL CONFIRMED
COMBAT POINTS ACQUIRED
The more he killed, the lighter he felt.
Two minutes.
That was all it took.
When the gunfire stopped, the camp was silent except for crackling flames and shallow breathing.
The attackers were dead.
Every one of them.
The soldiers stared at Ryker like they were seeing something unreal.
Then someone shouted his name.
Once.
Twice.
The chant spread.
“Ryker!”
“Ryker!”
“Ryker!”
It became a roar.
They surrounded him, shouting, pounding their fists together, weapons raised in the air. For the first time since the war began, belief returned to their faces.
Ryker raised a hand.
Silence fell.
“We don’t wait,” he said. His voice carried without effort. “We strike now. While they think we’re broken.”
A pause.
Then war cries exploded from every throat. They followed him without question.
***
The enemy base fell fast.
Bombs tore open the outer walls. Ryker led the charge through the smoke, blade flashing, body moving faster than thought. Every kill fed him. Every strike sharpened him.
He was everywhere at once.
A shadow. A blur. A blade.
When it ended, nothing stood in his way.
The war was over.
Months of blood ended in one night.
Back at the base, the commander stood the moment Ryker entered the tent. The women were gone. The beer, untouched.
“I’ve fulfilled my directives,” Ryker said. “I’m leaving.”
The commander nodded stiffly. He didn’t speak.
Outside, the soldiers erupted.
“God of War!”
“God of War!”
The title hit Ryker like a hammer.
Pain split his skull.
Images flooded his mind.
Steel clashing. Screaming gods. Men kneeling in blood, calling his name.
God of War.
Ryker staggered, wondering to himself what these memories are.
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Latest Chapter
CHAPTER 16: Dead Men Don't Answer
Ryker barely had time to turn before the man’s voice carried down the corridor, smooth and faintly impressed.“I didn’t think you’d be able to defeat my precious work.”Ryker stopped.The man with the scar stood a few paces away, hands folded behind his back, posture relaxed as if he were inspecting equipment rather than standing over the remains of a dismantled weapon. His eyes lingered briefly on his subject, then lifted to Ryker’s face.“But now that I’ve caught you,” the man went on, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’ll configure you to be my loyal dog.”Ryker said nothing. His chest rose and fell steadily, his senses still sharpened from the fight. “Since we’ve not been formally introduced,” the man said, inclining his head slightly, “I’m Dr. Stark Wilson.”The name settled into the air.At the same moment, Ryker’s system flashed fully into view.STATUS: STABLEMETA-NEUTRALIZATION: PARTIAL FAILUREHis eyes flicked briefly to the notification, then back to Stark. The
CHAPTER 15: God's Hands
The man with the scar didn't wait for an answer.“So,” he said lightly, already turning away, “I’ll leave the room to you two.”The door slid shut behind him with a dull metallic sound that lingered longer than it should have. The silence that followed was heavier than before, thick enough that The big man moved.He stepped forward in slow, measured strides, boots heavy against the floor. There was no rush in him, no wasted motion, no visible anger. Just intent. Ryker straightened, brushing his side once where the earlier blow had landed. The pain was there, dull and persistent, but manageable. He took a step back, eyes tracking the man’s movements, cataloging distance and angle the way instinct demanded.That was when he noticed it.At first, it was subtle. A faint distortion at the edge of his hearing, like static caught between stations. It grew sharper as the man came closer, a constant, unnatural hum that did not belong to muscle or breath or blood. Ryker’s brow furrowed as he
CHAPTER 14: Red In His Eyes
“There’s no way I’m leaving without you,” Ryker's voice thundered enough to rattle ears.Henry lay on the floor where he had fallen, one hand pressed uselessly against the metal band locked around his neck. The green light pulsed steadily.“Ryker,” Henry said, low. “Don’t be—”Ryker closed his eyes.The noise faded. The alarms, the shouting, the scrape of boots against concrete all dulled as his focus narrowed inward. He took a slow breath, felt it settle, and when he opened his eyes again, the system unfolded across his vision.Data scrolled clean and sharp.Armory access opened with a silent confirmation.Ryker filtered fast. Then he stopped.SHORT SWORD.He selected it without hesitation.Metal formed in his hand, solid and balanced, the weight familiar as it settled into his grip. He rolled his wrist once, feeling the edge align with his movement.Across the room, one of the men laughed.He had a long knife scar cutting from the corner of his mouth toward his ear, the skin pulled
CHAPTER 13: Extraction Point
Ryker slowed his steps as they moved deeper into the hideout, his hand lifting slightly to signal Henry to stop. The corridor ahead was narrow, lit by a single strip of flickering white light that buzzed faintly overhead.“We do this quietly,” Ryker said without turning his head. “As quietly as possible.”Henry walked beside him, hands loose at his sides, expression relaxed in a way that never meant what it looked like. “You keep saying that.”“I mean it,” Ryker replied. “Your power lights up rooms like fireworks.”Henry hummed. “Funny. Last time I checked, you were the one who jumped out of a chopper without a parachute.”“That was necessary.”“So is this,” Henry said lightly.Ryker stopped and held up a hand.Ahead of them, the hallway opened into a wider stretch. Light spilled out unevenly from overhead fixtures. Voices drifted through. Laughter. The scrape of metal on concrete.Ryker leaned just enough to see.Four guards clustered around a makeshift table. Cards scattered across
CHAPTER 12: Missile Lock
The rotors thudded overhead in a steady rhythm that sank into Ryker’s bones.The chopper cut through the clouds, metal humming beneath his boots, the cabin lit dimly by the glow of the interface screens lining the walls. Across from him, Henry lounged back in his seat, one leg stretched out, fingers drumming idly against the armrest.“You’re unusually quiet,” Henry said. “I don't think that's a good sign.”Ryker didn’t answer.He swiped the tablet dark and leaned his head back, eyes closing against the steady pulse of the rotors. The noise faded into something distant, like waves crashing far away.The memory came uninvited.His mother’s voice, tired but warm, calling his name from the kitchen. His sister sitting cross-legged on the floor, braiding scraps of string together and declaring it a crown. The cramped living room. The cracked walls. The laughter that had filled it anyway.They had been happy. It hit him hard enough to make his chest ache.Then the system screamed.WARNING.
CHAPTER 11: Before The Next Assignment
Ryker stepped out of Dr. Clark’s office with the tablet still glowing in his hand.The door slid shut behind him with a soft mechanical hiss. He didn’t slow. His eyes skimmed the screen as he walked, the familiar layout of mission data scrolling beneath his thumb. Coordinates. Timelines. Clearance codes. The kind of information that never surprised him anymore.The corridor stretched ahead, long and quiet, polished to the point where the lights above reflected faintly off the floor. His footsteps echoed back at him, measured and controlled. He welcomed the silence, as it gave him space to think.“Ryker.”The voice hit him hard enough to stop him mid-step.Not because it was loud. Because it was familiar.His grip tightened around the tablet before he turned. His stomach twisted, sharp and immediate, the kind of reaction that came from old instincts he’d never managed to bury. He turned slowly, already knowing who he would see.Damon stood a few paces away. He looked exactly the same.
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