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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CHAPTER 10: THEROS
When Ryker straightened and looked back, the pain finally loosening its grip, he met a pair of blue eyes—cold, clear and old.They watched him the way mountains watched storms. They belonged to a woman standing a few steps behind him, untouched by the ruin around her. Broken walls leaned away from her boots. Dust never settled on her skin. Smoke bent aside as if it had learned obedience.She did not look surprised by the destruction. She looked like she had expected it.She wore black. The fabric was layered and sharp, cut in strange lines that didn’t belong to any era Ryker recognized. It flowed and held at the same time, refusing gravity when it pleased. The cloth shimmered faintly, like night water under moonlight. Silver thread traced symbols along the hem—old shapes, worn smooth by time rather than fashion.Her sleeves hung loose, but her posture was controlled. Balanced. Like violence was something she kept folded neatly inside herself, ready to unfold if required.She walked cl
CHAPTER 9: The Hound That Hunts God's
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CHAPTER 8: A System Built To Stop Him
The sky above Helheim did not move. It never did.Ash hung in the air like a held breath. Rivers of black fire crawled through the land in slow, deliberate veins. The throne spire rose at the center, jagged and alive, carved from the remains of wars that never ended.Two gods stood at its edge.Iroas stood with his chin up—armor layered his body like memory hardened into steel. Every plate bore scars. His presence bent the space around him—not violently, but with certainty. As if the world already knew better than to resist.Keranos stood opposite him, staff grounded against the stone. Lightning crawled lazily along its length, crackling, restless. His eyes were narrowed, unfocused, staring through the realm instead of at it.“He’s awake,” Keranos said.Not loudly. Not urgently. Just truth.Iroas did not respond at first.Below them, something howled. A distant sound. Old. Familiar.“How much?” Iroas finally asked.Keranos exhaled. The air shuddered.“Very little,” he said. “Fragments
CHAPTER 7: System Vs Magma
The chopper touched down hard on the roof of Clark Industries.Wind tore across the platform. Rotors screamed like something alive and angry. Ryker stepped out without hesitation. Two days ago, he had left this place as cargo. Now, eyes followed him.Not curiosity. Assessment.Workers paused mid-step. Guards straightened without being told. Scientists stopped, pretending to stare at their tablets. Something about him felt off. Wrong in a way no chart explained. His frame was broader. Not bulky, not exaggerated. Dense. Compact. His posture had settled differently, like his bones had finally agreed on their purpose.Ryker felt it too.The world no longer pressed in on him. It no longer felt heavier than it should.His boots hit the concrete with a weight that carried authority, even if he didn’t try to claim it. He moved forward, unhurried, and the crowd parted a fraction too late, like animals reacting after the presence was already past them.Henry was leaning against the wall near th
CHAPTER 6: Flashes Of The Past
The 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 floo
CHAPTER 5: She Called Him Father
Ryker woke up suspended in liquid. Cold pressed against his skin from every direction. Thick. Heavy. It filled his mouth, his nose, his ears. His chest tightened before he understood why—something had been forced between his lips, a tube driven deep, feeding air directly into his lungs. He tried to gasp and couldn’t. Panic flared, sharp and violent, then stalled when his body realized breathing was being handled for him.When he opened his eyes. Blurred shapes hovered beyond curved glass. White coats. Masks. Hands moving with careful speed. Lights blinked in sterile patterns. Voices existed, but only as vibration, muted and distant, like sound heard through stone.He turned his head a fraction.Pain didn’t follow. That was strange. His body felt numb, suspended, unreal.Scientists stood nearby, watching him like a problem that had finally reacted. Not with concern or relief, but with interest.One of them noticed his eyes. Everything shifted.Notes dropped. Screens went dark. Hands pu
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