Dominance of the Forgotten God of War

"You useless sack of crap! Just 600 milliliters and you're already pulling the dying act? What are you made of, cheap paper?"

An elegantly dressed elderly woman with a wrinkled face and silvery gray locks reprimanded Alex as he lay on the hospital bed. 

"Madame, please calm down! We have already drawn 600ml of blood from Mr. Alex. Any more, and we will be putting his life at risk!" the nurse exclaimed with a sense of urgency, glancing at Alex, who looked like he was about to pass out.

But the sour-faced hag stared daggers at her and rebuked her sharply, “You are just a damn nurse. What do you know about blood donations? Just shut up and do what you are asked, or there will be consequences!”

“But…” The nurse tried to speak, but Mrs. Rashford cut her off harshly.

“No buts! This piece of trash owes his life to the Rashford family! We saved him, and now we’re just asking for a few drops of his blood. He should be grateful if anything!” she snapped. Marching to Alex’s bedside, she glared at his pale face and barked, “Keep drawing. He still looks in perfect health!”

The nurse hesitated, worried that something might go wrong. But just then, Alex opened his eyes.

He looked pale, his face flushed like a bleached lotus, but his voice remained as taut and unyielding as ever. 

“Just do as she says. Keep going,” Alex instructed firmly. He knew that with his unnaturally strong physique and indomitable willpower, he could hold on much longer than the average donor.

Still, the nurse remained reluctant. She wasn’t willing to kill a donor just to keep her job. 

That’s when Mrs. Rashford practically leaped at her, yelling in a frantic voice, “Are you deaf? He agreed, didn’t he? Do your job!”

“It is unethical. I just can’t—”

Before the nurse could speak another word, Mrs. Rashford shoved her aside, grabbed the tubing, and reconnected the needle like a mad woman. Her eyes gleamed with insanity as she shook Alex’s arm like a twig to accelerate the blood flow. 

“Why the hell is it taking so long? My son is in pain, and here you are bleeding like an old hagfish!” she spat out her words with such venom that even the nurse backed away. “I swear if anything happens to my son, I will make you regret ever being born!”

Watching Mrs. Rashford’s madness unfold, Alex felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. His vision turned blurry as the rapid blood drain took a hefty toll on his body.

Although Alex had now been reduced to a helpless blood donor and was constantly humiliated by Mrs. Rashford, he was far from being a useless loser.

Two years ago, Alex Verlaine was hailed as the undisputed God of War, in charge of leading the United Sovereign Armies of Alexandria. 

But all that was before the bioweapon attack. Infected by a genetically modified virus, he had lost all his powers and came with an inch of death, only to escape in the most unexpected way.

Chased by hired headhunters and leagues of unknown assassins, Alex was on the run when one fateful day, he bumped into Mr. Rashford’s car in the middle of a busy intersection. 

He expected to be abandoned, but instead of leaving him to die on the road, the Rashfords not only nursed him back to health but also offered him shelter and food.

Ever since then, Alex had decided to bury his past and start a new life with the Rashfords to hide from his enemies and repay their kindness.

Soon after, during a routine checkup, they had discovered that Alex’s rare AB-negative blood was a perfect match for the youngest Rashford son, Jakob.

That’s when they started treating him even better, honoring his every request, and even going as far as offering Mr. Rashford’s only daughter’s hand in marriage to him without any demands.

But little did Alex know that what started as a second chance would soon turn into a horrid nightmare.

From the day he married Felicia Rashford, he became little more than a walking blood bag for Jakob. His meals were strictly controlled, his health carefully monitored, and his life confined to the dull walls of a small room in the basement.

Even Felicia refused to sleep with him, stating it might interfere with his ability to donate blood.

Things only went further downhill from there the day Mr. Rashford died in a car crash. Even before laying her husband’s coffin to rest, Mrs. Rashford took control of the household, and Felicia became the new CEO of their family business, Femme Fatale.

With Mr. Rashford no longer there to keep the family in line, Felicia began treating Alex like a mere servant, and even his mother-in-law started abusing him at will.

Alex had every chance to disappear some day and never look back, but thinking about Mr. Rashford's kindness, he decided to stay back and help his grieving family by supporting them in their time of need.

For two long years, Alex had been doing everything to repay his old debts, even if it meant tolerating the constant humiliation and ridicule. But Mrs. Rashford always found new ways to make his life more miserable.

Now, staring at the deranged Mrs. Rashford, Alex clenched his fists. He had given blood before, but never like this. It was as if his mother-in-law had decided it was finally time to squeeze out his life and clear all debts in one night.

As his blood drained away, so did his strength. His vision blurred, and the world around him faded until all he could hear was Mrs. Rashford’s screams echoing in his ears. Moments later, he passed out from fatigue.

“Damn you!” Mrs. Rashford cursed. “We let you stay with us free of charge, and you can’t even donate three bags of blood. Pathetic!”

“He needs to rest. You are putting his life in danger!” the nurse protested.

But Mrs. Rashford sneered at her. “His life belongs to us. If he dies while donating blood for my son, it will simply be a repayment for our kindness!”

With those final words, Mrs. Rashford stormed off to see her son.

Just as she stepped outside, the visiting doctor arrived. He was about to check on Alex when Mrs. Rashford stopped him.

“How is my dear Jakob?” she asked. “We will arrange for more frequent transfusions if that helps.”

The doctor glanced at Jakob’s medical report and replied, “The patient is now in the advanced stages of Thrombotic Thrombocytopenic Purpura (TTP). His organs are failing. I am afraid simple plasma transfusions won’t be enough anymore. He needs surgery.”

“So, get it done. I don’t care how much it costs!” Mrs. Rashford exclaimed in annoyance.

“It’s not so simple. I already tried speaking to your daughter,” the doctor replied. “Your son needs a Splenectomy. It is a complicated and potentially life-threatening procedure. Even the tiniest mistakes can be fatal. We need to call a specialist for this one.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked agitatedly. “You don’t need to worry about the money. Just call your best doctor. I will spare no expense to save my son!”

The doctor sighed and replied, “It is not about the money. There is only one person who can perform such a complex procedure without killing the patient. She goes by the nickname Dr. L, but in our medical circle, we call her ‘The Miracle Maker’. Rumor has it that no patient has ever died on her watch. But reaching her is impossible for someone like me.”

“Then find someone who knows how to reach her!” Mrs. Rashford snapped. “I am sure she will agree for the right price.”

“She doesn’t care about the money, Mrs. Rashford. You need the proper connections to even get in touch with her.”

Just then, a pretentious voice interrupted their conversation. It was none other than Robert Salasar, the sole heir to the Salasar Group of Industries.

“Your son will get his surgery done. I promise you that,” he declared confidently as he approached them. “No doctor can refuse the Salasar family. My father has connections in the highest places.”

Hearing Robert’s decisive words, Mrs. Rashford’s eyes gleamed with adoration. “You truly are a man of your word. Felicia should have married you instead of that penniless loser. Alex doesn’t deserve her. But, alas, my poor girl has no choice but to stay with that worthless dog because her brother needs a permanent blood donor.”

“Well, if the surgery is successful, your son won’t need plasma transfusions anymore,” the doctor intervened. “A splenectomy should help Jakob recover in no time.”

Robert smiled as he heard those words. “Then I guess Felicia won’t need that loser husband of hers either,” he said.

“Of course, she wouldn’t!” Mrs. Rashford exclaimed delightedly. “I only told my daughter to marry Alex to help with Jakob’s treatment. He is nothing more than a walking blood bag.” She hesitated for a while before asking, “But are you really sure you can contact this Miracle Maker?”

Robert huffed and pulled out his phone. It was clear he didn’t like anyone doubting his words.

He immediately dialed his secretary’s number and instructed in a firm voice, “I need you to find someone for me. People call her the Miracle Maker, and she goes by the nickname, Dr. L. Talk to her and ask her to reach the New Hope Medical Center as soon as possible.”

Hearing Robert’s words, Mrs. Rashford beamed with pride, her face flushed with admiration.

“You really are a Godsend!” she exclaimed, fixing her adulatory eyes on Robert. “I promise once the surgery is over, Felicia will divorce Alex. I will have her marry you instead!”