From Ex-con To Supreme God Of War

Chapter 6. The Face-to-face Warning & The Ambush

"Open your eyes, Jack. Twenty-six years is a long time to live on borrowed breath," a quiet, bone-chilling voice cut through the stillness of the study.

Jack Hill froze, his hand stopping midway toward the crystal glass of aged scotch resting on his desk.

The private estate of Jack Hill stood at the highest ridge of the eastern hill.

It was surrounded by electric iron fences, motion-sensor floodlights and armed private patrols.

To the city of Valmoria, Jack Hill was a respected philanthropist, a retired business tycoon, and a pillar of high society.

To Thomas Green, the mansion was a monument built on stolen blood, echoing with the ghosts of his murdered family.

Minutes earlier, two perimeter guards in vests had walked their patrol route along the western gravel path, carrying automatic rifles and talking quietly about the weather.

Before either man could blink, a dark shadow had dropped silently from the low-hanging branches of a tree directly behind them.

Thomas had moved with the absolute silence of a ghost, catching both guards by the back of their helmets and smashing their heads together with a dull, heavy thud.

Both men had gone limp instantly, sliding quietly into the damp grass without a single sound escaping their lips.

Thomas had stepped over their unconscious bodies, adjusted the collar of his simple dark coat, and walked straight toward the mansion’s reinforced glass back doors as if he were simply visiting an old friend.

Inside the study, Jack spun around in his leather chair, his heart skipping a beat as he stared at the intruder standing calmly in the warm, lamplit room.

The doors had clicked shut and Thomas now stood inches away, drenched in the faint chill of the night air.

Jack’s breath caught in his throat, his entire security network of twenty armed veterans downstairs completely unaware of the breach.

"Who the hell are you?" Jack demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding tone as he reached his hand toward the hidden panic button beneath his desk.

"How did you get past the perimeter gates?"

"You don't need a panic button, Jack," Thomas said quietly, taking a slow, steady step forward.

"Because no one downstairs is coming to help you."

Jack stared hard at the stranger, suddenly noticing the sharp facial structure, the unyielding posture, and the terrifying aura of quiet dominance that felt hauntingly familiar.

Memories of twenty-six years ago flashed violently through Jack's mind—a burning study, a dying man on the floor, and a desperate family trying to escape the slaughter.

"No..." Jack whispered, his face turning the color of ash as his hand recoiled from the desk.

"That's impossible. You... you're supposed to be dead."

"You thought you wiped out every single member of the Green family that night," Thomas said, his eyes locking onto Jack’s trembling frame.

"You forgot about my aunt. She smuggled me out of the burning estate, carried me through the dark woods, and safely placed me inside a warm, protective orphanage before you spent years hunting her down and murdering her in a cold alley."

Jack’s face turned pale, the terrible memory of hunting down Thomas's brave aunt flashing across his mind like a lightning bolt.

"I am James Green's son," Thomas continued, his voice dropping low.

"You stole my father's company, you slaughtered my mother and sister in this very house, and you executed my aunt for trying to keep me alive. I have spent seven years in cages and warzones waiting for this exact moment, Jack."

Panic flared in Jack’s old, greedy eyes, quickly twisting into a mask of ugly, defensive fury.

He slammed his palm down onto the desk, splashing scotch across the wood, and pointed a shaking finger at Thomas.

"You arrogant, pathetic little rat." Jack shrieked, his voice cracking with rage.

"Your father was a weak fool, and your entire family deserved to rot. You think because you survived some orphanage and a stint in prison that you can walk into my home and threaten me?"

"I am not threatening you, Jack," Thomas replied, his expression that's carved from cold stone.

"I am giving you notice. Every piece of stolen land, every illegal asset, and every drop of blood your syndicate spilled will be reclaimed. And you will spend the rest of your miserable life rotting behind prison bars, exactly where you belong."

Before Jack could lunge for the revolver hidden inside his desk drawer, Thomas turned around smoothly on his heel.

"Guards! Kill him. Shoot him through the head." Jack screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing open his study door.

Footsteps echoed wildly up the staircase as six armed security guards rushed toward the hallway, weapons raised and ready to fire.

Thomas did not run. He walked calmly down the opposite end of the private corridor toward the service exit, disappearing into the shadows before the guards could even reach the landing.

Jack stood in his doorway, shaking with a blind, murderous fury that made his chest heave and his old heart hammer violently against his ribs.

"Find him." Jack roared at his head of security, who arrived breathlessly at the front of the pack.

"He’s leaving the estate right now in a simple black sedan. Take the hit squad, intercept him on the winding mountain road, and bring me his corpse. I want him carved into pieces and thrown into the river."

"Yes, Chairman Hill. Consider it done," the head of security barked, turning around and sprinting back down the stairs with five armed mercenaries close behind.

Jack retreated back into his study, clutching his chest as he paced furiously across the rug.

A deep, agonizing wave of bitter regret suddenly crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Twenty-six years ago, after slaughtering James Green and seizing his empire, Jack had ordered his men to scour the countryside for the infant Thomas while his aunt had managed to slip away into the night.

When his men had finally hunted down and eliminated the aunt years later, they had never found the boy because she had already hidden him safely away in a distant, anonymous orphanage.

"I should have combed every orphanage and corner of this country and crushed his skull when he was a child," Jack muttered aloud, his voice trembling with venomous self-hatred.

"I left a loose end, and now that little bastard has come back to tear down everything I built."

Meanwhile, down on the winding, isolated mountain road that led away from the Green estate, Thomas drove his simple black sedan through the thick, misty darkness.

The rain had started to fall again.

Suddenly, two heavy black SUVs materialized from a dark side trail, accelerating rapidly with their high-beam headlights blazing full power, blinding the rearview mirror.

The first SUV swerved aggressively across the narrow asphalt lane, slamming on its brakes and blocking Thomas’s path completely.

The second SUV pulled up hard right behind Thomas’s bumper, trapping his car between two walls of steel.

Fourteen heavily armed men in black gear and vests poured out of the vehicles, raising suppressed submachine guns and shotguns.

They moved with precision, spreading out to surround the sedan on all sides, treating the target not as a human being, but as an execution assignment.

Inside the sedan, Thomas turned off the engine.

He looked calmly through the driver's side window at the head of security, who was marching toward the car with a cruel, smug grin, raising the barrel of his silenced pistol directly at the glass.

The head of security tapped twice on the driver's window with the steel barrel, gesturing for Thomas to roll it down.

Thomas pressed the window control button.

The glass slid down smoothly into the door frame, exposing him to the cold mountain air and the ring of lethal weapons.

"You picked the wrong house to break into, punk," the head of security sneered, spitting onto the wet asphalt.

"Chairman Hill sends his regards. Say goodbye to Valmoria."

He never got to pull the trigger.

With blinding, inhuman speed, Thomas reached out through the open window, gripped the man’s vest with one hand, and yanked him forward with force.

The head of security smashed face-first into the metal door frame and instantly knocked unconscious before he even hit the ground.

"Fire! Shoot him through the car." The remaining mercenaries screamed in absolute shock, opening fire at a chaotic speed.

Bullets chewed through the windshield and shattered the side windows, but Thomas had already vanished from the driver's seat.

Before the mercenaries could adjust their aim, the passenger-side door was kicked outward with explosive force, striking the nearest gunman and sending him flying ten feet off the cliffside into the dark.

Thomas stepped out into the pouring rain, moving like a phantom of death through the spray of gunfire.

He ducked under a wild burst of gun rounds.

He closed the distance to the nearest shooter in a fraction of a second, and drove his palm upward into the man’s chin, shattering his jawbone.

He snatched the falling weapon out of the air, flipped it around, and used the heavy steel to shatter the collarbone of a second attacker.

The road erupted into a symphony of screams, bone-cracking impacts, and desperate gunfire, but every single bullet struck empty air or shattered glass.

Thomas did not fire a single round; he dismantled the hit squad with ruthless, bare-handed efficiency, treating the killers like helpless children playing with toys.

In less than two minutes, all fourteen mercenaries lay broken, groaning, and unconscious across the wet asphalt, bleeding into the puddles beneath the dark mountain trees.

Silence descended upon the isolated road once more, broken only by the steady hiss of the rain and the calm, even breathing of Thomas Green.

He stepped over the unconscious body of the head of security, pulled his cheap personal phone from his pocket, and dialed Ethan’s secure number.

"Ethan," Thomas said quietly, his voice entirely unbothered as he wiped a stray drop of rain from his coat sleeve.

"Jack Hill just sent his welcome committee. Clean up the mountain road."

"Understood, General," Ethan’s calm voice responded instantly through the speaker. "Shall we accelerate the timeline on our next move?"

"No," Thomas replied, looking up toward the distant, glowing lights of Jack Hill's mountaintop mansion in the dark distance.

"Let him sweat a little longer. Let him realize that the child his men failed to kill twenty-six years ago has finally come home to collect."