From Prisoner To God Of War

God Of War Returns

A towering figure with disheveled long hair, large biceps and muscular tattooed shoulders stood against the wall as he peered down to the pendant drooping from his neck. He had been staring at the pretty face on the pendant.

The image on the pendant was that of his pregnant wife, Alicia Maduro, while the two faces tattooed on his shoulders were that of his parents.

Lost in his gloom while staring at the image, a striking deep voice interrupted his thought.

“Hey, punk! Vacate this corner! The Lord of the prison wants to have fun.”

That was coming from a chubby, heavily-mustached dude with dark eyes and, behind him were six other dudes with fierce-looking stare, armed with steel cutlery.

The man with disheveled hair was Lucas Maduro. He had come to be feared and respected by the prisoners and the prison wardens for his brutality yet some of the prisoners would stop at nothing until they terminate him.

So this time, he feigned dear ears to his offenders and kept staring at the image.

“I guess he is deaf, huh!” one of the prisoners groaned, “A man that couldn’t save his parents and pregnant wife, how can he save himself? It is time to die, motherfucker!”

Now he had gotten to his limit. The bones around his fists cracked once Lucas folded them.

No insult had ever sliced through his heart. Jaw clenching, he turned to his prey, and took a dive, his sneakers kicked the one in front and his head smashed on the wall.

“Ah, fuck! Ah!”

His first victim wailed.

The other came through and he took a china plate close by and smashed his head, and then came his hefty punch that left that one staggering to the floor. Gesturing at the others to bring it on, they obeyed and sent their first blows.

He grabbed four of them at once and broke their wrists before smashing their heads with the plate. A dazing kick from his sneakers sent the other flying and smashing the shelves close by.

“Ah! Aha! Shit!”

The air filled with their weeping.

An alarm had begun to blare loudly and the prison wardens stormed out.

“Lucas again!” one prisoner warden gasped.

Armed with batons, the wardens lunged at him.

 Jaw clenching, he grabbed the first warden and punched him in the face so hard until his eyes bulged out.

Staring from wall to wall, he could see ten prison wardens trooping into his cell. He grabbed a bunch of broom stick and lashed at the first and then stabbed the other in the eyes before taking a wave kick which sent them flying like feathers.

“Lucas is killing everyone!  Lucas is unleashed again!”

 A voice spoke into the microphone and a mechanized injector dropped from the roof and implanted an inducer into his skull before he dropped and was captured.

One week later, Lucas stood in front of the head of security, Diego Martins, and the chief of prisons.

“Just barely two years in prison, he had slaughtered one hundred prisoners and fifty prison wardens and he did it with a bunch of broom and a plate. He is too brutal to remain in prison, sir,” the chief of prison explained to Diego.

The head of security shook his head and put pen to papers to approve his release.

“Today Lucas you are set free with a presidential pardon and shall commence your training in the 82 Brigadier. Your kind of breed is needed,” Diego said to him.

His never-smiling face stared at his beholders and then accompanied with battalions of soldiers, Lucas was set free.

For the first time prisoners could exist freely with their lives intact.

After one year training in the platoon, Lucas emerged the best graduating military personnel with zero tolerance to fear and weakness. He was immediately promoted to the rank of a General of 82 battalion and about ten thousand soldiers were answerable to him.

He had won countless battles which earned him the cognomen, god of war.

Standing behind the barricaded five acres of land, he barely could see what was happening in there. But all he heard were drilling machines and the sign post said it all; Madrid oil refinery

“They have achieved their aim but I will be their nightmare.”

He groaned within himself and shut his eyes to recall how it all started:

Lucas was a freelance worker at the Madrid Seaport. He cohabited with his parents and his wife Alicia who was pregnant at the time.

One afternoon, while busy at work, Lucas got a phone call from his father, “Lucas. you must return home now! We are rich! We are rich! Come and see!” his father chanted.

Quickly, he got home to see his parents and Alicia surrounding a pit. His father was in the pit, holding a cup of dark fluid.

“Crude oil, son! I found crude oil in our land. We are stinking rich!” he kept chanting.

“Oh my god!”

All Lucas could do was gag his mouth and instructed his father to keep shut.

“I will meet some expatriates for partnership. This is an oil well! We are fucking rich, dad!” he chanted and hugged his wife and his mother.

But nightmare crept in and the oil ministry seized the land from them. Lucas demanded for a buy out since the land was originally theirs, but they shut the doors on them.

One afternoon, he got a bizarre call from his father.

“Son, I doubt if you will make it home alive but if you can run for your life, please do. They have come for us. They will come for you!”

Lucas left for home only to find the bloodied shirts of his parents without their corpses found anywhere and the torn dress of his pregnant wife, while their thatched house burned to ashes.

To seal up their mess, they framed him up and accused him of siphoning one million dollars at the seaport, and he was sentenced to ten years imprisonment.

Today, he was in his mufti, and the ten masked men protecting the land didn’t recognize him for one bit.

“Hey, get out, asshole! Can’t you see the sign of restrictions?”

Lucas pinned his feet to the soil, his boot digging deeper for action.

“Hey, pussy, I say get out else I will spill your blood and repaint the walls with it.”

He clenched his jaw. From his end, he could see the ten armed men matching from behind. He waited for them to step closer.

“The chubby man explained to the tall macho one, “I told the cunt to leave but he is proving heady. I guess he wants to die. We have killed men his type.”

The ten men began to run towards him now. Swiftly, he took a dive and sent a furious kick that swept them to the ground, leaving their jaw splattering across the floor.

“What the fuck!” they howled, rubbing their aching bodies.