From Prisoner To God Of War

Vengeance A Purposeful Mission

Once he picked up the phone, the voice echoed, “Hello smart can you hear me?” the voice on the end asked.

“Yes, sir, I can hear you,” Lucas replied pretentiously.

“You must send some of your guys to the Thick Ass Club tonight, I hear some traitor has seized the refinery and is out to cause havoc. My sons need more security to their arsenal. You know how much we are involved in the crude. Hurry up, we don’t want to die.”

“OK, sir.”

He hung up and Lucas grinned and tossed the phone away.  He knew whose voice it was. It was Pablo’s the same Pablo that was next on his list.

The Pablo family was among the most respected elite family in Madrid. Born with silver spoon in their mouths, Pablo controlled fifty percent of Madrid’s oil well, and owned the best oil plants and hospitality hub.

With a staggering net worth of thirty billion dollars, the Pablo family were governed by three sons; Jose Pablo, a thick, 6’2 inches tall maestro who controlled the underworld of gun peddling within and across the border.

He had been supplying guns in exchange for the crude oil, which was gotten from the land.

Miles Pablo, a thug life convener, and a street fighter known for his mastery of taekwondo and street boxing. Expelled from the military, Miles was given a second chance to protect the Pablo’s with his vigor, just to partake of the oil.

Allen Pablo, a martial artist and a coke dealer who was feared on the street for his huge street fighters’ followership.

The Pablo’s were promised ten percent of the crude oil proceeds if only they would provide adequate security for the land against unwanted intruders.

The cracking of bones could be heard as Lucas folded his fist. “The Pablo’s are next,” he groaned within himself and placed a phone call and in a jiffy, more than hundred soldiers stormed the burial ground, in white trucks.

Once they caught the sight of Lucas they gave a powerful salute and held out their chests.

“Guard this presidential burial ground No elite, I repeat no elite must be buried here.”

“Yes, General!” they chanted and gave another powerful salute.

“I will be back.” He groaned and began to step away, his boot leaving an impressive print in the soil, the resultant force that piled up in his body.

He had always known where to meet the Pablo’s. They co-owned the Thick Ass Club, where they did most of their shady deals before dispersing for action. 

Tonight was hazy but thick with the merriment and buzzing of country music.

The power bike groomed and came to a halt and Lucas cast a vengeful stare at the club. At the point of entry were three heavily-chested thugs with rifles and batons. He began to step toward them.

His demeaning, scaly looks should have scared them but they decided to keep to their ground and stop him. Before they could utter a word, he sent two, redefining punch in their faces and they staggered to a corner, nursing their bloodied mouth.

“Who the fuck are you, man?”

One queried and corked his gun to take a shot, but he couldn’t make it; Lucas dived to his front and grabbed his weapon. With a stroke, the rifle snapped into two and he gave him and kick in the groin.

“Ah! Ah! Shit. Man! My balls!”

The rest unable to stand this bogey man took to their heels.

Without announcing his presence, he stepped into the busy, lighted club, where strippers tossed around long poles while their onlookers sprayed them some bills and spanked their booties in exchange.

He combed his glance around seeing some mafia sniffing some drugs while a few played casino and yelled at each other over nothing. He was busy looking out for any of the Pablos. He had been to this club once and it was before going to the prison.

His boss, Rodrigo had sent him to deliver some documents to the most senior Pablos, Jose.

He began to push through the crowd of dancers and came to a halt once he saw a group of busty strippers, well curvaceous, surrounding an executive sofa, they got busy stroking and massaging the body of a large figure .

 He had found his victim. About to take a step, ten heavily-chested, ponytailed men stormed out and stood in his way.

“Out of bound for commoners, back off your ass!” one ordered.

Lucas clenched his jaw and furiously grabbed their heads and smashed them together without any of them expecting it. With a furious side kick in the throat of one, the victim smashed on the table, leaving the bottles and glasses shattering on the floor.

“Oh! Aha! Oh shit!” the thug wailed, wriggling his body in pain.

All eyes came on Lucas just then. The rest of the thugs staggered toe their feet and held out their guns.

He caught sight of Jose being taken out of sight by some of his closest guards.

“You are going to die if you don’t step back. “One of them corked his gun at Lucas who was stepping forward. He took a shot and he tossed away the bullets with a wavy force of air, and slammed them back to the shooter.

The shooter was shot in the chest, and blood spiraled down to his belly before he fell.

“Shit! He is not human!”  a voice echoed as everyone began to run for safety.

A thug dived at him and he caught him in the air, his fingers already strangling his victim in the throat. Another rushed top attack but he gave several repeated kicks that sent his second victim smashing into the shelves of wine.

“Ah! Ah! Damn!” he whimpered.

Still holding the other in the throat he threw him at the crowd of thugs that stepped out and with a fisty stamp of his foot, the ground shook and he commanded a wave of light and he tossed it at their neck, and their necks were sliced.

Blood splattered all over.

With a powerful kick, the iron door fell out, and standing before him were masked men, with bow and arrow. These were the same masked men he found guarding his father’s crude oil- land.

“Better phone your families to dig enough graves. You all are not returning home alive,” he groaned.

“Who are you?” Jose yelled from behind, his phone handy as he dialed some numbers for more backup.