God of War: The Silent Healer

Everything felt wrong tonight, too quiet, too empty, too expectant. A car engine hummed behind him. Spencer didn’t turn.

He already knew it wasn’t supposed to be there. “Great,” he muttered. “Just what I need.”

The engine crept closer. Spencer stopped. The car rolled to a halt a few meters behind him. Its headlights cut through the rain like blades.

A voice shouted from inside. “Spencer Ford! Stop walking!”

Spencer closed his eyes. “…Seriously? You couldn’t wait for tomorrow?”

The driver’s door slammed open. A tall man stepped out, face hidden beneath a hood. “Spencer Ford,” the man repeated, voice low. “Come here.”

“Nope,” Spencer said immediately, turning back toward the road. “Not interested.”

“You don’t get a choice.”

A second man stepped out of the passenger door. Spencer lifted his brows. “Two of you? For me? Somebody’s standards are low.”

The first man’s reply was sharp. “You survived when you shouldn’t have. You know what that means.”

Spencer frowned. “Survived what?”

Neither answered. Instead, they stepped toward him. The first man lunged. Spencer jumped back, but the movement felt… wrong. Too fast. Too natural.

His body reacted as if it had been waiting for that attack. “What the hell?”

The second man swung at him. Spencer ducked without thinking. His muscles moved with chilling accuracy, like someone else was controlling them. “Spencer Ford,” the first man snapped, “come quietly.”

“No!” Spencer’s voice cracked. “You’re crazy!”

“You survived an impossible event,” the second man said. “And we were told to bring you in.”

Spencer’s heartbeat pounded. “What impossible event?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”

They didn’t answer. They attacked. Spencer’s body shifted again, fluid, instinctive. His foot swept the wet pavement, spinning him away just in time.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he kept doing it anyway. “Why do I know how to move like this?!” he breathed.

The first man snarled and rushed him again. Spencer’s hand shot out, fast, precise, and grabbed the man’s wrist. He twisted, throwing the man into a puddle so hard the splash echoed like a gunshot.

The man groaned. Spencer stared at his own hands in horror. “That wasn’t me… I don’t fight like that. I don’t fight at all.”

The second man stopped. “You weren’t supposed to awaken this soon.”

“A–awaken?” Spencer stuttered. “What does that mean?”

The man reached inside his jacket. Spencer’s instincts screamed. Move.

He didn’t question it. He sprinted across the wet asphalt, but the man was faster. Something metallic flickered.

A van roared from around the corner. Its headlights flashed through the rain. And it was speeding straight toward Spencer.

The driver shouted from inside, voice frantic. “MOVE! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”

Spencer spun, blinded by the lights. “What”

The van skidded. Tires screeched. The world exploded. Impact slammed into Spencer’s body like a wrecking hammer. Pain burst across his ribs.

He heard the sickening crack of bone, the shatter of glass, the metal grinding. His body flew. Then darkness swallowed everything.

Voices echoed through the void. “His heart’s stopping!”

“Get the paddles—NOW!”

“Who ordered this? Who arranged the hit?!”

Spencer floated in a weightless, numb space. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel anything except cold. He wanted to speak.

What happened to me? Why?

A different voice cut through the chaos, smooth, emotionless, chilling. “Let him die. That was the instruction.”

Spencer’s fading consciousness trembled.

I… I don’t want to die…

Another voice, a woman, cried out sharply. “No! We save him! He still has a chance!”

“He’s a failed candidate.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s still human!”

Chaos exploded around him.

Someone yelled, “Charging to 200, CLEAR!”

A violent jolt slammed into his chest. His heart spasmed. “Again, CLEAR!”

Another jolt. Another shock of agony. A whisper brushed his fading mind, quiet and cold: “If he lives… he awakens.”

Spencer felt the world stretch, crack, and snap. A surge of something ancient, something feral, something alive tore through his veins.

A third jolt hit. Light burst through the darkness. His lungs dragged in a brutal, aching breath. “Heartbeat is returning!”

“Pulse stabilizing!”

“He’s alive!”

Spencer gasped as the world rushed back, lights, noise, rain, pain. He lay on the pavement in the pouring storm, people shouting around him, EMT lights spinning red and blue.

Everything felt different. Too loud. Too sharp. Too clear. He lifted his trembling hand. Rain ran down his fingers like silver threads, and he could see every droplet, every vibration.

“What… happened to me?” he whispered.

A medic knelt beside him. “Sir, can you hear me? Just stay still. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

Spencer coughed. “No… I’m not.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t supposed to survive.”

The medic frowned. “Why would you say that?”

Spencer didn’t answer. Because he didn’t understand it. Not yet. A shadow moved behind the ambulance.

Spencer’s eyes, unnaturally sharp now, locked onto two figures standing in the rain. The same men from earlier. They weren’t running. They weren’t hiding.

They were watching him. The first one muttered to the other, “He awakened.”

The second man cursed. “This is bad. This is very, very bad.”

The medic noticed Spencer’s trembling gaze. “Sir? What’s wrong? What are you looking”

“Don’t” Spencer swallowed hard. “Don’t turn around.”

The medic froze. “Why?”

But it was too late. The men stepped closer. “Spencer Ford,” the first one called out. “Your survival complicates things.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Why are you still here?! I could’ve died!”

“That was the point.”

The second man reached into his coat. The medic shouted, “Hey! Back up! Don’t come any”

A hand grabbed Spencer’s collar. A whisper hissed against his ear. “Your heart stopped for eleven seconds. No normal human comes back from that.”

Spencer’s blood ran cold. “H–how do you know that?”

“You weren’t an accident, Spencer.”

The man leaned closer. “You were a test.”

Spencer’s breath caught. “A test for what?”

The man grinned. “To see if the God of War could awaken again.”

Spencer’s stomach dropped. “The… what?”

Sirens wailed in the distance. Police were approaching. The men stepped back. “This isn’t over,” the first one said.

“Your awakening was recorded. They’ll come for you now.”

Spencer gasped. “Who?! Who’s coming?!”

The man’s answer sliced through him like a blade. “Everyone.”

They vanished into the rain. Medics lifted Spencer onto a stretcher. His vision blurred. But something caught his eye.

A symbol painted on the pavement where his blood had spilled, a faint glowing sigil he hadn’t noticed before. A circle. A blade. A hand outstretched over a heart. It pulsed once, like it recognized him.

“W–what is that?” Spencer whispered. No one else seemed to see it. Only him.

The medic looked confused. “What are you staring at?”

Spencer didn’t answer. Because deep in his bones, in his newly awakened flesh, he felt the truth: His accident wasn’t an accident. His survival wasn’t luck. And his nightmare was just beginning.

His pulse throbbed with unnatural strength. He wasn’t alone in his own body anymore, Something had awakened, and it wanted to fight.