HIS RETURN FOR REVENGE

"Trat! Trat! Trat!

The deep mechanical sound of formations of helicopters tore through the night, fan blades spinning violently and vibrating the air as three black helicopters descended slowly from the sky in perfect military formation.

As soon as the helicopter touched the ground, the door slid open and men dressed in military uniforms, rifles set in their hand— about twenty of them poured out of the two helicopters and stood in a horizontal line, scanning the whole suburb with military precision that was inherent through training that most people couldn't survive and otherwise made a few that survived sharp.

The twenty men stood at ease, chin raised, eyes steady on the middle helicopter— Deep Black Polish with no letterings. They were expecting someone.

Someone Powerful.

Finally the door slid open and a lone figure appeared at the entrance, rappelling down the helicopter like a ghost.

Jaxon Monroe.

Tall with height imposed about 6'ft2, his jaw set in determination, eyes sharp as spear, dressed in a black windbreaker that fluttered gently in the evening breeze and spinning fan blades.

His expression was terrifyingly calm like he had nothing to bother about in this world, his movement casual but his presence made the air around him trembled gently.

The twenty Military men crumbled to their knees at once, head snapped down.

"War God!! We hail you!"

Jaxon looked at them without any difference in his eyes, hands crossed behind his back.

"Stand."

The men were on their feet, taking the earlier stance.

"I'll be leaving now," He said, his voice calm."it's time you go back to the base. I'll handle myself from this place."

The men hesitated but it was an order, especially from the most powerful human in the world. They didn't dare disobey. Some people believed Jaxon is an immortal being, and of course his abilities and achievements were terrifyingly remarkable.

The man who singlehandedly charged into a bloody battle, dropping all enemies head— thousands of armed enemies within ten minutes.

The only man who challenged government's illegality and put an end to a tenure without even involving legals.

Enemies feared him, nations wanted his favor, whoever walks with Jaxon Monroe survives, go against him and you'll be dead before you know it, and because of this extraordinary abilities, some people called him an immortal, some god.

Standing on the soil of BlackRiver City, memories resurfaced.

Blood. Screams.

His entire family was murdered before his eyes.

He was made to watch them die one after the other. The pain, the trauma and ugly bloody memories hunted him for years when he survived death because he was also stabbed and dumped in the sea to die— the scar had been erased but the memories unforgotten, until someone found him.

General Marcus. A retired general.

Jaxon was battered and broken but he saw something different in him— a fire waiting ignition.

And so he began training Jaxon— fighting skills that were beyond human reasoning, weapons that shouldn't existed because they're too dangerous to be used even for wars. Jaxon was taught everything, even medical skills that could kill and revive.

And now he's back to where everything was taken from him with one purpose— revenge.

He'd swore to find everyone who took everything from him that night and they'll pay...with their BLOOD.

"Yes, Sir!"

The twenty men chorused.

Jaxon grabbed his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, walking into the darkness with the same calmness.

The men watched him disappear into the darkness with a deep somber expression before mounting the helicopter and flying away.

"Safe journey, War God!!!"

-------------

Jaxon walked inside a run down Bar that was lively— colorful lights painted the place in shades of colour that excelled the excitement in the ambiance, girls dancing on the stage to music that was too loud, men seated around table with bottles of alcohol in their front, laughing hard, some gambling, some with scantily girls hovering them while some there for specific purpose known to themselves.

Jaxon walked inside and found an empty seat at the end of the room— at the corner away from the harsh light.

He looked around the place, assessing every movement, even the slightest flicks that common people see as ordinary but military training had groomed his eyes differently.

He let out a low chuckle that was amusing when he realized that almost everyone inside the bar had hidden weapons in their cloth even the scantily dressed women dancing on the stage were secretly armed with compact weapons.

He looked away without any interest, pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Don't keep me waiting, Knox. I'm at the Bar."

He simply phone back into his pocket. He needed information about everything that happened nine years ago. He stood up and walked to the bar. "A bottle of juice." He said.

The female bartender looked at him in disbelief, her voice raised over the loud music.

"What did you say?"

"You heard it." Jaxon simply said. "I don't take alcohol. Orange juice specifically." He said, smiling faintly as another memory resurfaced— his kid sister, Rosa, five years old at the time she was heartlessly murdered before his eyes. She cried with tears in her eyes, pleaded but they didn't listen. Jaxon couldn't do anything because he was pinned down, made to watch everything till she breathed her last with blade drove into her small chest and blood pooling over the floor as her body slumped. She loved orange juice. They always share it and she'll always tell him not to take alcohol.

Jaxon shook his head like physical movement alone could erase the ugly memories.

Meanwhile as he was standing near the bar counter, at another door at the end of the Bar, a woman in white expensive dress stumbled inside, colliding against a table, nearly lost her balance, bottles wobbled on the table, tilting and crashing to the floor but the woman didn't, staggering across the room and occasionally looking back panic-stricken.

Jaxon turned back gently to look at the disturbance and she saw her. Though the music was loud, he heard her words clearly.

"Help me! Help me!'

The woman staggered to him and gripped his coat, shaking it violently.

"Please. Please. Save me. They're after me." Her voice came out in a rush, cracking.

Jaxon looked at her with trained eyes. The woman was beautiful and the air around her smelled of expensive perfume. Someone like her shouldn't even be in a place like this regarding her decency and affluent look. Jaxon looked past her physical appearance and what he discovered made his eyes narrowed. She was intoxicated— this was not alcohol— it was something far more dangerous, outlawed. The hormone spiker. Aphrodisiac complex compound. One dose and you'd be under sexual heat. In worse case, the victim dies.

"Who are you? What are yo—"

Jaxon hasn't finished when four huge men in black suit materialized from the corner, looking around the Bar— obviously looking for the woman. One of them pointed at him immediately he sighted them and they started walking in their direction.

The woman quickly slipped to his back in fear, gripping his waist with surprising strength that could bruise flesh but Jaxon was indifferent. She hid behind him like he was a shield.

The four men stopped in his front, staring down at Jaxon with cold expressions and threatening eyes.

"Hey, Kiddo. Bring the woman forward." The biggest guy waved arrogantly. "She's the Boss's property."

"Please don't leave me. Please. They're dangerous people." Her grip tightened despite the exhaution in her voice. The aphrodisiac was just Starting to kick into effect.

Jaxon had no business in whatever deal they had but he wasn't the kind that would leave a vulnerable woman to become prey in the hands of monsters.

"And why should I?"