Heaven breaker King: The Prison God Returns

“Sign it.”

The paper slapped onto the metal table with a sharp crack. Bruce’s gaze dropped to the confession form, then slowly lifted to the man standing across from him.

“You want me to say I did it?” Bruce asked calmly.

The interrogation room was small, cold, and smelled of rust and disinfectant. A single light buzzed overhead.

Two officers stood to the side, arms crossed. Across the table sat Harold Kane, his foster father. Harold didn’t meet his eyes.

“Bruce,” Harold said stiffly, “this is for the good of the family.”

Bruce let out a soft laugh. “The good of the family… or the good of your real son?”

Harold’s jaw tightened. “Watch your tone.”

From the corner of the room, a young man suddenly stood up.

“Brother!” Evan Kane rushed forward, panic written all over his face. “Don’t say it like that. Dad didn’t mean it that way. This is just… just temporary.”

Bruce turned to him. “Temporary?” he echoed. “Armed assault. Financial fraud. One man is hospitalized. Do you know how many years that gets?”

Evan’s lips trembled. “I—I didn’t mean for things to go that far. They were supposed to scare him, that’s all. If I go to prison, my life is over.”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment. Then he asked quietly, “And if I go?”

Silence. Harold finally spoke, his voice low and firm. “You’re different, Bruce. You can endure hardship. Evan… Evan isn’t like you.”

Bruce smiled. That smile hurt more than any slap. “So that’s it,” Bruce said. “You raised me for twenty years, fed me, clothed me, so that I could be your shield when it mattered.”

Harold slammed his hand on the table. “Enough! If you hadn’t provoked that man, Evan wouldn’t have lost control!”

One of the officers cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mr. Kane, if the suspect doesn’t sign, we’ll have to proceed with.”

“I’ll sign,” Bruce interrupted.

Everyone froze. Evan snapped his head up. “Brother?”

Bruce reached for the pen. But his eyes weren’t on the paper. They were on Evan. “Five years,” Bruce said softly. “That’s what they’re offering, right?”

The officer nodded. “With good behavior.”

Bruce chuckled. “Good behavior… in prison.”

Harold exhaled in relief. “You’re making the right choice.”

Bruce leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp. “No. I’m making your choice.”

He signed. The pen scraped across the paper like a blade carving flesh. As soon as he finished, Evan grabbed his arm.

“Brother, I swear, when you get out, I’ll repay you. I’ll treat you better than my own.”

Bruce pulled his arm free. “Don’t,” he said.

Evan flinched. “For five years,” Bruce continued, standing up, “I’ll remember this room. This table. This pen. And the way you all looked at me when I became disposable.”

Harold frowned. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Bruce turned toward the door.

“I won’t,” he said. “I’ll be precise.”

The prison gates closed behind him with a thunderous clang. Bruce didn’t turn around. “New fish.”

A rough voice echoed from behind. Bruce looked up. A group of inmates blocked his path, tattoos, scars, crooked smiles. The front man cracked his knuckles. “First day rule. You kneel, you live easy.”

Bruce met his gaze. “And if I don’t?”

The man laughed. “Then you bleed.”

Before Bruce could move, a fist slammed into his ribs. Pain exploded. Another blow hit his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He staggered, blood filling his mouth. “See?” the man sneered. “Easy choice.”

Bruce wiped the blood from his lips and straightened slowly. His eyes were calm. Too calm. “I took the fall for someone today,” Bruce said quietly. “I’m not in the mood to kneel again.”

The inmates paused. Then the leader scoffed. “Beat him.”

They rushed him. Bruce dodged the first punch by instinct, but the second caught his shoulder. He slammed into the wall.

Boots kicked his legs out from under him. Pain rained down. Crack. Something snapped in his vision. As darkness crept in, Bruce heard a voice. “Enough.”

It was old. Calm. Commanding. The inmates froze. An elderly prisoner sat on a nearby bench, thin as a corpse, eyes half-closed. No one had noticed him before.

“You want to die?” the old man asked mildly.

The leader hesitated. “Old fool, this doesn’t concern you.”

The older man tapped the ground with his cane. Just once. The leader suddenly screamed. His arm twisted at an impossible angle, bones cracking like dry wood.

Everyone backed away in terror. The older man looked at Bruce. “You,” he said. “Get up.”

Bruce struggled to his feet. “Name?” the old man asked.

“Bruce.”

The older man studied him for a long time, then smiled faintly. “So the bloodline still lives,” he murmured.

Bruce frowned. “What bloodline?”

The older man stood, leaning on his cane. “From today onward, you are my apprentice.”

One of the guards shouted, “Old man! Back to your cell!”

The older man ignored him. “Five years,” he said to Bruce. “Can you endure hell for five years?”

Bruce laughed weakly. “I already chose it.”

The older man nodded. “Good.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “When you walk out of here,” he added, “the world will not recognize you.”

Bruce’s heart skipped. “Why?” Bruce asked.

The older man glanced back, eyes suddenly sharp as lightning. “Because,” he said, “you will no longer be human.”

That night, as Bruce lay on his prison bed, bruised and bleeding, a burning sensation erupted in his chest. Something ancient stirred.

A voice echoed deep within his bones.

Heavenbreak Legacy detected. Bloodline compatibility confirmed. System awakening…

Bruce’s eyes snapped open. In the darkness, he whispered, “What… is this?”

The voice answered calmly. Welcome, inheritor. Your path to the heavens begins in hell.

Outside his cell, unseen by all, the older man smiled. “Your parents,” he murmured, “would be proud.”