KING OF THE NORTH

Chapter Five: One Move

The entire auction house fell into dead silence. 

Everyone stared at the man standing in the doorway, with an aura of violence so thick it was suffocating.

Some of the women in the crowd leaned forward in their seats, their eyes widening as they got better looks at him. 

Because despite the blood and the cold fury in his eyes, Navine Garrett was a stunning man. 

He had sharp features and a presence that commanded attention, even without the tactical gear and the aura if danger. 

“Oh my God,” One of the women whispered to her companion, “Look at him,”

“Who is he?” Another asked. 

“I don't care who he is," a third woman said, fanning herself. “Did you see the way he walked in here? The power? If he was mine, I'd never let him go,”

The auctioneer, however, was not impressed.

He was still standing on the platform, his thin face twisted with irritation. 

He'd dealt with powerful people before, and this man – covered in blood, radiating danger – clearly had power but rules were rules.

He straightened his tuxedo and walked toward Navine with his whip still in hand.

“Sir,” he said carefully, his tone respectful but firm. “I can see you're someone of... considerable influence. But surely you understand that this establishment has rules. This auction house requires an invitation to enter. A very exclusive invitation.”

He stopped a few feet away from Navine.

“I'm certain someone of your stature would appreciate the need for protocol. So I'm going to have to ask you to –”

Navine’s hand shot out faster than the auctioneer could process. He grabbed the man by the front of his expensive tuxedo, lifted him off the ground with one arm, and threw him.

The auctioneer flew through the air like he weighed nothing before slamming into the wall with bone crushing force. 

He hit so hard the plaster cracked and his body crumpled to the floor in a heap, unconscious before he even landed. 

Navine walked towards the platform, his boots echoing in the silence.

When he reached the platform, he climbed up onto it and walked straight to the cage where Lyanna was still pressed against the bars, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

He looked down at her and his expression softened slightly. 

“I'm taking my sister,” he said, loud enough for the entire room to hear, “Does anyone object?”

There was silence for a while. 

Then the auctioneer managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees. His jaw was clenched with fury and humiliation.

“Security!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “SECURITY! Get this bastard out of here! Now!”

Heavy footsteps thundered through the building. 

The side doors flew open and three guards burst into the room. 

The lead guard, a massive brute with a shaved head and neck tattoos, pointed at Navine.

“You picked the wrong place to cause trouble,” he growled.

Navine looked at them with those cold, empty eyes.

“Move or die,” He said. 

The lead guard laughed, “Big words. From a dead man,” 

The guards rushed forward as one.

The lead guard swung his baton at Navine's head with brutal force.

Navine caught it mid-swing. His hand closed around the baton like a vice, stopping it dead. The guard's eyes widened in shock.

Navine twisted.

SNAP!

The guard's wrist broke. He screamed.

Navine ripped the baton from his grip and drove it into the man's stomach with devastating precision. The guard's scream cut off as all the air exploded from his lungs. He collapsed, gasping like a fish out of water.

The second guard came from behind with a taser.

Navine spun and kicked him hard in the chest. 

The guard flew backward ten feet and crashed into his companion.

****

In the luxury suite above, Victoria stood at the window, her wine glass forgotten as she watched the commotion below. 

“Who the hell is this troublemaker?" she hissed, her perfect face twisted with anger. “Where did he even come from? I don't recognize him at all.”

The Patriarch sat calmly in his chair, still sipping his drink. He looked completely unconcerned.

“It doesn't matter who he is,” he said dismissively. “Look at the situation. There's security here. And more importantly…”

He gestured toward the platform where Roland Vance was cowering.

“Roland's personal bodyguard is down there. That man is my most prized disciple. I trained him myself for fifteen years. He's undefeated in underground fighting circuits across three countries. This troublemaker, whoever he is, won't last five seconds against him.”

***

Down at the platform,  Roland watched as Navine walked closer to him. 

“Do you intend to take my sex slave away from me?” He asked Navine. 

Navine stopped a few feet away, his expression unreadable. 

“You dare call her a sex slave! You're finished!”

“Brother!” Lyanna screamed from within the cage. 

Navine turned. She was pressed against the bars as her small hands reached through to grab at his sleeve. 

"Brother, you have to run!" she said urgently as tears streaming down her face. "Please! You've been gone so long – you don't understand! You don't know how terrifying his bodyguard is!”

Her voice cracked as she spoke. 

“The girl's right,” someone in the crowd called out. “That's Roland Vance's personal bodyguard! He's a legend!”

“I heard he once fought ten men at once and won!”

“He's undefeated!”

“This stranger is completely finished!”

“He shouldn't have provoked Roland Vance!”

People were leaning forward in their seats now, eager to see the violence about to unfold.

With the crowd backing him, Roland's confidence doubled. 

“You heard them,” he said, “My bodyguard will be here any second. And when he arrives, you're dead. You understand me? Dead!”

He raised his voice, screaming toward the side entrance.

“Killian! KILLIAN! Get out here and kill this bastard!”

Heavy footsteps echoed from the shadows. The crowd went silent again as a man stepped into the light.

He was huge; easily six and a half feet tall, built like a brick wall. Muscles bulged beneath his tight black shirt. His arms were as thick as tree trunks. His hands looked like they could crush a man's skull.

His face was scarred with old wounds that told stories of countless fights. His eyes were dead, empty, like he'd stopped seeing people as human long ago.

Killian walked onto the platform slowly. 

He stopped a few feet from Navine and cracked his knuckles. 

“Break him, Killian! Make him suffer,” Roland said. 

In the luxury suite, the Patriarch leaned forward in his chair. A small smile played on his face. 

"Watch carefully," he said to Victoria. "This troublemaker is finished in one move. Killian doesn't waste time. One move, and it's over."

Victoria nodded, her eyes fixed on the scene below.

Down, Killian rolled his massive shoulders and took a fighting stance.

“I'll make this quick,” he said to Navine. “You won't even feel it.”

Then he attacked. Killian moved with surprising speed for someone his size. He closed the distance in a heartbeat and threw a devastating right hook.

The punch should have ended the fight but Navine’s palm shot up and caught Killian's fist mid-swing.

Killian's eyes went wide with shock and agony.

Every bone in his hand shattered simultaneously. His fingers bent backward at impossible angles. Blood spurted from between Navine's fingers as Killian's hand was pulverized into a mangled ruin.

Killian screamed but Navine was not done. 

Still holding Killian's crushed hand, Navine pulled him forward and drove his knee into Killian's ribs with such devastating force that everyone heard the ribs break.

The entire ribcage collapsed inward like a crushed tin can.

Killian's scream cut off as his lungs were punctured by his own broken ribs. Blood exploded from his mouth in a spray of red.

Navine released his grip.

Killian's massive body swayed for a moment, his eyes glassy and unfocused, blood pouring from his mouth.

Then he collapsed face-first onto the platform with a wet, heavy THUD that shook the entire stage.

He didn't move again.

One move.

Just like the Patriarch had predicted.

Except it wasn't the troublemaker who was finished.

The entire auction house was frozen in shock.

Nobody could believe what they'd just seen.

Killian, the legendary killer, destroyed in a single exchange. 

Up in the luxury suite, the Patriarch's wine glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

His face had gone completely white.

His mouth hung open in shock.

“That's impossible,”