KING OF THE NORTH

Chapter Three: The Truth Revealed

Dorian Caldwell stood in the doorway, surveying the carnage in Aunt Miriam's living room with an expression that shifted from shock to fury. 

His expensive Italian shoes crunched on scattered teeth and bone fragments as he stepped further inside. Blood pooled across the hardwood floor, reflecting the dim light like a grotesque mirror.

Behind him, six armed men fanned out with their hands hovering near their weapons.  

When they saw the twisted limbs and shattered skulls, several of them hesitated.

"Well, well, well," he said in an amused tone, "The prodigal brother returns. You know, Navine Garrett, I have to admit – I'm impressed. We tortured your precious aunt for hours. Broke her legs into splinters. Made her scream until her voice gave out. All to make her tell us where you were hiding."

He gestured casually at Miriam's unconscious form.

"The old bitch wouldn't say a word. Tough as nails, that one. And your little sister?" He laughed cruelly, "We had men work her over too. Slapped her around. Told her all the terrible things that were going to happen to her. Made her cry and beg for her big brother to save her."

Dorian took another step forward, his expensive shoes sloshing in blood.

"But she didn't know where you were either. And now..." He spread his arms wide, grinning. "Here you are! Walked right into our trap like a lamb to slaughter. I have to say, this is almost too easy."

Navine stood perfectly still, his blood-soaked uniform clinging to his frame.  

"What do you plan to do with me?" He asked. 

Dorian threw his head back and laughed. "What do I plan to do? Oh, let me think," He wiped mock tears from his eyes. "You see, originally, I was thinking we'd send you to the auction house. Sell you off with your sister. Make it a family package deal."

He paused as his smile widened.

"But then I realized, who would buy you? You're just another soldier. A trained dog who knows how to kill on command." He waved his hand dismissively. "Your sister, on the other hand... now she has value. Young. Pretty. Innocent. She'll fetch a high price from some rich pervert who likes to break little girls."

His eyes gleamed with malice.

"She'll make an excellent plaything for whoever buys her. I hear they're particularly interested in the innocent ones. They like the way they cry when…"

"So you do know where she is," Navine interrupted, his voice hard and cold. 

Dorian's smile faltered for just a second. Then it returned, wider and more mocking than before.

"Oh, you're clever. Even now, you're trying to extract information from me." He shook his head in mock admiration. "I almost respect that."

His expression turned cold.

"But you made a mistake coming here alone, Navine. You should have stayed hidden. You should have run to whatever rock you were hiding under and never looked back."

He snapped his fingers.

"Kill him. But don't make it quick. I want him to suffer."

The six armed men moved forward as one, drawing their weapons. They spread out, surrounding Navine from all sides.

Navine didn't move.

He stood in the center of the blood-soaked room, his eyes tracking each man like a predator sizing up prey.

"Last chance," one of the men growled, leveling his gun at Navine's chest. "Get on your knees and –"

The first man never finished his sentence.

Navine closed the distance between them in less than a heartbeat, moving so fast he seemed to blur. His hand shot out and grabbed the gun by the barrel, wrenching it upward just as the man's finger squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The bullet tore through the ceiling. Plaster rained down.

Navine twisted the gun violently, and the man's finger – still hooked in the trigger guard – snapped backward with a sickening CRACK.

The man's scream was high-pitched and raw.

Navine ripped the gun from his grip and brought the butt of it down on the bridge of the man's nose with devastating force.

The nose exploded. Bone fragments drove backward into the sinuses. Blood sprayed like a burst pipe.

The man staggered backward, both hands clutching his ruined face as blood pouring between his fingers.

Navine reversed the gun and shot him in the kneecap.

BANG!

The knee disintegrated. Bone shards and torn ligament erupted from the joint in a spray of red. The man collapsed, shrieking, his leg bent at an impossible angle.

The second man lunged from behind with a combat knife aimed at Navine's kidney.

Navine spun.

The blade whisked past his ribs so close it sliced through his uniform but didn't touch skin.

He caught the man's knife hand by the wrist, stepped in close, and drove his elbow into the man's temple with bone-crushing force.

The temporal bone shattered. The man's eyes rolled back instantly but Navine wasn't done.

Still holding the man's wrist, he twisted the arm backward until the shoulder joint dislocated with a wet POP, then brought his knee up into the man's descending face.

The nose exploded. Teeth shattered like glass. The jaw broke in three places simultaneously.

Navine released him, and the body crumpled to the floor and blood pooled around his head.

Two down.

The third and fourth men attacked simultaneously from opposite sides.

The one on the left swung a metal club at Navine's skull with enough force to cave in bone.

Navine ducked under the swing as the club whistled over his head by millimeters.

He grabbed the man's extended arm, yanked him forward off-balance, and drove his fist precisely into the man's belly.

The blow landed with such devastating force that it stopped the man's heart.

The man's eyes went wide with shock. His mouth opened in a silent scream. His body convulsed once, then went rigid.

Navine released him, and he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

The fourth man fired his gun, three rapid shots aimed at Navine's center mass.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Navine moved between the bullets.

He twisted his body with impossible speed and precision, letting the rounds pass through the space where he'd been a fraction of a second ago.

All three bullets hit the wall behind him.

The shooter's eyes went wide with disbelief. "What the –"

Navine closed the distance in a second. 

He grabbed the man's gun hand and forced it up under the man's own chin.

"Wait –"

BANG!

The top of the man's skull exploded. Brain matter painted the ceiling. The body stood upright for a moment, held by Navine's grip, before collapsing when released.

The fifth man tried to run.

He turned and bolted for the door, his survival instincts finally overriding his training.

Navine picked up the combat knife from the floor and threw it without hesitation.

The blade spun through the air end and buried itself in the back of the man's thigh.

The man's leg buckled. He crashed face-first into the doorframe with enough force to break his nose, then collapsed to the ground, screaming and clutching at the knife embedded in his leg.

Navine walked over calmly, pulled the knife out as the man's scream intensified and drove the blade into the base of his skull where the spine meets the brain.

The screaming stopped instantly.

The body twitched once, then went still.

The last man, who was the biggest and looked the most confident was backing away now. 

His gun was shaking violently in his trembling hands.

"Stay back!" he shouted, "Stay the fuck back!"

He fired wildly.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Four shots. All of them missed by yards.

Navine walked forward like the bullets didn't exist.

The man tried to shout again but the gun was empty. 

He threw it at Navine's head in desperation.

Navine caught it one-handed without breaking stride.

"No... no no no –"

Navine grabbed him by the throat with one hand and lifted him off the ground.

The man's feet kicked uselessly in the air. His hands clawed at Navine's wrist, trying to break the grip, but it was like trying to bend steel.

"Please..." the man wheezed, his face turning purple. "I have... a family..."

Navine's expression remained cold and empty.

"So did she."

He slammed the man's head into the wall with such force that the plaster cracked. Then again. And again. And again.

On the fifth impact, the back of the skull shattered. On the sixth, brain matter began leaking out.

 On the seventh, the body went limp.

Navine dropped the corpse and let it slide down the blood-smeared wall.

 Navine stood in the center of the carnage, breathing normally, his uniform completely soaked in blood that wasn't his own.

Across the room, Dorian Caldwell stood frozen.

His face had gone deathly pale. The arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by unmasked terror. His hands were trembling so badly he could barely stand.

"What... what are you?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Navine's head turned slowly toward him. When their eyes met, Dorian felt his soul shrivel.

"I never imagined..." Dorian's voice cracked. He took a stumbling step backward, his expensive shoes slipping in blood. "I never imagined you'd be this powerful,”

He swallowed hard and tried to regain some composure.

"But if you dare lay a hand on me," he said, his voice shaking despite his attempt at bravado, "you'll face retaliation from Francine Hale herself!”

Navine tilted his head slightly. "Who is Francine Hale to think she can threaten me?"

Dorian let out a sharp, desperate laugh, "You don't even know who she is? You really are just some ignorant grunt!" He was talking faster now, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "Francine Hale is one of the most powerful people in this entire country! She controls half of Newton! She's about to form an alliance with the War God who emerged from the northern battlefield! Do you understand what that means?”

"Who is this War God?" Navine asked calmly.

Dorian stared at him in disbelief. "You... you really don't know? How can you not know? He's been all over the news! The Commander who led one hundred thousand troops to victory! The man who ended a three-year war in a single decisive battle! They're calling him the King of the North! He's –"

CRACK!

Navine's boot came down on Dorian's hand with devastating force.

The bones in Dorian's fingers shattered like twigs and his thumb dislocated completely.

Dorian let out an animalistic scream. He fell to his knees, cradling his mangled hand against his chest as tears streaming down his face.

"Get to the point," Navine said coldly. "Where is my sister?"

"The Velvet Room!" Dorian sobbed, his voice breaking completely. "She's at The Velvet Room! In the east district! That's where they take all the girls! Please! I've told you everything!"

 "If you continue being hostile," Dorian gasped through the pain, "Francine and the Caldwell Family will hunt you down! They'll destroy everything you love!"

"Should I be afraid of Francine Hale?" Navine asked quietly.

Before Dorian could answer, Navine called out, "Marcus."

The door opened immediately.

Marcus Kane stepped inside, followed by eight elite soldiers. 

Behind them came two additional teams.

One team wore construction gear and carried advanced equipment while the other team wore medical scrubs and wheeled in equipment that belonged in a top-tier hospital.

"Everything's arranged, Commander," Marcus said to Navine "Team Alpha will handle structural repairs. Team Beta is prepared for emergency medical intervention."

Navine nodded once.

Team Alpha went to work immediately.

One soldier used a laser scanner to map the room's dimensions while another pulled out damage assessment equipment. Within seconds, they had a complete structural analysis.

"Walls intact. Foundation stable. Damage superficial," one reported.

They began repairs at inhuman speed. Advanced polymer compounds filled the cracks in the walls, hardening instantly to original strength. 

Blood was cleaned with industrial solvents that left no trace. Bullet holes were patched with materials that matched the original construction perfectly. 

The shattered doorframe was replaced with a pre-fabricated unit that fit so seamlessly it looked like it had always been there.

Within minutes, the living room looked untouched.

Meanwhile, Team Beta converged on Aunt Miriam.

A doctor knelt beside her, placing sensors on her chest, forehead, and wrists. A portable monitor lit up, displaying her vital signs – her heart rate dangerously low, blood pressure critical, internal bleeding detected.

"Multiple fractures to both tibias and fibulas," the lead doctor reported, his voice calm and professional. "Severe tissue damage. Compound fractures. Blood loss approximately forty percent. She's in hypovolemic shock."

"Stabilize her," Navine ordered. "I don't care what it costs. Use whatever you need."

"Yes, sir."

They went to work immediately.

One medic inserted an IV line and began pumping in blood.  Another injected her with advanced clotting agents that would stop the internal bleeding within minutes. A third carefully splinted her shattered legs with medical-grade carbon fiber braces that would hold the bones in perfect alignment.

The lead doctor pulled out a device that looked like something from a science fiction movie; it was a portable bone regeneration unit. He positioned it over Miriam's legs and activated it.

A soft hum filled the air. The device emitted targeted ultrasonic waves that would stimulate bone growth at an accelerated rate. Combined with the stem cell injections they were administering, her bones would begin healing at ten times the normal speed.

"Vitals stabilizing," one medic reported. "Heart rate increasing. Blood pressure rising. She's responding well."

"Good," the lead doctor said. "Prepare for transport. We'll move her to the private medical facility within the hour. Full reconstructive surgery. She'll walk again."

Dorian Caldwell watched all of this with growing horror.

His eyes fell on Marcus Kane and he really looked at him for the first time.

"No..." Dorian whispered, his face going even paler. "No, that's... that's impossible."

His voice rose to a panicked shout. "You're the War God's assistant! I've seen your face on the news! You're Marcus Kane! The second-in-command of the Shadowstorm Legion!"

He turned to stare at Navine, his eyes wide with horror.

"Who are you?" he gasped. "Who the hell are you really?"

Navine looked down at him with those cold, empty eyes.

"You don't need to know," he said quietly.

Then his hand shot out and grabbed Dorian by the throat.

Dorian tried to scream, but Navine's grip cut off the sound.

His grip tightened.

"You don't deserve to live."

CRACK!

Dorian's neck snapped and his body spasmed once. His eyes went wide and glassy. Then he went completely limp.

Navine dropped the corpse to the floor like garbage.

He turned to Marcus. "The tracking device."

Marcus stepped forward, holding a small medical tray. On it lay a tiny electronic device, no bigger than a grain of rice, covered in blood and tissue. The medical team had extracted it from Aunt Miriam's body during their initial assessment.

Navine picked it up, examining it closely. It was sophisticated, military-grade technology. It was GPS enabled and probably had a battery life of years.

"Francine wanted to make sure they could never disappear again," he said quietly.

Navine looked down at his blood-soaked uniform, then at the carnage around him. His expression was unreadable.

"Marcus, we're going to The Velvet Room Immediately.”

He walked toward the door, his boots leaving bloody footprints on the pristine floor that Team Alpha had just repaired.

 At the threshold, he paused and looked back one last time at Aunt Miriam's unconscious form, now surrounded by state-of-the-art medical equipment and doctors working to save her life.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he whispered.

Then he was gone, disappearing into the night with his soldiers following behind like shadows.