LOSER IS THE BILLIONAIRE HEIR

The God of war

Marcus opened his eyes from his meditation, immediately sensing the supernatural energy crackling through the winter air like electricity before a storm. Through the armored vehicle's reinforced windows, he could see dark figures moving with predatory grace—not the clumsy demons from before, but elite assassins whose every movement spoke of lethal training and supernatural enhancement.

"Someone paid a fortune for these killers," Marcus said calmly, his voice cutting through the tension. "These aren't street thugs. These are professionals."

Victor Moon's face grew grim as he activated the vehicle's defensive systems. "I know exactly who's behind this. Harrison Drake."

Sarah leaned forward, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "That bastard finally crawled out of whatever hole he's been hiding in?"

"Harrison and I were friends once," Victor explained, his voice heavy with old pain. "Business partners. But we both loved the same woman—Persephone, your grandmother."

Marcus listened intently as Victor continued.

"Persephone chose me. We married, built a life together. But Harrison couldn't accept her decision. He tried to kidnap her, drag her away from everything she loved."

Victor's hands clenched into fists. "The trauma broke her spirit. She... she took her own life rather than live in fear. I nearly killed Harrison for what he did, then had him exiled from New York."

"Thirty years," Sarah whispered. "He's been planning this revenge for thirty years."

"The coward finally worked up the courage to—"

A thunderous explosion cut off Victor's words as the lead vehicle erupted in a ball of supernatural fire. The shockwave sent their armored car sliding sideways across the icy street, windows spider-webbing from the impact.

Marcus moved with inhuman speed, grabbing Sarah and pulling her down as he flipped the massive vehicle onto its side to create cover. In the chaos of the movement, his hand accidentally brushed against her chest.

Sarah's face flamed red with embarrassment and indignation. "You perverted—!" She shoved him away with supernatural strength. "Watch where you're putting your hands!"

"My apologies," Marcus said without emotion, already scanning their surroundings as gunfire erupted around them.

The assassins had them pinned down, their enhanced weapons cutting through the vehicle's magical defenses like paper. Marcus could hear Victor shouting orders to his security team, but the situation was rapidly deteriorating.

Then Marcus simply vanished.

One moment he was crouched behind the overturned car, the next he was gone like smoke in the wind.

The assassins' gunfire faltered as they searched for their target. Then screams of terror pierced the night air.

Marcus reappeared behind the first group of killers, moving with speed that defied physics. His bare hands struck their weapons, shattering supernatural firearms like glass toys. The assassins—elite killers who had never known fear—suddenly found themselves facing something beyond their comprehension.

"Impossible," one of them gasped, falling to his knees. "What are you?"

"Please," another begged, his voice cracking with terror. "We didn't know! We weren't told!"

"Mercy!" a third assassin pleaded, throwing down his ruined weapon. "We surrender!"

Marcus stood among them like a god among insects, his plain clothes somehow more intimidating than any armor. "You should have known better than to attack me."

His voice carried an authority that made even the most hardened killers tremble.

"Tell your master," Marcus continued, his dark eyes burning with recovered power, "that some wars are not worth starting."

The assassins fled into the night like scattered rats, dragging their wounded with them. Even Harrison Drake, watching from a safe distance, retreated rather than face whatever force had just dismantled his perfect ambush.

As the last of the attackers disappeared into the shadows, Marcus felt the final barriers in his mind shatter like glass.

The Throne of War, carved from the bones of fallen gods. Armies stretching across dimensional battlefields, supernatural beings from every realm kneeling before his divine authority. The weight of cosmic responsibility that had once been his to bear.

Marcus, the God of War. The title that had made emperors tremble and demons flee.

He remembered stepping down from his throne, weary of endless conflicts, seeking peace in mortal life. But his enemies had struck during his vulnerable transition, stripping away his memories and leaving him powerless.

Until now.

Marcus walked back to the overturned vehicle with the calm stride of someone who had just remembered he was a god.

"Everything is taken care of," he announced simply.

Victor stared at him in absolute shock. "How... what did you just do?"

"I handled the situation."

Sarah burst from the vehicle's wreckage, tears streaming down her face as relief and terror warred in her expression. She ran straight into Marcus's arms, sobbing against his chest.

"I thought you were dead! I thought they killed you!"

Then, as quickly as the vulnerability had appeared, it vanished. Sarah bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, then slapped him across the face.

"You arrogant bastard! You scared me to death!" She stormed back toward the car, her face burning with embarrassment at her emotional display.

Victor burst into delighted laughter. "Sarah's right—you are our savior! Men, from this moment forward, you will show Mr. Steele the same respect you show me!"

The surviving security team nodded with the fervor of true believers who had just witnessed a miracle.

As they transferred to backup vehicles and began the journey to the Moon family compound, Marcus found himself studying the enchanted blade that Elder Chronos had given him. The weapon hummed with recognition, responding to his recovered divine nature.

The assassins called me 'Lord' before they fled, Marcus thought with grim satisfaction. Some part of them recognized what I am, even if they didn't understand it.

Elder Chronos's warnings make sense now. He knew my enemies would try to prevent my memories from returning. But their very attacks only accelerated the process.

In the luxury vehicle's passenger compartment, Sarah sat across from him, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment from her earlier outburst.

"Marcus?" she said softly, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

He looked up from his meditation.

"There's a gathering at the Elite Club tomorrow night," Sarah continued, her fingers nervously smoothing her gown. "Some... dangerous people might be there. Would you... would you go with me?"

Marcus studied her face—the careful vulnerability, the way she tried to hide her fear behind business-like efficiency.

"I don't attend social gatherings."

Sarah's expression fell, but she pressed on. "I'll treat you to the finest dinner money can buy. Anything you desire."

Marcus's eyes glinted with amusement as he let his gaze travel over her elegant form. "Anything?"

Sarah's face turned crimson. "You... you arrogant warrior!"

Marcus laughed—a sound that carried the weight of divine authority and genuine warmth. "Very well. I accept your invitation."