Loser Man Returns As God Of War

Chapter 3

Irene's hands stayed raised, fingers trembling just enough to pass as fear. But her heart wasn’t racing from panic — it pounded with cold, calculated adrenaline. Every breath she took was deliberate, measured, a conscious effort to stay sharp. Her gaze darted around the terminal, cataloguing every detail: the number of attackers, their weapons, the hostages huddled in clusters, the broken vending machine sparking near the wall — a potential distraction.

She counted the thugs again. Six. No, seven. One lingered by the emergency exit, pacing like a caged animal, the butt of his rifle tapping against his palm. The leader, a wiry man with a jagged scar down his cheek, clutched the detonator with white-knuckled fingers. His thumb hovered over the button like he wanted an excuse to press it.

One wrong move, and everyone dies.

"Davion," Irene whispered, her lips barely moving. She kept her eyes forward, locked on the scar-faced leader. "I’m going to create a distraction. When I do, get behind the guy with the bomb. Disarm him, take him out — just do something."

Behind her, Davion lounged against a row of chairs like he was waiting for a delayed flight. He shuffled a deck of cards lazily, the crisp snap of paper echoing too loudly in the heavy silence.

"Or what?" Davion muttered, flicking a card into the air and catching it with practiced ease. "We all die?"

Irene clenched her jaw. "Are you serious right now?"

"Dead serious," he drawled, lips curling into a lazy smirk. His sharp green eyes flicked to her for a moment before drifting back to his cards. "But hey, this is your thing, right? Saving people?"

Her fingers twitched with the urge to grab him and shake him, but she forced herself to stay still. She couldn’t afford to blow their cover.

The thugs were getting restless. One of them, a tattooed man with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes, kicked over a suitcase. The sharp clatter made a woman in the corner scream, and the thug laughed, the sound jagged and cruel.

"Hey, lady," he sneered, leveling his rifle at Irene's chest. "Boss says you’re tough. Wanna prove it? Maybe strip down so we know you’re not hiding a gun."

The other thugs chuckled, the sound curdling Irene’s blood.

"There are children here," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

The thug shrugged, grinning like a hyena. "Not my problem. Maybe I start with the kid over there instead." He shifted his aim to a little girl clutching her teddy bear, her tiny body trembling as her mother silently sobbed.

Irene’s muscles coiled, every instinct screaming at her to move.

Think. Don’t rush. Find the opening.

She stepped forward, hands still raised. "Stop," she snapped. "I’ll cooperate."

The thug gestured her closer, licking his lips. "That’s what I like to hear."

Her gaze snapped back to Davion, shock rippling through her when she saw his eyes shut, fingers still idly shuffling the deck of cards in his hands.

"Such a coward," Irene hissed internally, disappointment curling in her chest. Still, she moved toward the attackers, eyes locked on the man strapped with explosives, searching for an opening.

"Mommy, am I going to die?" The little girl’s trembling voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Davion’s eyes slid open.

"Don’t worry. We’ll all be fine," he said, voice steady as stone.

His fingers twitched. Two cards shot from his hand like bullets, slicing through the air with impossible precision — severing the wires on the bomb's fuse.

Irene didn’t notice the wire had been cut. She only saw the thug’s distraction.

She moved like lightning, snatching the pistol from her boot and firing a clean shot.

She missed.

The bullet tore into the man’s shoulder instead of his heart.

"Bitch... I’ll take you down with me!" the attacker roared, slamming his thumb onto the detonator.

Nothing happened.

The bomb didn’t react — the fuse already cut. His eyes widened in disbelief, panic overtaking rage.

Irene didn't hesitate. She fired again, taking him down, then spun to dispatch the rest of the attackers in a flurry of bullets.

Davion watched from his seat, slipping another card from the deck with a flick of his fingers. It sliced through the air, embedding itself in the wrist of a thug about to fire on Irene’s back.

The thug screamed in pain but still lunged at Irene, swinging his rifle like a club. She ducked, the metal scraping against her hair as she twisted and slammed her elbow into his ribs. The thug staggered, coughing, but another attacker rushed in from the side.

Irene pivoted, kicking a knocked-over luggage cart into his knees. The thug collapsed, cursing, and Irene grabbed his wrist, twisting it until he dropped his knife with a clatter. She spun the blade in her hand, driving it into his thigh.

Another thug grabbed her from behind, locking her in a chokehold. She gasped, her vision darkening as she struggled, feet kicking against the floor.

“I got her! Finish her off!” the thug snarled.

Irene’s fingers scrabbled at his arm, then found a pressure point at his wrist. She dug her thumb in with brutal force, making the thug howl and loosen his grip. She drove her head back into his nose with a sickening crunch, slipped free, and fired a shot straight into his leg.

The head thug, still bleeding from his shoulder, grabbed a knife and charged at her like a mad bull. Irene dodged, but he swiped out again, grazing her arm. Blood bloomed through her sleeve, but she didn’t stop.

“You ruined everything!” he screamed, stabbing wildly.

Irene ducked low, sweeping his legs out from under him. The thug hit the ground hard, the knife skittering away. She straddled him, pressing her gun against his forehead.

“Stay down,” she hissed.

The terminal doors burst open, soldiers flooding in like a tidal wave of black body armor and rifles. They swarmed the remaining thugs, shouting commands and pinning them to the floor.

When the dust settled, Irene stormed toward Davion, fury crackling off her like lightning.

"You coward!" she spat. "If that bastard's bomb hadn’t malfunctioned, we’d all be dead because of you!"

Davion tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Is that so?" he drawled. "Wasn't it your lousy aim that caused the problem? You’re a war pricess, and you couldn’t even hit a target?"

Irene's jaw clenched, rage simmering beneath her skin.

The crowd buzzed with whispers.

"The war princess saved us, and he just played with cards?"

"He’s a coward. Useless."

Davion didn’t flinch. He stood, slipping the deck into his coat pocket, and turned toward the boarding gate.

"I don’t have time for this," he muttered. "My flight’s boarding."

The little girl, still clutching her mother’s hand, whispered, "I saw him throw the cards...he threw it like a superhero 

The crowd laughed.

"Playing cards? Like in the movies?" "The warrior princess did all the work."

Irene ignored the child's words, focusing on the cleanup — until one of the soldiers approached, pale-faced and hesitant.

"war pricess... we found these." He held out two playing cards, their edges gleaming like blades.

Irene stared.

Her grip on reality wavered, memories of the severed fuse flashing through her mind. But she shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her throat.

"That’s impossible," she muttered. "If he could do that... why not just kill the attackers himself?"

She stuffed the cards into her pocket and turned to her soldiers.

"Forget about it. Take the attackers away."

The soldier saluted and hurried off, but Irene lingered a moment longer, gaze drifting toward the now-empty gate.

Davion was gone.

She clenched her jaw, her heart twisting in ways she refused to acknowledge, and stalked toward the exit.

"Idiot," she muttered as the first light of dawn spilt across the blood-streaked terminal floor.