Home / Urban / Loser Man Returns As God Of War / Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Author: Gem

2025-05-09 23:53:44

Davion POV

The first thing Davion felt was pain. Not sharp, not screaming—just a dull, heavy ache like his whole body had been used as a punching bag and then tossed off a cliff for fun.

The second thing was warmth. Soft. Smooth. Which didn’t make sense because the last thing he remembered was pavement and fire and Reaper being a cryptic jerk.

His eyes cracked open, lashes crusted with dried blood.

He wasn’t in a hospital. That much was obvious.

High ceiling. Crystal chandelier. Curtains that probably cost more than his old apartment. Walls painted some calm, expensive shade of cream. His bed—yeah, bed—was huge and draped in soft, black sheets that smelled like expensive cologne and too many secrets.

There was even a fireplace, crackling gently like this was some old-timey castle and not whatever alternate universe he’d just woken up in.

And sitting beside his bed, arms crossed and leg bouncing in irritation, was Wilson.

Great.

Davion groaned. “Well. I’m not dead. Disappointing.”

Wils

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Chapter 148
Smoke filled the air like a choking curse.Beverly’s ears rang so loud, everything felt underwater. Her back slammed against the cold floor, her vision spinning in bursts of light and shadow. She coughed, eyes darting around the chaos. Somewhere in the blur, Wilson was yelling. Reika’s blade flashed. And Davion—Where was Davion?“DAVION!” she screamed.No answer.Then—metal groaning. A crash. And there he was, tackling Reaper through a glass table like an unhinged linebacker. The two of them hit the floor hard, fists flying. Blood sprayed against the wall like paint.Beverly stumbled to her feet, adrenaline drowning out the pain.She grabbed her gun.She ran.Reika had pinned a guy twice her size against a server rack, jabbing him with her elbow while swearing in like four different languages.“Do I look like I wanna be here?” she snapped, before knocking the guy out cold.Wilson ducked behind a metal desk, typing like his life depended on it. “Okay, so slight problem. Reaper just wi
Chapter 146
The motel room they crashed in smelled like old coffee and bad decisions.Beverly sat cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, laptop balanced on her knees. Wilson was pacing in the corner, rambling code like a possessed gremlin. Reika was sharpening a pocketknife. For no reason. Just vibes.Davion stood by the window, watching the rain soak the streets outside like the whole city was mourning something.“We’ve got about twelve hours,” Wilson said, tapping the screen. “After that, the signal from the surveillance servers goes cold. No backups. No trace. We either dump everything now or lose it forever.”Davion didn’t turn. “Dump it.”Wilson paused. “Dude, you sure? Like… once this goes live, we can’t take it back. There’s no coming back from this. You’ll officially be the most wanted whistleblower-slash-alleged-killer in the country.”“Good,” Davion said. “Means they’ll stop pretending I’m not real.”Reika raised an eyebrow. “Poetic. Also, dumb. But okay, let’s
Chapter 146
The holding cell was colder than Davion expected. Like the air itself didn’t want him to breathe.Concrete walls. One tiny barred window up top. And silence, except for the buzz of a flickering light down the hallway.He sat on the metal bench, hands in cuffs, staring at the floor. His hoodie was gone. So were his shoes. All he had left was the pounding in his chest and the sound of his name being shredded on every news headline.“Teen suspect in brutal murder…”“Ex-gang member turned vigilante…”“Is Davion Cross the killer everyone feared he was all along?”The news anchor’s voice echoed from the hallway TV, grainy through old speakers. He couldn’t see the screen, but the words cut sharper than cuffs ever could.Davion leaned back against the wall, staring at the cracks in the ceiling like they might open and swallow him whole. He didn’t look up when the door opened.But he did when boots clicked on the tile.“You’re famous now,” came a voice. Mocking. Way too calm.Davion slowly rai
Chapter 145
Downtown was chaos.Crowds swarmed City Hall like moths to a flame. Protesters with signs. Reporters screaming into cameras. Police in riot gear lining the steps.And at the center of it all—Beverly, Reika, Wilson, and Davion, standing shoulder to shoulder like they weren’t teenagers about to break every law in the book.“Okay, this is officially the dumbest thing we’ve ever done,” Wilson whispered, adjusting his backpack with the laptop inside.Reika rolled her eyes. “Speak for yourself. I once scaled the south dorm building to prank a teacher with a banner that said ‘You Grade Like a Coward.’ This is tame.”Beverly shoved a mic into Davion’s hand. “No pressure, but… say something epic.”Davion stared up at the city’s towering heart. Sirens wailed in the distance. The crowd pulsed. Sweat rolled down his back. His hoodie felt like armor now. Not to hide—but to fight.He clicked the livestream.A red dot blinked.“Hi,” he said, voice low but steady. “You know my name. You’ve seen my fa
Chapter 144
The next day felt like a dream with a cracked lens—hazy, too bright, and threatening to snap at any moment.Beverly adjusted the hood over her head as they stepped out of the underground tunnel entrance behind an abandoned car wash. The sunlight made her squint. The air tasted too clean after hours in dust and mold. But what really had her chest tight was what they were about to do.Break into City Records.Technically, it wasn’t breaking in. Irene had found them a keycard.Okay, maybe it was totally breaking in.But they had a reason. A good one.“They used this place to bury files,” Irene had explained the night before. “Old surveillance data. Disciplinary records. Everything they didn’t want connected to Iron Hand or Reaper got locked here, ‘for review.’”Translation: they were hiding the truth. Again.Davion walked ahead, shoulders tight, hoodie pulled low over his face. Reika and Wilson were close behind, whispering back and forth—probably arguing about whose turn it was to carry
Chapter 143
The warehouse was quiet now.Too quiet.Beverly sat on a cracked crate near the far wall, legs swinging, her fingers drumming anxiously against her jeans. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the air still felt damp and charged, like the storm wasn’t done—just waiting for round two.Across the room, Davion stared out a shattered window. His hoodie was still soaked, bloodstained from old wounds and fresh ones. But he didn’t flinch. Not when the wind howled. Not when a rat scurried past his foot. Not even when Reika coughed on purpose just to break the silence.“Okay,” she said finally, arms crossed. “We either talk or we sit here until mildew eats my socks.”Wilson glanced up from where he was fiddling with a shortwave radio. “I’m not opposed to mildew. Kind of poetic, honestly.”“No one wants poetic socks,” Beverly muttered.Davion turned from the window. “We’re not safe yet.”“Duh,” Reika said. “We just exposed an underground network of corrupt cops, cult members, and a guy who litera

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