Parasite: To Kill A Supreme God Of War

Craig tried to move.

Nothing.

His legs lay heavy, numb, dead weight beneath him. Panic crawled up his spine. He tried again, teeth clenched, veins rising beneath his pale skin — still nothing.

Alarms exploded.

Three medical staff rushed in, strapping him down instinctively as if expecting a violent outburst. Hands tightened restraints. Someone adjusted IV lines. Someone else silenced a beeping monitor.

“He’s awake!”

“I—I’m trying to move my legs…” Craig’s voice cracked.

A nurse leaned close, stethoscope to her ears, steady but afraid.

“Mr. Guidotti, stay calm. We’re stabilizing you.”

His breath hitched. “Why can’t I move? I can’t… feel anything. Why?”

They pushed thicker restraints over his waist and chest, padded blocks locking his head in place. He looked less like a patient and more like a captured soldier.

And then —

A silhouette.

In the corner of the room, untouched by the chaos, sat a woman. Young, elegant, legs crossed. A cigarette rested between two slender fingers, lifting lazily to her lips.

Smoke curled above her in a slow, ghostly ribbon.

She watched him without blinking — calm, knowing, unshaken.

Craig’s breath thinned.

“You…?”

His voice wasn’t anger. It was disbelief. As if a part of him was shocked that she of all people could be the one.

And she smiled, just a little.

The kind of smile that meant she expected this day to come.

⸻

THREE WEEKS EARLIER

Rain hammered South Rivers Cemetery.

Craig stood before the cracked marble gravestone, rain sliding down his face like tears he no longer remembered how to shed.

Elena Guidotti.

His mother.

The woman he never got to hold.

The woman who died bringing him into the world.

“You died because I was born,” he muttered softly. “Lucas, your lover hated me for that. His wife hated me because I was the proof he betrayed her.”

Cold wind lashed his coat, but he didn’t move.

“I learned early… love wasn’t meant for bastards like me.”

The rain intensified, drumming against his shoulders until he knelt and brushed moss off the stone with the side of his thumb.

“You can rest now, Mother,” he whispered. “Your son — the one they labeled a mistake — has come home.”

Thunder rolled across the sky.

He stood slowly, memories tightening like a chokehold.

Keep my son away from Evelyn… if I don’t make it out alive.

The midwife’s last confession still echoed. She had smuggled him away after a forced, premature birth — hiding him from the West family who wanted him erased.

Years passed.

Then his father came.

Not for love.

For usefulness.

The legitimate heir, Blake, refused the brutality of war. So Craig — weak, unwanted — was dragged out and forced into the battlefield.

Six and a half years in Osborne’s war-torn hellscape.

Craig survived what should have killed a hundred men.

He stopped being a victim.

Stopped being a mistake.

And became something the battlefield whispered about at night.

The God of War.

Lightning cracked overhead as a convoy approached the cemetery. Sucre stepped out first, umbrella already lifted.

“General,” an aide called softly. “Your jet landed an hour ago. South River is waiting.”

Craig didn’t move.

“They’ve forgotten me,” he murmured. “Good. That makes it easier to hunt in the dark.”

He turned from the grave — the rain swallowing him like a shadow.

This wasn’t a homecoming.

It was a reckoning.

Soon, Craig freshened up briefly at Doti & Co., a hotel he secretly owned, then took an old rental and headed to the Lancaster residence.

Laughter spilled from inside — warm, loud, unbothered.

As he stepped in, Hector, his brother in law spotted him first.

“Well, well,” Hector sneered. “The useless one’s back.”

Conversation died instantly. Glasses froze midair. Heads turned.

His father in law, Bill Lancaster’s brows shot up.

“Krazy?” he muttered, scanning Craig as if seeing a ghost. “So you didn’t die in the war.”

Craig bowed politely. Calm. Controlled.

Eleanor, his mother in law’s voice cut the air.

“Stop right there! You think this house is a hotel? Crawling in whenever you please?”

Someone in the crowd snickered.

“He probably thinks he belongs here.”

Bill slammed his glass down.

“You’ve got guts showing your face.”

A servant was ordered to fetch Adele.

“His wife?” Eleanor scoffed. “My daughter’s been free of him for years.”

Craig didn’t react. He was scanning the crowd… until he saw her.

A small girl in a pink dress, braiding a doll’s hair.

Green eyes like his.

Dimples like his.

His chest cracked.

“Sophia.”

She looked up — bright, innocent — and ran with open arms.

Craig felt the world finally give him one thing.

“Daddy! You’re here!”

But she didn’t run to him.

She ran straight past him…

…into another man’s waiting arms.

A tall, muscular man lifted her effortlessly, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Craig’s body went still.

Silent.

Cold.

Inside him, something ancient and violent… woke..