Return Of The Northern War God

#8

Chapter 8

The auction hall went eerily silent. Adrian had struck a nerve

Master Lancelot's face twisted, he was enraged. "You don't know who you're talking to."

"I know exactly who I'm talking to.”

Lancelot's control snapped.

He moved with the speed of someone who'd trained decades in actual combat. His fist shot forward in a textbook military strike — designed to break ribs, to incapacitate, to kill. Fast, brutal and efficient.

Adrian's hand came up and caught the fist mid-strike.

The way Adrian did it looked so casual like swatting a fly.

Lancelot's eyes widened in shock. He tried to pull back, but Adrian's grip was iron. He threw a follow-up strike with his other hand but again, Adrian blocked it with his forearm. The impact echoed through the hall.

They separated, both taking a step back.

The crowd held its breath.

Jasmine stood frozen. Her pupils trembled as she watched the exchange. Master Lancelot, her hope for victory had just been blocked. Twice.

A cold sneer spread across her face.

"Even if you can barely withstand Master Lancelot," she said, her voice cutting through the tension, "you can't handle his soldiers. You'll meet your end here today, Adrian Lancaster."

She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a military-grade walkie-talkie. She raised it to her lips, pressing the transmit button.

"All units," she said clearly. "Target the man on stage and the girl in the cage. Weapons hot. Await my command."

In an instant, red laser dots appeared.

Hundreds of them. They painted Adrian's chest, his head, his arms. They covered Celeste in the cage behind him, tiny red points of light dancing across her terrified face.

Through the glass skylight, the silhouettes of soldiers could be seen on the roof — prone positions, rifles aimed, fingers on triggers. Through the windows, more soldiers lined up outside, their weapons trained through the glass.

The crowd screamed and dove for cover.

"Adrian!" Celeste's voice cracked with terror. She pressed herself against the back of the cage, trying to make herself smaller. "Don't worry about me! Just run! Please!"

Adrian didn't move. The laser dots danced across his face, painting him in red light. His voice came out visceral, dripping with fury..

"You're doomed today, Jasmine."

Jasmine threw her head back and laughed hysterically  "Still talking tough when death is at your doorstep? How amusing!" She turned to Master Lancelot, her eyes gleaming. "Master Lancelot! Give the attack command!"

But Adrian had already turned to face Lancelot. His eyes locked onto the military officer's face.

"Tell me something, Master Lancelot," Adrian said quietly. "As a military officer… as someone who swore an oath to protect this nation, do you really intend to use the nation's army to interfere in personal vendettas? To help people who auction off innocent girls?"

Lancelot's face hardened. "I answer to those who help me gain power. Nothing more. Nothing less." He raised his hand, ready to give the signal. "All units…"

"Fire!"

The explosion was deafening.

Flash grenades detonated in synchronized bursts around the perimeter. Blinding white light filled the auction hall, burning into everyone's retinas. The windows shattered inward. Smoke billowed through the broken glass.

People screamed. Some covered their ears. Others pressed themselves flat against the floor.

The light was so intense, so overwhelming, that for several seconds, nobody could see anything. Just white. Just burning white light and the echoing boom of explosions.

Then, slowly, vision returned.

People blinked away the spots dancing in their eyes. They looked up at the stage, expecting to see bodies. Expecting to see blood.

Adrian stood exactly where he'd been before. Not a scratch on him. Celeste huddled in her cage, terrified but completely unharmed.

On the roof, through the broken skylight, more bodies in tactical gear could be seen. Lancelot's soldiers lay unconscious or restrained, their weapons confiscated.

Outside the windows, the same scene. Lancelot's men were down. All of them. Taken out in the span of seconds by an opposing force that had moved like ghosts.

Lieutenant Marcus stepped through the smoke, tablet in hand, his expression professionally neutral. "Perimeter secured, sir. All hostile forces neutralized. Zero casualties on our side."

Master Lancelot's face turned deathly pale. The color drained from his face. His hands trembled. "Who... who are you? How did you instantly eliminate an elite squad under my command?"

Adrian looked at him. 

"You'll know soon enough."

Then Adrian moved in all of his glory.

His hands came together in a configuration that made Lancelot's eyes widen in horror, he undoubtedly recognised this technique. It was rare, only uniquely and perfectly done by the one and only King of the North. 

Adrian’s fingers positioned in a specific pattern, stance shifting into something that radiated killing intent.

"No…" Lancelot's voice cracked. "That's impossible…"

Adrian's hands blurred through a sequence of movements. It was called the Northern Decimation Strike, a forbidden technique known only to the highest commanders of the Northern campaign. A strike that concentrated all of a fighter's power into a single point, designed to break through any defense, to shatter bone and rupture organs.

It was called forbidden because it had been used only three times in recorded history. Each time by the same man.

The King of the North.

Lancelot's mouth opened to scream, to cry out in recognition and terror, but Adrian's strike was already complete.

The impact caught Lancelot in the chest. The sound was like a thunderclap. Lancelot flew backward, crashed through a row of chairs, and slammed into the far wall. He slid down, leaving a smear of blood on the expensive and beautiful motif pattern wallpaper.

He lay in a crumpled heap, gasping for air through broken ribs, blood trickling from his mouth. Alive, but barely. Half-dead.

The auction hall was silent except for Lancelot's labored breathing.

Jasmine stood frozen in the center of the room. Her wine glass had fallen from her hand at some point. Red wine spread across the marble floor like blood. Her face had gone white. Her carefully maintained composure had shattered completely.

"This... this is impossible," she whispered. "How... how..."

Adrian turned toward her slowly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tracking device, still covered in dried blood, still marked with Aunt Betty's DNA. He held it up between two fingers, letting the light catch it.

"You not only auctioned off my sister," Adrian said, his voice quiet but carrying across the entire hall, "you also had someone sew this tracking device into my aunt's body."

He took a step toward Jasmine.

Jasmine took a step back. Her heel caught on something, and she stumbled. "I… I didn't… that wasn't…"

“Hush…” Adrian crossed his lips with his index fingers, silencing Jasmine who was trembling now.

"So here's what's going to happen, Jasmine," Adrian said softly with an evil smirk. "I want you to guess. Guess how I'm going to torture you. Guess what I'm going to do to someone who thought it was acceptable to hunt my family for sport."

Jasmine's legs gave out. She collapsed to her knees, designer dress pooling around her. Tears streamed down her face, ruining her perfect makeup.