Return of the God of war: Chaos awaits

Chapter 3

Seeing his men lay dead with shattered skulls, the leader scrambled back. Draven walked toward him with slow, deliberate steps, each one heavy enough to make the ground feel smaller beneath him. The air around him seemed to tighten, as though even oxygen feared his presence.

The leader tried to crawl backward, palms scraping helplessly against the dirt, but Draven was already there.

His hand shot out.

Draven seized the leader by the collar and lifted him effortlessly. The leader’s body rose into the air like a rag doll, his boots dangling uselessly above the ground. His legs kicked instinctively, swaying back and forth as panic took over, his breath coming out in sharp, broken gasps.

“Please…please let me go,” the leader sobbed, his voice cracking. Tears streamed freely down his face, cutting through the dirt and blood smeared across his skin. “I have a family… my wife.”

The word hit Draven like a blade.

“Wife.”

It echoed in his head, over and over, louder than the chaos around them. For a brief, dangerous moment, the world went silent.

The video resurfaced.

The video of Veyron violating Anna replayed in Draven's head.

Her cries.

Her helplessness.

Draven’s jaw tightened. His grip shifted from the collar to the man’s throat, fingers closing around flesh and bone with merciless precision. The leader gagged, clawing at Draven’s wrist, but it was useless. The pressure increased, slowly, deliberately, until the veins in the man’s eyes burst.

Blood seeped from his eyes.

Then…

POW!!!

The sound was violent and final. The man’s head popped open under the sheer force of Draven’s grip, blood exploding outward, splattering across Draven’s face. Warm droplets ran down his skin, but Draven didn’t flinch.

He loosened his grip.

The lifeless body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, limbs twisted unnaturally.

Draven stood there, unmoving.

His eyes burned red.

The remaining men froze for half a second, just long enough to understand what they had witnessed. Terror seized them.Their weapons fell from trembling hands as instinct took over.

They ran.

Boots pounded against the ground as they fled toward the gate, breaths ragged, screams spilling from their throats. Survival was the only thought left in their minds.

Before any of them could reach the gate….

Boom!!!

Draven stomped his foot into the ground.

The earth responded immediately.

The soil beneath the fleeing men cracked open violently, splitting apart as though the land itself had turned against them. The ground gave way, swallowing them whole as they fell into the darkness below, their screams echoing upward in sheer horror.

Draven raised his hand.

His palm opened slowly, fingers spreading with lethal calm. Then he clenched it.

The earth closed.

Dirt, stone, and rubble collapsed inward, sealing the opening as though it had never existed. Their screams were cut off instantly, buried alive beneath the weight of the world.

Silence returned.

Draven snapped his fingers, the sharp sound slicing through the stillness. His eyes blazed with unrestrained fury, the air around him vibrating with power barely contained.

Moments later, the distant rumble of engines grew louder.

A convoy approached the estate, black vehicles, armored and imposing, led by a massive truck. They rolled in with military precision, stopping directly in front of Draven.

The doors flung open in unison.

Kylen stepped out first, followed by a hundred soldiers. Boots hit the ground in perfect rhythm. Not a single one hesitated as they took in the devastation around them, the blood-stained ground, the bodies.

“You know what to do,” Draven said coldly.

“Yes, sir!” Kylen responded without delay.

Draven’s hands clenched at his sides.

“Where’s Veyron?” he thundered, his voice low but loaded with lethal intent. It carried across the estate, pressing down on every man present like a warning.

Kylen swallowed, standing at attention. “He’s at Château Noireluxe,” he said carefully. “Hosting a business party… and his birthday.”

Draven’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Good,” he said. “I’ve got a party to attend.”

★★★★

“Bullshit!”

Commander Shaw slammed both hands down on his desk. The impact sent the glasses rattling violently, some nearly tipping over the edge.

“A mere soldier,” he roared, his voice shaking the room, “Draven, crumbled down the North Gate building and killed a hundred soldiers?”

“Yes, sir,” the surviving soldier replied, his voice barely steady.

Commander Shaw exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before rubbing his temples. The room felt suddenly smaller, heavier.

“What’s your name?” Commander Shaw asked.

“I’m Zack Austin,” the soldier responded.

Commander Shaw leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he studied him.

“When last were you admitted into the hospital?”

Zack blinked, caught off guard. “Three months ago, sir.”

“Exactly!” Shaw clapped his hands together sharply. “You need to see the psychiatrist,” he said flatly.

“Because there’s no possible way a mere soldier, our prisoner, a man Eryx tortured, did everything you’ve just described.”

His voice hardened. “Which means one thing. You fools are weak.”

Zayn shook his head, stepping forward despite his fear. “Sir… he’s way beyond mortal. He kills with the swing of his hand.”

“Fools!” Commander Shaw barked. “Even Eryx, all fools!”

He stood abruptly. Zayn staggered back instinctively.

“If what you’re saying is true,” Shaw continued, eyes cold, “then Acaryn will pay for the deaths of our soldiers.”

He grabbed his phone and dialed his assistant.

“Call all regions and troops,” Shaw ordered. “Prepare for war.”

He ended the call, staring ahead with clenched fists.

“He can’t bring down an entire building like that,” Shaw muttered darkly, “and just walk away. His nation will suffer for it”