Return of the God of war: Chaos awaits

Chapter 4

Château Noireluxe rose at the center of Acaryn, sleek architecture wrapped around it like armor, flaunting wealth without apology.

It wasn’t a hotel for tourists or businessmen. It was a playground for the ultra-rich—billionaires who burned money on bets, casinos, and women the way others burned cigarettes.

For many girls, one night inside Noireluxe could change their entire trajectory.

Noireluxe was more than luxury lodging; it was a marketplace of pleasure, power, and profit. A place where fun was currency and money bought everything else..

Draven’s car pulled up directly in front of it.

The tires screeched violently as the brakes were slammed, rubber crying out against stone before the car jerked to a sudden stop. The sound cut through the night like a blade, sharp and unapologetic.

Instantly, the engine went silent.

The quiet that followed felt heavy, deliberate, as though the car itself had been commanded to hold its breath.

Three security guards stood in front of the entrance.

They were already alert, posture straight, shoulders squared, feet planted firmly against the polished ground. Men built to block access. Men trained to deny entry without hesitation.

Their eyes were hidden behind thick black glasses, sealing away whatever reaction they might have had. Whatever they saw, whatever they felt, stayed buried behind those lenses.

Their black suits were perfectly ironed, creases sharp and untouched, not a single flaw visible.

Clear earpieces curved into their ears, faint and discreet, connecting them to unseen authority.

Everything about them said control. Everything about them said this place was not meant to be crossed.

Within the blink of an eye, Draven’s car door flung open.

The motion was abrupt, decisive.

Draven stepped out.

He did not rush.

He did not hesitate.

He did not scan his surroundings.

He stood upright, his presence grounded and immovable, as if the space had been waiting for him. There was no tension in his shoulders, no caution in his movements. Only certainty. Only control, effortlessly absolute.

The guards reacted instantly.

Two moved from the front, spreading slightly to block his path. The third circled from the side, closing the angle. Their hands hovered close to their guns, fingers relaxed but ready. Not drawn—yet—but one decision away.

“Invitation?” one of them asked, stepping directly into Draven’s path.

Draven didn’t slow.

He stopped inches from them, close enough that the distance felt intentional. Close enough that refusal alone was an act of defiance.

“This is a private event,” the guard continued, voice firm, practiced. “If you don’t have an invite, step aside or return to….”

Draven lifted a finger.

Just one.

His index finger rose calmly, slowly, as if nothing in the world demanded urgency. Then he flicked it once through the air.

The movement was small, but the effect was not.

The air snapped.

A sharp, invisible force tore outward, cracking through the space between them.

The guard was flung sideways as if struck by a speeding truck. His body lifted clean off the ground, weightless for a fraction of a second before slamming hard into a stone pillar sculpture.

The impact landed with a dull, bone-deep crack that echoed against the entrance. He dropped instantly, crumpling where he hit.

The second guard barely had time to widen his eyes.

Draven flicked his finger again.

The motion was identical, casual, and precise.

The guard flew backward, feet leaving the ground as his body was hurled through the air. He crashed into the glass doors with violent force, the sound ringing loud and sharp before he collapsed in a heap at the base. He did not move again.

Silence followed.

The night swallowed everything.

The remaining guard froze.

His body locked where he stood, muscles stiff, breath caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. His jaw dropped slightly, lips parting as his mind struggled to catch up to what his eyes had just witnessed.

“What the…??...” he muttered.

The words came out weak, barely formed.

“Who’s this man?” he muttered again, his voice shaking as he took a slow step back.

His hand clenched around his pistol.

The faint metallic click of the weapon being cocked echoed into the quiet night, louder than it should have been.

Draven stood firm.

He didn’t turn.

He didn’t flinch.

His eyes locked onto the guard’s gaze, cold and steady, as though the man in front of him was

nothing more than an object occupying space.

The guard raised the pistol, bringing it up with both hands, one cupping the other like a trained officer. His arms trembled despite the stance, fear leaking through his grip no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.

“Raise your hands in the air and lock them!” the guard thundered.

His voice was loud, desperate, cracking beneath the authority he was trying to force into.

“I don’t listen to commands,” Draven said evenly. “I make them.”

He took a slow, deliberate step toward the guard.

“Don’t take another step!!!” the guard roared.

His finger pressed harder against the trigger, knuckles whitening, sweat forming along his brow beneath the dark glasses.

Draven stepped again.

A devilish grin spread across his face, sharp and knowing, as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.

Pow!!!

The gunshot tore through the night.

The guard pulled the trigger.