Return of the God of war: Chaos awaits

Chapter 5

The bullet stood frozen in the air, three feet away from Draven.

It hovered there unnaturally, suspended in the space between them, unmoving, untouched by gravity. The metal surface caught the faint glow of light, reflecting just enough to remind the guard that it was real. Not an illusion. Not a trick.

“Huh?” the guard stuttered.

The sound came out wrong, thin and confused. He took a step back, then another, boots scraping lightly against the marble floor. His breathing grew uneven as his eyes darted between the bullet and Draven, struggling to make sense of what his mind refused to accept.

Draven smirked.

Without touching it, without moving from where he stood, the bullet in the air rotated smoothly, turning backward until its tip faced the guard instead.

Fear slammed into the guard’s chest.

Adrenaline flooded his body in a violent rush. His heart pounded hard enough that he could feel it in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to run. To flee. To escape while he still could. He twisted his body sharply, attempting to bolt away.

Nothing happened.

His limbs refused to respond.

He struggled, muscles tightening, legs straining as he tried to move, but his body remained locked in place. It was as though his feet had fused with the marble floor beneath him. No matter how hard he fought, he remained stuck, rooted, helpless.

His eyes widened, fear and frustration clashing violently in his expression.

The bullet suddenly moved.

It shot forward with sharp speed, stopping just an inch from his forehead. So close he could feel its presence without it touching him. Cold. Threatening. And final.

“Please…” he began to beg.

The word slipped out on its own, broken and weak.

“Please don’t kill me,” he pleaded, his voice shaking uncontrollably.

His hands trembled at his sides, fingers twitching uselessly. His eyes lifted slightly toward the bullet hovering inches from his skin, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

Draven said nothing.

His smirk only grew wider.

The bullet began to move again, this time slowly. Painfully slow. It edged closer, nearly brushing the skin of the guard’s forehead. The guard whimpered, his knees trembling even though they refused to bend.

“Please…” he begged again.

“Fool!!!” Draven spat. “How can a slow moving bullet hurt you?”

He folded his arms as he spoke, his tone calm, and  mocking.

Realization hit the guard.

His eyes darkened as the meaning sank in. Fear twisted into something deeper—humiliation, confusion, desperation. His breathing slowed slightly, not from calm, but from a fragile, false hope.

Draven turned his back.

He took steady steps toward the entrance door, his movements unhurried, dismissive, as though the man behind him no longer existed.

The guard’s chest heaved.

The moment Draven turned away, his eyes sharpened. His trembling hands slid into his pocket, fingers brushing against cold metal. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out a pocket knife, flicking the cover open with practiced caution, making sure no sound escaped.

The blade stood straight, gleaming faintly under the moonlight. Sharp, Clean and deadly.

He gripped the knife tightly, his knuckles whitening as he raised his hand.

“Fling!!!!”

He hurled the knife at Draven with all the strength he had left.

The blade flew through the air, and stopped.

It froze midair, suspended as if time itself had grabbed hold of it.

The guard gasped.

“Chin!!!”

The knife twisted sharply, spinning before shooting back toward the guard at maximum speed.

It pierced straight into his left eye.

Blood spilled instantly, splattering down his face as his body jerked violently from the impact.

“Thud!!!”

He crashed to the ground, his body hitting the floor hard and lifeless.

“Fool!!” Draven sneered.

He pushed the door open.

As he stepped inside, the scent of distant expensive wine mixed with heavy, expensive cologne greeted him. The atmosphere shifted immediately, warm and rich, thick with indulgence.

Draven strode in, his posture straight, his poise unshaken.

 He walked into the receptionist hall.

Two red-haired ladies sat across the hall on a couch, both dressed in black dinner gowns. The fabric clung tightly to their bodies, revealing generous cleavage. Their eyes widened instantly as they watched Draven walk past them, admiration and sheer desire written plainly on their faces.

“Wow!! He’s such a hottie,” one of the ladies said, biting her lower lip.

“Ouuu, who’s this handsome?” the other asked, pushing her boobs upward to expose them more from the dress.

“Look at his veins,” the first added, biting hard on her lips.

“I bet he must be handsome and strong down there too.”

“Welcome sir!!!” a fair-skinned lady said, approaching Draven as he walked toward the elevator.

In a hotel like this, it was certain that Veyron's party was held on the top floor.And the only access there was through the elevator.

Draven shot her a stare.

“How may I help you sir? I need to know what you want before letting access the floors sir.

They’re all ID verified… security policy,” the lady said, adjusting her badge.

“Claire Martins.”

From her uniform and posture, it was clear she was the receptionist.

“I see!” Draven said.

“Come this way sir, you look like you’d be in need of ladies for the night,” she said, holding his arm.

Her eyes remained glued to his chest, drifting down toward his groin as though she was already imagining the size of his manhood.

“He’s so handsome. Even more than that squirrel Derick. I can’t wait to have a taste of him” She thought, biting her lips.

“I can give myself, sure I can handle all of you,” Clair said, biting her lips.

Pam!!!

Draven slapped her across the face.

Her head snapped violently to the side.

The ladies across the hall gasped in shock.

Draven never let any woman touch him aside from his wife Anna, that's how much she loved her.

Clair raised her head slowly, tears already brimming in her eyes from the pain.

“What…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Draven pulled out the ID biometric card from her pocket.

“No you can’t have that!” she yelled, following Draven as he turned toward the elevator.

She touched him again.

Pam!!!

He landed another slap.

Unlike the last, this one was deafening.

Her ears rang sharply as the impact sent her spiraling. She fell to the ground hard.

“Access denied,” the security monitor said.

Draven turned to her, his eyes piercing into her skin.

“Card scratched, enabling Iris Recognition,” the monitor said.

Clair, still on the floor, Draven grabbed her hair, dragging  her to her feet, forcing her toward the scanner.

The monitor scanned her eyes.

“Access gain,” it said.

The elevator door chimed open.

Draven pulled Clair in with him. The elevator doors shut with a metallic slam.