Return of the God of war: Chaos awaits

Chapter 7

Draven smirked, coiling Claire’s hair even tighter into his grip, like a rope pulled taut.

“Idiots it is then,” he said, leaning casually against the wall to his right, still holding her hair in one hand as though she weighed absolutely nothing.

Kaleb’s rage simmered, his jaw clenching.

“Kill that moron!!” Kaleb barked.

The men surged forward instantly, boots pounding the tiled floor, the rhythm sharp and heavy.

They moved like a pack, broad-shouldered, red-eyed, muscles swelling under tailored suits. They were built for violence, trained for it, and yet Draven didn’t move an inch. He stood relaxed, unimpressed, his posture loose, like the whole situation bored him.

“Now make this quick,” Draven said, signaling with two fingers for them to hurry up.

“You’re a dead man,” one of the men spat, confidence coloring his voice.

He reached Draven first and threw a punch, a fast one, practiced and deadly, but it sliced through empty air.

“Huh?” the man muttered, confused.

This was Ryker, Kaleb’s right hand, famous for landing hits that split skulls or stopped hearts. He didn’t miss. Not ever.

Draven laughed once, dry, and amused.

He hadn’t dodged. He hadn’t lifted a limb. Yet Ryker’s punch simply refused to land.

“That’s how you want to kill me?” Draven sneered, tightening his grip on Claire’s hair.

Claire screamed, the sound sharp, her face pale.

“That’s not possible,” Ryker thought. “Miss or not, the next blow will crush his skull.”

Ryker clenched his fist tighter, veins bulging along his forearm. He flung the punch again with double force. This one carried enough power to split brick.

But again….it missed, burying itself into the wall beside Draven with a brutal crack that left a hole the size of a melon. Dust exploded outwards.

Ryker’s eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and irritation.

“Missed again,” Draven said, voice low.

He released Claire’s hair only to shift his hand to her neck again. His fingers wrapped around her throat effortlessly.

Kaleb thundered forward, fury exploding from his steps.

“Kaleb… help me!” Claire choked out.

“The fact you rely on that fool to save you is even more disappointing,” Draven said, eyes sliding to Kaleb with slow contempt.

“Ryker!!!” Kaleb roared.

Without hesitation, Ryker pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade glinted, long and steel-sharp.

The remaining men circled Draven in a tight radius, guns drawn, fingers perched on triggers.

Ryker lunged, dagger raised high aimed for Draven’s ribs.

Draven moved slightly, not dodging, not fighting, just catching Ryker’s wrist mid-air as easily as if he were swatting away an insect. He twisted, and

the dagger flew out of Ryker’s grip.

Phew!

A wet sound followed, swift, final. Blood spattered the floor, spraying across shoes and trouser cuffs.

Thud!!

Ryker’s head fell, rolling once before lying still. His body staggered for a heartbeat and then collapsed beside it.

Kaleb froze. His eyes widened, staring at Ryker’s severed head, disbelief choking his voice before words could even form.

The other men took half a step back, guns shaking.

“How’s that possible?” one muttered under his breath.

“Ryker?” Kaleb pondered aloud,  shaken to his core.

Ryker wasn’t a rookie. He wasn't a disposable muscle. He was Kaleb’s ultimate weapon,  the last thing anyone expected to fall first.

Yet he lay there,  headless, defeated, irrelevant.

Kaleb swallowed. Hard.

“Who the fuck is this man?” he whispered under his breath.

Draven smiled faintly. Then, without looking at Claire, he tossed her across the hall like discarded paper.

Bang!!!

She slammed into picture frames lining the wall. They shattered, glass raining down, the decorative portraits falling with her. She fainted from the impact.

Kaleb snapped.

“You dare!!” he roared, raising his gun.

Cling!

The safety clicked off.

“I’ll make sure you die a slow and painful death.”

He fired.

Pow!!!

The bullet flew straight for Draven’s heart with flawless aim. Kaleb never missed.

The bullet reached Draven and stopped.

Suspended mid-air, inches from his chest.

Kaleb’s face slackened.

“Slow and painful, I see,” Draven sneered.

The bullet heated, glowing faintly.

Then it melted completely, dripping into nothing.

“The hell?” one of the men gasped.

Draven simply smirked.

Kaleb was speechless. His thoughts scrambled,  unwilling to accept what his eyes insisted on.

“What is this guy? How did he…?” Kaleb struggled to process.

His palms grew damp. His breath stuttered.

Kaleb gritted his teeth, pushing fear down hard.

“Whatever you are, I’ll make sure you die.”

“What are you waiting for?!” Kaleb roared at his men.

Before they could respond, Draven snapped his fingers.

An invisible pressure sliced through the air, razor clean, silent and swift.

The wave hit the men like a blade.

Their bodies split at the waist, collapsing in two pieces without resistance.

Blood splashed the walls, streaking across the once gold surface like a smeared painting.

Kaleb’s jaw slackened, his voice trapped somewhere between shock and terror.

Draven stepped forward calmly, reached into his suit pocket, withdrew a white handkerchief, and wiped a few drops of blood off his chest as if cleaning rainwater.

Kaleb’s stomach twisted.

He stumbled backward, boots scraping against the tiles.

Then, the humiliation peaked as urine soaked through the fabric of his trousers.

“Eww,” Draven muttered, unimpressed.

Kaleb scrambled back, panic bursting through him. He slapped his palm against the elevator panel and whispered, “Carusso.”

“Acess denied,” the monitor responded, voice cold and mechanical.

“Damn it!” Kaleb shouted.

He kicked the elevator, shaking as he pulled a small biometric ID card from his pocket. His hands trembled so badly he could barely hold it steady.

Draven’s steps sounded louder now,  slow, steady, merciless.

The card slipped from Kaleb’s fingers and fell to the floor.

“Shit!” he cursed, dropping to grab it.

But Draven reached him first.

He seized Kaleb by the collar and yanked him off the floor, lifting him like dead weight.

“Please,” Kaleb pleaded, voice cracking despite his attempts at control.

“Please? Of course not. You said you were going to kill me slowly and painfully. So here I am,” Draven said.

Kaleb’s breath quivered. Urine dripped again from fear.

“You peasant,” Draven added, gripping Kaleb’s throat.

“Please…” Kaleb begged, desperation overriding his pride.

Draven watched him with mild amusement, nothing more.

He loosened his grip slightly, lowering Kaleb as if considering mercy.

Kaleb sucked in air, hope flickering…..

Then….

Pow!!!

Draven slammed  Kaleb’s face into the elevator monitor, cracking the screen.

“Acess gained,” the monitor chimed.

The elevator doors slid open with pristine calm.