Rise Of The General's Forgotten Son

Chapter 3

Elijah’s eyes darkened with frustration and anger, his chest tightening as Sophia’s words cut deeper. 

“I got some of those with my money too, Sophia! You can’t just take everything away from me!” he argued, his voice rising in anger. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t take. I worked hard for what little I have!”

But before he could say more, Damian stepped forward, his presence looming large as he towered over Elijah. With a smug grin, he placed a hand on Elijah’s chest and pushed him back. 

"Watch your tone, kid," Damian warned, his voice low and menacing. "You want to argue with her, you argue with me first. And trust me, you don’t want that." His eyes narrowed, his threat clear as he glared at Elijah.

Elijah’s eyes filled with pain as he looked past Damian, locking his gaze on Sophia. His voice trembled,

“Sophia, after everything we’ve been through, this is how you treat me? Like trash? Like I never mattered to you?”

He took a shaky breath, his heart aching with betrayal. “I loved you. I gave you everything I could. You may think I’m nothing now, but remember this—one day, you’ll regret treating me this way. You’ll regret throwing me out and acting like I was worthless.”

He stepped back, his eyes still on her, filled with hurt but also a burning resolve. "You’ll remember me, Sophia. I’ll be the guy you once thought was beneath you—the guy you’ll wish you never threatened like trash.”

Sophia smirked, crossing her arms as she watched Elijah with cold amusement. "Oh, please, Elijah. Spare me the drama," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Regret? You think I’m ever going to regret this?"

She tilted her head, feigning concern. ‘Elijah, honestly, you’re like a stray dog. Following me around, hoping for scraps. But even dogs know when they’re unwanted.’”

She laughed, shaking her head dismissively. "You’re nothing. You’re not going to be anything. You should be more worried about finding a bridge to sleep under tonight." Her mocking tone cut deep as she leaned in slightly, her smile twisted with cruelty. 

"Maybe if you’re lucky, someone will toss you a few coins in the morning. But don’t worry—I'm sure you'll survive. You always do, don’t you?”

Elijah’s face twisted in fury as Sophia’s mocking words sank in. His fists clenched at his sides, his whole body shaking with anger and humiliation. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, his heart pounding in his chest.

As he reached the door, he paused for a brief moment, then slammed it shut with all his strength. 

When Elijah reached the hall, he quickly snatched up his wet shirt, hanging it around his neck as he scanned the room one last time. Memories of laughter and warmth flooded back, but they were quickly overshadowed by the sting of betrayal. Anger bubbled within him, and without a second thought, he stormed out of the house.

The rain continued to pour, though it had lessened to a steady drizzle compared to the earlier downpour. As he stepped outside, the cold droplets hit his skin.

The gate guard looked up, concern etched on his face. "Hey, where are you going at this time? It’s still raining pretty hard out here.”

Elijah didn’t bother to respond; he was too consumed by his anger. He turned and yelled, "Open the fucking gate!"

The guard flinched but complied, quickly pulling the gate open. Elijah stormed past him and walked out.

As Elijah trudged along the wet street, his mind was a blur of confusion and despair. He couldn't think straight—his thoughts were scattered, drifting from the pain Sophia had caused to the harsh reality of the situation. He kept asking himself the same question over and over: Where am I going to sleep tonight?

The cold rain continued to drizzle, seeping into his clothes as his feet splashed through puddles. The normally lively streets felt desolate, with only a few cars and distant figures moving in the shadows. But despite the relative quiet, Elijah knew the truth: the city streets weren’t safe, especially at this hour.

His pulse quickened as he thought about the gangs that prowled the area at night, ready to rob anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. He’d heard stories—people being jumped, beaten, and left with nothing. What if they see me? Elijah wondered, glancing nervously at the dark alleyways. He had nothing left to lose, but that didn’t mean he wanted to risk his life tonight.

As Elijah trudged along, lost in his thoughts and fears, his eyes suddenly fell on a brightly lit signboard. He stopped in his tracks, blinking through the rain as he focused on the image before him. 

The board featured a striking picture of a man dressed impeccably in a crisp military uniform, his posture firm and commanding. His eyes were sharp, his jaw set with determination. Bold letters under the image read: General Marcus Steel.

Elijah’s gaze flicked to the other boards and posters scattered along the street, each one carrying the same image of the general. Some were newer, others faded and worn by time, but all carried that unmistakable authority.

Without thinking, Elijah raised his hand and slowly saluted the image, just as he always did whenever he saw the general’s face. It had become a reflex, a quiet show of respect for the man who symbolized power all around. 

For a brief moment, he forgot about his troubles and allowed himself to stand there, staring at the poster. His mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to carry that kind of strength, to be untouchable, like General Steel.

As Elijah stood there, lost in thought while staring at General Marcus Steel’s picture, his phone suddenly rang, breaking the moment. He scowled, irritated, and pulled out his phone, which was covered in cracks from previous falls. The screen flickered, and the light rain made it hard to see clearly. He glanced at the caller ID—there was no name. Just a number.

"Who the hell is this?" he muttered to himself, and without thinking, he declined the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

As he continued walking, his mind wandered. Maybe I should go to my workplace, see if there’s somewhere nearby I can crash for the night? But just as that thought crossed his mind, something hit him. He froze, suddenly realizing what he had just seen. Wait... that number... it wasn’t from here. That wasn’t our country code!

His heart raced as he quickly pulled the phone out again, the cracked screen barely functioning. He checked the missed call and, sure enough, it was a foreign number. His brow furrowed in confusion. Foreign? Who’s calling me from abroad?

He had no friends abroad—no reason anyone should be calling him from a foreign land. A scam? Or something more?”

Without wasting time, he tried calling the number back, but the call didn’t go through. Frustrated, he was about to try again when his phone started ringing once more. It was the same number calling him back.