THE LAST WAR GENERAL

Blood Debts

Richard Kane dragged himself upright, broken glass tinkling from his expensive suit. His hand fumbled for his phone, fingers trembling as they found a specific button. He pressed it.

Within thirty seconds, the back entrance of the ballroom burst open.

Forty men flooded through: professional thugs in black tactical gear, each carrying batons and moving with coordinated precision. These weren't hotel security or ordinary bodyguards. These were Richard's private enforcers, the kind of men who made problems disappear permanently.

Richard's confidence surged back like air filling his lungs. He straightened, wiping blood from his split lip, and his expression transformed from fear to savage triumph.

"There you are," he breathed, then his voice rose to a shout. "You wanted to make a scene, Dominic? You wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone?" He gestured at the forty armed men now surrounding them. "You're going to die here tonight. Slowly, painfully. And I'm going to enjoy every second of it."

Dominic looked at the small army, then back at his uncle. His expression was utterly contemptuous. "This? This is your answer?" He laughed—a cold, mocking sound. "These men are garbage, Uncle. Street thugs playing soldier."

Richard's face flushed red. "Kill him! Break every bone in his body!"

"Wait." Dominic's voice cut through the building violence like a knife. Every thug hesitated, confused by the sheer authority in his tone. "Uncle Richard, let me give you some advice. Call everyone you have. Every enforcer, every contact, every favor you're owed." His smile was predatory. "Because once I start, you won't get a second chance."

Richard's laugh was half-genuine amusement, half-hysteria. "You're insane. You're outnumbered forty to two, and you're making threats?"

The other Kane family members watched from the edges of the room, their faces twisted with eager malice. Vivienne clutched a champagne flute like a lifeline, her eyes glittering with vindictive pleasure. Several cousins and in-laws whispered excitedly, already imagining Dominic on his knees, begging for mercy.

Dominic ignored them all. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew something small—a fragment of stone, weathered and dirty. He walked to a nearby table, pushed aside the expensive centerpiece, and placed the fragment down with infinite care. He adjusted its angle precisely, ensuring it faced the entire hall.

Then he bowed deeply and reverently.

"Mother. Father," he said quietly. "Watch. I will settle every blood debt. One by one."

When he straightened, his face was completely calm. But something in that calmness, that absolute, terrifying certainty, sent ice through Richard's veins despite the forty armed men at his back.

"You're bluffing," Richard said, but his voice wavered. "You're trying to—"

"Attack," Dominic said softly.

Richard screamed, "TAKE HIM DOWN!"

The forty thugs surged forward as a unit.

What happened next lasted ten seconds.

Dominic moved like a force of nature—fluid, precise, unstoppable. His first strike shattered a man's jaw. His second crushed a windpipe. He flowed between them like water through cracks, every movement precise, every strike devastating. Webb moved in perfect synchronization beside him, a whirlwind of controlled violence.

Bodies fell. Bones cracked. Blood sprayed across expensive marble.

The guests scrambled backward, screaming, champagne flutes shattering as they fled toward the walls.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took.

All forty of them were on the ground, some out cold, some groaning and clutching broken arms or ribs. Done.

Vivienne collapsed where she stood, her legs simply giving out. She sat on the floor, shaking violently, champagne soaking into her crimson gown from the glass she'd dropped.

Richard stared at the carnage, his face the color of old paper. "No," he whispered. "No, that's not—you can't—"

But his mind was racing now, grasping at straws, at any lifeline. Then it clicked. General Harrison! The military official who'd helped arrange the War God's visit! Harrison had connections throughout the armed forces. He would never tolerate someone disrupting the War God's banquet with violence.

Richard’s hands trembled as he dialed the number. “Harrison, it’s Richard Kane. I’m at the hotel. My nephew has been attacked, please, you have to send help right now. Military, police, anyone—just hurry.”

He listened, his expression brightening with desperate hope.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank you!"

He ended the call and started laughing—a manic, triumphant sound. "You're finished, Dominic! You hear me? FINISHED!" He pointed at his nephew with a shaking finger. "General Harrison is sending military police! You can be as strong as you want—you can't fight the entire military! They'll shoot you dead where you stand!"

Dominic pulled over a chair from a nearby table and sat down with casual ease, as if settling in for a pleasant conversation. "I'm curious," he said. "Let's see who comes to save you."

He crossed one leg over the other and studied his uncle with cold amusement. "Do you remember, Uncle, five years ago? After you framed me? You had your men hold me down on that marble table in the west wing. You broke my bones one by one. Twenty-three fractures, wasn't it?"

Richard's laughter died.

"I think it's time you understood that pain." Dominic glanced at Webb. "Break every bone in his body below the neck."

"WAIT!" Marcus Kane—who'd been trying to edge toward an exit suddenly found his voice. "Don't you dare! General Harrison will be here any minute! If you touch my father, you'll—your death will be worse than you can imagine!"

Dominic's eyes shifted to Marcus, and the younger man physically recoiled from what he saw there.

"You're right," Dominic said thoughtfully. "You can't bear to watch your father suffer." He paused. "So you can suffer in his place."

Marcus's face drained of all color. "What? No—Father, FATHER—"

He tried to run. Richard grabbed his arm with desperate strength, yanking him back.

"Marcus, stay!" Richard hissed. "This is your chance to repay everything I've given you. Endure this, just endure it! When Harrison arrives, we'll kill this bastard together. You can have your revenge personally!"

Marcus stared at his father in absolute horror. "You—you want me to—"

"Do it for the family!" Richard's grip was iron. "For Kane Industries! For everything we've built!"

Dominic laughed—a genuine, shocked sound. "Incredible. You're actually willing to sacrifice your own son just to save yourself for a few more minutes." He shook his head in wonder. "I knew you were selfish, Uncle. But this? This is beyond anything I imagined."

He nodded to Webb, and Webb moved instantly.

Marcus tried to dodge, but Webb was a trained combat specialist. Three precise strikes, the first to Marcus's right arm, the snap of bone loud in the silent ballroom. The second to his left leg. The third to his ribs.

Marcus's screams echoed off the crystal chandeliers. After the fourth strike, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed, unconscious from the pain.

Vivienne pressed both hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. The other Kane family members: cousins, in-laws, distant relatives, pressed themselves against the walls, desperately trying to be invisible, praying Dominic's attention wouldn't fall on them.