THE LAST WAR GENERAL

The Final Card

The screech of tires shattered the tense silence. Not just one vehicle, but a convoy.

Through the ballroom's towering windows, guests watched in awe as military transport trucks rolled up to the entrance. Doors flew open in perfect synchronization. Boots hit pavement with thunderous precision. 

Then came, sixty soldiers in full combat uniforms marched through the entrance in formation—not hotel security, not private enforcers, but actual military personnel. Their rifles were slung across their backs, their movements were crisp, their faces were hard with professional authority. They moved like a machine made of flesh and steel, filling the ballroom with an overwhelming presence that made even the wealthiest guests shrink back instinctively.

At their head strode a man who commanded attention like gravity commands orbits—General Victor Harrison.

Two stars gleamed on his shoulders. His uniform was immaculate, every medal earned through decades of distinguished service. At fifty-eight, he possessed the kind of hardened authority that came from commanding thousands of men in actual combat. His jaw was granite, his eyes were cold assessment, and his bearing radiated the absolute certainty of a man who'd never been told "no" in twenty years.

The guests whispered in hushed, reverent tones:

"That's General Harrison..."

"The General Harrison? From the Northern Defense Command?"

"I heard he's being considered for Supreme Commander..."

"Why would someone of his rank respond personally?"

Harrison's gaze swept across the ballroom—taking in the unconscious bodies, the shattered glass, the blood on marble floors, the terrified elite pressed against walls. His expression darkened with controlled fury.

This morning, he'd been among the hundreds who'd rushed to the airport hoping for even a glimpse of the War God. He'd stood in that crowd for three hours, submitted his credentials, offered every military honor and favor he could muster. All for nothing. He'd been turned away like everyone else.

Then he received unbelievable news—the War God had accepted the Kane family’s invitation and would be attending their banquet that night.

Harrison had spent the rest of the day planning how to leverage this opportunity. If he could assist the War God, solve a problem for him, demonstrate his value... the promotion to Supreme Commander would be guaranteed. His legacy secured.

And now this. Some criminal had disrupted the entire event.

Richard Kane spotted Harrison and his soul flooded with relief so intense he nearly wept. He stumbled forward, Vivienne right behind him, both of them looking like survivors reaching rescue boats.

"General Harrison!" Richard's voice cracked with desperate gratitude. "Thank God you're here! Thank God!"

Vivienne clutched Harrison's arm like a lifeline. "General, it's horrible—absolutely horrible—"

"This man!" Richard pointed at Dominic with a shaking finger. "My nephew—he's insane—he murdered my head of security, brought the body here in a coffin, attacked my son, disrupted the entire banquet—"

"He's been violent and threatening!" Vivienne added, her voice shrill. "He's destroyed everything! The War God was supposed to arrive any minute and this—this monster has ruined it all!"

Harrison's jaw tightened. His eyes locked onto Dominic across the room, a man sitting calmly in a chair as if he owned the place, surrounded by broken bodies and chaos.

"Where is he?" Harrison's voice was thunder wrapped in ice. "Where is this criminal who dares disrupt an event meant to honor our nation's greatest hero?"

"There!" Richard and Vivienne pointed simultaneously, their faces twisted with vindictive triumph. "That's him! That's Dominic Kane!"

The other Kane family members emerged from their cowering positions, emboldened by the sixty soldiers. Their expressions shifted from terror to savage anticipation.

"He needs to be executed!" someone shouted.

"Death penalty for what he's done!"

"General, make him suffer!"

Harrison turned, his entire bearing radiating lethal authority. He took three steps toward Dominic, ready to unleash the full weight of military justice on this arrogant fool who'd—

He saw the face.

Harrison's next step faltered. His confident stride broke. His expression—hard and furious a moment before, went through a transformation that would have been comical if it weren't so utterly terrifying.

Shock, recognition, horror, absolute, bone-deep terror.

His face drained of all color. His mouth opened but no sound emerged. His body began to tremble—subtly at first, then visibly, his hands shaking at his sides.

Because the man sitting in that chair, looking at him with cold, measuring eyes...

Was the War God.

The man Harrison had spent all morning trying to meet. The man whose favor could make or break careers. The man who'd personally led armies and conquered nations. The legend who'd refused to see hundreds of the most powerful people in the region.

Here. Now. Staring at him.

And Harrison had just brought sixty soldiers to arrest him.

The world tilted beneath Harrison's feet.

Richard noticed the general's frozen stance and assumed he was stunned by the carnage. "General, that man is extremely dangerous! You need to—"

"Shut up." Harrison's voice came out strangled, barely above a whisper.

Richard blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I said SHUT UP!" Harrison's shout made everyone in the ballroom flinch. His eyes never left Dominic's face, and the naked fear in them was unmistakable now.

Vivienne stepped forward uncertainly. "General Harrison, we don't understand—"

"Quiet." The word was desperate. Harrison took a shaking breath, trying to compose himself, but his military bearing had shattered like glass. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air.

Dominic rose from his chair slowly. He walked forward each step precisely. The sixty soldiers instinctively tensed, hands moving toward weapons.

"At ease!" Harrison barked at his men, his voice cracking. "Nobody move! Nobody touch your weapons!"

Confusion rippled through the ranks, but they obeyed.

Dominic stopped three paces from Harrison. His face was calm, almost curious, but his eyes held something ancient and merciless.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, quiet enough that only Harrison and those closest could hear clearly: "You're here to kill me?"