The Forgotten War God Son-in-law

Chapter 2: Bow Or Break

‎The masked operatives moved with deadly precision, silent and coordinated. Chaos erupted in the hall as guests screamed, ducking behind tables, shattering chandeliers, and overturned chairs. Rainwater from the front doors mingled with spilled wine on the marble floor, turning it slick.

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‎Ethan didn’t flinch. Every muscle in his body was a coiled spring. His cold eyes scanned the intruders thirty at least, armed and trained, but none a match for him.

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‎He took a single step forward. The room seemed to shrink around him. Lucas and Mrs. Kingsley clutched each other, trembling, while Ariana hid behind a marble column, panic in her eyes.

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‎Then Ethan moved. Faster than any human should be able to.

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‎In a blur, he disarmed the closest operative, twisting his wrist and sending the weapon clattering across the floor. Another tried to flank him from behind broken arm in a single swift motion. Two more lunged simultaneously, only to hit the floor before anyone could even blink.

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‎The hall went silent for a heartbeat, stunned by the sheer force emanating from the seemingly “ordinary” man.

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‎General Drake spoke through clenched teeth:

‎“Commander… this is just the first wave. More are coming.”

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‎Ethan’s gaze swept the hall. He didn’t even bother to look at Lucas or Mrs. Kingsley. Their mockery was meaningless now.

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‎This is why you forgot me…

‎Because the world only remembers fear, not patience.

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‎The remaining syndicate operatives hesitated, realizing something terrifying: the man they were sent to kill was no ordinary target.

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‎Ethan’s voice cut through the storm and chaos:

‎“Leave now… or I will show you what being a forgotten god truly means.”

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‎A chill passed through the intruders. Their leader, a towering figure marked with crimson sigils across his tactical vest, snarled and raised his weapon.

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‎“You can’t protect them all, War God!” he shouted.

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‎Ethan’s smirk was almost invisible, but deadly:

‎“Watch me.”

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‎In the next instant, he moved with lethal grace a whirlwind of strikes, precise and unstoppable. Chairs splintered. Walls bore the marks of fists faster than the eye could follow. By the time the last operative tried to regroup, half the squad lay unconscious, the others fleeing in terror.

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‎Guests who had been cowering dared to peek. Lucas’s jaw hung slack. Mrs. Kingsley’s face drained of all color. Ariana’s hands shook fear, awe, and something unspoken swirling in her chest.

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‎Ethan turned slowly, his gaze sweeping the ruined hall, voice calm:

‎“Tell the world I have returned. This… is just the beginning.”

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‎Outside, lightning split the sky again, as if the heavens themselves had answered him.

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‎And at that moment, Westbridge City realized the forgotten War God had returned stronger, smarter, and unstoppable.

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‎The hall was in ruins. Broken chairs, shattered glasses, and overturned tables littered the floor. The remaining Nightshade Syndicate operatives froze at the doorway, watching in disbelief. Every one of them knew: Ethan Cole was no ordinary man.

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‎He stepped forward slowly, rainwater dripping from his jacket, eyes like steel. His calmness, in the midst of chaos, was far more terrifying than any weapon.

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‎“Leave now,” Ethan repeated, voice low and dangerous, “or I will make sure you regret ever being born.”

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‎The operatives hesitated, fear overtaking their training. But the tallest among them, the one with the crimson sigils on his vest, barked an order.

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‎“Attack! Kill him before he reaches full power!”

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‎Ethan’s smirk was small but lethal. Without a word, he moved. Faster than thought. A shadow in motion. Every strike precise, every step calculated. Chairs splintered under the force of blows, a chandelier swayed dangerously, and a wall bore the imprint of his fist a clean crack from ceiling to floor.

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‎The leader lunged. Ethan caught his arm mid-strike, twisting it sharply. A single snap echoed through the hall, followed by the sound of the man hitting the ground like a ragdoll.

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‎The other operatives faltered. Panic set in. One by one, they fled through the shattered doors, leaving behind weapons, pride, and fear.

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‎Guests stared in awe. Lucas’s face was pale, lips trembling. Mrs. Kingsley had collapsed into a chair, trembling violently. Ariana’s eyes widened, not with fear not entirely but something else: recognition of the power she had underestimated.

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‎Ethan’s gaze swept over the ruined hall. Every mocking word, every insult from his “family,” every humiliation endured over the past three years had led to this moment.

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‎He spoke, calm but commanding:

‎“Remember this: The Forgotten War God is never gone. And those who betray or underestimate me… will be the first to fall.”

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‎Outside, the storm raged on, thunder rolling across the city. But inside, silence reigned a silence heavier than death itself.

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‎Ethan approached Lucas, who dared not meet his gaze. Kneeling slightly, the boy stammered:

‎“I… I didn’t”

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‎Ethan interrupted, voice low, sharp:

‎“You will speak only when I allow it. And believe me… you will.”

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‎He turned toward Ariana. For a moment, the storm in his eyes softened, though only slightly. She stared back, unable to speak. Not yet. Not while the world outside had shifted so violently.

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‎Then Ethan walked to the center of the hall. Raising his hand slightly, he let the remaining guests understand: the threat was over for now.

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‎But in his mind, the first rule of war already formed:

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‎Enemies are everywhere. Allies are rare. Trust none and strike first.

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‎Tonight was a warning. Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.

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‎And for anyone foolish enough to think the Forgotten War God had returned just to beg forgiveness… they would learn, painfully, that revenge is far sweeter than apologies.

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