The God of War Calen Storm

Killed

Only the sound of Calen Storm's ragged breathing and his stumbling footsteps echoed through the stillness of the forest. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his pursuers now close enough for him to hear their mocking laughter. Calen cursed his frail legs for failing to carry him faster.

"Where do you think you’re going, loser? No matter where you run, we’ll find you!" one of the masked men shouted.

"Come here, little rat!" another taunted.

Even though their faces were hidden, Calen knew they were sent by his wife Lila Frost's family. They wanted him to divorce Lila, but he had refused. Calen was sure they intended to kill him to make Lila a widow. The swords they carried bore the Frost family crest, a dead giveaway.

Calen loved his wife, and their marriage was something his late father, Aldric Storm, had wanted. Lila was a beautiful woman from a noble family in Aerondale, her father a minister. It was only natural that Calen, the son of Aerondale's greatest and most legendary general, would be paired with someone like her. Everyone had believed that Calen would inherit his father's strength and greatness, but he turned out to be far from their expectations.

As a child, Calen had shown promise, mastering the five elements—fire, water, air, earth, and metal—albeit on a small scale. People marveled at his potential. But as he grew older, his abilities stagnated. Many assumed he was purposefully holding back his power. Then the day came when his father died, and Calen, expected to take his place in the military, was revealed to be weak. His abilities hadn’t just failed to grow; they had vanished entirely. He couldn’t wield a sword, let alone handle archery. He became the laughingstock of the kingdom, and it was this disgrace that made Lila want a divorce.

"There he is!" one of the men shouted.

Calen gasped and tried to run faster, but his foot caught on a branch, and he tumbled to the ground. His knees scraped against a rock, leaving a bloody gash.

"Shit!" he hissed, clutching his injured leg in pain.

He struggled to stand, but it was too late. The men had surrounded him, their laughter cutting through the air. One of them spat at him, while another kicked him hard enough to knock him back down.

"Look at this! Calen Storm, the son of a legendary general, reduced to nothing but a pathetic failure!" one of them jeered, their voices dripping with disdain.

"Please! Spare me! I’ll give you money. I have money!" Calen begged desperately.

"Money?" one of them repeated before they all burst into raucous laughter.

"Calen Storm, we don’t need your money! Everyone knows your father’s fortune is nearly gone, and you’re incapable of earning anything yourself!" another sneered.

"How could he earn anything? He can’t even lift a sword properly!" another mocked, their cruel laughter echoing through the forest.

The men continued to taunt Calen, their laughter cutting into his pride like daggers. One of them kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Another grabbed him by the collar and shoved him backward into a tree.

“Is this all you’ve got, Calen Storm? Your father would be rolling in his grave!” the masked man sneered before slamming his fist into Calen’s jaw.

Calen's vision blurred from the blow, but he refused to give up. With trembling hands, he reached for the family heirloom—a sword that had once belonged to his father, Aldric Storm. The blade gleamed faintly even in the dim light of the forest, a symbol of the honor and power his family once carried.

Summoning what little strength he had left, Calen unsheathed the sword and raised it shakily.

“Stay back!” he shouted, though his voice cracked with fear.

The men burst into laughter.

“Look at him! He can barely lift that thing!” one mocked, easily knocking the sword from Calen’s grasp with a single strike of his own blade. The heirloom sword clattered to the ground, its proud legacy tarnished by its owner’s weakness.

Calen fell to his knees, reaching for the weapon, but another man kicked it out of his reach.

“Not so mighty now, are you?” one of them said, before delivering a hard kick to Calen’s side, knocking him onto his back.

“Enough playing around,” said the leader of the group, stepping forward and drawing his sword. He pointed the blade at Calen, who lay helpless in the dirt, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Calen’s mind raced. He thought of his father, his promises, and his failures. This couldn’t be the end. It couldn’t.

The leader raised his sword high.

“For the Frost family!” he declared before driving the blade into Calen’s chest.

The world seemed to slow as Calen gasped, blood spilling from his wound. The men watched dispassionately as his body went limp, then turned and walked away, leaving him to die alone in the forest.

The forest grew silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Calen lay on the ground, blood pooling around him, his vision fading.

And then, he heard it.

A voice, distant and otherworldly, yet clear and commanding.

“Rise, Calen Storm. Become the greatest hero.”

The words echoed in his mind, filling him with an inexplicable warmth. He wanted to respond, but his lips wouldn’t move. He felt his blood-soaked chest grow strangely warm, and a faint light began to emanate from the sword lying just out of his reach.

The voice spoke again, softer this time, yet filled with undeniable power.

“Your destiny is not to die here. Rise!”