The Last Navine

Chapter 4

Marcus Reed stood at the doorway and looked at the terrible mess in Aunt Francine’s living room. His shiny Italian shoes stepped on broken teeth and pieces of bone as he walked inside. A big pool of blood covered the wooden floor.

Behind him, six armed men spread out. Their hands stayed close to their guns. When they saw the twisted arms and broken skulls on the floor, some of them stopped and looked scared.

“Well, well, well,” Marcus said with a mean smile. “The brother who ran away is finally back. Bran Navine, I must say I’m impressed. We tortured your dear aunt for many hours. We broke her legs into tiny pieces. We made her scream until she could not scream anymore. All because we wanted her to tell us where you were hiding.”

He pointed at Aunt Francine, who lay unconscious on the floor.

“That old woman did not say one word,” Marcus laughed. “She is very tough. And your little sister…” His smile became even crueler. “We hit her many times. We told her all the bad things we would do to her. We made her cry and beg for her big brother to come and save her.”

Marcus took one more step. His expensive shoes made a wet sound in the blood.

“But she did not know where you were. And now…” He opened his arms wide and laughed. “Here you are! You walked straight into our trap like a sheep going to be killed. I must say, this was almost too easy.”

Bran Navine stood very still in the middle of the room. His uniform was covered in blood. He looked at Marcus with cold eyes.

“What do you plan to do with me?” Bran asked in a calm voice.

Marcus threw his head back and laughed loudly. “What do I plan to do with you? Oh, let me think,” he said, wiping fake tears from his eyes. “At first, I thought about sending you and your sister to the auction house together. A nice family package deal. We could have sold you both and made good money.”

He paused, and his smile grew wider and meaner. “But then I thought, who would even buy you? You’re just another soldier. A trained dog who knows how to kill when someone gives the order.” Marcus waved his hand like he was brushing away something dirty. “Your sister, though… now she is different. She is young, pretty, and innocent. She will bring a very high price from some rich perverts who enjoy breaking little girls.”

His eyes shone with evil joy. “She will make the perfect plaything for whoever buys her. I hear they love the innocent ones the most. They like the way they cry when—”

“So you do know where she is,” Bran cut in, his voice hard and cold as steel.

Marcus’s smile slipped for just a second. Then it came back, even bigger and more mocking. “Oh, you’re clever, Bran. Even now, you’re trying to get information out of me.” He shook his head as if he was impressed. “I almost respect that. But you made a huge mistake coming here alone. You should have stayed hidden under whatever rock you were hiding under and never come back.”

Marcus snapped his fingers sharply. “Kill him. But do not make it quick. I want him to suffer.”

The six armed men moved forward together. They pulled out their weapons and spread out, surrounding Bran from every side. The blood on the floor made wet sounds under their boots.

Bran did not move at all. He stood right in the center of the bloody room, his eyes following each man like a wolf watching sheep.

“Last chance,” one of the men growled. He pointed his gun straight at Bran’s chest. “Get on your knees and—”

The man never finished his words.

Bran moved like lightning. In less than a second, he closed the distance between them. His hand shot out and grabbed the gun by the barrel, twisting it upward just as the man pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The bullet smashed into the ceiling, and pieces of plaster rained down. Bran twisted the gun hard. The man’s finger, still stuck in the trigger guard, snapped backward with a loud, sickening CRACK.

The man’s scream was loud and full of pain. It cut through the room like a knife.

Bran did not stop. He yanked the broken finger free, spun the gun around, and slammed the butt of the weapon into the man’s face. The thug dropped to the floor like a sack of stones.

Marcus ripped the gun from the man’s hand and smashed the heavy butt of the weapon straight into the bridge of his nose. The nose burst with a horrible crunch. Blood sprayed everywhere like water from a broken pipe. The man stumbled back, screaming and holding his ruined face as blood poured through his fingers.

Without wasting a second, Bran flipped the gun around and shot the man in the kneecap.

BANG!

The knee exploded. The man dropped to the floor, shrieking in pain. His leg bent in a way that no leg should ever bend.

Before the first man even stopped screaming, the second thug attacked from behind with a long combat knife. He aimed straight for Bran’s kidney. Bran spun around fast. The blade sliced through his uniform but missed his skin by a tiny gap. He grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled him close, and slammed his elbow into the side of the man’s head with crushing power. The man’s eyes rolled back. Bran twisted the arm hard until the shoulder popped out of place with a loud, wet sound. Then he drove his knee up into the falling man’s face. The nose broke. Teeth flew out. The jaw shattered. Bran let go, and the man collapsed in a heap, blood spreading across the floor around his head.

Two down.

The third and fourth men rushed at Bran from opposite sides at the same time. The one on the left swung a heavy metal club at Bran’s head, trying to smash his skull. Bran ducked low. The club whistled just above his hair. He grabbed the man’s arm, yanked him forward, and punched him hard in the stomach. The blow was so powerful that the man’s eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened but no sound came out. His body jerked once and then went stiff. He fell down dead before he even hit the ground.

At the same moment, the fourth man raised his gun and fired three quick shots at Bran’s chest.

Bran moved like a shadow. He twisted his body sharply, and the bullets zipped past him, tearing holes in the wall behind. Before the man could fire again, Bran was already on him.

Marcus threw his head back and laughed loudly. “What do I plan to do with you? Oh, let me think,” he said, wiping fake tears from his eyes. “At first, I thought about sending you and your sister to the auction house together. A nice family package deal. We could have sold you both and made good money.”

He paused, and his smile grew wider and meaner. “But then I thought, who would even buy you? You’re just another soldier. A trained dog who knows how to kill when someone gives the order.” Marcus waved his hand like he was brushing away something dirty. “Your sister, though… now she is different. She is young, pretty, and innocent. She will bring a very high price from some rich perverts who enjoy breaking little girls.”

His eyes shone with evil joy. “She will make the perfect plaything for whoever buys her. I hear they love the innocent ones the most. They like the way they cry when—”

“So you do know where she is,” Bran cut in, his voice hard and cold as steel.

Marcus’s smile slipped for just a second. Then it came back, even bigger and more mocking. “Oh, you’re clever, Bran. Even now, you’re trying to get information out of me.” He shook his head as if he was impressed. “I almost respect that. But you made a huge mistake coming here alone. You should have stayed hidden under whatever rock you were hiding under and never come back.”

Marcus snapped his fingers sharply. “Kill him. But do not make it quick. I want him to suffer.”

The six armed men moved forward together. They pulled out their weapons and spread out, surrounding Bran from every side. The blood on the floor made wet sounds under their boots.

Bran did not move at all. He stood right in the center of the bloody room, his eyes following each man like a wolf watching sheep.

“Last chance,” one of the men growled. He pointed his gun straight at Bran’s chest. “Get on your knees and—”

The man never finished his words.

Bran moved like lightning. In less than a second, he closed the distance between them. His hand shot out and grabbed the gun by the barrel, twisting it upward just as the man pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The bullet smashed into the ceiling, and pieces of plaster rained down. Bran twisted the gun hard. The man’s finger, still stuck in the trigger guard, snapped backward with a loud, sickening CRACK.

The man’s scream was loud and full of pain.

Bran ripped the gun from his grip and smashed the heavy butt of the weapon straight into the bridge of the man’s nose. The nose burst with a horrible crunch. Blood sprayed everywhere like water from a broken pipe. The man stumbled back, screaming and holding his ruined face as blood poured through his fingers.

Without wasting a second, Bran flipped the gun around and shot the man in the kneecap.

BANG!

The knee exploded. The man dropped to the floor, shrieking in pain. His leg bent in a way that no leg should ever bend.

Before the first man even stopped screaming, the second thug attacked from behind with a long combat knife. He aimed straight for Bran’s kidney. Bran spun around fast. The blade sliced through his uniform but missed his skin by a tiny gap. He grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled him close, and slammed his elbow into the side of the man’s head with crushing power. The man’s eyes rolled back. Bran twisted the arm hard until the shoulder popped out of place with a loud, wet sound. Then he drove his knee up into the falling man’s face. The nose broke. Teeth flew out. The jaw shattered. Bran let go, and the man collapsed in a heap, blood spreading across the floor around his head.

Two down.

The third and fourth men rushed at Bran from opposite sides at the same time. The one on the left swung a heavy metal club at Bran’s head, trying to smash his skull. Bran ducked low. The club whistled just above his hair. He grabbed the man’s arm, yanked him forward, and punched him hard in the stomach. The blow was so powerful that the man’s eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened but no sound came out. His body jerked once and then went stiff. He fell down dead before he even hit the ground.

At the same moment, the fourth man raised his gun and fired three quick shots at Bran’s chest.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Bran moved between the bullets with super fast speed. He twisted his body so the rounds passed right where he had been a second earlier. All three bullets slammed into the wall behind him.

The shooter’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “What the—”

Bran closed the distance in a flash. He grabbed the man’s gun hand and forced it up under the man’s own chin.

“Wait—” the man begged.

BANG!

The top of the man’s skull exploded. Bran held the body up for a moment before letting it drop to the floor.

The fifth man tried to run. He turned and bolted for the door, his fear finally taking over. Bran picked up the combat knife from the floor and threw it without hesitation. The blade spun through the air and buried itself deep in the back of the man’s thigh. The man’s leg gave out. He crashed face-first into the doorframe, breaking his nose, then fell to the ground screaming and clutching the knife in his leg.

Bran walked over calmly, pulled the knife out as the screams grew louder, and drove the blade into the base of the man’s skull. The screaming stopped at once. The body twitched once and went still.

The last man, the biggest and most confident of the group, was now backing away. His gun shook badly in his trembling hands.

“Stay back!” he shouted. “Stay the fuck back!”

He fired wildly.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Four shots. All of them missed by a long way.

Bran walked forward like the bullets did not even exist. The man tried to shout again but his gun was empty. In panic, he threw the gun at Bran’s head. Bran caught it with one hand without slowing down.

“No… no… no—” the man begged.

Bran grabbed him by the throat with one hand and lifted him off the ground. The man’s feet kicked uselessly in the air. His hands clawed at Bran’s wrist, but it was like trying to bend steel.

“Please…” the man wheezed, his face turning purple. “I have… a family…”

Bran’s face stayed cold. “So did she.”

He slammed the man’s head into the wall with terrible force. The plaster cracked. He did it again. And again. And again. On the fifth hit, the back of the skull shattered. On the sixth, brain matter leaked out. On the seventh, the body went limp. Bran dropped the corpse and let it slide down the blood-smeared wall.

Bran stood in the middle of the room, breathing normally. His uniform was soaked in blood that was not his own.

Across the room, Marcus Reed stood frozen. His face had gone completely pale. The arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by pure terror. His hands shook so badly he could barely stand.

“What… What are you?” Marcus whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bran turned his head slowly toward him. When their eyes met, Marcus felt a chill run through his entire body.

“I never imagined…” Marcus’s voice cracked. He took a stumbling step backward, his expensive shoes slipping in the blood. “I never imagined you’d be this powerful.”

Marcus swallowed hard and tried to sound brave. “But if you lay a hand on me, you’ll face retaliation from Elara Quin herself!”

Bran tilted his head slightly. “Who is Elara Quin to think she can threaten me?”

Marcus let out a sharp, desperate laugh. “You don’t even know who she is? You really are just some ignorant grunt!” He spoke faster now, the words tumbling out in panic. “Elara Quin is one of the most powerful people in this entire country! She controls half of Heartless City! She’s about to form an alliance with the War God who emerged from the Southern battlefield! Do you understand what that means?”

“Who is the War God?” Bran asked calmly.

Marcus stared at him in disbelief. “You… you really don’t know? How can you not know? He’s been all over the news! The commander who led one hundred thousand troops to victory! The man who ended a three-year war in a single decisive battle! They’re calling him the King of the South! He’s—”

CRACK!

Bran’s boot came down on Marcus’s hand with crushing force. The bones in Marcus’s fingers shattered like dry twigs, and his thumb dislocated completely. Marcus let out a loud, animal-like scream. He fell to his knees, cradling his mangled hand against his chest as tears streamed down his face.

“Get to the point,” Bran said coldly. “Where is my sister?”

“The Velvet Room!” Marcus sobbed, his voice breaking. “She’s at the Velvet Room in the east district! That’s where they take all the girls! Please! I’ve told you everything!”

Marcus gasped through the pain. “If you continue being hostile, Elara Quin and the Reed family will destroy everything you love!”

“Should I be afraid of Elara Quin?” Bran asked quietly.

Before Marcus could answer, Bran called out, “Raymond.”

The door opened right away. Raymond Black stepped inside, followed by eight elite soldiers. Behind them came two more teams. One team wore construction gear and carried advanced equipment, while the other team wore medical scrubs and wheeled in machines that looked like they belonged in a top hospital.

“Everything’s arranged, Commander,” Raymond said to Bran. “Team Alpha will handle the structural repairs. Team Beta is ready for emergency medical care.”

Bran nodded once.

Team Alpha went to work immediately. One soldier used a laser scanner to check the room while another pulled out damage tools. Within seconds, they had a full report.

“Walls intact. Foundation stable. Damage is only on the surface,” one soldier reported.

They began repairs at incredible speed. Advanced materials filled the cracks in the walls and hardened instantly. Blood was cleaned away completely. Bullet holes were patched perfectly. The broken doorframe was replaced with a new piece that fit so well it looked like it had never been damaged. In just minutes, the living room looked brand new again.

At the same time, Team Beta rushed to Aunt Francine. A doctor knelt beside her and placed sensors on her chest, forehead, and wrists. A portable monitor lit up with her vital signs.

“Multiple fractures to both legs,” the lead doctor reported calmly. “Severe tissue damage and heavy blood loss. She is in serious shock.”

“Stabilize her,” Bran ordered. “I don’t care what it costs. Use whatever you need.”

“Yes, sir,” the doctor replied.

Marcus’s men were all dead. The living room was now spotless thanks to the fast work of Team Alpha. The medical team went to work on Aunt Francine right away. One doctor inserted an IV line and started pumping fresh blood into her body. Another doctor gave her special medicine to stop the bleeding inside. A third doctor carefully put strong carbon fiber braces on her broken legs to hold the bones straight.

The lead doctor took out a strange device that looked like it came from the future. It was a portable bone regeneration unit. He placed it over Francine’s legs and turned it on. A soft hum filled the room as the machine sent special waves into her bones to make them heal much faster. They also gave her stem cell shots to help even more.

“Vitals stabilizing,” one doctor said. “Heart rate is increasing. Blood pressure is rising. She is responding well.”

“Good,” the lead doctor replied. “We will do the full surgery right here. Bring in all the equipment.”

Marcus Reed watched everything with growing horror. His eyes landed on Raymond Black, and his face turned even whiter. “No…” he whispered. Then his voice rose in panic. “That’s impossible! You’re the War God’s assistant! I’ve seen your face on the news! You’re Raymond Black, second-in-command of the Blackstorm Legion!”

Marcus turned to stare at Bran, his eyes wide with shock. “Who are you? Who the hell are you really?”

Bran looked down at him with cold eyes. “You don’t need to know.”

Bran’s hand shot out and grabbed Marcus by the throat. Marcus tried to scream, but the strong grip cut off all sound. Bran’s fingers tightened.

“You don’t deserve to live,” Bran said quietly.

CRACK!

Marcus’s neck snapped. His body jerked once, his eyes went wide and glassy, and then he went completely limp. Bran dropped the dead body on the floor like a piece of trash.

He turned back to Raymond. “The tracking device.”

Raymond stepped forward with a small tray. On it was a tiny electronic chip, no bigger than a grain of rice, covered in blood. The doctors had pulled it out of Aunt Francine earlier.

Bran picked it up and looked at it closely. “Elara wanted to make sure they could never disappear again,” he said quietly.

Bran glanced at his blood-soaked uniform and the now-clean room around him. “Raymond, we’re going to the Velvet Room immediately.”

He walked toward the door, his boots leaving red footprints on the fresh floor. At the threshold, he stopped and looked back at Aunt Francine one last time. She lay surrounded by machines and doctors fighting to save her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Bran whispered.

Then he was gone, stepping into the night with his soldiers following closely behind.