The Lost God Heir

Attacked And Humilated

The message only made his rage spiral even more and he tossed his phone into his pockets.

"What a joke!" He muttered as he walked away.

Ethan stepped off the phone and headed for the bus stop, his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets.

 The night air bit at his skin, but he hardly noticed, overwhelmed by his own pain.

 He moved like a shadow, head down, every step weighed down by the memory of earlier—the betrayal, the humiliation, the hollow ache that seemed to follow him everywhere now. He just wanted to get home, sit, breathe and maybe sleep.

The bus pulled up , the crowd jostling forward to board. 

Ethan pushed through and claimed the first empty seat he saw, pressed against the window. Relief flickered briefly. Finally, a moment of peace. His knuckles whitened around the strap of his bag.

Then the laughter hit him before he even looked up.

“Ethan Cole?”

Three men stepped out from the crowd like predators, Brandon Kyle, and Marcus. Each of them carried the presence of men who owned rooms without trying, men whose reputation kept people at a distance. On this street, at this bus stop, even the regulars parted quietly as they approached. The air shifted. Respect and fear trailed them like a dark cloud.

Brandon’s grin was sharp and arrogant. “Well, well… the mighty Ethan, reduced to a bus ride.”

Kyle’s laugh rang like glass. “Street buses, man? Hart Industries really knocked you down, huh?”

"Unfortunately for you today, our Mercedes is in a bad state and we need the bus to catch an emergency!" Brandon's words floated with arrogance.

Marcus leaned casually on the railing, arms crossed. “We need that seat so you have to scram!"  

He paused. "Don't make me repeat myself!"

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “I got here first. This seat is mine. If you're so hell bent on traveling together, you could wait for the next bus!"

Brandon tilted his head, amused. “Mine? Oh, I see. Still cling to scraps of dignity. How cute."

Kyle smirked, voice dripping with mockery. “Come on, man. Don’t make it awkward for the people watching. They already know how low you’ve sunk.”

They threw a few bundles of cash to his feet, and Ethan frowned deeply.

"We're in a hurry, to catch this business conference. Of course you can't relate.

But those cash, that's more than you would make in a month pulling bags of trash around. Take it and scream!"

The bus conductor shuffled nervously. “No space, no space! Move down! Make room for the passengers!”

Ethan stared at the cash and back and his friends turned enemies.

"I would say it for the final time, if you're so hell bent on traveling together, wait for the next bus!"

Those words, they broke through the trio's pride causing fury to slip.

"You want this the hard way don't you?"

Brandon flicked a few bills at the conductor and his eyes popped from their sockets. “Three seats. Make it happen. This man’s too stubborn to understand.”

The conductor smirked, that was more than enough he made from organizing the place for a whole month.

He picked his cell phone quickly after multiple bows and thank yous and placed a call.

Soon, two police officers arrived.

"That man, he's causing trouble. Didn't pay and wouldn't make way for real Passengers."

"Is that so?" The police officers frowned deeply, their eyes taking deep records of Ethan's poor look from all the day's work.

"That's a lie!" Ethan tried to counter but that only earned him a frown from the police officers.

"Do you think us fools believe that you could afford tickets?"

They would not listen to Ethan or even see the proof that he had, they reached out to him to pull him off from the bus while he struggled and silent mocking giggles slitted from the crowd.

They knew the truth but no one wanted to get on the trio's bad side.

Ethan’s chest tightened. He gripped the seat edges. The cheap grocery bag he carried shifted in his lap, the contents rattling. 

Marcus nudged him lightly, enough to rock him back. “You would not say you were never warned!"

Brandon leaned in, voice low, cruel. “You’re pathetic. Used to have a girl, a job… Now you’re a joke. Everyone sees it.”

Kyle’s laugh rose above the murmurs of the crowd. “Look at him. Picking up his groceries like a child. Bro, this is a bus, not a playground.”

Marcus kicked one of the oranges across the floor. “Oops,” he said casually, like tossing away something worthless. “My foot slipped.”

Ethan crouched to pick it up, his fingers trembling. His face burned as the three men stared down at him, smirking, taking their time. No one stepped forward. The fear they radiated was enough to keep people silent. Even the conductor hesitated, eyes darting nervously between them.

Brandon crouched slightly, voice sharp and commanding. “You know your problem, Ethan? You thought you belonged. Thought you could rise. But you were always the weak link. Crowley confirmed it. You’re never going to be in our league.”

Ethan didn’t look up. He couldn’t. His throat felt like sandpaper. His hands fumbled with the fallen groceries.

Kyle added, “Yeah. Everyone around here knows now. The guy who used to dream big… can’t even hold a seat.”

Marcus leaned forward, casual but deliberate. “And the best part? You have nowhere to go. No power. No respect. Just a bus, a handful of groceries, and us.”

Ethan’s chest tightened with every word. Each insult landed like a hammer. He stayed still, resisting the urge to lash out. There was no fight left in him, not here. Not now.

The police officers picked him up from the bus and people recorded with heated laughter.

For a moment, Ethan hated being powerless, unable to do anything about these cruel monsters shielded by fame, money and statues. The trio, Lila, his father, Damien, high school scholarship bullies, all flashed in his mind and he wished...

Then—like a blade slicing through the air, another voice spoke, powerful and bone stiffening.

“That’s enough.”

The bus instantly went silent.

The three men froze. The conductor stopped mid-step. Everyone turned and even the police officers were frozen by such a powerful aura.

A black Mercedes Maybach rolled up behind the bus, sleek and silent. Its presence alone drew a line of separation between them and Ethan.

The rear door opened.

A tall man stepped out. Broad, perfectly poised, silver hair shining under the streetlights. His suit was immaculate. His gaze was sharp, carved from ice.

Mr. Alden.

He surveyed the scene: the conductor, the three men, then Ethan.

“Touch him again,” he said. Soft. Controlled. Deadly. “And you will regret it in ways you are not prepared for.”