The Prisoner God of War

Chapter 5: Retribution

As Marcus stepped away from the Chen mansion, a black limousine pulled up to the circular driveway. The door opened, and out stepped Victor Blackwood—tall, arrogant, dressed in a custom Italian tuxedo that cost more than most people's cars. His face bore the faint scars of their previous encounter, but his expression radiated smug superiority.

"Well, well, well," Victor drawled, adjusting his diamond cufflinks. "If it isn't Marcus Kane, fresh out of his concrete cage. Tell me, convict, how does it feel to breathe free air again?"

Marcus turned slowly, his divine presence causing the air around them to thicken with tension. "Victor Blackwood. Still walking around, I see."

"Walking around?" Victor laughed mockingly. "I'm thriving, you pathetic loser. While you were getting passed around like a party favor in prison, I was building an empire. Today, I'm marrying the most beautiful woman in the city—your ex-girlfriend."

"How poetic," Marcus replied with deadly calm.

"You know what the best part is?" Victor's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. "Sophia begged me to invite you to the wedding. She wants you to watch her pledge her life to the man who destroyed yours."

Victor pulled out an elegant wedding invitation and waved it mockingly in front of Marcus's face.

"Please, do come," Victor sneered. "There'll be plenty of leftover scraps from the reception. I'm sure a fresh-out-of-prison beggar like you could use a decent meal. Maybe the kitchen staff will let you wash dishes in exchange for table scraps."

The jade ring began to burn against Marcus's finger as divine fury built within him like a nuclear reactor approaching critical mass.

This mortal dares mock a god, Marcus thought, ancient power coursing through his veins.

Without warning, Marcus's hand moved with celestial speed, his palm connecting with Victor's cheek in a slap that echoed like thunder. The divine force behind the blow sent Victor stumbling backward, his designer sunglasses flying off his face.

"Let me give you some advice about my 'ex-girlfriend,'" Marcus said, his voice carrying supernatural authority. "You're getting nothing but used goods, Victor. Sophia's been with half the men in this city—including me. Enjoy your sloppy seconds."

The wedding guests gathering on the mansion's steps gasped in horror. Victor's face turned purple with rage as he pressed his hand against his stinging cheek.

"You lying piece of trash!" Victor snarled. "How dare you spread filthy rumors about my bride!"

"Rumors?" Sophia appeared at the mansion's entrance, her wedding dress rustling as she descended the steps. "Marcus, you pathetic loser, how dare you suggest I ever let you touch me!"

"Oh, please," Marcus laughed coldly. "We both know the truth about those nights in your college apartment. Should I describe your birthmark, or would you prefer I mention that scar on your—"

"Enough!" Carmen Chen rushed between them, her face pale with panic. "Victor, darling, please don't listen to this deranged criminal. He's obviously mentally unstable from his prison experience."

"Mrs. Chen is right," Sophia said quickly, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of fear. "I never let this violent psychopath lay a finger on me. He's clearly having revenge fantasies."

Victor stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Listen carefully, you worthless convict. If you spread one more lie about my fiancée, I'll make sure you go back to prison permanently."

Marcus smiled with the confidence of an immortal deity facing a troublesome insect. "And if you threaten me again, Victor, you'll discover exactly why they called me the God of War."

The supernatural intensity in Marcus's voice made Victor take an involuntary step backward. For a moment, the arrogant businessman looked genuinely shaken by the otherworldly power radiating from Marcus's presence.

"Let's go inside, darling," Sophia said nervously, tugging at Victor's arm. "The ceremony starts in an hour."

As the wedding party retreated toward the mansion, Marcus raised his right hand and pointed his index finger toward Victor's retreating form. Celestial energy gathered at his fingertip—invisible to mortal eyes but carrying the power of divine judgment.

A curse upon your wedding day, Marcus thought, channeling ancient techniques that only a God of War could master. Let your arrogance be rewarded with appropriate suffering.

The mystical energy shot from his finger like a bolt of silent lightning, striking Victor between the shoulder blades. The mortal felt nothing immediately, but the divine curse had been planted like a seed of doom.

Now for more pressing matters, Marcus decided, turning away from the mansion.

An hour later, Marcus stood before the towering glass facade of the Grandeur Hotel—the most exclusive establishment in the city. Valets in pristine uniforms attended to luxury vehicles while doormen in gold-braided coats welcomed guests with practiced elegance.

At the main entrance, a familiar figure paced back and forth with obvious anxiety. Alessandro Romano, dressed in an expensive charcoal suit, kept checking his platinum watch while scanning the street for someone.

Other hotel guests whispered among themselves, recognizing the powerful CEO of the Romano Empire but wondering who could possibly command such respect from a man worth billions.

"Papa, this is ridiculous," Valentina said, emerging from the hotel lobby in a stunning red dress. "You've been waiting here for over an hour. That con artist isn't coming."

"He wasn't a con artist," Alessandro replied firmly, his eyes never leaving the street. "What he did to me was impossible—miraculous."

"It was a lucky guess!" Valentina snapped. "Some homeless-looking stranger can't possibly have magical healing powers. You're embarrassing yourself in front of half the city's elite."

Alessandro turned to face his daughter, his expression deadly serious. "Valentina, there's something I never told you. Twenty-three years ago, I was in a car accident that punctured my left lung. The doctors said they repaired the damage, but the pain never went away."

Valentina's face went pale. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been living with constant agony for over two decades," Alessandro continued. "I've seen specialists in Switzerland, Japan, America—the best doctors money can buy. They all said the same thing: the injury was too old, too deep to repair without risking my life."

"Papa, why didn't you tell me?" Valentina's voice cracked with emotion.

"Because you're everything to me, sweetheart. I couldn't bear to watch you worry about losing me. But that young man—Marcus Kane—he saw through my body like it was made of glass. He knew about injuries that the world's best doctors couldn't detect."

Alessandro checked his watch again. "And in five minutes, he completely healed damage that I've carried for twenty-three years. The pain is gone, Valentina. Completely gone."

Papa could have died, Valentina thought, tears welling in her eyes. All these years, he's been suffering in silence to protect me.

"I have to wait for him," Alessandro said with absolute determination. "A man who can perform miracles deserves more respect than I've ever shown anyone."