The Return Of War God: Evander Holt

Breaking in

I turned around. Slowly.

And there she was.

Lucia.

Her eyes were colder than the border winds, the kind of chill that could flay a man more cruelly than steel ever could. Her hand gripped the pistol steady, though her finger trembled ever so slightly over the trigger.

"…Lucia," I breathed her name, a sound half ghost, half plea.

"Don't come closer," she snapped, her voice as sharp as the weapon she held. "If you do, I won't hesitate to shoot."

I stood motionless, staring into the black mouth of the barrel—an executioner's promise held by the woman I once swore my life to protect.

"Lucia…" My tone was quiet, deliberate, a calm that belied the cold weight of the gun trained on me. "You've been coughing for a while now. I noticed it the moment you spoke. You've been ignoring your treatment again, haven't you?"

Her brows pulled together, a storm flashing in her eyes. Her hand quivered, but her fury burned unbroken. "Don't," she hissed. "Don't you dare ask me about my health. Don't you pretend like you care. You lost that right the moment you vanished."

The words struck harder than any blade, but I forced the pain down, swallowing it whole. "I've missed you," I murmured.

Her finger tightened on the trigger. "If you say that again, Evand, I swear I will pull this trigger."

The air thickened. Silence pressed between us—heavier, louder than any scream of battle.

"Leave," she spat finally, venom dripping from every syllable. "You were dead to us. Stay that way. Don't come back here ever again."

Then—

"Mummy?"

A small voice cut through the tension like glass shattering against tile.

Lucia's eyes widened in panic. "Kate," she whispered sharply. In a rush, she lowered the gun, shoving it behind her coat just as the child padded into the room in her nightgown, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

I froze.

She was my daughter.

She walked straight toward me with the careless trust only children carried, stopping just inches from where I stood.

I glanced at the framed photograph on the wall, then back to the little girl before me. The resemblance was undeniable. The eyes—those were Lucia's. But the nose… the nose was mine.

"Is that…?" My voice was barely a whisper. "Kate?"

The girl tilted her head up at me, innocent curiosity sparkling in her gaze. "Who are you?" she asked, turning to her mother. "Mummy?"

Lucia's face twisted, caught between panic and sorrow, her lips trembling around words she didn't want to speak. "Sweetheart… go back to bed, okay? Come here."

Kate didn't move. "But who is he?"

"I said come," Lucia snapped, harsher than she intended, the sharpness making the little girl flinch.

And then everything shifted.

A sharp crack split the air.

The window exploded inward.

Glass sprayed across the floor in deadly shards.

Lucia screamed, instinctively throwing her body around Kate, shielding her from the storm of glass.

I turned, just as five masked men burst through the broken window. Their boots hit the floor with thundering intent, their hands clutching crude weapons—blunt hammers, iron pipes, rust-stained blades.

And their eyes—all five pairs, glinting through the black fabric of their masks—were locked not on me.

Not on Lucia.

But on my daughter.

I moved before they didThe first man lunged toward Evelyn. I snatched a chair, swung it with everything I had, and shattered it across his head. He crumpled instantly, crashing to the ground in a heap of wood splinters and blood.

The second came at me with a steel pipe. I caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted hard, and drove my elbow into his throat. He gagged, choking on his own breath, and collapsed with a wheeze.

The third rushed me from behind. I ducked under his swing, swept his legs clean out from under him, and stomped a boot into his ribs the moment he hit the floor. He didn't get back up.

Another charged, this one wielding a hammer. His strike whistled through the air, but I sidestepped, caught his arm, and twisted until his body folded. My knee cracked into his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. The hammer slipped from his grip—I snatched it before it hit the ground and swung it into the fifth man's skull before he even managed to raise his blade.

In seconds, the room was filled with groans, shattered furniture, and broken bodies.

I grabbed one of the half-conscious intruders by the collar and slammed him against the wall. His head bounced off plaster, leaving a crack in the paint.

"Who sent you?!" I roared.

He coughed, blood running down the corner of his mouth. His jaw tightened as if to resist, but his eyes betrayed the fear clawing through him. "I… I…"

"Talk!" I snarled, shaking him.

But then—movement.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the masked men bolting for the broken window.

I threw my prisoner aside and sprinted after him. He leapt through the shattered frame, glass crunching under his boots as he vanished into the night.

"Who sent you?!" I bellowed after him.

He spun mid-stride, a flash of steel in his hand. The throwing knife hissed through the air.

I ducked.

The blade sliced across my cheek, embedding into the wooden doorframe behind me with a violent thunk.

By the time I straightened, the coward was gone—swallowed by the shadows.

I wanted to run after him, drag him into the dirt, and pry the answers from his skull. Aurora starts to cry.

Her small, trembling voice cracked through the chaos and froze me in place.

No. Not again. Not this time.

I turned back. Evelyn was crouched low, clutching Aurora to her chest. The girl's tiny fists were balled against her mother's dress, her face streaked with tears.

I walked back, chest heaving, fists clenched tight enough to ache.

Aurora's sobs were soft but sharp, cutting deeper than any blade. Evelyn whispered against her hair, "It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay. Mummy's here. Nothing's going to happen."

I dropped to one knee before them, unsure of how to touch the moment without breaking it further. My voice came out steady, controlled. "Take her inside," I said quietly to Evelyn. "She shouldn't be here. Not right now."

Her eyes locked on mine. Behind them was a storm—anger, fear, confusion, a thousand things she wouldn't say. For a moment she hesitated, lips parting as if to argue. But finally, she nodded, standing with Aurora still pressed tight to her chest.

"I'll sleep here tonight," I said, rising to full height.

She opened her mouth. I lifted a hand. "Not now. We'll talk tomorrow."

For a heartbeat, I thought she might resist. But then she sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Fine," she whispered. "Just for tonight."

She turned away, carrying Aurora toward the hallway until the shadows of the inner rooms swallowed them both.

Silence.

I stood alone in the wreckage, broken glass crunching beneath my boots.

Slowly, I walked to the window.

The night outside was thick and heavy. Streetlamps hummed in the distance, their glow spilling across empty asphalt. A breeze moved through the trees, whispering like a warning.

I leaned against the cracked frame, jaw tight, eyes narrowed into the dark.

Who? Who in their right mind would come for my family—make a move like this—knowing I was home?