The Return Of War God: Evander Holt

The Legend has returned

Evander*

*Marina International Airport*

My private jet touched down and taxied to a halt. I adjusted the cuffs of my jacket and rose to my feet and stepped outside. 

Overhead, a black military helicopter was hovering, its blades slicing through the sky in a steady rhythm. Below, a wall of security waited. Secret Service agents. High-ranking officers. Soldiers in armored vehicles in the VIP section. Eyes sharp. Fingers near triggers. Every one of them is standing at attention. They are waiting for me. 

But I didn't come back to be paraded. I took another route through an alternate exit. I stepped outside, where a tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp military uniform was already waiting.

Agent Corwin.

He moved fast, grabbing my luggage before snapping a sharp salute. 

"Welcome home, Major General."

"Who leaked my arrival, Corwin?"

He hesitated before finally speaking, "I made a few calls while you were en route, sir. The name that came up was… Lucia George."

Lucia! Why would she do this?

"Sir, should I tell the others to stand down?" Corwin voice broke through my thoughts.

I scoffed. "No. Leave them. If they want to wait, let them wait. It's their time to waste."

Without another word, I climbed into the black SUV waiting for me. Corwin followed, shutting the door behind him. The engine roared to life, and we pulled away from the terminal. 

Marina: The city of Marina unfolded before me. Sleek glass skyscrapers stretched high into the sky, neon lights flashing advertisements. Hover-trams glided above the streets, their blue-lit tracks barely visible against the bustling roads below. It was nothing like the city I had left behind a decade ago.

Hard to believe. Marina has changed.

Changed was an understatement.

I'd grown up in this city when it was nothing more than crumbling brick and rusted pipelines. Marina was a city constantly on edge due to the looming threats from our enemies. But now it gleamed. Sleek towers of glass scraped the sky, clean, thriving, alive. It was unrecognizable.

Ten years ago, when the enemy breached our eastern border, I was a newly commissioned lieutenant, sent straight to the front lines. I didn't just fight. I adapted. I bled. I learned what it meant to survive. And I led.

One victory became two. Then five. Then twenty. I became the name whispered on both sides of the war. My unit earned a reputation for precision, speed, and ruthlessness. I rose through the ranks faster. At twenty-eight, the stars of a Major General sat on my shoulders. The youngest in the country's history.

Now I was home.

And just when I thought I could finally breathe again, I got the call.

Caleb Marris was dead...

"Sir… there's something you need to see."

Reynolds' voice pulled me back. He reached into his jacket and handed me a folded photograph. My hands were steady as I took it, but my breath wasn't.

I unfolded the image and time stopped.

It was Caleb. Or rather, what was left of him.

His body lay lifeless in the photo. His missing eyes made my stomach tighten with rage. They had been removed, leaving only hollow sockets. The brutality of it was undeniable. This is more than a killing. He was my brother in every way that counted. We fought side by side through every nightmare. He'd once taken a bullet that was meant for me. That hit left him paralyzed, forced him out of the military. That was the last time we saw each other.

My grip tightened around the photo until the edges curled. My stomach twisted. Rage began to simmer, low and slow, like a storm at sea.

"This was taken postmortem," Corwin said quietly.

I clenched my fists. The pain grounded me, but it didn't stop the flood of memories crashing through my skull.

The last time I saw Caleb Marris was the night he left the service. That night, we sat together, talking about the future. He laughed, despite everything, and pulled out a photo. One of him was standing beside a beautiful woman, her smile radiant.

"This is her. Her name is Evelyn Chris. She's the one I want to marry."

He had stared at that picture like it was his entire world. I remembered the way his fingers traced the edges of the image, the way his voice softened when he spoke about her.

Then he looked at me. "Evander," he said. "You ever do something just to prove someone wrong?"

I looked straight at him in his eyes. "I never really wanted to be a soldier. I did it for my grandmother." He whispered.

"She always said I was weak, timid, not half the man my brother was. I wanted to prove her wrong. So, I signed up, put on the uniform, and risked my life just to hear her say she was proud of me."

"And you know what she did when I showed her? She slapped me. Told me I didn't know my place. That no matter what I did, I would never be compared to Stephen Marris, my perfect half-brother."

"My grandmother never let me forget that my mother's blood was low, that I'd never truly belong in the family. But even after all of that, I don't hate them. They're still my family, the only ones I have."

That was the last night we spoke.

Several days later, I received an invitation to his wedding. He had written a personal note at the bottom of the card: "Evander, you must be there. No excuses."

But just days before the ceremony, the news came.

Caleb Marris was dead. He was murdered.

I couldn't let it go. I wanted to uncover the truth; I assembled a covert investigation unit. We pulled every thread, to find the true cause of his death. What we found only made it worse.

No confirmed cause of death. And Evelyn? The woman he was supposed to marry

She didn't cry or feel sad. 

Instead, she nestled closer to the Marris family like she'd always belonged.

That was the first twist in the knife. The real blow came when the Marris family finally gave their version of the story, 

They claimed Caleb had fallen for Luther's fiancée. They said he crossed a line by coveting what wasn't his.

And when she chose Luther instead, Caleb spiraled.

Drove his car into a tree, disfigured himself, lost his eyes in the crash…

Then took his own life out of shame.

No. I didn't believe it.

Caleb didn't kill himself. He wouldn't have touched another man's bride, not even his brother's.

And sure, as hell, he wouldn't have left this world without a fight.

The story is obviously fabricated.

"Sir," Corwin broke through my thoughts. "This came through secure delivery."

He handed me a white envelope, clean and expensive looking. 

"Sir, this is an invitation to Luther Marris's wedding. It's in ten days. The Marris estate is lively today."

"Is that so?" I murmured, folding the invitation once—then again—tighter each time.

My eyes dropped to my hand, to the silver ring on my index finger. It was given to me by Caleb; he gave me on the night he was discharged.

I closed my fist around it, drawing in a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Drive to the Marris estate," I said, "It's time I paid the family a visit."