The Return Of War God: Evander Holt

Who exactly are you

"Who the fuck are you?" Evelyn demanded.

Before I could get a word out, Corwin beat me to it. His voice slid in from behind me. "Maybe try answering the question instead of hissing like a snake," he said. "We asked first."

Bertram, the ever-loyal lapdog, stepped up again like he had something to prove. His fists clenched tight, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "You better watch that tongue of yours, lowlife, before I rip it off—"

"Enough, Bertram," Evelyn snapped, her tone slicing through the air like a blade. She didn't even spare him a glance. Just shut him down like she was used to dealing with fools.

Then she turned her eyes on me. "You said you're looking for someone? Who are you looking for?"

"Caleb Marris."

Instantly, everything stopped. Laughter died. Conversations halted. Even the soft clink of champagne flutes froze midair. 

I acted oblivious to my surroundings. "I came looking for Caleb Marris." I said it again, louder this time. The room fell into silence.

Bertram lost what little control he had left and surged forward, fury swelling in his chest. "How dare you speak that name here?"

He was halfway to me, but Evelyn cut him off again, "Bertram! No."

She turned her full attention to me. "There's no one by that name in this household." And then, with a flick of her hand, she turned away. "Escort them out. Now."

Bertram's lips curled into a cruel smile. "With pleasure."

He snapped his fingers, and four guards stepped out from the shadows. Broad-shouldered men in tailored black suits. Their hands hovered near the lines of their jackets. They come closer slowly, forming a loose ring around us.

Bertram's grin widened. "Well, since you gentlemen don't know how to leave peacefully... I guess I'll have to teach you some manners."

He raised a hand like a pompous lord. "Catch them. I want their tongues."

How Brazen....

Corwin cracked his neck and later, his knuckles. Then he stepped slightly ahead of me. "Let me handle this, boss."

He moved forward; his muscles were shifting under his coat. He was massive, towering over the guards, arms thick as tree trunks. "So... who wants to come first?"

His voice boomed across the marble, deep and resounding like a drumbeat before war. The guards hesitated. One of them shifted uneasily. Another took a step back without realizing it.

Bertram's scowl deepened. "Don't be scared of this mountain. Attack!"

Corwin exhaled, "You're too noisy."

Then he moved.

One moment Bertram was standing there, barking orders like a general. The next, he was airborne.

Corwin's palm cracked against his face with the force of a cannon blast. A full open-handed slap. It was so fast and brutal.

Bertram's feet left the ground. His body crashed into a decorative pillar, knocking loose a spray of dust and plaster. He slid down the marble like wet laundry and crumpled into a heap.

Gasps filled in the room.

"Did that really just happen?"

"Did he slap him that far?!"

"Is he even human?"

There were murmurs, the room that was filled with laughter just moments ago now hung in a paralyzing stillness.

Corwin stepped aside, voice cold. "After you, boss."

I nodded, stepping forward, but then—

"Caleb Marris is dead." Evelyn's voice cut through the room.

I turned. And my palm exploded across her face. Her body snapped sideways, stumbling until she hit the wall. Blood smeared from her nose down to her lips. "You don't get to say his name with that filthy mouth," I said quietly. Everyone stared. Not a soul moved.

Bertram groaned, dragging himself off the floor, dazed, his jaw still bleeding from earlier. "You dare come here… and cause trouble in this sacred house?" he rasped.

"You had better be ready to—"

He didn't finish.

He reached for his communicator. But Corwin was already there.

His hand clamped over Bertram's face like a metal vice and lifted him clean off the ground.

People screamed in awe.

"Repeat what you just said." Corwin didn't even raise his voice.

Bertram whimpered through his bleeding mouth.

"D-Did I say something wrong...? I-I just meant... if the young master hears Caleb's name—your tongue… they'll cut it, that's the least of your worries! If you offend the first son… we'll all die…"

Corwin's eyes darkened. "What was it you said earlier? That you'll cut tongues?"

Bertram froze.

"Let me help you, then."

Corwin squeezed. There was a crack. A wet, sickening crunch.

Bertram's scream tore through the room as blood and pieces of his mangled tongue spilled down his chin.

The room descended into chaos.

People shrank back, wide-eyed, some grabbing children not to look, others trying to escape. Fear clung to everyone's breath.

Corwin dropped the butler like trash. "You should be thankful my master still wants to investigate things thoroughly. If it were up to me... Massi's family would've been a smoldering ruin by now."

We kept moving.

The doors ahead of us loomed tall and grand, trimmed in gold, with the Massi's family crest carved into every inch of the doors. I placed my hand on the handle.

It creaked open, and the banquet hall came alive with laughter.

Silver clinked against porcelain. Glasses of blood-red wine sparkled beneath the chandeliers. The Marri's family, polished and smug in their tailored silk suits, dined without a care in the world.

No black ribbon!

No candlelight vigil!

No photo frame!

Nothing for Caleb?

"Looks like a family reunion," Corwin murmured.

A young man wobbled toward the head of the table, glass in hand. He leaned against the man in the red suit.

"Luther! C'mon, man, drink with me—your in-law's here! You better take care of me, big brother!"

Luther laughed, polished and casual. But his eyes locked onto me a moment later and turned cold.

The drunkard noticed too.

"Who the hell are they? How did they even get in here?!"

I stepped forward, calm, deliberate.

"I walked in," I said. Then to the man in red:

"You must be Luther Massi."

Luther rose slowly, smile sharp.

"I'm flattered. Everyone seems to know me these days. But the way you just barged in here, I'm guessing you don't understand the kind of respect that name demands."

The drunk moved toward me.

"You're just some punk! Look at you! Dressed like a beggar. You crash a family event hoping for scraps?"

"Should we toss him out, Luther?"

Luther smirked.

"Easy, Cyrus. But you're not wrong."

He looked me dead in the eye.

"Kid, whatever fantasy brought you here, better leave with you. Before I lose my patience."

He turned toward the door.

"Bertram! Get in here and—"

"—No need to shout," Corwin said smoothly behind me.

"A mute can't answer you."

That shut them up.

All heads turned. Then, whispers began to swirl across the table.

Luther's jaw clenched. Fury rising.

"Tch. The Massi family's been too soft. Now even scum thinks they can dine in our halls."

Everyone now looked at us like we were walking corpses.

Just then, the doors behind us creaked again.

Evelyn entered, slow and pale, her cheek swollen and bleeding.

Cyrus rushed forward. "Evelyn! What the hell—?

Whispers caught fire.

"She was slapped?"

"By HIM?"

Who dares hit Evelyn Cross?!

Even the family members who had been casually sipping soup now sat up straighter. The air grew thick and electric.

Luther stood. His hands clenched at his sides.

His eyes bore into me. "If you were the one who touched her…" he said, voice low and steady, "then prepare to leave here without your limbs."

Luther rarely lost his temper.

I stepped forward.

My words were ice. "Then you'd better prepare yourself too, young master of the Massi family…"

"…because the one who dies tonight…won't be me."