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Home / Urban / The Return Of War God: Evander Holt / Who is the owner here?
Who is the owner here?
Author: Cardiff pen
last update2025-10-18 03:50:54

The city thinned the further I drove.

Buildings slumped with rust and rot, leaning like old drunks waiting for the end. The road cracked beneath the tires, groaning as if it didn't want to remember what had been driven over it before. Warehouses loomed like coffins, chained shut with links that hadn't rattled in years. The streetlights above were hollow glass bones—dead, unblinking.

I pulled up beside a compound strangled by weeds and silence. The old cargo terminal. Pier 9.

The place looked li
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  • Don't loose sight of them

    The crowd gasped.No one moved.It was the kind of silence that comes when everyone in the room suddenly realizes something has gone terribly wrong.Good.That was exactly what I wanted.“Good,” I said calmly, letting my gaze drift across the frozen faces around me. “Now that I have your attention… let’s talk about the tattoo.”I bent down and grabbed the bastard by his collar, hauling him upright like he weighed nothing. His expensive shirt bunched in my fist as I dragged him closer until our faces were inches apart.Behind us, the body of the dead man lay twisted on the floor.I shoved it aside with my foot like it was nothing more than trash.The man in my grip winced as blood dripped from his broken nose. His eyes darted wildly around the room, searching for someone—anyone—to help him.No one stepped forward.Smart crowd.I rolled up my sleeve and shoved my forearm into his face.The fractured mask tattoo stared back at him.The same mark I saw burned into the chest of the man who

  • Who is the owner here?

    The city thinned the further I drove.Buildings slumped with rust and rot, leaning like old drunks waiting for the end. The road cracked beneath the tires, groaning as if it didn't want to remember what had been driven over it before. Warehouses loomed like coffins, chained shut with links that hadn't rattled in years. The streetlights above were hollow glass bones—dead, unblinking.I pulled up beside a compound strangled by weeds and silence. The old cargo terminal. Pier 9.The place looked like a graveyard where secrets were buried shallow.I stepped out. Dust crunched beneath my boots. The stench of oil and damp steel seeped from the walls, crawling into my lungs. I didn't flinch. I'd smelled worse on the border, worse when the air itself seemed laced with death.Straight ahead stood a steel-plated door, sunk into the side of the building like a scar. No sign. No lights. Just two men out front, shadows with breath. One leaned against a rusted pole, a cigarette bleeding to its end b

  • I'm your boss

    The air hit cold against my skin, but it wasn't the kind of cold that bothered me. No — this one I was used to. The kind that settled inside you long ago and never thawed.Lucia…Daughter of the Kravens. They were so powerful. Untouchable. A bloodline stitched into the veins of this nation's war machine.Her father, General Krell Kravens could move battalions with the flick of his wrist.Her mother, Lady Mia Kravens, played the world stage like it was a battlefield.When I asked for Lucia's hand, her father looked me dead in the eye and said:"You'll never be more than a footnote in this country's defense history. You're not Kravens material."He wasn't wrong. Back then, I was nothing but a determined cadet with bloodied knuckles and fire in my eyes. But Lucia…Lucia had seen something no one else did.She was the reason I took the border assignment.To prove myself.To prove them wrong.And ten years later?What had I come back to?A wife ready to sign divorce papers and a daughter wh

  • Let's divorce

    The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mingling with dust and the sharp tang of broken glass. My boots crunched softly against the floor as I moved around the living room, gathering the scattered pieces.I cleaned slowly. The mess wasn't only physical. It was a reflection of everything I had left behind… and everything that had rotted in my absence.When I straightened up, my eyes caught the photograph on the wall.Smiling in a field of sunflowers, her arms outstretched toward a sky I had never seen with her.My feet carried me toward it before I realized. I froze, staring at that face—so familiar, yet still foreign.Ten years.Ten damn years without her.I stood there far too long, my chest tightening, before finally lifting the frame from the wall. My hands trembled as I held it. I didn't know if I was looking at my daughter… or at a stranger.With a breath that shook more than I wanted to admit, I set the picture gently beside the couch.The bottle waited where I had left it

  • 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 pre

  • Why are you back?

    Aron moved forward, each step deliberate. His boots struck the marble floor with a cold, unhurried rhythm, like a pendulum counting down to someone's death. His eyes, two shards of winter, locked on me with the unblinking certainty of a man who had already decided my fate.He stopped three feet away, head tilting slightly, his gaze drifting over my features like an appraiser measuring a priceless artifact before smashing it. Then he smiled—a thin, humorless curve of the lips that felt more like a knife than a gesture."You've got a sharp face," he said evenly. His voice was steady, detached, as if this was just another line in a job description.A faint shrug followed. "A shame, really… but I'm just doing a job. Everyone needs money."From behind me, I felt Reynold tense. His weight shifted forward, the telltale signal of a man about to draw steel or throw himself between me and danger."Corwin—" I snapped, without turning. My tone cut through the space like a blade. "Don't."He froz

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