The Return Of the God Of War

THE STORM BREAKS

Ares Kane stood alone in his cramped apartment, the overhead bulb flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to live or die. He leaned against the kitchen counter, a chipped mug in his hand, half-filled with black coffee that had long gone cold. The walls were bare, save for a battered duffel bag by the door - the same bag he’d carried through deserts and jungles, stained with sweat and memories.

He should have felt something like peace here. Anonymity had kept him alive all these years. But tonight, the shadows pressed in too close, whispering old names and unfinished wars.

His phone buzzed on the counter, vibrating with a low hum that cut through his thoughts. He stared at it for a moment before picking up. No name on the screen. Just a number he hadn’t seen in years.

He swiped to answer. Silence at first. Then a voice - raspy, cautious - spoke.

“General Kane... is it really you?”

Ares’s chest tightened at the title. No one had called him that since the day they buried his name. He didn’t reply immediately, letting the voice feel the weight of the silence.

“It’s Hawk,” the voice continued. “Shadow Legion, Fourth Unit. Sir, I... I heard what happened at the courthouse.”

Ares closed his eyes, letting the name Shadow Legion roll through him like distant thunder. Faces flashed in his mind - brothers lost to bullets, knives, and betrayal. Men who had trusted him to lead them home.

“Hawk,” he said finally, his voice low but sharp as a blade. “I’m not a general anymore.”

A dry laugh crackled through the line. “We both know that’s not true, sir. Word’s spreading. They’re starting to move against you already. You should know - someone’s put a bounty on your head. Not small either. Half a million for proof of death.”

Ares’s eyes flicked to the window. Outside, the streetlights flickered over cracked pavement and rusted cars. He could almost feel the eyes watching, the predators lurking in the dark.

“Who’s behind it?”

“Rumor says... the Grand Crown Group. And the Li family. They think you’re alone - they think you’re weak. They don’t know the old war dogs are still breathing.”

Ares let out a slow breath. His fingers drummed the counter, cold porcelain tapping under his calloused skin. So it had begun. The hyenas smelled blood...

Good.

“Where are you now?” Ares asked.

“Old steel factory by Dock Nine. Couple of us still stick around there. Not many - not like before. But if you call, we’ll come.”

Ares’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile - if you could call that sharp twist a smile at all.

“Rest up, Hawk. You’ll hear from me soon.”

He ended the call and stared at his reflection in the cracked microwave door. The man who looked back wasn’t the broken ghost they thought he was. Not anymore.

He rinsed out the mug, set it down with quiet precision, then picked up the battered duffel bag. The zipper rasped open, revealing scraps of his old life - a military patch, a combat knife, a pair of gloves hardened by desert sand.

At the bottom lay a black flip phone - a relic he’d kept buried. He flipped it open. The screen blinked to life, dim and stubborn. He punched in a number from memory. It rang twice before a voice answered - crisp, accented, amused.

“Well, if it isn’t the God of War... thought you were dead.”

“I was,” Ares said. “Time to wake up.”

A low chuckle. “What do you need, General?”

“An army... but we’ll start small. Find out who’s moving money for the Grand Crown Group. Bankers, fixers, off-shore accounts. Send me everything.”

“It’ll cost you.”

“Send the bill.”

He closed the phone. No more hiding behind grease and wrenches. If the traitors wanted a war - they’d get one.

…

The next morning came gray and cold. Ares was already at the garage before dawn, slipping into routine like a mask. He crouched under a sedan, hands busy, mind sharper than any blade.

Duke swaggered in late, reeking of cheap beer and stale smoke. He threw his jacket on the workbench, glancing around until his eyes landed on Ares.

“Morning, soldier boy... sleep well? Or did you polish your medals all night?” His laughter echoed through the bay, scraping along the walls like nails on rusted steel.

Ares didn’t rise to the bait. He slid from under the car, wiping his hands on a rag. He met Duke’s eyes - calm, unblinking.

“Need something?” Ares asked.

Duke’s grin twitched. There was something off today - something colder in Ares’s stare. Duke shifted his weight, suddenly aware that the game might have changed, though he didn’t know why.

“Boss wants you upfront. Some big shot wants an inspection - says he only wants you on it.” Duke’s smirk returned, thin and mocking. “Guess you got fans, huh?”

Ares said nothing. He walked past Duke, shoulder brushing his arm with quiet force. Duke flinched - just enough for Ares to see it.

Up front, a black luxury sedan idled in the bay. Out stepped a man in a tailored suit - expensive, slick, with hair so perfect it looked fake. Two bodyguards flanked him, sunglasses inside the garage - the universal mark of idiots who thought muscle made them untouchable.

The suited man offered a polite, venomous smile. “Mr. Kane, is it? Or do you prefer... General?”

Ares kept his hands loose by his sides. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

The man checked his watch, pretending boredom. “A friend. Here with an offer - leave town. Quietly. My employers will ensure your family is taken care of. Generously.”

Ares tilted his head. “Or?”

The smile sharpened. “Or we make you leave. In pieces, if necessary.”

Silence settled like dust. The bodyguards shifted, hands brushing jackets where cold steel waited.

Ares stepped closer. So close the suited man’s cologne - something expensive and suffocating - stung his nose.

“Tell your employers... they should have finished the job ten years ago.”

Before the suit could blink, Ares moved. His hand snapped out - grabbed the man’s tie, jerked him forward until their foreheads nearly touched.

“One more rat shows up at my door, I’ll bury him in pieces too small for the worms.”

He let go. The man stumbled back, gasping for air. The bodyguards froze, confused by how fast the ghost had come alive.

Ares didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten again. He just turned his back on them, walking deeper into the garage - his boots echoing on the stained concrete like the steps of a coming storm.

…

That night, Ares sat in his apartment again - lights off, windows open to the chill. The city pulsed outside, unaware it was about to be split open.

His phone buzzed - a single message from Hawk: “We’re ready when you are, General.”

Ares Kane set the phone down beside the old combat knife. He looked out the window, past the street, past the cracked walls, past the cheap shadows.

They thought they’d buried him in the dirt. But they didn’t know...

A seed planted in the dirt doesn’t die. It grows.

…