The Shadow God Of War Returns

CHAPTER 2

The room was still for a heartbeat. Then the men blinked, stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened.

“What… what the hell just happened?” one finally whispered.

“How… how did he—?” another stammered, pointing at the man sprawled on the floor. He lay unconscious, mouth frozen open.

Zarek had hauled him like he weighed nothing and slammed him down so hard the room rang. 

The man hadn’t had a chance to react.

“That… that can’t be real,” one muttered, backing up and gripping his baton.

“Who the hell is this guy? He just—picked him up! Slammed him like he was nothing!” another cursed.

The tallest one glared at Zarek. “This is insane. That guy… he’s supposed to be some kid—how strong is he?”

Zarek didn’t answer. He stood calm, eyes like steel, watching them. The echo of the slam still vibrated on the floorboards. The man on the ground lay still. Their bravado was cracking.

“You think we can take him?” one hissed.

Zarek raised his hand and pointed at the man who’d told the story. “You, come here,” he ordered.

The man froze, then took a step. His eyes widened; his legs shook. Slowly, almost mechanically, he walked toward Zarek.

“Stop!” a deep voice barked.

The tallest man stepped forward, towering over the others. Muscles tensed.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, yanking the smaller man back. “You think you can just walk up to him?”

Zarek’s gaze swept over him like a blade.

“I’m Korran,” the towering man said. He was the leader of the group, put in charge of watching the house in case the escaped son ever returned. Korran’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can stand there and play hero? I’ll teach you a lesson.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small bottle of alcohol. 

Without hesitation, he tilted it back and drained it, then slammed the empty bottle to the floor. 

It rolled toward Zarek and clattered against the wood.

“I’ll pity you,” Korran said, stepping closer. “I’ll count to ten. If you want to walk out of here alive, kneel. Apologize. To them. All of them.”

He spat on the floor.

Sput!

The others shifted nervously, some chuckling, some glaring, none daring to intervene. 

The room went deadly quiet as Korran’s challenge hung in the air.

Zarek picked the picture from the table and slid it into his pocket.

Korran lunged forward, chest heaving. “You ignor—” he barked.

Zarek moved like a coiled spring. A sharp snap of his hip—years of training—and his boot connected with Korran’s belly. 

Korran doubled over, dropped to his knees, then hit the floor with a wet sound,  gasping.

Huff!

Huff.

Zarek stepped forward and placed his boot on Korran’s head, pressing down lightly. 

He dragged his foot across the spit on the floor, wiping it away.

“The house might be dirty,” Zarek said coldly, “but that doesn’t mean you can spit on it.”

He snapped his fingers once. From the street, the front door slammed open and several men in uniforms burst in—fast, precise. 

They moved to Zarek and dropped to their knees without a sound.

“Should we start rebuilding, sir?” one asked, eyes fixed on Zarek.

Zarek nodded. “Yes. Rebuild it. Now.”

The uniformed men sprang into action, picking up broken wood and sweeping dust as if the house had always belonged to them.

The group that had been trashing the place whispered among themselves.

“What’s going on?” someone hissed. 

“Who are those guys?”

Zarek turned back to the intruders. 

He walked toward them. “Who sent you?” he asked.

“Why would we answer that?” one spat.

Zarek lashed out. His boot struck the man’s head. 

A sick, sharp crack. 

Thud! 

The body went limp and slumped to the floor.

The remaining men froze; fear finally broke through. After a tense moment, one stammered, 

“W-we… we were sent by Darian Veyron… he works with the Ashborne family. P-please… don’t kill us. We’ll tell you where to find the others. Spare our lives!”

Zarek’s lips curled. “Spare your lives?” he said. “How dare you think you can negotiate with me?e.”

They fell to their knees, hands clasped, begging. 

“Please… please… We’ll tell you everything!”

“Don’t hurt us!”

Zarek moved—swift, silent. In an instant, the knife in his hand flashed in the dim light. 

SHHICK!

He struck.

Heads rolled with precision. 

CRUNCH! 

SPLAT! 

SNAP!

The sound echoed off the rotting walls as screams were cut short and bodies collapsed in a heap.

‘Ahhhhh!’

Some tried to scramble away, stumbling over debris. 

Thump! Thump!

Zarek was faster.

When the last of them fell, Zarek wiped the blood from his hand onto the handkerchief in his hand. 

He looked at the uniformed men rebuilding the house, then at the corpses.

“The Ashbourne family, huh?” he murmured, voice low, icy. 

His eyes darkened with a storm of hatred that had been building for ten years.