The Shadow God Of War Returns

CHAPTER 3

At three o’clock, a sleek black car rolled up to the front of The Wave Estate Resort. Its tires whispered on the driveway; the engine was quiet but powerful.

The vehicle stopped. 

The driver stepped out, adjusted his gloves, then straightened his jacket. With a practiced motion, he opened the rear door.

From the back seat, Zarek emerged, his coat flaring behind him like a shadow. He stepped onto the driveway, boots clicking against stone, gaze fixed on the sprawling resort. 

Calm and composed, he took in the building; every detail was sharp in his eyes.

Turning slightly, he asked the man beside him, voice steady, “Is this the place? Can I find them here?”

The man swallowed and glanced nervously at the extravagant façade. “It’s… where we were told, sir. But it doesn’t exactly look like the Ashbourne family’s home.”

Zarek didn’t answer at once. His eyes stayed cold, scanning the estate as if calculating every possible move before stepping inside.

The man stiffened and dropped into a low bow, eyes down. “Understood, sir.”

Zarek gave no reply. With a single fluid motion, he strode toward the resort, his coat trailing like a shadow.

At the gate, he noticed it was wide open, unusual for a place like this. His gaze swept the entryway and landed on two guards lounging by the main door, clearly slacking.

They were cornering a woman, blocking her path. 

She wore a short red gown that clung to her curves and left her shoulders bare.

One guard leered and stepped closer. “Oh, come on, don’t be so stiff. We’re just having fun.”

“I said no! Back off!” she snapped, shoving his shoulder.

The other guard chuckled. “Feisty… I like that. Maybe I’ll change your mind.”

“If you agree, we can let you in without an invitation,” the first added.

Zarek walked past them, coat flaring slightly as each step echoed. 

One guard noticed him and froze, face twisting with anger. “Hey! How dare you walk in here without an invitation?”

“Yeah! Stop right there!” the other barked.

Zarek didn’t slow or glance their way. 

The woman in red looked up as he passed; her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. 

The guards noticed immediately.

“She’s looking at him!” one hissed, jaw tight. “What is this?!”

“Don’t let him get away with this. Let’s teach him a lesson!” the other spat.

They rushed forward, shouting insults. “You don’t belong here!” “You’ve got no invitation!”

One lunged, hand reaching for Zarek. Whap! Zarek’s open palm slapped the hand away with a sharp crack; it skidded to the side.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Zarek said, voice cold.

The guards stumbled back, stunned. 

The one who’d been shoved scrambled to his feet, face red with fury. “How dare you hit me!” he yelled, drawing a baton. “We’ll teach you a lesson!”

He lunged, baton raised. Zarek caught it mid swing with one hand, twisted it, then drove a sharp punch into the guard’s belly. 

The man flew backward and crashed into a parked car.

CRUNCH. 

Metal groaned, and the car alarm began to wail, shrill and piercing.

The second guard’s eyes widened; panic replaced rage. 

He dropped his baton and bolted, disappearing down the driveway.

Zarek didn’t chase. 

He dropped the baton he’d held and walked inside.

The woman hurried forward and slipped her hand around his arm. 

Her eyes were soft, a seductive glimmer as she leaned closer. “Do you have a partner for the party?” she asked, voice low. “Or… a girlfriend?”

Zarek removed her hand with a single motion, his gaze hard. “Leave me alone.”

Her smile faltered. “W-Why did you help me then, if you don’t want to be… with me?”

“I didn’t help you. Tone down your entitlement.” He turned and strode off, leaving her seething.

Zarek slipped past the gate and into the heart of the party. Music pulsed from hidden speakers; laughter and chatter filled the air. 

The pool sparkled under the sun as women lounged and splashed; dozens turned as he passed, faces flushing with surprise and fascination. 

He didn’t glance at them. He moved with calm, deliberate grace.

He reached a corner table, sleek and secluded, and settled into a chair, surveying the crowd with sharp eyes. 

He scanned every face for the man he’d come to find, Darian Veyron, trusting his instincts.

A waiter placed a glass of white wine before him. Zarek swirled it, then took a measured sip; the crisp liquid slid down his throat, sharp and invigorating.

Whispers rippled through the guests. 

A stunning woman near the pool, fiery red hair, emerald eyes, an hourglass figure, turned and murmured to a friend, “Wow… he’s really handsome…”

Her boyfriend, with a heavy gold chain around his neck, caught the comment mid-sip. His face closed like a trap. 

“Who is that guy?” he barked to his entourage. “Find out—now.”

Six bulky men rose at his command, expressions hard, muscles taut. 

“That handsome son of a—” one grumbled. 

“We’re gonna mess his face up,” another growled.

They moved toward Zarek, a single, menacing unit.