2025-10-19 18:46:12Zarek stopped midstep and turned his gaze to the new arrivals, calm and unbothered. His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade.
“And who exactly are you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, curiosity sharper than threat.
The first man forward was Roland, the leader of the group and the one Damian had contacted directly.
Irritation and disbelief softened into a flicker of begrudging acknowledgment as he studied Zarek.
So this was the man Damian was wary of: handsome, strong, and honed by countless fights, yet oddly unscarred.
Roland’s jaw tightened as he took him in. Zarek stood almost too flawless, too composed, in the wreckage of his men.
Roland stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides.
“Quiet,” he barked, silencing the murmuring crowd behind him. His gaze bore into Zarek, sharp and unwavering. “How dare you ask us who we are?”
Zarek didn’t flinch.
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, as if the question itself were beneath him.
Roland’s teeth clenched. “I should teach you a lesson right here,” he said, each movement measured, the restrained power of a man who knew he didn’t need to explode to be deadly.
“I could break you, make you regret ever opening your mouth. Or I might leave you with a scar on your face, something to remember me by. But I won’t waste all my strength on you.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at Zarek’s lips.
One of Roland’s men snorted and jabbed Roland’s elbow. “You’re smirking, huh? Real brave until you’re the one in trouble.”
He jabbed a finger at Zarek’s chest.
“You think you’re funny?”
The others closed in, voices rising, hungry for a show. “Kneel,” one barked.
“Apologize. Kiss our feet. Maybe then we’ll only leave you with a scar.”
“Yeah, better yet, scar your own face and save us the trouble. We’ll give you a little beating afterward.”
They laughed, hard, loud, ugly, their voices ricocheting off the walls.
Zarek watched them, face calm. Their words slid off him, but his mind drifted briefly, precisely, to his brother.
He had kept his face clean for a reason. It was the one thing the little boy might remember.
If his brother grew and changed and couldn’t place features anymore, a photograph would still show him clearly, unmarked.
That face had been protected, treated, shielded.
No scars.
No marks.
He had guarded it like a promise.
Zarek tightened his grip on the empty wine glass until his knuckles whitened.
The men’s laughter bubbled like noise underwater.
In that suspended second, his eyes turned colder. He would not let them touch what he had sworn to keep whole.
Zarek’s hand shot out.
He grabbed the nearest man by the collar and hauled him forward hard enough to tear a gasp from the circle.
Before anyone could react, Zarek slammed the man into a pillar, then shoved him across the floor like a rag doll.
The man skidded and crashed into a low table.
CRUNCH!
Glasses shattered.
Heads turned.
Mouths fell open.
The twelve froze, shock ripping through them; their confident sneers melted into something thinner, rawer.
“Not one step closer,” Zarek said, voice flat and cold. “Or you’ll end up like him.”
He dropped the man where he lay and looked each of the others in the eye.
They stared back for a long beat, faces hardening, jaws tightening.
The shock faded, giving way to anger.
Roland spat on the floor, eyes icy. “Enough,” he snapped. “Take him. Now.”
The ring moved as one.
Fingers went to belts and sheaths.
Cuffs unbuttoned.
Metal flashed, knives drawn, batons slapped into palms, a few men yanking brass knuckles free.
The sound of weapons being readied was ugly and efficient: clicks, scrapes, the whisper of leather.
They lunged together, blades flashing, fists swinging, a wall of fury crashing toward him.
Zarek moved the way he always moved: clean, precise, every motion purposeful. He didn’t throw wild punches. He used their force against them.
A knife came in low; Zarek stepped aside, caught the attacker’s wrist, and twisted.
Crack!
The man dropped the blade, doubling over.
A baton swung; Zarek hooked it with his forearm and yanked, sending the wielder stumbling into a row of chairs.
Another charge.
Zarek planted a foot, pivoted, and let the man’s own momentum carry him into a display table.
Glass rattled.
Zarek didn’t pause.
A fist came at him from the left; he sidestepped, spun, and drove his elbow into the man’s ribs.
The impact forced a grunt; the man crumpled.
Another swung with a brass knuckle, aiming for Zarek’s jaw.
Zarek caught the wrist midair, twisted sharply, and hurled the man across the hall. He skidded along the marble and hit a pillar with a sickening thud.
A third lunged with a knife.
Zarek ducked, rolled, and drove his knee into the man’s stomach, then followed with a sharp uppercut that lifted him off his feet.
The man hit the floor with a groan, eyes wide in shock.
The fight was fast, brutal, and relentless.
Zarek ducked under punches, blocked strikes with his forearms, and sent men flying with precise, economical blows.
His body was a weapon, every hand, elbow, knee, and foot a sharp, practiced strike.
One after another, the twelve attackers fell, beaten, bruised, struggling to rise. The air grew thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and fear.
Chairs overturned, bottles shattered, and the sound of groaning men echoed off the marble walls.
“R Roland! Help me!” one groaned, clutching his ribs.
“Get him off me! I can’t—ugh!” another shouted, staggering up only to be thrown back down.
“Move, Roland! Do something!” a third yelled, voice cracking with panic.
“Argh! He’s too fast!” one screamed, swinging wildly before Zarek sent him sprawling across the floor.
Finally, only Roland remained.
He stepped forward, chest heaving, fists clenched, a vein throbbing at his temple. His men lay scattered and broken, some barely moving, others clutching shattered bones or bloodied faces.
Roland’s eyes locked on Zarek, hatred and humiliation coiling tight.
“This isn’t over,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous.
“Where’s your backup now?” Zarek asked quietly, mocking calm in his tone as his gaze swept over the fallen men.
“Shut up! Don’t, don’t mock me!” Roland growled, fists tightening. Around them, his men groaned and whimpered.
“Help me, Roland!” one wheezed.
“Don’t leave me!” another cried.
Zarek’s lips curved slightly, his eyes cold. “You fought poorly, and yet you still think you can stop me?”
Roland’s jaw flexed. He took a careful step forward, scanning for an opening, knowing brute force wouldn’t win. Still, he had one last move.
His eyes darted around, calculating. His men were down, the floor littered with their bodies. Anger and desperation twisted his face.
“Enough of this!” he snarled.
With a sudden lunge, he grabbed a woman who had been trying to slip away amid the chaos.
She screamed, arms flailing, as he dragged her tightly against his chest.
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CHAPTER 338
A dozen searchlights swept the valley, their beams cutting through the haze to reveal a line of heavy-combat exoskeletons. The Weavers' elite Iron-Clad unit stood waiting in a perfect phalanx, their heavy plating gleaming under the artificial glare."They're waiting for us," Shaw whispered."No," Zarek said, a dark smirk touching his lips. "They're waiting for a miracle. They aren't going to get one."He slammed the transport into high gear, the engine roaring its final, defiant song as they charged the mountain.The mountain air screamed as the engine pushed past its redline, the cabin vibrating with such force that the dashboard screen began to crack. Ahead, the Iron-Clad line didn't budge. They raised heavy, tower-sized shields, interlocking them to form a wall of reinforced tungsten."They're bracing for a head-on!" Shaw yelled over the roar. "Boss, that's a dead stop! You hit that wall, and the engine comes through the seats!""I'm not hitting the wall," Zarek said, his eyes t
CHAPTER 337
The next thirty miles were a blur of scorched earth and screaming metal. Zarek drove with a cold intensity that made the heavy transport feel like an extension of his own body. He avoided the main roads, cutting through dry riverbeds and over jagged ridges that would have shredded the tires of any lesser vehicle."Second outpost is coming up on the HUD," Shaw said, tapping the data pad with a grunt of pain. "It’s a fueling hub for their aerial drones.”“If we take this out, they lose their eyes in the sky. But Boss... they’ve got a heavy-duty turret on the north tower. A 40mm autocannon.""Then we don't give it a target," Zarek replied.He didn't charge the front gate. Instead, he steered the transport into a dense cluster of rusted shipping containers lining the perimeter. He killed the lights and the engine, letting the massive truck coast into a shadow-heavy alleyway between the crates."Stay with the vehicle," Zarek said, checking his sidearm. "If that turret starts humming, m
CHAPTER 336
The roar of the six-wheeled beast was the only warning the first outpost received.Situated in a narrow pass between two jagged cliffs, the checkpoint was a fortress of reinforced concrete and heavy iron gates. Two Weaver guards, encased in their humming exoskeletons, stood lazily by the barrier, clutching long-range rifles. They saw the familiar shape of their own transport kicking up a massive plume of dust and iron-rich dirt."Is that Unit Four?" one guard asked, squinting against the morning sun. "They weren't supposed to be back until—""He isn't slowing down," the other noted, his voice rising in alarm. "Hey! Unit Four, status! Drop your speed or we’ll—"Zarek didn't touch the brakes. He didn't even flinch. He slammed his foot to the floor, the turbochargers screaming as the transport hit eighty miles per hour."Shaw, brace your neck!" Zarek commanded."Already on it!" Shaw grunted, pressing his head back against the armored seat, his eyes wide with a mix of pain and adrenali
CHAPTER 335
They sat in the deepening twilight, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of a wasteland wolf. Zarek sat across from Shaw, tending to the fish with the same focus he used to dismantle a Weaver exoskeleton.When the trout were charred and flaky, Zarek flaked the meat onto a clean piece of bark and handed it to Shaw. Since Shaw couldn't use his hands, Zarek sat beside him, helping him eat in a silence that wasn't awkward, but deeply grounded in years of shared blood and dirt."Tastes like... actual life," Shaw murmured, chewing slowly. "Better than the Morning Sun’s five-star menu.""Context changes the flavor," Zarek said, taking a bite of his own portion. "In the city, you eat to fuel the machine. Out here, you eat to remember you're still human."Shaw looked at his splinted arms, then up at the stars peeking through the pine needles. "Do you think the Maces are looking at these same stars right now? Or are they still staring at their bank accounts?""Kaelen
CHAPTER 334
As the second guard reached for his sidearm, Zarek gripped the man’s armored wrist, twisting it until the suit's mechanical joint hissed and buckled. A quick strike to the base of the skull, and the second man was down.Zarek checked the cab, empty. He whistled low, a sharp, melodic note that pierced the mechanical hum of the yard.Shaw emerged from the shadows, stumbling slightly as he made his way toward the vehicle. He looked at the two unconscious guards and then at the idling beast of a truck."Nice ride," Shaw wheezed, his face still pale but his spirit unbroken. "Does it come with seat warmers? My arms are starting to feel like they're made of ice.""It comes with a full medical kit and a clear path to the Weavers' main gate," Zarek said, hauling Shaw into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s side. He slammed the transport into gear, the heavy tires churning the gravel as he swung the vehicle around. He didn't look back at the wreckage of their SUV or the me
CHAPTER 333
Zarek didn't move until the last microsecond.He dropped low, sliding through the dirt beneath the giant’s outstretched arms. As he passed, he jammed his tactical knife into the exposed power cable at the back of the Weaver’s knee. Blue sparks erupted. The suit’s hydraulics locked instantly, and the man’s own momentum carried him face-first into the gravel with a bone-shaking thud. He tried to scramble up, but his left leg was a dead weight of useless steel."You’re fighting the suit," Zarek said, his voice terrifyingly level as he stood over him. "I’m fighting you."The fourth Weaver, the youngest of the group, panicked. He leveled his heavy-caliber sidearm, his hand shaking. "Stay back! I’ll blow the fuel tank! I'll take us all out!""Then do it," Zarek challenged, stepping into the path of the barrel. His eyes were devoid of fear, a void that seemed to swallow the young man’s resolve. "But know that I’ll be the last thing you see before the fire takes you. Is that worth a p
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