The Shadow God Of War Returns

CHAPTER 8

Zarek’s gaze snapped to the woman.       

Recognition hit instantly.

It was her—the same woman he had seen at the front gate when he first arrived.

Then, she had worn a red dress; now, she was in a dark swimsuit, the sleek fabric clinging to her frame.

Her eyes were wide with fear, glistening in the harsh light of the hall.

Roland pressed a knife to her neck, the metal gleaming coldly.

“Move, and she dies,” he hissed, voice low but sharp.

The remaining onlookers froze. 

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. 

Some gasped; others instinctively stepped back, unwilling to risk being the next hostage.

“Step away… don’t make him,” someone whispered, trembling.

Roland leaned closer to Zarek, pressing the knife just enough to make the woman flinch.

“If you don’t want her to die, stop right there,” he warned, his tone steady but laced with panic.

He knew Zarek was strong, but he needed time to think—to find a way out.

Zarek paused, his calm stare locking on Roland’s eyes. He saw the fear behind the bravado, the desperation of a man losing control.

Slowly, Zarek’s expression darkened.

Roland’s voice sliced through the tense silence.

“You want her alive? Fine. Scar your own face—make it quick—and maybe she walks away. Your choice. One wrong move, and she’s gone.”

Even cornered, Roland still clung to Damian’s command. If he failed to mark Zarek, he would face worse than death.

Zarek’s mind moved like lightning.

He noted every detail: the knife’s angle, Roland’s grip, the woman’s weight, the timing. Every fraction of a second was a calculation.

The trick wasn’t to fight recklessly—it was to end this cleanly.

In a blur, Zarek lunged, but not at Roland.

He feinted left, drawing Roland’s weight and focus off balance. 

Then, with a sharp sidestep, he swept his arm beneath the woman’s body, pulling her safely out of reach in one fluid motion.

Roland’s eyes widened. “What?!”

Before he could react, Zarek pivoted and drove a brutal punch straight into Roland’s jaw.

The impact echoed through the hall.

CRACK.

Roland crashed backward into the wall, sliding down slowly, eyes wide with disbelief.

The woman clutched her chest, trembling but unharmed.

Zarek steadied her briefly, then released her without a word.

She bolted toward the far corner of the room, pressing herself against the wall, trembling hands clasped tightly to her chest. 

Her eyes darted between Zarek and the fallen men, terror etched deep into her face.

Zarek turned sharply and saw Dairan standing on the upper balcony, watching the chaos unfold.

Dairan gestured subtly, signaling a man beside him. 

The man hesitated, eyes wide; clearly, he had not expected Zarek to be this formidable.

Lucien, standing nearby, leaned toward Dairan. “What do you think of the man down there? He’s causing quite a scene.”

Dairan frowned. “He’s just a brat,” he said flatly, though his eyes remained fixed on Zarek. “He’s been stirring up trouble since he arrived, and now he’s making enemies.”

“Can you handle him?” Lucien asked quietly.

“Of course,” Dairan replied under his breath. “If the others couldn’t stop him, I’ll see what he’s really made of.”

Lucien’s hand shot out, gripping Dairan’s arm.

“Don’t. You’re above that. Let him come up if he dares. If not, we’ll send someone else.”

Dairan hesitated, eyes narrowing as he studied Zarek, still calm, still unbroken.

After a moment, he stepped back. Waiting.

Zarek caught the hesitation. So the man wasn’t coming down.

Fine. Then he would deal with Roland first and focus on Dairan next.

With slow, measured steps, Zarek approached Roland. He crouched, voice low and sharp.

“Who sent you?”

Roland spat blood, glaring up through the haze of pain. “I won’t tell you a thing,” he snarled. “You’re not worthy of knowing, no matter how strong you think you are.”

Zarek’s hand shot out, seizing Roland’s wrist and twisting sharply.

CRACK!

Roland’s scream tore through the hall, raw and guttural.

“AAHHHHH! MY ARM! AHHHH—STOP! PLEASE!”

He writhed on the marble floor, his cries echoing against the cold walls.

“You bastard! You’re gonna pay for this!” he sobbed, voice cracking between gasps of agony.

Zarek’s grip remained unrelenting. His expression was calm, detached, and almost eerily composed.

“You still won’t talk?” his voice cut coldly through Roland’s screams.

Roland’s jaw trembled, his breath hitching. “N-no… I won’t… tell you a damn thing!”

Without hesitation, Zarek grabbed his other hand and twisted again.

CRUNCH!

Roland screamed louder, the sound almost inhuman.

“AAAHHHHH! MY HAND! MY HAND! STOP! STOP! PLEASE!”

He sobbed violently, voice hoarse, body shaking as blood smeared across the marble.

Zarek’s tone stayed flat, calm, and merciless.

“I’ll ask one last time. Who sent you?”

Roland whimpered, his head lolling back as sweat and tears mixed with blood. He shook his head weakly. “—I won’t…”

Zarek’s expression hardened. His boot pressed lightly against Roland’s leg. Then…

CRACK!

Roland’s scream split the air, piercing and desperate.

“AAAHHHH! MY LEG! MY LEG! PLEASE! I’LL TALK! I’LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING! JUST STOP!”

He cried uncontrollably, sobbing between sharp breaths as the pain wracked his body.

The onlookers recoiled, horror and disbelief etched on every face.

“Is he… actually breaking him apart?” one whispered.

“Who is this man?” another breathed.

Lucien’s jaw tightened, astonishment flashing in his eyes.

“He’s… he actually did it,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Zarek crouched lower, voice cold and cutting through Roland’s pitiful cries.

“Then talk.”

Roland’s trembling lips parted, his voice breaking between sobs.

“I… I’ll tell you everything…”