The Son-in-Law Who Was the God of War

The scent of bleach and regret hung heavy in the air, mixing nauseatingly with the lingering perfume of expensive campus revelers from the night before. Zane knelt on the cold, unforgiving marble of the East Wing Student Union lounge, scrubbing a stubborn, crimson wine stain that seemed to mock him.

​His muscles ached, not from the scrubbing, but from the deliberate weakness he imposed on his body every waking moment. He was the exiled incarnation of something vast, ancient, and terrifying—a force of war and cosmic strategy—but here, he was merely Zane, the despised, penniless, live-in Son-in-Law of the powerful Chen family. His current prison was this weak, mortal shell, and the only escape lay in enduring the relentless humiliation.

​A shadow fell over him, sharp and judgmental.

​“Harder, Zane! That spot is still sticky. Are you trying to make my sister look bad?”

​Anya Chen, Zane’s sister-in-law, stood over him, tapping a ridiculously expensive stiletto heel against the polished tile. Her voice was not merely sharp; it was tuned to the exact frequency that grated on his already frayed nerves. Every word was an entitlement, a declaration of his inferiority.

​Zane kept his gaze fixed on the wine stain, his movements precise and slow. “It’s gone, Anya. That spot is marble discoloration.”

​“Don’t lecture me on aesthetics, Zero,” she sneered, emphasizing the nickname the family had given him since he’d been forced into marriage with their eldest daughter, Liya. Zero talent. Zero potential. Zero inheritance. She kicked the bucket of scummy water he was using, sending a splash of freezing filth across his cheap jeans and his left cheek.

​The liquid felt like acid. Inside Zane's core, the divine energy that was his true self pulsed, a cold, blinding light desperate to break through the seals. In a fraction of a second, he could have unleashed enough kinetic force to shatter every window in the East Wing and reduce Anya's foot to fine paste.

​Control. Endure. The seal holds.

​He was on a divine sabbatical—or rather, serving a cosmic sentence. To use his true power before the pre-determined time meant not only death for his mortal body but the total erasure of his consciousness, leaving behind only the monstrous, destructive force that was his full deity.

​He wiped the grime from his face with the back of his hand, tasting the chemicals. “My apologies, Anya. I will dry the area now.”

​“You better. My father is hosting the Dean’s reception here tonight, and this lounge must be pristine. If you mess up, you won’t just be cleaning floors; you’ll be cleaning toilets for the rest of the semester. Do you understand your price, Son-in-Law?”

​The humiliation was deliberate, public, and constant. It was the Chens’ currency, and he was forced to pay it daily.

​Just as Anya finished her threat, the lounge doors burst open with unnecessary force. Victor Huo, a hulking defensive lineman notorious for his brute strength and his rich father’s connections, swaggered in, tossing his backpack onto a delicate silk chaise. He was Anya’s current—and heavily subsidized—muscle.

​Victor spotted Zane immediately and grinned, a predatory flash of teeth. “Well, well. Looks like the zero is working overtime.” He advanced slowly, his large frame blocking the light. “Still trying to earn back the fifty thousand you owed the Chens, Zane? Pathetic.”

​The fifty thousand was a lie—a fabricated debt the Chens had assigned to Zane to keep him permanently subservient.

​“Mind your business, Victor,” Zane replied, keeping his voice flat, but the edge of the God of War's wrath was beginning to show, a low, ominous hum in his inner ear.

​Victor laughed, a booming, obnoxious sound that echoed in the high ceilings. “Your business is my business, Son-in-Law. You’re property. And you’re blocking the path to my free coffee.”

​Zane ignored the taunt and retrieved his spilled cleaning pail. He turned to move around Victor, but the lineman was ready. Victor delivered a massive, two-handed shove.

​Zane hit the marble wall with a sickening thud, the impact momentarily stealing his breath. It was a severe pain for a mortal body, and the shock caused the fragile seals on his power to briefly loosen. A flash of memory, cold and clear, pierced his mortal consciousness: A thousand archers, kneeling in the dust. My banner raised. The scent of ozone and iron.

​He shook the memory away. Focus. If they break the shell, the containment fails.

​Victor stepped closer, his shadow enveloping Zane. “I said, move.” He then noticed the small, intricately carved jade pendant Zane wore, which he thought was tacky. It was a piece of the containment seal, the only visible piece of his former life, and it was fragile.

​“What’s this? A lucky charm? Looks like junk,” Victor scoffed, and without hesitation, he ripped the pendant from Zane's neck, snapping the cheap leather cord.

​The pain was immediate, physical, and excruciating—a phantom wound where the seal had been breached. The sight of Victor holding the pendant, preparing to destroy it, was the ultimate trespass.

​In that instant, the Commander of Armies—the entity that had spent millennia crushing worlds—took control of Zane’s consciousness. Logic, caution, and fear vanished. There was only the need to annihilate the threat.

​Zane launched himself off the wall. He moved with a speed that defied physics, a silent blur of righteous, divine fury. He didn't think; he reacted. He saw the path, the weakness in Victor's massive arm, the vulnerable point on his temple. His entire being prepared to deliver a calculated blow that would end Victor’s life instantly, silently, without breaking the rest of the seals.

​Just as his fist was a centimeter from Victor’s face, ready to deliver a blow that would liquefy bone and brain matter, the world shattered into digital fragments.

​A blinding, pulsating screen of white text—an invasive, emergency interface—exploded into Zane’s vision, overwhelming his focus and blocking his target.

​[EMERGENCY ALERT! Containment Breach Imminent: Power Threshold at 92%.]

​[The Hostile Environment is Causing Destabilization.]

​[Initiating ‘God of War’ Suppression Protocol. Overload detected. Engaging Mortal Interface.]

​Zane froze, his fist suspended in the air. The vast, cold power in his core, which had surged to the brink of self-destruction, slammed back down, violently constrained by the sudden appearance of the System interface. The rage subsided, replaced by the chilling dread of failure.

​Victor, confused by the sudden, inexplicable stop, blinked twice. He hadn't seen the glow in Zane's eyes; he just saw the "zero" flinch. A sneer spread across his face, and he raised his own massive fist for the final, humiliating blow. “What? Scared, Zero? I’m going to teach you a lesson for rushing me!”

​Zane’s heart hammered against his ribs, his eyes locked on the white screen flashing urgently in his view. He had two choices: let the System do its job, or perish.

​[MISSION GENERATED: Defeat Campus Bully and Stabilize Containment.]

​[Objective: Neutralize Victor Huo without Exceeding 10% Power Output.]

​[Time Remaining: 00:00:05]

​[Reward: Containment Stable + Skill Unlock: Iron Fist (Lv. 1)]

​Four seconds. Three. Victor’s fist was a blur, hurtling toward his temple. Zane felt the cold, familiar pressure of certain death—a feeling he hadn't experienced since his exile.

​He wasn't fighting for honor or revenge anymore. He was fighting for his life, with a system he didn't trust and a clock counting down.

​Two seconds.