The Untouchable God of War

Chapter 2

The room went still, Five men stared at their leader crumpled against the wall, blood dripping from his split lip, and none of them could make sense of what they had just seen.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them barked, stepping back instinctively.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you have a death wish?" another shouted, disbelief written all over his face.

The leader groaned on the floor, still trying to shake off the blow, his jaw already swelling, his eyes struggling to focus.

The men's eyes darted between their fallen leader and the stranger standing calm in the middle of the room. Gabriel simply stared, his gaze cold and unreadable.

"This guy's insane," one of them muttered, glaring at Gabriel like he was something diseased. "Who does he think he is? We should end this right now."

"You think we're some street thugs you can slap around?" another spat, stepping forward with his chest puffed out. "Today marks the end of the road for you."

Gabriel's cold eyes swept across all five of them, one by one, memorizing faces, the way he used to study enemy positions before a strike. His fists clenched at his sides, his expression darkened.

The men spread out, surrounding him, weapons sliding out. Gabriel took one calm step forward, placing himself in the center of the circle they had built around him, like a wolf that had walked willingly into a den of jackals

"You'd better start apologizing," one of them sneered. "It's five against one, do you think you're strong enough to stand against all of us."

"We'll count to ten," another warned, waving a blade in the air. "If you're not on your knees begging by then, consider yourself a dead man."

Gabriel's lips curled into a deadly smirk. "Should I do the counting for you instead?"

The men exchanged uneasy glances. Wasn't he afraid? Was he that arrogant, that reckless, that he wasn't even a little scared of five armed men closing in on him?

"One," Gabriel said quietly. "Two."

He didn't stop there, instead he kept counting, climbing steadily toward ten while the men's fury built with every number, their grips tightening on their weapons, their patience snapping thread by thread.

By the time he hit ten, the first man had already lost control.

He lunged forward with a roar, blade raised high. Gabriel moved like wind, a blur too fast for the eye to track. He caught the man's wrist mid-swing, twisted it back until bone cracked, and drove his knee into the man's stomach so hard the air left his lungs in one violent gasp. Before the man could even fold in half, Gabriel slammed his skull against the wet floorboard. The sound was sickening, he grabbed the limp body by the collar and hurled him across the room like he weighed nothing, sending him crashing into the wall beside his groaning leader.

The remaining four froze, eyes wide, breath caught in their throats.

How could anyone move like that?

How could anyone hit like that?

Who was this man?

Two of them charged at once, thinking numbers would save them. Gabriel ducked under the first swing, drove his elbow into the man's ribs with a crunch that folded him instantly, then spun low and swept the second man's legs out from under him.

As the man hit the ground, Gabriel's boot came down on his chest, pinning him flat, knocking every ounce of air from his lungs. The man beneath him gasped, clawing weakly at Gabriel's leg, but Gabriel was already moving on, already turning to face the next threat like the fallen man wasn't even worth another glance.

The fourth man swung a metal pipe at Gabriel's head. Gabriel caught it mid-air, wrenched it clean from the man's grip, and used the man's own weapon against him, a single strike across the side of his knee that dropped him screaming to the floor, his leg bent at an angle that made even his own comrades wince.

The fifth man backed away, hands trembling, eyes flicking toward the door like he was calculating whether he could make it out alive. Gabriel was faster. He closed the distance in two strides, grabbed the man by the throat, and lifted him clean off his feet, slamming him against the cracked wall hard enough to shake dust loose from the ceiling.

"Please," the man choked, feet kicking uselessly in the air. "Please, I didn't do anything! I was just following orders!"

Gabriel held him there a moment longer, staring into his terrified eyes, before dropping him to the floor. The man scrambled backward on his hands, too afraid to even stand, watching Gabriel walk past him like he no longer existed.

Four men lay groaning, Only their leader remained standing, though barely, one hand pressed against the wall to keep himself upright.

Gabriel walked toward him slowly, the way a man walks when he already knows exactly how the story ends.

He grabbed the leader by the collar and hauled him up until their faces were inches apart.

"Please," the leader begged, all his earlier bravado gone. "Don't kill me. I was only doing my job."

Gabriel's eyes met his, and something in that stare made the man's entire body shudder, colder than the rain still falling through the broken roof above them.

"Why should I spare you?" Gabriel's voice came low and even, "You killed my mother, you destroyed my family.”

The leader's face went pale, his mouth falling open in shock.

The woman he had killed that night, was she his mother?

How was that even possible?

"I... I was paid to do it," the leader stammered, words tumbling out fast, desperate. "I'll tell you everything, I swear! We were paid by Ezra Foster! He said your mother had something that belonged to him, and said your family owed him a debt!"

"Please," he begged again, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "That's everything I know! Please spare my life!"

"Spare you." Gabriel's grip tightened around the man's throat, slow and merciless. "Did you think about sparing her when my mother begged you the exact same way?"

The man's face turned red, his hands clawing weakly at Gabriel's wrist as his air ran out. Gabriel released him abruptly, letting him crash to the floor, gasping and coughing, chest heaving as he fought to drag breath back into his lungs.

"I'm going to make sure you die a painful death," Gabriel said, stepping forward with no hesitation in his eyes.

He stomped down hard, and the crack that followed echoed through the ruined house.

He smashed the man's crotch.

The man's scream tore through the walls, as he curled in on himself, blood soaking through his trousers. Whatever life he thought he still had left had just been taken from him in that single moment. Even if he survived tonight, he would never again be the man he was.

Gabriel bent down and picked up a knife that had fallen from one of the other men's hands during the fight.

"Please, don't. Please don't kill me," the leader sobbed, crawling backward uselessly against the wall.

Gabriel didn't stop moving, he pressed the blade against the man's chest and drove it forward thrice, each strike carrying Fifteen years of grief and rage he had buried since he was ten years old. The leader's body went still, sliding down the wall, leaving a dark smear behind him.

“That's for my mother, my brother and myself.” He spat at the man's body.

Gabriel pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood slowly from his hands, his face unreadable.

At that moment, the front door creaked open. Ten uniformed men marched in unison and dropped to their knees the second they crossed the threshold.

Behind them stood Gabriel's assistant.

"Why are they here?" Gabriel asked sharply. "I told you I don't want them following me."

Andrew snapped his fingers, and the men rose immediately, bowed their heads, and filed back out into the rain without a word.

When the room emptied, Gabriel turned to face him. "What's the update? Did you find anything?"

Andrew straightened his jacket. "Yes, Commander. I found the officers from that night. One is retired now, the other climbed all the way to Inspector General. I also found Mr. Christopher."

Gabriel's jaw tightened at the mention of the officers, old fury simmering behind his eye, but when he mentioned the name Christopher it made his face softened.

Christopher was the man who had saved his life in that forest Fifteen years ago, the man who trained him into the weapon he had become, he had spent the last two years searching for him without a single lead.

"What about my brother?" Gabriel asked, his voice quieter now, almost afraid of the answer.

Andrew hesitated. "I'm sorry, Commander. Still no news about him."

Gabriel's face twisted for just a moment before he exhaled slowly, burying the ache the same way he had buried it for twelve long years.

"Listen," he said, climbing into the car, his face hardened . "Send a message to Ezra Foster for me.”