The War God’s Return

Chapter 2: The Baldwin’s Fall

The thugs scattered like roaches when light hit them, but Fat Vince stayed rooted, phone pressed to his ear, screaming into it like his life depended on it—which it probably did.

"Mr. Gallagher! Please, you have to come! There's a madman here—he's threatening to kill us all! He says he's Damian Reynolds! Yes, that Reynolds family! Please, hurry!"

I watched him grovel with detached amusement. "Gallagher. Another lapdog family."

"My Lord, shall I end this now?" Serena asked, her fingers twitching toward her blade.

"Not yet. Let them bring their master."

Mila's grip on my sleeve tightened. "Young Master, the Gallagher family—they're ruthless. They've been rising in power since... since that night."

"Since my family was slaughtered?" I finished for her. "Yes, I'm sure they have been."

Fat Vince backed away, his earlier bravado evaporating. "You're going to regret this. Mr. Gallagher is coming personally. He's a C-ranked family heir! You're dead! Dead!"

"Your vocabulary is as limited as your courage," I said.

Minutes crawled by. The thugs huddled together, whispering frantically. Mila stayed close, her thin frame trembling. Serena remained perfectly still, a coiled spring waiting to be released.

Then I heard them—engines roaring, tires screeching. A convoy of black SUVs tore through the cemetery gates, kicking up dust and desecrating the sacred ground further.

The vehicles formed a semicircle around us, and men poured out—at least thirty of them, all wearing expensive suits and carrying themselves with practiced menace. And from the center vehicle emerged a young man in a white designer suit, gold Rolex gleaming on his wrist.

 Gavin Gallagher. I recognized the family resemblance—his father had attended some of my family's gatherings years ago, always hovering at the edges, always hungry for scraps.

"Well, well, well."  Gavin's voice dripped with theatrical delight. "What do we have here? Some graveyard squatter playing hero?"

Fat Vince rushed forward, practically prostrating himself. "Mr. Gallagher! Thank God you're here! This lunatic claims he's from the Reynolds family—"

"The Reynolds family?"  Gavin threw his head back and laughed, a sound like nails on glass. "Oh, that's rich! The Reynolds family is extinct! Wiped out! Erased from existence!" He pointed at me mockingly. "And you dare use their name? What are you, some kind of grave robber hoping to steal their identity along with whatever scraps they left behind?"

"I am Damian Reynolds," I said simply.

The laughter intensified.  Gavin clutched his stomach, his entourage joining in the chorus. "This is priceless! Nobody claiming to be the Reynolds heir! Tell me, 'Damian'—" He spat my name like it was filth. "—if you're really who you say you are, where have you been for three years? Hiding? Crying? Pissing yourself in fear?"

 "Making preparations."

"Preparations!"  Gavin wiped fake tears from his eyes. "Oh, I'm dying here. Preparations for what? A funeral? Because that's the only thing waiting for you!" He turned to his men. "You hear this trash? He thinks he's somebody! He thinks the Reynolds name still means something!"

"It's pathetic," one of his men sneered. "The Reynolds family was always weak. That's why they got slaughtered like pigs."

"Weaklings breeding weaklings," another added. "Good riddance, I say."

Mila's face went pale. "How dare you—"

"Shut your mouth, beggar girl!"  Gavin snapped. "You're just as pathetic as he is, guarding graves for a dead family. You should've been smart and moved on. But loyalty to trash makes you trash."

I felt something cold settle in my chest. "Answer my question, Gavin Gallagher. Why are you destroying my parents' graves?"

"Your parents?" He grinned savagely. "Oh, you mean those corpses rotting under ugly stones? Simple—this land's been purchased. The Baldwin family wants it cleared for development. Graves, memories, your pathetic legacy—all of it gets bulldozed. Nothing personal, 'Damian.' Just business."

"The Baldwin family," I repeated softly.

"That's right. The Baldwin family—a real B-ranked powerhouse. Not some fallen has-been clan like the Reynolds."  Gavin stepped closer, confidence oozing from every pore. "You know what's funny? Your family thought they were untouchable once. Though their little fortune and connections made them special. But when the real players decided to take what was yours? You all folded like wet paper."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" I asked. "That my family simply 'folded'?"

"I tell myself the truth!"  Gavin shouted. "Your family was murdered because they were weak! Because they were in the way! Because nobody cared enough to save them!" He jabbed a finger at my chest. "And you? You're just the last loose end."

"My Lord," Serena's voice held a dangerous edge. "Shall I?"

"Not yet."

 Gavin noticed Serena for the first time, his eyes raking over her with disgusting interest. "Well, hello beautiful. Where'd a loser like him find a woman like you? Tell you what—ditch this corpse-loving fool and come work for me. I'll treat you real nice."

Serena's expression could've frozen hell itself. "I would rather die."

"Your loss."  Gavin shrugged, then snapped his fingers. "Boys, show this fake Reynolds what happens to people who waste my time."

Thirty men moved as one, and suddenly I was staring down the barrels of fifteen guns.

Mila screamed. "No!"

"Last chance, 'Damian,'"  Gavin mocked. "Get on your knees, apologize for breathing, and maybe—maybe—I'll let you live as my dog."

"Interesting offer." I looked at each gunman in turn. "But I have a counter-proposal."

"Oh? And what's that?"

I moved.

The world became a blur of motion. My hand shot out, catching the nearest wrist and twisting. The gun clattered to the ground. Another step, another disarm. They were trained, but training meant nothing against experience earned in real war.

Bones cracked. Men screamed. In fifteen seconds, every weapon lay scattered across the cemetery ground, and fifteen men writhed in pain, clutching broken fingers and dislocated shoulders.

I stood in the center of them, barely breathing hard. "Your men need better training."

 Gavin's face had gone chalk white. His remaining bodyguards—the ones without guns—stayed frozen, too terrified to move.

"You—you—"  Gavin's voice cracked. "What are you?"

"I told you. Damian Reynolds." I walked toward him slowly. "Now answer my question properly. Who ordered my family's destruction?"

"I don't know! I swear I don't know!"

"Wrong answer." I grabbed his wrist.

"Wait! Wait!"  Gavin's bravado shattered completely. "The Baldwin family! They're the ones behind it! But I don't know the details—I swear! We're just C-ranked! We follow orders!"

"Orders to desecrate graves."

"Yes! Yes! Please—"

I twisted. His wrist broke with a satisfying crack.

 Gavin's scream echoed across the cemetery. He collapsed, cradling his ruined hand. "You're insane! You're a dead man! My family won't let this stand!"

"Tell them to try." I looked at his remaining men. "All of you—you participated in this desecration. You laughed at my parents' graves. You called my family weak."

They backed away as one, terror written across their faces.

"So here's your punishment. Every man here will have one limb broken. Choose which one, or I'll choose for you."

"You can't!"  Gavin sobbed. "You can't do this! Do you know who we are? Do you know who we know?"

"Enlighten me."

"The War God!"  Gavin's eyes were wild with desperate hope. "The legendary undefeated War God! He's coming to this city! Our family has connections—we've sent gifts, established contact! When he arrives, one word from us and you're finished! You've made a mistake—a fatal mistake!"

I almost laughed. Almost. "The War God."

"That's right!"  Gavin clutched at this lifeline. "The most powerful man in the nation! One command from him and you'll be hunted to the ends of the earth! You should be begging for mercy while you still can!"

I crouched down, meeting his terrified eyes. "Let me tell you something,  Gavin Gallagher. I'm not afraid of the War God."

"You're a fool then!"

"Perhaps." I stood. "Or perhaps I know something you don't."

"What? What could you possibly know?"

I looked at him—really looked at him—at this pathetic heir of a climbing family, grasping at power through cruelty and connections. "I know that the War God is already here."

 Gavin blinked. "What?"

"I know that he's been listening to every word you've said." I smiled, and it felt like ice. "I know that he's decided your fate."

"You're bluffing! You're insane!"

"Serena," I said calmly. "Break their legs. Left side. All of them."

"With pleasure, my Lord."

What happened next was efficient and brutal. Serena moved through them like a dancer, and each movement ended with a scream and a snap.  Gavin tried to crawl away, but there was nowhere to run to in a cemetery.

When it was done, thirty men lay broken and weeping among the graves.

I stood over  Gavin. "Tell your family. Tell the Baldwin family. Tell whoever will listen.Damian Reynolds has returned. And I'm waiting for their revenge."

"You'll die,"  Gavin whimpered through tears and pain. "You'll die screaming."

"Perhaps. But not today." I turned away. "Mila, come. This place needs to be properly cleaned."

As I walked past the bodies, past the broken men and their broken pride, I heard  Gavin's final, desperate curse echo behind me.

"The War God will kill you! You hear me? The War God himself will end you!"