The War God’s Return

Chapter 4: The War God’s Call

"Charles," I said, my voice cutting through his threats like a blade through smoke. "You don't need to concern yourself with Benjamin's treatment anymore. I'll handle everything."

Charles's head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

Before I could answer, his gaze slid past me and locked onto Serena. His expression transformed—predatory interest replacing irritation. He took a step toward her, completely dismissing me.

"Well, hello there, gorgeous," Charles purred, his voice dripping with false charm. "What's a stunning woman like you doing in this dump? You must be new in town."

Serena's face remained perfectly blank, carved from ice.

"Let me introduce myself properly." Charles ran a hand through his styled hair. "Charles Dawson. Heir to the Reed Pharmaceutical Empire. I could show you what real luxury looks like—fancy restaurants, designer clothes, a penthouse view. All you have to do is ditch whatever loser you're with and—"

The slap echoed through the cramped room like a gunshot.

Charles's head whipped to the side, his cheek instantly blooming red. Before he could process what happened, Serena's hand came back across his other cheek. Then again. And again. Each slap is precise, controlled, devastating.

"You—you bitch!" Charles stumbled backward, his bodyguards finally moving. "How dare you touch me! Do you know who I am?"

"A fool," Serena said flatly, returning to my side without a glance back at him.

Charles clutched his face, his handsome features twisted with rage and humiliation. His bodyguards helped steady him, their hands on their weapons.

"You're both dead! Dead!" Charles's voice cracked. "Nobody puts their hands on a Reed heir! Nobody!"

"Uncle Benjamin," I said, ignoring Charles's tantrum entirely. "I'm going to arrange proper medical care for you. The best doctors, the best facility."

"Young Master, please—" Benjamin's voice trembled. "You don't understand how things work now. The Reed family controls most of the medical institutions in Chicago. Even if you find a hospital, they'll refuse treatment once Charles makes his calls."

"Damn right they will!" Charles spat blood onto the floor, his cheeks already swelling. "You think you can just walk in here and fix everything? You're nobody! A homeless beggar playing hero!"

Mila grabbed my arm. "Young Master, Father's right. Charles's family has connections everywhere. They'll blacklist us from every pharmacy, every clinic. We can't fight them!"

"Can't fight us?" Charles laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "You finally get it! About damn time!" He wiped blood from his split lip, glaring at me with pure venom. "You want to play savior? Fine! Let me show you how powerless you really are!"

I pulled out my phone, calmly scrolling through my contacts.

"Oh, what's this?" Charles mocked. "Making a phone call? Going to cry to mommy? Oh wait—" His grin turned vicious. "—I forgot. Your family's all dead, aren't they? The mighty Reynolds, slaughtered like animals. How tragic."

"Young Master, please," Benjamin pleaded. "Don't antagonize him further. We can survive this. We've survived worse."

I found the number I needed and pressed the call.

Charles burst into fresh laughter. "This is pathetic! You're actually calling someone? Who could you possibly know that would go against the Reed family? Some two-bit doctor? A street clinic?" He turned to his bodyguards. "Boys, this is entertainment gold. Let's watch this nobody embarrass himself."

The line connected. "War God? Is that you?" Jonathan Cross's voice came through, respectful and slightly nervous. "How can I serve you?"

"Jonathan," I said calmly. "I need a medical team sent to an address immediately. Full diagnostic equipment, specialists for spinal injuries, and whatever's necessary for long-term care."

"Of course, War God. I'll mobilize our best team right away. Where should they go?"

I gave him the address.

"Consider it done. We'll be there within the hour."

"Thank you, Jonathan."

I ended the call and looked at Charles, whose laughter had grown even louder.

"War God?" Charles clutched his stomach, nearly doubling over. "War God? Oh my god, this is too much! You're pretending to be the legendary War God? The undefeated commander who crushed three nations?" Tears streamed down his swollen cheeks. "That's the most pathetic, desperate bluff I've ever heard!"

His bodyguards joined in, their laughter filling the small house.

"Did he really just call himself the War God?" one guard wheezed.

"He's completely insane!" another added.

"The War God is a legendary figure!" Charles shouted, his voice cracking with mirth. "A god of the battlefield! And you—" He pointed at me mockingly. "—you're some graveyard rat in cheap clothes making prank calls! Who was that on the phone? Your friend? Your imaginary butler?"

"That was Jonathan Cross," I said evenly. "Chairman of Crosswell Medical Center (Chicago)."

The laughter intensified.

"Jonathan?" Charles wiped his eyes. "Jonathan? The most powerful medical authority in the city?" He turned to Mila and Benjamin. "Your 'Young Master' just claimed he ordered around Jonathan Cross! A man worth Billions! A man who wouldn't piss on people like you if you were on fire!"

"Young Master..." Mila's voice was small, uncertain.

"Don't you see?" Charles's grin was savage. "He's lying! He's making this up to comfort you, to look like some kind of hero! But reality doesn't care about his fantasies!" He pulled out his own phone, holding it up. "You want to see real power? Watch this."

Charles dialed rapidly. "Dr. Monroe? Yes, it's Charles Dawson. Listen carefully—I'm sending you a photo of an old cripple named Benjamin Everett . From this moment on, he and his family are blacklisted from every facility we control. No treatment. No medication. Not even a band-aid. Pass the word to everyone." He paused, his smile widening. "Oh, and if any other hospital tries to help them? Make sure they understand the consequences of going against the Reed family."

He ended the call and immediately made another. Then another. Each conversation is the same—spreading his poison, sealing Benjamin's fate with every word.

"There!" Charles declared triumphantly after his fifth call. "That's real power! That's real connections! Not some pathetic fantasy phone call to a make-believe contact!"

Benjamin's face had gone gray. Mila was crying silently.

"But wait, there's more!" Charles's voice took on a game-show host quality. "Let me make one more special call. Just to make absolutely, positively sure that your little 'medical team' never arrives."

He dialed again, his grin impossibly wide. "Mr. Vaughn? Yes, this is Charles Dawson. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important..."

My expression didn't change.

Charles's grin faltered slightly as he listened to the voice on the other end. His confident posture stiffened. The color began draining from his face.

"What? No, I—I wasn't aware—" His voice cracked. "But surely you can't—"

He lowered the phone slowly, staring at it like it had bitten him.

"What's wrong, Charles?" I asked quietly. "Lose your connection?"

"Shut up!" But his voice had lost its certainty. "This doesn't prove anything! So what if Vaughn won't take my call? He's probably busy! That doesn't mean he's coming here for you!"

"We'll see," I said. "In about forty-five minutes."

Charles's hands trembled as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. "You're bluffing. You have to be bluffing."

"Believe what you want."

"Young Master," Benjamin whispered. "Even if someone does come... the Reed family will retaliate. They'll make our lives hell."

"They can try," I replied. "Uncle Benjamin, I made you a promise. You'll walk again. And no pharmaceutical heir is going to stop me."

Charles's face twisted between rage and something else—something that looked almost like fear. "We'll see who's laughing when nobody shows up. We'll see who the real fool is!"

But his voice wavered.