The War God’s Return

Chapter 8: A Coffin??

The hall erupted in a cacophony of shocked gasps and derisive laughter. Guests who'd been watching from a distance now pressed closer, eager to witness the spectacle.

"Did he just insult the Baker and Baldwin families?" someone whispered loudly.

"He called them trash!" another voice answered with scandalized delight.

"Is he suicidal? Completely insane?"

Amelia's shrill voice cut through the murmurs. "See? I told you he was crazy! He's lost his mind along with his fortune!"

"The Baker and Baldwin families together could challenge an A-ranked house!" one of my former classmates shouted. "They have resources, armies, and political connections! And you—you're nothing! A ghost from a dead family!"

"He doesn't understand what he's dealing with," another guest said, shaking his head. "This isn't the old days. The power structure has changed. The Reynolds are history."

Ridge’s expression had transformed from anger to something darker—a predatory amusement. He began to laugh, a sound like grinding metal.

"A clown," he said, his voice carrying across the hall. "That's what you are, Damian Reynolds. A delusional clown who doesn't know his place in the world." He spread his arms wide, addressing the crowd as much as me. "This pathetic remnant of a fallen house dares to insult families that tower above him like gods above insects!"

Applause and laughter rippled through the gathered guests.

"Let me educate you, boy," Ridge continued, stepping closer. "I am Donovan Duke, Preson Baldwin's uncle and head of security for the Baldwin family. I've crushed men twice your size. I've ended bloodlines older than yours." His smile was cruel. "And today—this day that should be a joyous celebration—you've given me the pleasure of making an example out of you."

"An example," I repeated quietly.

"Oh yes." Donovan cracked his knuckles. "When I'm done with you, what's left will be displayed as a warning. Anyone who disrespects the Baldwin or Baker families will remember what happened to Damian Reynolds. I promise you—" His voice dropped to something intimate and vicious. "—you will never forget this day. Every moment of pain, every second of humiliation, will be seared into whatever's left of your mind before you die."

The crowd murmured approval. Some even clapped.

My phone rang, cutting through the tension.

"Answer it," Donovan said with mock generosity. "Make your last call. Beg someone to save you. I'll even give you that courtesy before I break every bone in your body."

I pulled out my phone. Serena's name flashed on the screen.

"Yes?"

"My Lord," her voice was calm, professional. "The squad has arrived. We're at the entrance. The guards are refusing us entry."

A faint smile touched my lips. "Let them in."

"Understood, War God."

I ended the call and looked up at Donovan, at the crowd of eager spectators, at Amelia and my former classmates who were practically vibrating with anticipation of my destruction.

"Before anything else happens," I said calmly, "I'd like to present the Baker and Baldwin families with a gift."

Silence fell like a guillotine blade.

Then the laughter started again, even louder than before.

"A gift?" Amelia shrieked. "Oh my god, he's trying to buy his way out! He's so scared he's offering bribes!"

"That's pathetic!" one of the men I'd knocked down earlier shouted, still clutching his wrist. "You attack people and then try to bribe your way to safety? You really are trash!"

"What could you possibly offer?" another guest called out. "You're bankrupt! You have nothing!"

Donovan's smile widened. "A gift? From you?" He threw his head back and laughed. "This is priceless! The condemned offered presents to his executioners!" He looked around at his guards, at the crowd. "Very well, Reynolds. I'll humor you. Bring out your pathetic gift. Show us what a fallen heir considers valuable."

"But let me be clear," Donovan continued, his voice hardening. "No matter what you present—gold, jewels, priceless artifacts—you're still going to die here today. Nothing you offer will save you from what's coming." He paused, his grin turning sadistic. "However, if your gift is impressive enough, if you grovel prettily enough, maybe—just maybe—I'll make your death quick instead of spending hours peeling your skin off piece by piece."

"How generous," I said flatly.

"I am generous!" Donovan declared. "More generous than you deserve! So go ahead—have your little gift brought in. Let's all see what—"

The massive double doors at the hall's entrance exploded inward with a deafening CRACK.

Wood splintered. Hinges tore from their moorings. The doors—each one carved from solid mahogany and worth a small fortune—crashed to the marble floor with a sound like thunder.

Screams erupted from the guests nearest the entrance. People scrambled backward, champagne glasses shattering, women clutching their partners.

Through the destroyed doorway strode Serena.

She moved like a blade cutting through fog—graceful, precise, unstoppable. Her black combat uniform seemed to absorb light. Her expression was carved from ice. Behind her, a squad of twenty soldiers in matching uniforms filed in with military precision, their boots striking the marble in perfect synchronization.

"WHO DARES?!" Donovan roared, his face purpling with rage. "Who dares cause trouble at this wedding?!"

The soldiers fanned out, forming a corridor from the entrance to where I stood. Each one carried themselves with the bearing of elite warriors—backs straight, eyes forward, movements controlled and deadly.

Serena reached me and bowed. "War God. We've secured the perimeter."

Whispers erupted through the hall.

"War God? Did she call him War God?"

"That's impossible—"

"It must be some kind of joke—"

Four soldiers carried something between them—a large rectangular object covered in black cloth. They moved in perfect unison, their faces expressionless, and placed it on the marble floor with a heavy THUD that echoed through the hall.

The crowd pressed closer despite their fear, curiosity overcoming caution.

"What is that?" Amelia whispered.

"Some kind of box?" another classmate muttered.

Donovan's face had gone from purple to something closer to white. His eyes darted between Serena, the soldiers, and the covered object. "What—what is this?"

I walked slowly toward the cloth-covered rectangle. My footsteps seemed impossibly loud in the sudden quiet.

"You asked what gift I brought," I said, my voice carrying across the hall. "You said no matter what I presented, it wouldn't save me." I smiled, cold and terrible. "You were right. This gift isn't meant to save me."

My hand grasped the black cloth.

"This gift—" I pulled the cloth away in one smooth motion. "—is for the Baker and Baldwin families."

The cloth fell away, revealing polished wood. Brass handles. Ornate carvings.

A coffin.

The hall erupted in chaos.

"Is that—"

"A coffin?!"

"He brought a coffin to a wedding?!"

"That's insane! That's—"

Amelia's scream cut through the noise. "He's threatening them! He's threatening to kill someone! Guards! Someone arrest him!"

Donovan stared at the coffin, his face cycling through emotions too quickly to name. "You... you brought a coffin? To a wedding?" His voice climbed higher. "You're not just insane—you're asking to be tortured to death! You're begging for it!"

I placed my hand on the coffin's smooth surface, almost caressing it.