They Betrayed a God: My Rise to Absolute Power

A One-Man Slaughterhouse

I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the villa and stepped out into the freezing rain.

The manicured lawns of the Sterling estate had become a muddy chaos of a war zone. There were 200 mercenaries in a huge semi-circle around the house. The dozens of headlights of cars and SUVs blazed in my direction with a flash of light.

My cheap dress shirt was drenched with rain. There I was, with no weapons, looking down a row of assault rifles, machetes, and iron pipes.

Arthur Cross was in the center of the mob, standing on the hood of a black armored truck. He appeared older and much more out of it than the last time I saw him at a corporate gala. His eyes were bloodshot, totally furious at the death of his only son.

“You went out alone, you did! The thunderous voices of Arthur and his men were heard over a megaphone. He pointed at me with his shivering finger. Vance, where's the bitch? Drag Aria out here now, and I may kill you soon!

I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. I tapped a bit of my stolen Qi into my voice so that it could be heard over the roaring wind, like a death bell.

I said to Arthur, "I told you to purchase your coffins!" “It would appear that you chose to give birth to yourselves.”

Arthur's face twisted into pure ugly rage. "Tear him to pieces! FIRE!"

200 mercenaries picked up their guns.

On the second floor, behind the glass in the bedroom window, I could feel Aria screaming my name in terror.

But I didn't flinch.

Gunfire blared out, deafening. Hundreds of bullets flew through the rain, like deadly fireflies all pointed at my chest. For a mortal, this was sure death. It was merely a minor inconvenience to the God of War.

I lifted my right hand, and my eyes blazed with a fiery red.

Abyssal Devouring Art: First Form - Void Shield.

I let go of my palm, and a huge swirl of black smoke burst forth, creating a dark dome around me. There were no ricocheting bullets. When the hot lead made contact with the black mist, the kinetic energy was violently devoured.

When the bullets came into my way, hundreds of them lost all momentum and harmlessly fell into the mud at my feet and made a pile of useless metal.

Then the shooting slowly stopped. The mercenaries lowered their weapons, and their faces changed from bloodthirsty arrogance to absolute, paralyzing horror.

One of the enforcers of the cartel shouted, "What... what the hell is he?!" and he dropped his rifle.

“My turn,” I said in a hushed voice.

I threw down the shield and disappeared.

The ground was damp and cracked under my feet. I moved faster than the human eye could track and crashed into the front line of mercenaries like a freight train.

I took hold of the first guy's tactical vest and tossed him 20 feet into the air. As the men by my side tried to raise their machetes, I swept their legs, breaking their shins, and stomped my foot on their chests. I could hear the ribs cracking like dry branches under my feet.

"Kill him! Reload and shoot him down! Arthur shrieked, scrambling back on the hood of his truck.

It was a slaughter. I was like a ghost, a crimson and black one. I made my way through the crowd. I wasn't flashy with martial arts; I was efficient and brutal. A throat crushed, a spine snapped here. Each blow I delivered released an Abyssal Devouring Art.

Black mist trailed from my fingertips like razor-sharp ribbons. All the mercenaries I touched shrank in instant death, their weak lifeforce violently torn from their bodies.

There was a lot of mortal energy, but it was of poor quality.

The raw life surged through me, into my broken chest. The fragments of my Divine Core were avidly absorbing the blood-stained energy. The small pieces started to meld together, burning with a black, menacing fire.

Fifty men down.

Arthur's army split on the left wing. Hardened killers, men who had survived gang wars and prison riots, threw down their weapons and turned to run, screaming for their mothers.

100 men down.

The black mist grew and spread into a smothering fog over the grass. I didn't even have to touch them anymore. The Abyssal art reached out, like hungry vipers, and pulled the men back into my core, their lifeforce consumed. They fell to the mud as empty husks.

In the window, Aria was looking. The man who was sweeping the floors was a quiet, submissive man who was bringing down a small army with his bare hands. I was painting her front lawn in blood, and it was just why the hidden world used to whisper my name with terror.

In less than three minutes, the gunfire stopped completely.

All one could hear was the rain and the wailing of one man.

I was walking slowly towards the armored truck in the middle of the massacre. The grass was strewn with 200 dead bodies. Not a single one of them was breathing.

Arthur Cross wasn't standing on the hood anymore. He had fallen off and was in the mud. He was trying to run away, and his fancy suit had been torn to shreds, and he was crying so hard.

I stepped on his ankle.

CRACK.

Arthur let out a shrill scream, flipping onto his back. He looked at me with pure madness and fear in his eyes. The red light seeping from my eyes broke through the black storm.

Arthur gasped, "Demon... you're a demon..." Arthur raised his shaking hands. "Please! Take my money! Take my company! Just let me live!"

Equivalent exchange, Arthur," I said coldly, looking down at the pathetic billionaire. You asked for my head and for my wife's life; I ask for your bloodline.

"NO—!"

I bent down and seized him by the throat, lifting him up. I set loose the emptiness. He was eaten up by the black mist. Arthur Cross turned into a grey husk in seconds, his lifeforce being the last bit of energy I needed to stabilize the first layer of my rebuilt core.

I left his lifeless body in the mud.

The Cross family was wiped out.

I breathed deeply, the rain running off my hands. I turned back to the villa to see if I could see Aria.

But I stopped.

My newly repaired senses roused themselves in a frenzy. My hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

There was a slow, mocking applause from the dark treeline that lined the estate.

A hoarse, venerable voice shouted, "Magnificent! A hoarse old voice shouted, "Magnificent!

An old man walked out of the shadows. He was dressed in a traditional red robe with black lotuses embroidered on it. He had no umbrella, but the rain bounced off him, just inches from his skin, repelled by a tremendous, boiling aura.

He had a severed head in his hands, by the hair. It was one of Arthur Cross's mercenaries who had tried to run away. The old man casually put the head in the mud.

The old man smiled, his eyes fixed on me. "Arthur Cross was a useful idiot. “Your army of mortals served their purpose well; you had to prove your hand, Kaelen Vance.”

I narrowed my eyes. This man's pressure was completely different from the masked assassin in the office.

Tier 3. One of the Grand Elders of the Crimson Lotus Triad.

The Elder chuckled, "You have an interesting dark art, boy.

"But mortal blood is weak. Let us see how your little tricks fare against a true master of the hidden world."