They Crossed Me, I Became the God of war

Chapter 3

The heavy iron door at the back of the hall creaked open with a loud groan. Two guards dragged an old woman into the bright glare of the floodlights, tossing her roughly onto the wet floorboards. She lay in the dirt like a discarded sack, shivering against the cold wind.

She wore thin, dirty rags that smelled of sour water and grease. Her gray hair hung in wet clumps, and her hands were covered in raw red burns from years of scrubbing heavy pots with harsh soap. Her shoulders were hunched, and her bare feet were bruised and cut.

Gideon looked down at the frail woman shivering on the floor, and his breath caught in his throat. The entire world seemed to stop moving as he recognized the gentle face beneath the soot and scars. A sharp, burning ache ripped through his chest, tearing deeper than any war wound.

"Mother?" Gideon whispered, his deep voice cracking with sudden, overwhelming pain. He took a trembling step forward across the wet boards, dropping heavily to his knees in the dirt. His large hands shook as he reached out toward her battered frame.

The old woman slowly raised her head, squinting through the harsh white glare. When her cloudy eyes met his face, tears washed clean lines down her hollow, bruised cheeks. A choked, ragged cry broke from her throat as she reached out with trembling fingers.

"Gideon?" Martha cried out, her cracked lips shaking violently in disbelief. "My boy! You are alive! Oh God, my son has finally come home to me!"

Gideon pulled her into his arms, gently wrapping his heavy coat around her frail shoulders. She felt light as a feather, her thin bones pressing through the dirty rags as she shook uncontrollably against his chest. For the first time in ten years, Gideon’s eyes burned with hot tears.

"Look at this touching family reunion," Dominic mocked from across the room, swirling the drink in his glass. "She has been scrubbing my kitchen floors for three long years, Knox. She washes our greasy pots every night and eats our leftover scraps from the trash."

Cassandra laughed softly from Dominic's side, looking down at Martha with pure disgust. "She was completely useless for anything else, Gideon. Be glad we gave her a warm corner in the cellar instead of throwing her out into the freezing street to rot."

Martha gripped Gideon’s wet sleeve with her scarred, swollen fingers, sobbing with all the strength left in her broken body. "Run, Gideon! Please, my boy, you must run! You cannot fight these people! They will kill you!"

"I am not running, Mother," Gideon said softly, his voice trembling as he brushed the wet hair from her forehead. "I am taking you home with me right now. Where are Lily and Maya? Where are my little sisters?"

"Cassandra sold them!" Martha wept, coughing up a small spot of blood into the dirt. "Three years ago, the Reed family lost their business! She sold your little sisters to Dominic to pay off her debts and buy expensive jewelry!"

Gideon’s entire body went completely rigid as cold fury flooded his veins. He slowly turned his head toward Cassandra, his dark eyes burning with a silent, deadly storm that made the air in the room turn ice-cold.

"They were useless mouths to feed, Gideon," Cassandra sneered, crossing her arms without a shred of shame. "Dominic's family needed them for their blood. Why should I starve in poverty just to keep your beggar sisters alive?"

"They took them to the sea fortress, Gideon!" Martha cried out, clutching his chest in sheer terror. "They locked them in a dark underground vault! They are going to cut them open and drain their bone marrow!"

Dominic pulled a small black handgun from his coat and pointed it straight at Martha's head. "Sign the harbor papers, Knox, and take a blade to finish the old hag yourself. Do it now, or I will put a bullet through her skull right in front of you."

Before Gideon could move, loud police sirens wailed outside the broken gates. Red and blue lights flashed against the shattered windows as three squad cars screeched to a halt in the wet driveway. Heavy car doors slammed shut in the pouring rain.

A heavy-set police captain in a dark blue uniform marched through the front door, flanked by four armed officers. Captain Miller puffed out his chest, resting his hand on his gun holster as he looked around the room with a greasy, arrogant smile.

"What is the problem here, Master Caldwell?" Miller asked smoothly, completely ignoring the bleeding woman on the floor. "We received an emergency call about a violent criminal trespassing on private property and causing trouble."

"You are just in time, Captain," Dominic said, pointing his finger down at Gideon. "This border deserter broke into my house and attacked my guards. Put the handcuffs on him right now and lock him away in the deepest cell for life."

Miller pulled heavy steel cuffs from his belt, sneering as he walked toward Gideon. "On your feet, boy. Put your hands behind your back right now, or my officers will fill your body with lead."

Gideon did not stand, keeping his broad body firmly between his mother and the armed officers. His cold eyes locked onto the corrupt captain. "You wear that badge to protect the innocent. Turn around and walk away while you still have your life."

"You dare threaten an officer of the law, you little beggar?" Miller barked, raising his heavy baton to strike Gideon across the skull. "I will crack your head open right in front of your filthy mother!"

The heavy baton never landed. A tall man in a dark suit walked through the doorway with silent, terrifying speed, stepping in close and slapping the police captain hard across the face with his bare hand.

The loud slap echoed like a gunshot through the hall, sending Miller stumbling sideways into the brick wall. The captain spat a bloody tooth onto the floor, clutching his swollen jaw in complete shock and wild rage.

"Who the hell are you?!" Miller roared, his shaking hand reaching for his service gun. "You just attacked a police captain! Shoot this bastard down right now!"

The four officers raised their rifles, but the man in the dark suit did not flinch. He pulled a silver badge from his inner pocket and held it up with a cold, steady gaze that made the room freeze.

"I am Inspector Trent from the Federal Security Division," the man said, his voice flat as ice. "Raise your weapons one inch higher, and you will all be executed on the spot for high treason."

Dominic laughed loudly from across the room, waving his drink in the air. "Federal division? Do not make me laugh! Captain Miller, shoot him dead! The Caldwell family will cover whatever mess you make in this town!"

Trent pulled a sleek black phone from his coat, tapped the screen once, and held it to his ear. "Director Hayes. Connect me to Captain Miller's precinct terminal right now. Terminate his badge and freeze his assets."

Miller sneered, wiping the blood from his swollen mouth. "You think you can scare me with a fake phone call? I answer directly to the city commissioner! You are nothing but a dead man!"

A loud, sharp chime rang out from the radio unit strapped to Miller's chest, followed immediately by his cell phone buzzing violently in his pocket. Miller frowned, pulling out his phone with a shaking, sweaty hand.

The official police seal flashed on his screen with a bright red warning notice. His badge number was marked canceled, and a bold termination letter signed by the State Police Commissioner stared back at him in stark white letters.

Before Miller could speak, his radio crackled to life with a frantic, furious roar. "Miller, you corrupt dog! You are stripped of your rank and pension! Surrender your weapons to the federal inspector immediately, or tactical teams will hunt you down!"

Miller’s face turned paper-white, and his phone slipped from his numb fingers, shattering on the wet floor. The four officers behind him lowered their rifles instantly, trembling in complete terror as they backed away.

Trent stepped forward and grabbed Miller’s service gun from his holster, tossing it onto the floorboards like trash. "Take your men and get out of here before I have you arrested for criminal conspiracy against the state."

Miller did not say another word. He turned around and stumbled out the door like a beaten dog, his four officers running right behind him into the dark, pouring rain.

Dominic’s smug smile finally cracked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he stared at the federal inspector. "What is the meaning of this? Why are federal agents sticking their noses into Port Valenford business?"

Trent did not look at Dominic or Cassandra. He walked over to where Gideon was kneeling and stopped two paces away, keeping his head bowed in deep, terrifying reverence.

Trent’s hands shook slightly at his sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to drop to both knees before his Supreme Commander. He remembered Gideon's strict orders: no public reveal of his military identity to these civilian dogs.

"The medical transport is waiting outside at the rear gate, sir," Trent said in a low, respectful tone, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. "The perimeter is completely secure."

Gideon nodded slowly, keeping his face hidden in the shadows. He gently slid his arms under his mother, lifting her light, scarred body into his arms as if she were made of fragile glass.

Martha buried her face in his neck, weeping softly as she held onto his coat. Gideon turned his back on Dominic and Cassandra, walking toward the exit with steady, heavy steps that did not waver.

"Gideon Knox!" Dominic screamed from across the hall, his voice cracking with ugly rage. "Do not think you have won anything! You take one step out of this house, and your little sisters are dead meat!"

Cassandra glared at his retreating back, her red nails digging into her palms in pure spite. "Let him run, Dominic! He is just an empty-handed beggar! He has no money and no army! He cannot save those two brats anyway!"

Gideon did not stop, and he did not turn around. He carried his mother out into the stormy night, stepping through the broken gate toward a heavy black armored ambulance waiting in the shadows.

The rear doors swung open, and two trauma doctors rushed forward with warm blankets and medical gear. They gently placed Martha onto the padded stretcher, quickly hooking up an IV line to her bruised arm.

A clear plastic oxygen mask was fitted over her pale face, and the faint hiss of cool air filled the quiet vehicle. Gideon climbed inside and sat beside her, holding her cold, rough hand tightly between his own.

Martha’s eyes fluttered open beneath the dim white lights. She saw the dark blood on Gideon’s coat from the dagger wound and tried to touch it with her trembling, scarred fingers.

"Gideon... you are hurt," Martha gasped weakly through the mask, fresh tears spilling over her hollow cheeks. "You are bleeding, my son... why did you come back to this hell?"

"It is only a scratch, Mother," Gideon whispered, his thumb gently wiping the tears from her wrinkled face. "I am fine. You are safe now. Nobody in this city will ever lay a hand on you again."

Martha shook her head frantically, sudden terror twisting her frail face as she gripped his sleeve with desperate strength. She did not know his power, believing that the federal inspector had simply been a lucky turn of fate.

"You do not understand, Gideon!" Martha cried out in pure despair, her breath rattling inside the plastic mask. "We cannot fight them! The Caldwells own this entire city! They have thousands of killers and politicians in their pockets!"

"Mother, listen to me," Gideon began softly, but she pulled his arm closer to her chest, sobbing hysterically. Her frail heart was racing, the monitor beside the stretcher beeping in rapid, panicked chirps.

"You must go back and beg them, Gideon!" Martha wept, tears soaking her pillow. "You must kneel down before Dominic! Swallow your pride and beg Cassandra! She used to love you, my boy... maybe she will show a shred of pity!"

Gideon looked at his mother's terrified face, his heart aching with unbearable sorrow. To see his proud, gentle mother reduced to begging for the mercy of the very monsters who had ruined their family cut deeper than any blade.

"We have nothing left, Gideon!" Martha sobbed, her voice cracking with pure hopelessness. "If we do not beg them, they will never tell us where they hid your sisters! We do not even know which room or cellar they are locked in!"

Gideon leaned down closer, holding both her trembling hands in his own. "Did you hear anything, Mother? Did the cellar guards mention where they took them?"

"The Blackwater Citadel..." Martha wheezed, her voice shaking violently. "An offshore concrete bunker out in the dark sea... but it is guarded by warships and hundreds of mercenaries! An ordinary man cannot even get close to the shore!"

"And the time, Mother?" Gideon asked, his voice dead, steady, and terrifyingly calm. "How much time did the guards say we have?"

"Only forty-eight hours, Gideon!" Martha wailed in absolute agony, clutching his coat with all her remaining strength. "Old Silas Caldwell is dying of rotting bone disease... his organs are turning to black poison every single day!"

Gideon's dark eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits, his jaw tightening until the bone beneath his skin turned white. He listened in silence as his mother's ragged sobs filled the small medical cabin.

"In forty-eight hours, they are throwing a grand seventy-year birthday banquet on that island," Martha wept bitterly. "They brought in butcher doctors... they are going to strap Lily and Maya to the tables and drain all their marrow until their little hearts stop beating!"

"Please, Gideon!" Martha begged, her tears washing over his hand. "We only have forty-eight hours! You must go on your knees and beg Dominic to give us their location! If you do not beg them, your sisters will die in the dark!"

Gideon sat completely still under the dim lights, the heavy rain drumming like war drums against the armored roof. The temperature inside his chest dropped into a frozen, bottomless abyss of absolute slaughter.

Forty-eight hours. His mother believed they were helpless beggars with no choice but to crawl in the mud. She had no idea that her son commanded armies that had made emperors tremble in fear.

Gideon reached down and gently pulled the warm blanket up to his mother's chin, his face turning as still as carved granite. An aura of pure death rolled off his shoulders, so suffocating that both doctors froze in terror.

"Do not cry, Mother," Gideon whispered, his voice quiet, flat, and chilling to the bone. "We will not beg them for anything."

He turned his gaze toward the dark sea visible through the small rear window, his fists clenching tight enough to draw blood. "In forty-eight hours, old Silas Caldwell will not have a birthday banquet. He will have a funeral."