Unrivaled Dragon King: God of War’s Revenge

Welcome back, Supreme Dragon King.

Kneeling ten thousand soldiers in pitch-black armor were upon the broken concrete of the private military airport. Their heavy combat boots falling on the ground with one simultaneous strike was even more thunderous. It resonated on the runway and made the wind itself quiet. They bowed down, with their foreheads against the ground, and shuddered with all the terror of utter reverence.

It was the solitary young man in the presence of this sea of steel and iron.

He had an old trench coat of simple, cheap grey that was worn out. His feet were dirty and his hair was unkempt. He appeared to be a beggar to the eye of a distant observer. A beggar tramp who has no name, no name other than the clothes he wears.

The soldiers never looked at his clothes. They looked at his eyes.

This man was Alex. The God of War. The Master of the Temple of the Dragon.

He had mastered the world of the war-torn battlefields within a span of five years. He had killed warlords, devastated empires and reduced kings to his feet. He could have burnt the countries but at this moment, his hands were shivering.

Not from fear. But from anticipation.

"Stand up," Alex said calmly. His voice was not loud, but possessed something weird and resonant, and all the soldiers heard it well among the shrilly screaming wind.

"Sir! The helicopter is about to take you to the White Villa! Hotly General Talon, taking a step. His metalled medals jangled on his chest. Five minutes, fellows, and we will have the city under martial law! The town-garrison is in the expectation of your orders!

The small, cheap gift box in his hand caused Alex to look down. There was a plain silver necklace in it. Less than fifty dollars had been expended on it, bought of a street peddler, but to him it weighed as many pounds as any crown he had ever worn. It was the vow which he had given her five years before.

I come back, Sarah, I come back, said Alex, and his cold eyes closed their on him in a way never seen before in many years. Of returning when I am able to conceal you. Now, no one in this world would dare touch you.'

No, no, said Alex, as he squeezed the box still harder. "I will go alone. I want to surprise my wife. Keep the army on standby. The sky will go black, it will go black, when I need you.

"Yes, Sir!" The General went down on his knees, and was dripping.

Alex has walked out of the airport and turned his back to the army--the scariest force in the universe. On the road he called out a common yellow taxi, and there he had to put a mild smile on his face. He did not desire to frighten her with his soldiers. He did not wish he was the God of war to-day.

He just wanted to be a husband.

Twenty minutes later.

The taxi banged to a stop before the White Villa. It was their home that Alex purchased using his life savings to save Sarah prior to being exiled by his enemies to save her.

The smile on his face halted when Alex got out of the car.

The iron gate was worked and wrenched down, and hung upon the hinges like a mutilated member. His own garden which he had planted with his own hands was overflowing with rubbish and dead weeds and shattered beers bottles. The expensively furnished villa had its windows shattered, and was staring black and empty like hollow eyes.

It didn't look like a home. It looked like a grave.

"What happened?" Alex whispered.

A chill, dark sensation crept up in his breast. His heart started beating against his ribs like a war drum. The murderer-purpose which he had repressed during the journey began to seep out, and the temperature on the street instantly decreased.

He hastened over the gate, not minding the debris that was ripping his trousers. He didn't knock. He kicked the front door open.

BANG!

The bulky door swung open and hit the living room hurling a cloud of dust into the atmosphere.

Inside, the house was a wreck. Pieces of furniture were uprooted and cut. Big vases had been smashed to the ground. The air was stifling with medicine, dust and illness.

At the center of the commotion, a shrieking middle-aged lady was shouting at a terrified maid. His mother-in-law was Martha. She was old and haggard and had wild eyes of stress and fright.

She sprang, holding her chest, when the door flew open. "Who is it? Did the debt collectors reoccur? I told you, we have no money! Get out! Steal the furniture, will you!

Alex stepped into the light. "Mom. It's me."

Martha froze. She looked at the face of Alex and her mouth opened and closed open and closed like a fish. Instead there flashed in her eyes shock, and in its turn was sheer, naked hate.

"You..." Her voice shook with venom. "You... you useless trash! You actually came back?"

She didn't run to hug him. She didn't cry with relief. She stepped up, and hit him as hard as she could on the face.

PAH!

The noise reverberated in the quiet house.

Alex's head didn't even turn. He stood like a statue. He would have escaped a bullet, but he had no hand to escape. He thought that he had earned it taking five years away, even though by doing so he kept them safe.

"Where is Sarah?" Alex put the question, deep and rough.

asks You of Sarah, have you the face to ask? Martha screamed, and caught hold of his collar. She shook him, wept hysterically all over her face. "You ran away! You coward! You left us here alone! Were you aware of what transpired after you left? What did they do to her?--you see?

Alex's body went rigid. The room temperature was plunged a decade lower. The "Dragon Pressure" burst, knocking through the ceramic floor tiles at his feet.

"Who?" Alex asked. One word. And yet it was like a sword being drawn out of a scabbard.

Martha did not feel the falling temperature and the cracking floor. She pushed him away, weeping. "Go look! Go see what your futility brought! She is in the bedroom! Go see your wife!"

Alex did not wait to be spoken to. He faded into motion, and was ascending the stairs quicker than a shadow.

He kicked open the door of the bedroom.

The room was dark. The windows were closed closely to the sun. The center of the room had one hospital bed with beeping machines around it.

Lying on the bed was a woman.

Alex got there, but his legs were as heavy as lead.

It was Sarah. However, it was not the pretty, colorful woman he was remembering. She was skeletal. She was almost transparent, like paper, in her skin. She had her eyes closed and down her throat was a tube that facilitated her breathing.

She resembled an unburied, uncovered dead body.

"Sarah..." Alex's voice broke.

He touched her and seized her by the wrist. He didn't just check her pulse. He even forced his inner energy the Nine Heavens Dragon Art into her veins to heal her.

The face of Alex became pale immediately.

There was no energy.

It wasn't a sickness. It wasn't an accident.

Her soul was missing.

She had been a victim of some unknown Dark Art, the Soul Extraction Technique. They had taken his wife as a human battery and sucked out her life essence to nourish their own magnetism and the result had been a dead body.

This was a worse thing than death.

"Who..." Alex growled. His eyes turned bloodshot. The window began to crack because of the pressure of his anger. "WHO DID THIS?"

Martha was laughing bitterly in the doorway. "Who? The King of the Underground! Don Viper! She was taken as his fancy three years ago. As she turned him down on the ground that she was awaiting your arrival, he hauled her! When he threw her back... like this... she was!

Martha swung a trembling finger towards Alex. "It's your fault! Had she known you had been a man, you would have defended her! but you are nothing but a bit of rubbish!

Alex replaced the hand of Sarah softly on the bed. He took his time in wrapping up the blanket around her shoulders like she were delicate glass.

He turned around. He no longer had the melancholy of his eyes. Now, there was only murder.

And Alex repeated the name Don Viper. "Good. Very good."

There was a bang on a phone on the bedside table.

It wasn't Sarah's phone. It was a low price burner phone that was left there.

Alex picked it up. He pressed answer.

There was a coarse, presumptive voice through the speaker.

"Martha, you old hag! Is the girl dead yet? My Master wants her body to the last rite to-night. In case, she is dead, take the corpse to the warehouse. Unless she is dead, kill her and take her away.

The voice laughed. It was an ugly, sickening noise.

Alex held the phone to his ear. His voice was calm. Too calm. It was like the Grim Reaper speaking to him out of hell.

Listen to me now very carefully, Alex told himself.

The voice at the other end was silent. "Who is this? Where is Martha?"

"I am her husband," Alex said. "And I have a message for you."

"Husband?" The man laughed louder. "Oh! The runaway coward? The trash? Haha! Just in time to bury her, you came back!

clean your neck, Alex said bitterly.

"What?"

"Wash your neck," Alex repeated. Because I am going to cut your head off.

CRACK!

The phone burst in the hand of Alex. The metal and the plastic became dust, and it combined with the blood of his palm.

He glanced at Martha who stood trembling in fear against the wall.

"Take care of her," Alex said. He walked toward the door.

"Where... where are you going?" Martha stuttered. She had never witnessed a countenance as sorrowful as that of anybody. It was the look of a demon.

Alex didn't look back. He got out of the room, and the whole house shook as it were an earthquake had hit it.

To make a grave-yard of this city.