Wrath of the Forsaken Son

Chapter 4

The laughter of the rich was a cruel, sharp sound. It filled the ballroom, bouncing off the gold-leafed walls.

"A miracle doctor?" one man chuckled, sipping his champagne. "He looks like he hasn’t washed in a month, let alone been to medical school."

"Look at those little needles," a woman giggled. "Is he going to sew a button on the dying man’s shirt?"

Standing next to Lord Halloway was a man in a crisp white lab coat—Dr. Thorne. He was the city’s most famous cardiologist, but his eyes were cold and greedy. He looked at Jian’s silver needles with a sneer.

"I have practiced medicine for thirty years," Dr. Thorne said, his voice loud so everyone could hear. "Mr. Callaghan is suffering from terminal organ failure brought on by aggressive cancer. To suggest he is poisoned is an insult to science. This man is a fraud, a convict, and a danger to the public."

But Elara didn't laugh. She watched her father’s face. It was turning a terrifying shade of blue.

"Jian," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He... he isn't breathing."

Suddenly, the heart monitor attached to the wheelchair let out a long, flat, screaming beep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

"He’s gone," Madam Mercer said, hiding a smile behind her lace handkerchief. "How tragic. Guards, take this 'doctor' away before he desecrates the body."

Jian didn't move. He didn't even look at the guards rushing toward him. His entire world narrowed down to the man in the wheelchair. He saw the way the life was draining out, fleeing toward the feet.

"Elara, hold his head," Jian commanded.

"Don't touch him!" Dr. Thorne shouted. He stepped forward, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, hidden syringe filled with a clear, deadly liquid. As the guards closed in, Thorne tried to jab the syringe into Mr. Callaghan’s neck—a final strike to make sure the "poison" finished its work. "He is my patient!"

Jian’s eyes flickered. Without looking up from the old man’s chest, he lashed out with his right leg.

The kick was like a bolt of lightning. It caught Dr. Thorne squarely in the chest. There was a sickening crack of ribs, and the doctor was sent flying backward. He crashed through a long catering table, sending lobsters, ice sculptures, and expensive wine flying everywhere. He landed in a heap, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

The guards froze. The guests gasped.

"Stay back," Jian warned. His voice was no longer human; it sounded like the low rumble of a coming earthquake.

He turned back to Mr. Callaghan. With a blur of motion, he slammed his palm onto the old man’s sternum. It wasn't a punch; it was a release of energy. At the same time, his other hand danced over the silver needles.

He placed seven needles in a star pattern around the heart. This was the Divine Pulse—the forbidden art of the Calamity Physician.

"Rise," Jian whispered.

He flicked the end of the center needle with his fingernail.

A low, humming sound began to fill the room. It started as a faint buzz, like a bee. But within seconds, it grew into a high-pitched vibration that made people’s teeth ache. The silver needles began to glow with a faint, ghostly blue light. They were vibrating so fast they became a blur.

The hum grew louder. It reached a frequency that the human ear could barely stand.

CRACK!

A wine glass in a guest's hand shattered. Then another. Then, the massive crystal chandeliers above them began to rain glass shards as the bowls exploded. The guests screamed, ducking for cover as the ballroom was showered in "crystal snow."

"Look!" Elara pointed, her eyes wide.

The black veins on Mr. Callaghan’s neck were receding. The dark, bruised color was being pushed back toward his chest, as if an invisible vacuum were sucking the poison out.

Jian’s face was dripping with sweat. Performing the Divine Pulse took every ounce of his internal strength. His muscles burned, but he didn't stop. He pressed his thumb against a specific point on the old man’s throat and pushed.

"Out!" Jian roared.

Mr. Callaghan’s body lurched forward. His back arched like a bow. He let out a wet, hacking cough.

A massive glob of thick, black bile—the color of used motor oil—shot out of his mouth and hit the white carpet. The smell was horrific, like rotting meat and sulfur. The guests gagged, covering their noses.

But then, something miraculous happened.

The flat line on the heart monitor jumped.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The blue tint left Mr. Callaghan’s face. His skin turned a healthy, warm pink. His chest rose and fell in a deep, greedy gulp of air.

The old man opened his eyes. They weren't cloudy anymore; they were sharp and full of a terrible clarity. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on the front row.

"Father?" Elara sobbed, reaching for him.

Mr. Callaghan didn't look at his daughter yet. He raised a shaky hand and pointed a finger directly at Madam Mercer and Silas. His voice was weak, but every word was like a knife in the silence of the room.

"You..." Mr. Callaghan gasped. "The tea... you brought me the tea every night. You and Silas... you told me it was medicine."

Madam Mercer’s face went from pale to ghostly white. She tried to speak, but no words came out.

"They did this to me!" Mr. Callaghan shouted, his voice gaining strength. "They were killing me in my own home!"

The ballroom erupted into a frenzy. The elite guests, who had just been laughing at Jian, now turned their judgmental glares toward the Mercers. Lord Halloway stepped back, trying to distance himself from the scandal, but Jian’s eyes were already on him.

Jian stood up slowly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The silver needles were still in his hand, humming quietly.

"The debt is paid, and the truth is out," Jian said, looking at the terrified Mercer family. "But we are just getting started."

Suddenly, the doors at the side of the ballroom burst open. A group of men in dark tactical gear—not Halloway’s guards, but something more professional—rushed in. They weren't looking for the Mercers. They were all looking at Jian.

The lead man, who had a red lotus tattoo on his wrist, stepped forward and bowed.

"The Sovereign’s return has been noted," the man said. "But the Crimson Sect does not allow witnesses to their failures."

He pulled a detonator from his belt.