Wrath of the Forsaken Son

Chapter 6

The city lights were bright and beautiful, but they did not reach the street where Elara lived.

Jian followed her up a flight of stairs that groaned under every step. The hallway smelled of damp wood and old cooking oil. When Elara opened the door to her apartment, Jian felt a sharp pain in his heart. It was a single, tiny room. The wallpaper was peeling like sunburnt skin, and a thin mattress lay on the floor in the corner.

This was the "heiress" of the Callaghan Group. This was what the Mercers had left her while he was away.

"It’s not much," Elara said, her voice small. She turned on a single yellow lightbulb that flickered before staying on. "The Mercers took the mansion. They took the cars. They even took my clothes. I had to sell my mother’s jewelry just to pay the first month's rent here."

Jian looked at her, his eyes softening. "You shouldn't have had to live like this, Elara."

"I’m alive, Jian. That’s more than I expected a year ago." She pointed to a wooden chair. "Sit. Your hands are bleeding."

Jian looked down. During the fight at the hotel, the silver needles had drawn on his own internal energy, causing the skin on his knuckles to crack. He sat down, and Elara brought a small bowl of warm water and a clean rag.

As she gently dabbed at his hands, the silence between them grew heavy. Elara’s fingers were trembling.

"Where did you learn it, Jian?" she asked suddenly. She didn't look up. "The needles. The way you moved. The way you saved my father. They don't teach those things in prison."

Jian looked at the flickering lightbulb. "In the Abyss, there was an old man. They called him the 'Ghost Physician.' He was kept in the deepest cell, chained with cold iron. For five years, he treated me like a son. He taught me that the human body is a map of rivers. If you know where the water flows, you can fix the river. If you block the flow, the river dies."

Elara stopped wiping his hand. She looked at him, her eyes filled with doubt and sadness. "A ghost physician? Jian, please. You don't have to make up stories for me. If you were involved with a gang or if you did something dangerous to get that power... just tell me. I’ve lived in fear for five years. I can handle the truth."

"It is the truth, Elara," Jian said softly.

"No one learns to bring people back from the dead in a prison cell," she whispered, a tear falling into the bowl of water. "I think you’re just trying to protect me by hiding the dark things you had to do."

Before Jian could answer, the front door didn't just open—it exploded inward.

The wooden frame splintered as three large men stepped into the tiny room. They were dressed in cheap leather jackets and smelled of stale cigarettes. The leader was a man with a shaved head and a jagged scar running across his nose. He was holding a heavy iron crowbar.

"Well, well," the lead man sneered. "The lovebirds are back in their nest."

Elara jumped up, standing in front of Jian. "Who are you? I paid the rent this month!"

"We don't care about rent, lady," the man said, spitting on the floor. "Lord Halloway sent us. He says you owe him for the 'emotional distress' caused at the party tonight. And since you don't have a penny, we’re here to take what’s left."

He swung the crowbar, smashing a small porcelain vase on the table. It was the last thing Elara had from her mother.

"No!" Elara cried, reaching for the shards.

Another man grabbed a framed photo of Elara’s parents from the bedside table. He looked at it, laughed, and dropped it to the floor, grinding his heavy boot into the glass.

"Stop it! Please!" Elara begged.

The men began to tear the apartment apart. They ripped the mattress, smashed the single chair, and threw Elara’s few books out the window. They were looking to break her spirit, not just her furniture.

The lead man walked toward Jian, who was still sitting calmly in the corner. He raised the crowbar. "And what about you, beggar? Halloway said to make sure you can never hold a needle again. Give me your hands."

Elara tried to rush forward, but one of the thugs grabbed her by the hair, pinning her against the wall. "Stay put, princess. Watch the show."

"Jian, run!" Elara screamed.

But Jian didn't run. He didn't even stand up. Instead, he reached for a small, chipped teapot that had survived the destruction. He poured a cup of lukewarm tea and took a slow, calm sip.

The lead thug blinked, confused. "Are you deaf? I said give me your hands!"

Jian looked at the man. His eyes were not angry. They were empty. It was the look of a god watching an ant.

"You have a choice," Jian said. His voice was steady, almost pleasant. "You can put that crowbar down, apologize to my wife, and spend the rest of the night cleaning this room until it shines."

The thugs burst into laughter. "Or what?" the leader mocked. "You'll poke me with a needle?"

Jian looked at his watch. "Or, in ten seconds, your boss—the man who sent you—will call you. He will be crying. He will be begging you to leave this building. And if he doesn't call, or if you don't listen..."

Jian took another sip of tea. "...then all three of you will die before the tea in this cup gets cold."

The leader laughed so hard he turned red. "You’re insane! Ten seconds? I’ll give you three seconds to start screaming!"

He raised the crowbar high, aiming for Jian’s head.

"Ten," Jian counted.

"Nine."

"Eight."

The thugs grinned. The man holding Elara tightened his grip.

"Seven."

"Six."

"Five."

The lead man roared and began to swing the iron bar down with all his might.

"Four."

"Three."