Having A Death Wish

"Beat him up! Kill him!" Jaxon screamed at the top of his lungs. He struggled to his feet amidst the ruined, splintered banquet table, clutching his bruised cheek. Wine and shattered porcelain crunched beneath his expensive leather shoes with every step he took. Up on the grand main stage, Declan wore a sadistic, anticipatory smile. The wealthy heir was eager for Torin to be beaten to a bloody pulp and make a fool of himself in front of Oakhaven's elite.

Instead of cowering in fear against the dozen armed men rushing him, Torin let out a cold, dismissive sneer. He took a single deliberate step forward. He planted his foot firmly onto the pristine carpet.

Boom!

The heavy impact of his footstep released a terrifying surge of internal energy. The sheer force made the massive banquet hall shake as though it had just been hit by a localized earthquake. Crystal chandeliers swayed wildly above, raining faint tinkling noises over the crowd.

In a mere split second, the dozen attacking goons who had charged him simultaneously let out agonizing, blood-curdling wails. An invisible wall of kinetic force slammed into their chests. They were sent flying backward through the air. Their bodies crashed through multiple rows of expensive tables and chairs. Wood splintered under their weight. Silverware clattered loudly against the marble pillars. The previously immaculate wedding venue was now a chaotic disaster area of groaning men and broken furniture.

Chop stood frozen in place. His jaw hung open as he gaped at his moaning, crippled lackeys scattered across the floor. A terrifying chill ran down his spine, freezing his blood.

At the wing of the main stage, Magnus Thorne, the imposing family patriarch, furrowed his brows into a deep frown. Unlike the ignorant guests hiding behind their napkins, Magnus was a seasoned martial artist himself. He could immediately and clearly tell that Torin's combat capabilities were far beyond those of an ordinary street brawler. This kind of raw power was rare. The young man was not to be underestimated.

Infuriated by the disastrous turn of events ruining his perfect day, Declan roared a curse at Chop. "Damn it! What a useless bunch!" he shouted, damning the enforcer and his men as a bunch of idiots. Losing all sense of decorum, Declan rushed down the stage steps to handle the situation personally. His panicked bride, Chloe, trailed closely behind him.

"Darling, wait!" she cried out.

Fearing his rash son was no match for the skilled intruder, Magnus quickly abandoned his post. He followed closely. "Don't act rashly, Declan!" he warned aloud, hoping to stop a direct confrontation.

Suddenly, the grand oak doors of the banquet hall burst open. A dozen trained hotel security guards, all heavily armed with thick rubber batons, rushed into the room.

"What is going on here?" the lead guard demanded.

The Prestige Hotel belonged to the Mercers, Oakhaven's wealthiest and most powerful family. Any physical disturbance within its walls was tantamount to a death wish for the perpetrators. Even the Thorne family usually tread carefully here.

Unbeknownst to the crowd below, up in a luxurious private room on the third floor, an ailing Robert Mercer flushed with a terrifying fury upon hearing the echoing crashing sounds radiating from the ceiling.

"Someone dares to make trouble here?" Robert snapped. He turned his glare onto the terrified hotel manager. "What are the lot of you doing? How useless! Hurry up and send some security over lest the esteemed Mercer family's pristine reputation be permanently tarnished!"

"I've already done that, sir," the manager stammered, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.

"Why aren't you there to handle the matter, then? Are you waiting for them to get up in arms?" Robert shouted. The exertion caused him to break into a harsh coughing fit, his chest heaving with the effort.

Recognizing her father's fragile medical state, Genevieve intervened. She stepped between them, her presence calm and commanding. She gently reassured the older man, urging him to stop fuming so his recently stabilized condition wouldn't relapse.

"Dad, you're not all that well, so please stop fuming," Genevieve said softly but firmly. "I'll go downstairs and take a personal look at the situation."

With her father pacified for the moment, she confidently stepped out of the private suite to manage the escalating crisis.

Back down in the ruined second-floor banquet hall, the sweating manager trotted over to the commotion. He bowed and scraped deferentially before the furious Magnus Thorne.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Thorne," the manager pleaded, wringing his hands. "I didn't expect someone to be so audacious as to dare cause trouble at the wedding of your son. I will have my guards throw the troublemaker out of the hotel right away to appease you."

He turned to his squad of guards. "Why are you all still standing around? Haul the person making a scene here out!"

"Wait!" Magnus commanded loudly, his voice echoing over the ruined room. The advancing security guards halted in their tracks.

Magnus glared at the manager. "How could you possibly suggest just letting the boy go when he wreaked havoc at my only son's wedding and unsettled my esteemed guests? How would the Thorne family be able to hold its head up in public?"

He pointed a weathered finger at Torin, declaring ruthlessly, "Even if he doesn't pay with his actual life today, he must leave his hands and legs behind as a brutal payment."

The manager swallowed hard, caught in a terrible dilemma.

Magnus sneered, his eyes filled with dark intent. "The powerful Thorne family will personally resolve this specific matter. You can all get out of here now!"

Greatly relieved to be absolved of the violent responsibility, the cowardly manager agreed exuberantly. "Sure, sure! We're leaving right away!" He stepped aside and quickly backed his guards down.

"I don't want his limbs, Dad! I want his life!" Declan spat, shooting venomous daggers from his eyes directly at Torin. He stomped forward, his face twisted in rage. "I'm going to personally kill you today, Torin! I want you to know the lethal consequences of angering a Thorne!"

Without displaying a single hint of fear or intimidation, Torin simply drawled with a light, mocking chuckle. He met the heir's furious gaze with calm, deadpan eyes.

"As I said earlier," Torin casually reminded him, "you wouldn't be getting married if I attended your wedding. You just wouldn't believe me at the time." He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you believe me now?"

"Not even when hell freezes over!" Declan roared. He lost his temper, swinging his fist with ruthless malice directly at Torin's face.

Thump!

Snap!

The sickening, incredibly crisp sound of thick bone shattering split the tense air of the banquet hall.

Declan's arm bent downward at a peculiar, gruesome, and unnatural angle. Agonizing, white-hot pain tore through his nervous system. The wealthy heir howled at the top of his lungs, his face draining of all color as he collapsed to his knees.

The surrounding wealthy onlookers staggered backward in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. Their minds short-circuited as they stared at the gruesome sight. They realized that this seemingly poor youth actually dared to make a move against the untouchable Declan Thorne. He broke the heir's arm without breaking a sweat. In the silence that followed the horrific snap, they collectively determined that the boy must be sick of living.