Return of the Deity

Edgar stared down at the young man kneeling in the rubble. His weathered hands trembled as he reached out, his calloused fingers hovering just inches from Kaelen's face. He seemed terrified that if he touched the boy, the illusion would shatter into the dusty air. He finally placed his palms on his son's broad shoulders, feeling the solid, undeniable reality of muscle and bone beneath the thick fabric of the black trench coat.

"Kaelen, is that really you? You are actually back!" Edgar choked out, his voice cracking under the heavy weight of sheer disbelief.

Kaelen kept his eyes fixed on the broken ground for a moment longer. The crushing guilt of his long absence pressed heavily against his chest. He had stabbed the corrupt official who tried to assault Lyra all those years ago. He had fled into the unforgiving wasteland to keep his family safe from the immediate fallout. Leaving was the only choice he had back then, but it had left his father to face the bitter ruins of their life alone.

Life in the wasteland had been a merciless crucible. Kaelen survived only because of the Secret Record of the War Deity he carried in his mind. He had endured countless brushes with death, bleeding in the dirt, surrounded by enemies who wanted his head. During his darkest moments, the memory of his family and the woman waiting for him in the Core District fueled his stubborn will to live. The ancient powers locked within the Secret Record allowed him to cheat death time after time.

Over six agonizing years, Kaelen carved his name across the brutal territories. He crushed prominent thousand-year-old families and dismantled ancient sects with long histories of dominance. He bathed in their blood and climbed over their broken ranks to claim ultimate prestige. Yet, kneeling here in the dirt before his father, he felt like that same helpless boy who had run away in the dead of night.

Edgar suddenly raised his right hand and brought it down hard on Kaelen's shoulder with a loud slap.

Gideon stood motionless a few paces away, though his right eyebrow twitched at the sudden sound. Throughout the four outer expanses of the wasteland, only three people possessed the courage to lay a hand on the supreme commander in such a manner. Now, Gideon noted, a fourth person existed in the Core District.

Tears streamed freely down Edgar's dirt-streaked face as he struck his son's shoulder again, softer this time. "You stinking brat! It has been six years! Why didn't you send any news home?"

Kaelen slowly raised his head. He looked into his father's red, tear-filled eyes. "Dad, I am sorry. I truly am a terrible son for letting you suffer all these years."

The first two years of his exile had been a desperate, endless struggle just to draw breath. He fought stray beasts, rogue mercenaries, and the harsh elements. Sending a message home would have exposed his location and brought danger straight to his family's doorstep.

By the third year, the Secret Record of the War Deity began to unlock its deeper mysteries within him. Kaelen gained a solid standing and established the Crimson Dragons, turning a band of hardened survivors into a lethal fighting force. For the next three years, he led them in relentless warfare against powerful factions and organizations vying for dominance. Sleep was a rare luxury. Communicating with his family remained an impossible risk.

It was only seven days ago that the final battle ended. He mastered the peak teachings of the Secret Record, crushed the last opposing coalition, and cemented the Crimson Dragons as the undisputed rulers of the four outer expanses. With his authority cemented in blood and steel, he finally marched back to the Core District with glory.

Edgar gripped Kaelen's arms and pulled him to his feet. He studied the sharp, mature lines of his son's face, noting the cold edge that had replaced the boyish softness. It made his heart ache with sorrow for whatever the boy had endured, yet a profound comfort washed over him.

"Good! All that matters is that you are back home with me!" Edgar wiped his damp face with a dirty sleeve. He cast a quick, wary glance at the mountain of a man standing silently nearby before focusing back on his son. "Where have you been hiding for the past six years?"

Kaelen reached out and gently patted his father's right arm. "Dad, I will tell you everything about it once I finish dealing with the matters right here."

Before arriving at Oak Lane, Gideon had delivered a comprehensive report on the Vance family's current situation. Kaelen's departure had not shielded them from the brutal consequences. The local authorities seized his father's retail shops and liquidated his businesses. Within four harsh years, Edgar lost his entire fortune and was forced to break his back doing menial labor at dusty construction sites.

For the past two years, his father operated a small, greasy food stall on a crowded pedestrian street in the Lower Precinct. It was a meager living, barely enough to feed a family of three.

Kaelen stared at the thick, yellowish calluses covering his father's hands. He saw the deep exhaustion etched into the older man's stooped posture. A dark, terrifying killing intent ignited deep within Kaelen's chest. Six years ago, he possessed no power and could only run away into the shadows. Today, he commanded hundreds of thousands of elite soldiers as the head of the Crimson Dragons. He ruled the outer territories.

He was no longer a powerless boy fleeing into the night. He would exact an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Anyone who dared to oppress his bloodline would pay a devastating price.

Kaelen offered his father a reassuring smile, masking the storm raging in his soul. "Dad, please do not worry about this. No one shall ever bully our family from now on. I promise you."

The warmth vanished from Kaelen's face the moment he turned around. He locked his cold, intimidating glare on the trembling gang of thugs huddled near the idle excavator. He raised a single finger and pointed straight at the long-haired leader trying to hide behind his bruised subordinates.

"You! Step out right now!" Kaelen commanded, his voice echoing like thunder through the ruins.

The long-haired man flinched. He swallowed hard, trying to project a tough facade as he stepped forward on shaky legs. "What do you want? I am warning you right now! This is Victor Carmine's territory! You better watch your back before you cross him!"

Kaelen narrowed his eyes. The burning rage within them was impossible to conceal. "Shut your mouth."

A blur of motion ripped through the air. Kaelen crossed the distance in a fraction of a second, plunging directly into the cluster of thugs. Before the long-haired man could even register the movement, a grip like forged steel clamped around his throat. Kaelen hoisted the man off the broken pavement with a single arm.

The long-haired thug choked, his boots kicking uselessly at the empty air. He stared down into Kaelen's merciless eyes and felt a sudden, icy chill paralyze his spine. All the color drained from his face. His limbs locked up in sheer terror.

He clutched desperately at Kaelen's iron wrist, his voice coming out in a pathetic wheeze. "Please! Have mercy on me!"

The surrounding thugs scattered backward, leaving their leader hanging. They looked at the bloody, groaning bodies of their fallen comrades scattered on the dirt, then stared at the terrifying man in the black coat. Not a single one of them dared to breathe, let alone speak.

Kaelen maintained a deathly calm expression as he tightened his grip just enough to restrict the airflow. "Did you say you want to kill my father?"

The long-haired thug choked out a desperate gasp, his face distorting in horror as his oxygen depleted. "I was only obeying orders! You should look for Victor Carmine!"

A ferocious gleam flashed across Kaelen's dark eyes. He loosened his grip slightly, allowing the man to draw a ragged breath. "Victor Carmine? Is he the one who wants to tear down my house and ruin this neighborhood?"

The thug nodded frantically, his long hair whipping around his pale face. "Yes! Victor desires this specific area! He plans to demolish the whole of Oak Lane to build a high-end commercial community. I am only one of his many subordinates doing the dirty work!"

Kaelen let out a cold scoff and muttered under his breath. "An abettor to evil is equally despicable."

He dropped the long-haired man. As the thug's boots hit the rubble, Kaelen's hand darted forward like a striking viper. His fingers tapped the center of the man's chest three times in rapid succession, hitting specific nerve clusters with pinpoint accuracy derived from the Secret Record.

The long-haired thug staggered backward and fell hard onto his hands and knees. He rubbed his chest, panting heavily. "What did you just do to me?"

The words barely left his mouth before his expression twisted into a mask of pure agony. A blood-curdling scream tore from his throat. He collapsed sideways into the dirt, his limbs twitching and thrashing wildly as if invisible flames were roasting his flesh.

The torturous display lasted for a full minute. The silent thugs watched in wide-eyed horror as their leader writhed in the dust. When the spasms finally ceased, the long-haired man lay gasping for air, his clothes drenched in cold sweat as if he had been dragged from a freezing river. Every muscle in his body burned with a phantom pain akin to thousands of venomous ants chewing on his bones.

Kaelen stood over the shivering man and stared down with an indifferent gaze. "Today is the day of my glorious return, so I do not wish to taint it by killing anyone. However, you are to pass my word directly to Victor Carmine. Tell him I will pay a personal visit tomorrow to repay him for everything he has done to my family."

He kicked a piece of broken brick toward the huddle of thugs. "Now, scram!"

The command broke the spell of fear holding the gang captive. They scrambled to obey.

The long-haired thug groaned weakly, pushing himself up from the dirt with trembling arms. "Yes! We will scram right now!"

He signaled frantically to his men. Two thugs rushed forward, hoisting their crippled leader by his arms to support his dead weight. The others hurriedly gathered the unconscious and groaning bodies of their comrades, dragging them away from the terrifying demons standing in their path. The arrogant gang fled down the ruined street with their tails firmly tucked between their legs, disappearing around the corner in a frantic cloud of dust.

Silence returned to the chaotic lane.

Edgar blinked in bewilderment. He looked at the empty street, then at the towering Gideon, and finally at his son. He honestly wondered if the crushing stress of the demolition had finally driven him mad and caused a vivid hallucination. But the solid presence of Kaelen standing there proved otherwise.

A joyful, relieved smile broke across Edgar's weary face. "Let's go home."

Kaelen nodded, a deep sense of peace washing over him. "Yes, let's go home."

He had shed rivers of blood across the wasteland. He had braced against lethal dangers, slaughtered powerful warlords, and endured endless solitary nights under foreign stars just to hear those exact words again. It was a simple phrase, yet it carried more weight than any title or conquest.

Father and son walked side by side toward the modest, faded structure that held so many memories. Gideon followed at a respectful distance, remaining silent as a shadow trailing behind them.

They stepped over chunks of broken concrete and shattered glass left behind by the excavator's heavy treads. The air smelled of kicked-up dust and old memories. For a fleeting moment, Kaelen felt a genuine warmth returning to his hardened heart. The bitter wars of the wasteland faded into the background. He was finally back where he belonged, ready to protect the people he loved.

As they approached the small porch, the front door suddenly burst wide open, hitting the exterior wall with a loud bang that shattered the peaceful quiet.

A petite figure stormed out of the house, stopping at the edge of the porch. It was Clara, his stepmother. Her swollen belly indicated her advanced pregnancy, but her physical condition did nothing to temper the fierce, blinding fury radiating from her sharp eyes.

She glared down at the three men, her gaze locking directly onto Kaelen with pure, unadulterated hostility.

"Go home? How can he go home? Has he not made us suffer enough?" Clara shrieked, her voice shrill and trembling with unbridled rage.

She pointed an accusatory finger down the steps, her beautiful face twisted in bitter resentment. "Edgar Vance, are you insane? How can you bring him home? Has he not ruined us enough? Do you want him to kill us all?"