Betrayed By Blood

During a mission overseas, I shielded my younger brother from an explosion—only to wake up months later, my body broken, my mind trapped in the void of a coma.

Grateful for my sacrifice, he repaid me by marrying my wife.

When I finally clawed my way back to consciousness and rushed home, I found my son kneeling on the ground, sobbing as his college acceptance letter lay shredded in his fists.

My nephew loomed over him, slamming a steel pipe into his back. "Lick my shoes clean," he sneered.

"Who are you to think you deserve an education?"

And there was my wife clapping in delight, dabbing the sweat from my nephew’s brow like a doting servant.

"You’re just like your deadbeat father," My wife spat. "Born to be my stepping stone."

My eyes bloodshot, I tightened my fists.

Every last one of them would pay for this dearly.

The school gates swung open, and several security guards rushed out, rubber batons in hand, and surrounded my son, Bran Stormbringer.

I stepped out of the car and walked over.

“Why is the school taking sides without investigating the facts?” I asked one of the guards.

“Didn’t you see those punks rip up this boy’s college acceptance letter?”

The guard spat.

“He laid a hand on John Stormbringer, the young heir of the Stormbringers. He's going to take responsibility for that!

“He's just a dog raised by the Stormbringers. Now he even dares to bite his master? It’s only right that we serve justice and help them discipline him.”

My face had been severely damaged, and reconstructive surgery and skin grafts had left me looking nothing like I once did.

Even my voice had changed from the burns—raw, unfamiliar.

My own son didn’t recognize me, and neither did my nephew, John Stormbringer.

The guards exchanged a glance, then sneered.

“Hit him! He dared challenge Mr. John Stormbringer!”

All I had were my fists, but I had survived years of bullets, blood, life, and death.

Beating a few guard dogs was hardly a challenge for me.

Their skinny arms and legs couldn’t hurt me.

One punch from me left them coughing blood on the pavement.

Bran saw me surrounded by school security and shouted, “Come at me! This man was just passing by—he has nothing to do with this!”

He tried to shield me from the guards.

Once I had floored the ones circling me, I looked up and saw Bran now surrounded by a pack of guards and a group of punks.

John jumped with excitement, yelling, “Beat him to death!”

I grabbed John by the collar, slammed him to the ground, and stomped hard, cracking his ribs beneath my boot.

Then I looked down coldly and asked, “Who were you planning to beat to death?”