Chapter 156: The Scars We Carry
The dining table in Zenith Vista was set with a meal that no one had the heart to eat. Plates of synthesized nutrients, designed for optimal recovery, sat untouched. The air was thick with a silence more suffocating than any noise. James pushed a piece of food around his plate with his fork, the soft scrape the only sound. Minji stared into her glass of water as if it held answers, while Ruby's fists were clenched on the table, her knuckles white.
The shrill, unexpected ring of James's personal comm device shattered the quiet. He flinched, then fumbled for it. The caller ID made his breath hitch: Sam Lee.
He accepted the call, bringing the device to his ear. "Yes, brother?"
The voice on the other end was terse. "Wherever you are, get here. Now." The line went dead before James could form a single question.
James dropped his fork with a clatter, shoving his chair back. The urgency in Sam's voice was a cold splash of water.
"James? Where are you going?" Minji asked, her voice laced with concern.
"Big Brother Sam is calling," he said, already striding towards the teleporter room, his mind racing. "I don't know the reason." He didn't look back, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him.
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The teleporter in the Lee family's private estate flared with a sharp, crimson light. James stepped out into a scene of controlled chaos. The antechamber was packed with stern-faced bodyguards, anxious-looking executives in sharp suits, and various household staff, all waiting with hushed tension for an audience in the inner sanctum. The atmosphere was heavy, gloomy, charged with a sense of crisis.
As James moved through the crowd, a path silently cleared for him. Despite his disheveled appearance—messy hair, a simple black t-shirt, and wrinkled brown pants—no guard moved to stop him. His name, his bloodline, was a key that unlocked all doors here. Their bowed heads and averted gazes only amplified the dread coiling in his stomach.
He moved through the grand hall, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor, and entered a secluded, sound-proofed chamber at the far end.
The scene inside was a stark contrast to the opulent estate outside.
This was a medical recovery room, though it was furnished with the same understated luxury as the rest of the home. The light was soft and indirect, casting long shadows. The air smelled of antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of essence-discharge.
Drew was perched on the edge of a large medical recliner, his torso bare. His pale skin, usually like alabaster, was a canvas of violence. Angry red welts and deep purple bruises crisscrossed his chest and abdomen, with sterile regeneration patches stuck over the worst of them. His physique was lean and toned, every abdominal muscle defined, but the damage made it look like a beautiful statue that had been brutally vandalized.
Haeju sat nearby on a plush sofa, wrapped in a silken robe over a supportive bra. Her face was pale, dark circles under her eyes, and the collar of her robe was open just enough to reveal similar, though less severe, bandaging across her collarbone and shoulder.
But it was Tom Lee who bore the most visible scars of their encounter. He sat in a heavy, high-backed chair, his massive frame seeming to sag into it. His torso was a mess of layered bandages, some already staining a faint pink. One of his arms was immobilized in a sling of advanced biogel, and a deep, freshly stitched gash ran from his temple down his cheek. The King of Ashveil looked… dethroned. Beaten.
James stopped in the doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs. "What... what happened?" he whispered, the words catching in his dry throat.
Tom lifted his head, his one good eye focusing on James. The look in it wasn't one of pain, but of a deep, weary resignation. "The game," he rasped, his voice gravelly and strained, "has changed. And we were not prepared for the new rules."
The gravity in the room was palpable, a weight that seemed to press down on everyone present. Flanking the injured trio were the two pillars of the Lee family: Steve Lee, the patriarch whose sharp eyes missed nothing, and his eldest son, Sam Lee, whose usual calm demeanor was replaced by a tense, simmering anger. The absence of Luiz Lee was a silent note in the chaos; having recently ascended to the Stellar Tier in the Shifting Expanse, he was on a crucial hunt, completely unaware of the storm that had hit his family.
When James entered, the gazes of both Steve and Sam snapped towards him. All the anger and betrayal James had felt towards Tom just hours earlier evaporated in an instant, replaced by a cold, gripping fear. The sight of Tom, Drew, and Haeju—three of the strongest people he knew—so utterly broken, was terrifying.
He rushed to Tom's side. But Tom's wounds were more than physical. The shame of betraying his principles, of handing over his own people, was a poison deeper than any essence-inflicted injury.
Seeing James, Tom struggled violently to his feet, his massive body swaying, fresh blood seeping through his bandages. "James!" he rasped, his voice raw. "Moon and Kai! Where are they? I need to see them! I have to... I have to apologize."
James's heart sank further. "They're gone," he said, his own voice hollow.
"Where?" Tom pleaded, desperation in his single good eye.
"I don't know," James replied, the truth tasting like ash. "And... I don't think they know either."
Defeated, Tom collapsed back into his chair, the fight draining out of him completely. His huge physique seemed to shrink, folding in on itself under the weight of his guilt.
James looked at the shell of the man he had once idolized. "And what would you have done if you found them?" he asked, his tone not accusatory, but filled with a profound sadness. "Could you have given them back their freedom? Could you return the trust they placed in you that you shattered? Could you put Brother Moon's smile back on his face? Or give Brother Kai back his confidence?"
Tom had no answer. He fell utterly silent, his head bowed, a monument of shame and regret.
Into this heavy silence, Sam Lee spoke up, his voice sharp with a desire for retribution. "Why don't we just attack? This 'Rivan' may be overpowered, but he's still at the Planetary Tier. We could easily end this. I can have a team of Stellar or even Galactic Tier assassins mobilized within the hour."
The idea hung in the air for a moment. It was simple, direct, and appealed to the raw desire for vengeance that everyone in the room felt. Drew and Haeju exchanged a look, considering it.
But Steve Lee, who had been quietly observing, finally shattered the fantasy. His voice, usually calm and measured, was like a whip crack of cold reality.
"Are you fucking stupid?" he growled, his gaze sweeping over his son and the others. "Do you have any idea what the Alhuwalia Clan truly is? What they represent? They are not some rogue sect you can simply send assassins after. They are an ancient, unfathomable power woven into the very fabric of this universe's upper echelons."
He stepped forward, his presence dominating the room. "If you are foolish enough to try, then go ahead. But when you do, and we are all inevitably facing our own deaths and our entire corporation is crumbling into dust, do me a favor," he said, his eyes burning into Sam's. "Change my name. I don't want the Lee legacy to be remembered for such a spectacular, suicidal miscalculation."
The room fell into a deeper, more hopeless silence. The path of direct confrontation was not just dangerous; it was an extinction-level event. They were trapped, outmaneuvered not just by a person, but by a system of power they could scarcely comprehend.
Steve Lee's words hung in the air, not just as a warning, but as a chilling decree. As he spoke, the memory of a specific man's face surfaced in his mind—a face from past, etched with a cold, absolute authority that made Steve's hands tremble slightly even now. It was a visceral reminder of the true power they were dealing with.
"We should be grateful," Steve continued, his voice lower but no less intense, "that he only took the contracts of those two brothers and left. He could have slaughtered everyone in that headquarters for sport. And mark my words, he is acting alone, by his own whims. He hasn't even begun to wield the true power of his clan."
He looked at each of them, ensuring they understood the scale. "If Lee Enterprises is a whale in the ocean, then the Alhuwalia Clan is the ocean. They are the environment in which we merely swim. They wouldn't need five minutes to erase us from existence. And the most terrifying part? No one would even bat an eye. The fall of our company, the death of our family... it would be seen as a simple, unremarkable act of nature if the Alhuwalia were the ones doing it."
Sam Lee listened, the fire of his rage burning hotter, fueled by a sense of utter helplessness. The logic was irrefutable, which made it all the more infuriating.
Into this tense silence, Drew spoke from his medical recliner, his voice weak but his analysis sharp. "We shouldn't worry about him using his clan's power," he stated, wincing as he adjusted his position. "A man with an ego like his... he's far too prideful. He considers this his personal game. Using his clan's influence would be an admission that he couldn't handle us himself. He won't do it."
The meeting continued for a while longer, shifting to the grim logistics of rebuilding Ashveil and securing their remaining assets. Tasks were assigned, a strategy meeting was scheduled for that very night, and a plan for damage control began to take shape.
But long after the practical matters were settled, after the others had left to tend to their wounds and duties, one man remained consumed by a fire that would not be quenched: Sam Lee.
The feeling of powerlessness, of being forced to swallow such a humiliating defeat, was a poison in his veins. While others rested, Sam, driven by a furious, restless energy, went not to his bed, but to his private, high-gravity training chamber. He pushed his body to its absolute limits, the physical strain a poor substitute for the vengeance he craved but could not enact. Each punishing rep, each burst of speed, was a silent scream against the immovable wall of the Alhuwalia name.
To be continued…