Ethan Wilder Rise to Power

Chapter 2: The Strange Encounter

Ethan stared at the bottom of the empty bottle in his hand, the bitter taste of cheap whiskey still burning the back of his throat. The rain poured down in sheets, soaking through his thin jacket as he stumbled along the deserted street. The world around him blurred, the harsh glow of streetlights smeared like watercolor in the night.

‘What’s the point anymore?’ he thought, his steps unsteady as his mind spiraled.

He’d spent the last week working double shifts, barely sleeping, eating scraps when he could afford them. Every dollar went to paying off the mountain of debt Chloe and her family had left him with. Months ago, he’d emptied his savings to help them, believing their lies about needing money for medical bills, car repairs, and rent. Now, he was drowning in it, with no end in sight.

‘I always knew love is a scam. All of my efforts to make Chloe and her ungrateful family happy. And for what?’

The thought nagged at him. He was too tired to be angry anymore. All that was left was the gnawing ache of despair, a void that whiskey didn’t quite fill.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, the rain streaming down his face, mingling with the tears he refused to acknowledge.

‘Maybe it’d be better to just . . . stop. Just stop everything.’

The image of Chloe’s smug smile flashed in his mind, her cold words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He clenched the empty bottle, his knuckles white against the glass.

A sharp voice broke through his thoughts.

“Hand it over, old lady, or this’ll get ugly.”

Ethan turned, squinting through the rain. Just ahead, a frail old woman stood at the mouth of an alley, clutching a small, battered purse. Two men loomed over her, their voices harsh and threatening.

“Please,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “I don’t have much. Just let me go.”

One of the thugs sneered. “You don’t get it, grandma. We’re not asking.”

Ethan’s grip on the bottle tightened. His heart raced, but not from the alcohol. A reckless idea took hold, the kind only whiskey and despair could inspire.

‘Maybe this is it,’ he thought. ‘Maybe this is how it ends.’

Before he could stop himself, Ethan staggered toward the alley, his soaked boots splashing in puddles.

“Hey!” he shouted, his voice rough but steady. The thugs turned, their faces twisting into sneers when they saw him.

“What do you want, pal?” one of them asked, stepping forward.

Ethan sluggishly bent to smash the whiskey bottle on the ground. He then lifted the broken bottle, the jagged edges catching the faint light. He pointed it at them, his arm shaking from more than just the cold.

“Leave her alone,” he said, the words slurring slightly.

The thugs exchanged a glance, and for a moment, Ethan thought they might laugh. But then something shifted.

“Wait,” the shorter one said, his voice dropping. He nudged his partner. “That stance. You see it?”

The taller thug squinted, his eyes narrowing.

Ethan had no idea what they were talking about. He’d seen the stance in some old action movie, one of those ridiculous low-budget flicks where the hero took out a gang with nothing but a broken bottle and a bad attitude.

“Yeah,” the taller thug said, taking a step back. “That’s . . . that’s him, isn’t it?”

Ethan blinked, his alcohol-clouded brain struggling to catch up. ‘What are they talking about?’

“You kidding me?” the shorter one hissed. “That’s the guy! That’s Razorback!”

Ethan’s confusion deepened, but he didn’t lower the bottle. He swayed slightly, trying to look more menacing than he felt.

The taller thug’s face went pale. “No way. Razorback disappeared years ago. No one’s seen him since that fight with the Black Wolves.”

“You wanna stick around to find out if it’s him?” the shorter one shot back. “Because I don’t.”

Ethan watched, dumbfounded, as the two men backed away, their bravado crumbling.

“We’re out,” the taller one muttered, grabbing his partner’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Within seconds, they were gone, their footsteps splashing into the night.

Ethan stood there, the broken bottle still raised, rain dripping from his soaked hair into his eyes. He turned slowly to look at the old woman, who was staring at him with a mix of fear and awe.

“T-Thank you,” she stammered, clutching her purse tightly.

Ethan lowered the bottle, his body trembling—not from the cold or the alcohol, but from the adrenaline flooding his veins. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

The woman stepped closer, her frail hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re a brave young man,” she said softly. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

Ethan shook his head, his throat too tight to respond.

The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a small object, its surface gleaming faintly even in the dim light. It was a necklace, the pendant carved from jade into an intricate design that seemed to shimmer with its own light.

“Please, take this,” she said, holding it out to him. “You’ve earned it.”

Ethan frowned. “I don’t want your necklace,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

“It’s not just a necklace,” she insisted, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made his skin prickle. “It’s meant for someone like you. Someone brave. Please, take it.”

Ethan hesitated, then reached out and took the necklace, slipping it into his pocket. “Thanks,” he muttered, not looking at her.

The woman smiled faintly, her eyes soft with something Ethan couldn’t quite place. “You’re stronger than you know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then she turned and disappeared into the rain, leaving Ethan alone in the alley.

For a long moment, he stood there, staring at the spot where she’d been. The adrenaline ebbed away, leaving him hollow and trembling.

‘What the hell just happened?’ he thought, clutching the broken bottle tightly in his hand.

The rain poured harder, soaking him to the bone, but Ethan didn’t care. Somewhere deep in his chest, something stirred—a spark of something he hadn’t felt in years.

It wasn’t hope. Not yet.

But it was something.