God Complex

Chapter Two

‘EXTERNAL THREAT DETECTED. SYSTEM SUSPENDING RESURRECTION OF HOST,’ the voice notified, using nanoseconds to react to Henry's attacks. It continued, ‘COMMENCING PROTECTION BYPASS. DONE. SCANNING FOR THIS WORLD'S BEST PROTECTIVE TALENTS. MARTIAL ARTS INFERRED. HARNESSING THE TALENTS OF THE WORLD'S BEST MARTIAL ARTISTS: IP MAN'S WING CHUN, BRUCE LEE'S JEET KUNE DO, MIKE TYSON'S HEAVYWEIGHT BOXING, MASTER CHOI'S TAEKWONDO. ALL TALENTS HARNESSED. COMMENCING FULL CONTROL OF HOST'S BODY.’

Thereafter, energy coursed through Jason's veins like bolts of electricity, causing his body to twitch. His left arm, once still and silent, abruptly jerked back to life, grabbing Henry 's gun and pushing its barrel upward, changing the direction of the bullet before the shooter could react. The bullet, hot and piercing, blazed out with a resounding bang, grazing Henry 's face and taking some of his flesh. He stumbled, falling backwards. ‘What just happened?’ while his pain-filled grunts ricocheted over the rain, Henry wondered.

How did his gun barrel that had been perfectly aligned with the delivery boy's head, changed direction so quickly leaving him at the receiving end of the attack? His face was now a disfigured mess while the pauper remained unharmed. How was he now laying in the rain-soaked street with shaking hands, pressing against his throbbing face? Before his questions could be met, two of his henchmen, following the consigliere's orders, forced him into the Cadillac and sped away to seek medical attention.

Silence accompanied his departure, and the cold atmosphere felt imposing. Having just witnessed what Jason's body could do, the consigliere and his eight gunmen cautiously approached, moving with a soft yet deadly pace, using the occasional lightning flash to keep sight on their target. The consigliere himself was especially vigilant; in his fifteen years as a professional mercenary, he had never seen a dead man defend himself. Either this was divine intervention, which the seasoned assassin dismissed as nonsense, or Henry 's negligence was fighting back. Regardless, he would end it quickly. He pulled out two silenced pistols, matching his men.

The body twinged, and they paused, prepared. The unconscious form then bent and rose without support, prompting the assassins to react accordingly, their hands nestling on the triggers, waiting for the order. It straightened, and the body glared, carefully scrutinizing each of them with closed eyes. For the first time in their lives, the mobsters found themselves spooked. Even the consigliere had an apprehensive countenance. Scared out of their wits, they mindlessly fired, but with a flash of lightning, the body was no longer in front of them.

“Who ordered you to shoot?” The consigliere grabbed one of the henchmen's trench coats, enraged. “Go find him. Now!” He pushed five henchmen forward. The deadpan looking men stalked to the nearby guardrail, uncertain that he was behind it. Unfortunately he was, and before they could react, a cinder block pierced through the rain, smashing against one head, killing him instantly. The consigliere staggered at the sight of this. The rest of the henchmen gasped.

Jason’s body threw itself over the guardrail, spreading his legs apart and squaring his shoulders as he took an unusual yet intimidating martial arts stance. His eyes remained shut, and both hands clenched heavy cinder blocks. Understandably, his opponents were frightened but also offended. The four of them lunged at him. The system quickly utilized its talents and seamlessly wove between two bullets. Spotting a knockout opening from his nearest opponent, it threw his weight into an uppercut, snapping the opponent’s head upward with the block, crumpling him. The swift, concentrated attack left it vulnerable for a moment, and his attackers seized the opportunity to fire point-blank. It strategically fixed the blocks at its vital organs and it reduced the force of the bullets, limiting damage. The henchmen are stunned. He just shielded bullets.

They reloaded and advanced. The system adapted accordingly, smacking a cinder block against the closest. That concentrated attack made it vulnerable and two fired. It backflipped strokes of the metals, but it wasn't fast enough. Bullets hit him. He fell but didn't hit the ground. It bent on its knees, and snapped back up at the men. A bullet had caused a dent on his face, and the men watched with wide-eyes, as the wounds knitted back shut. It drew a kick one away, and before the other could react, balance, and swept him off his feet, disarming him in the process. The man looked up, pleading for his life, but the system smacked the cinder block against him, silencing him. The last struggled up. The system sent him back, shooting his legs.

The system then turned to the rest of the men, dangerously sizing each of them up. They were all infuriated. Without orders from Mister Song, the henchmen sprinted toward him, this time adding combat knives to their arsenal to ensure the target was eliminated. Gunshots mixed with flashes of lightning. Still men dropped dead. The consigliere watched in stunned disbelief as blurs of robotic yet fluid attacks erupted from the supposed delivery boy. It was unbelievable. According to the files, Jason was an orphan with barely any decent education and lots of debt. The only notable thing about him was that he was married to a Rothschild. They had greenlit this assassination. Had they been deceived?

“Shit…” With another flash of lightning, Jason had disappeared from the pile of unconscious bodies and now stood before him. The aged mercenary reacted swiftly, shooting straight, but the system grabbed both guns, snapping his fingers on them and slamming the man to the floor. The mercenary drew out a knife despite the pain but received a bullet to the leg, crippling him back onto the wet ground. If he hadn't been distracted, he might have put up a good fight.

Threat quashed, the system discarded the guns, trudged over to its host's scooter, and then, leveraging the skills of the greatest mechanic, straightened the lopsided tires and reconnected the chains. Voilà, the scooter roared to life. The system drew itself onto the scooter, and with the host still unconscious, it pressed on the gas and sped toward his desired destination. The consigliere watched with ragged breath as Jason disappeared down the road, oblivious to the conflict he had unwittingly entangled himself in. If only he knew what the people who sent them were capable of, he would have quietly perished.

The scooter eased to a stop, and the mechanical voice notified, “SYSTEM COMMENCING RESURRECTION OF HOST. LOADING... LOADING... LOADING. DONE. HOST RESURRECTED. SYSTEM SUSPENDING ESSENTIAL FUNCTIONS TO PREPARE WINDOW MODULES. FADING INTO SUBCONSCIOUS.”

Jason’s eyelids fluttered, but before he could see clearly, a loud, guttural scream erupted from his mouth, as if he were reacting to a life-threatening incident. Quickly, his hands swept across his body, searching for wounds, while his eyes darted around looking for cars. He couldn’t find either. In fact, he wasn’t at the intersection; he was standing at the entrance of his destination, while people frowned at him. Jason, confused, realized he might've been hallucinating. “I’m so sorry for screaming,” he bowed to the onlookers. He hadn’t eaten all day, so it was understandable that this had happened.

Then, like a thunderbolt, it struck him. He opened the parcel, and his face immediately drained of blood. The half-a-million dollar Chinese vase he was tasked with delivering, once an intricate masterpiece, now lay shattered, its colors smeared and faded. The rain had ruined it. Jason's hands shook and his legs became wobbly. He crumpled to the ground. How could he have been so careless? He hadn't just lost the tip; he had destroyed the package—a debt he couldn’t afford. He was ruined and would definitely face severe consequences, possibly even jail time. Could life get any worse for him?

His smartphone vibrated in his chest pocket, and he stiffened, expecting it to be his employer. But when he answered, a formal female voice spoke instead. “Good day. I am the attorney representing the Rothschild family.” She paused before continuing, “It appears I am speaking to Jason Clyde's beneficiary. Following the announcement of his passing earlier today, all marital agreements between Jason Clyde and Rachel Rothschild have been rendered null and void, effectively severing all ties between the two companies. The divorce agreements have been finalized.”

“What?” Jason sprang to his feet, his voice rising in disbelief. “I'm not dead! What are you talking about, lady?” He struggled to contain his outrage, but it seeped into his tone despite his efforts. The attorney's voice remained steady as she continued, “The divorce papers have been executed. However, now that the destitute is no longer affiliated with Miss Rachel and the Rothschild family, one of the two conditions for his sister's medical sponsorship has been violated. Consequently, she has been removed from the health program. Goodbye.” The call ended with a dial tone.

Jason stood dumbstruck. What had just happened? Was the attorney serious? Did Rachel actually think he had passed away? Where was all of this coming from? His heart ached. What about his sister? The medical program she was in had been granted to him as charity by Rachel’s father when they got married. It was meant to cover eighty percent of his sister’s medical bills as long as he adhered to two conditions: he didn’t divorce Rachel, and he continued paying his two percent share, which could only be stopped if he was dead. But he wasn’t.

This was just a misunderstanding. Jason jumped on his scooter, heading for the Rothschild family estate. “It’s all a big misunderstanding,” he reassured himself. If his family believed he was dead, he would prove to them he wasn’t—no matter what. Then everything would go back to normal, and his sister would be reinstated in the program. He would even use the opportunity to plead with them for a loan. If he explained what had happened, they would understand, because they were family, after all.