Ethan Storm’s Dark Awakening novel Chapter 13

Gasps tore through the room the moment Ethan moved.

He was a blur—swift, calculated, lethal. One guard lunged forward, but Ethan ducked low, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs with a sharp crack that echoed across the marble floor. The next came from behind—Ethan flipped him effortlessly over his shoulder like he was weightless.

“Wh-What the hell?!” one of the guards stammered, staggering backward.

Ethan’s face remained unreadable. He sidestepped a wild punch, countered with a precise strike to the throat, and sent the attacker crashing into a champagne table. Glass shattered. Screams rang out as guests stumbled over themselves to get clear—but no one moved to interfere.

In less than thirty seconds, six of Carl Irving’s personal guards lay groaning on the floor—some unconscious, others writhing, broken.

Silence fell.

A chilling, stunned silence.

Even Sierra’s mouth had fallen open, her smug grin long gone—replaced by stark horror.

“What… what is he?” she whispered, inching backward.

A nearby guest murmured in awe, “He didn’t even break a sweat…”

“Unbelievable…”

“Who is that guy?”

Sierra’s heel slipped as she tried to retreat quietly. She hissed into her phone, voice trembling, “Get the car. Now.”

Carl, red-faced and heaving for air, stepped back—then again. Rage seethed in his chest, but instinct screamed danger. This wasn’t some punk to scare off. This was a wolf in silk—calm, composed, deadly.

Still, Carl Irving wasn’t about to let go without a show of dominance.

“You think this makes you a threat?” he growled, pulling a sleek, black pistol from inside his coat.

Gasps erupted. Guests ducked, others ran. Panic spread like wildfire.

Alice stood frozen, hands over her mouth, eyes wide with fear.

Carl raised the gun, his voice a roar. “KNEEL! On your damn knees, you arrogant bastard! You think this is over?! I’ll make sure you regret ever crossing me!”

But Ethan’s gaze didn’t waver.

His voice, when it came, sent a chill down every spine in the room.

“Everyone who’s ever pointed a gun at me… is already dead.”

Carl blinked. Then burst out laughing—high, manic, unhinged.

“You think you scare me? You’re just some street rat who got lucky! A fluke! A nobody!”

Ethan looked down at him like he was dust.

“You should be grateful you’re a coward,” Ethan said flatly. “Because I only take the lives of the strong. You? You’re not even worth killing.”

But mercy wasn’t forgiveness.

Phones were out. Cameras recording. The crowd watched, horrified.

Ethan delivered a brutal, bone-crushing kick between Carl’s legs.

CRACK.

A scream unlike any other tore from Carl’s throat. He collapsed fully, hands clawing at his groin as blood soaked through his designer trousers.

Carl Irving—the man whose empire was built on fear—had been neutered in front of high society.

Sierra shrieked, “NO! You’ve ruined him! Do you even realize what you’ve done?!”

Ethan calmly pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiped a single drop of blood from his hand, and looked her dead in the eye.

“I do,” he said. “Now he’ll never force anyone’s daughter into marriage again.”

Whispers spread like wildfire.