Rise Of The Disabled War God

CHAPTER 003

Connor’s body trembled as he tried to push himself up from the floor. His hands dug into the cold tiles, and he gritted his teeth, fighting against the weakness in his legs.

“Agnes,” he mumbled as he struggled on the wheelchair.

He had hoped to stand, to close the distance between them, to hold Agnes one last time. But his legs buckled under him, sending him crashing back to the ground with a thud. The sound of his failure echoed in the room, followed by an oppressive silence.

“Look at you, Connor.... Just take a look at yourself,” Agnes said, feeling disappointed at his attempt to stand.

Agnes stood across from him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes were hard, filled with anger and sorrow. She watched him struggle, her expression unchanging. Instead of offering a hand or a comforting word, she allowed a bitter smile to play on her lips.

“Pathetic,” she spat, her voice was cold and cutting. “You’re still trying to stand? Connor, look at yourself. You can’t even get off the floor. Don’t waste your energy. I’m already used to you being a disappointment. You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

Connor’s eyes met hers, searching for any sign of compassion, but all he saw was contempt. “Agnes, just give me one more day. I can fix this. I’m getting stronger—just one more day, please.”

Agnes laughed, but the sound was hollow, devoid of any real amusement. “One more day? What difference does a day make, Connor? You’ve had months, and here you are, crawling on the floor like a child who can’t walk. Do you really think another day will change anything?”

His fists clenched at his sides as he kept struggling against the cold tiles. He had never seen Agnes this angry before, never heard her speak with such bitterness. But he couldn’t give up—not now, not when he was so close. He tried to move again, his legs twitching slightly, but it was no use. His body wasn’t ready.

Agnes stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small envelope. Without a word, she tossed it in front of him, the white paper fluttering down like a final blow.

“That’s for you,” she said with a flat and detached tone. “A million dollars. The last thing I’ll ever give you.”

Connor’s breath hitched as he looked at the envelope. He didn’t need to open it to know what it contained. He felt the weight of her words pressing down on him even harder than his useless legs.

“A million dollars?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Why are you giving me this?”

“My money is all you need, isn’t it. You take it and spend it on some other woman outside, and then come back here without any explanations,” she said, rubbing her forehead in frustration.

Agnes sighed, exasperated. “Connor, this is it. This is all I can give you. My family gave me ten million as a startup, and I built my company from nothing. I worked my a*s off for five years, and you know what happened? My grandmother took it all away. She handed it over to my brother. All my hard work—everything I sacrificed—it’s gone.”

She paused, shaking her head as though still processing the reality of her loss. “I have nothing left. That check is the last million from my account. After this, we’re done. You and I… we’re done.”

Connor’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind filled with pain. “Agnes, please, I know it’s been hard, but we can fight this. We can fight your family together.”

“Fight together?” Agnes cut him off, her voice rising. “What are you going to do, Connor? Fight them from the floor? You can’t even stand up! I lost my company, my pride, everything that mattered to me, and now… now you want to drag me into more misery? You think I haven’t had enough?”

Connor winced at her words. Each sentence felt like a knife twisting deeper into his gut. He wanted to shout, to defend himself, but no words came. He had failed—failed to protect her, failed to stand beside her when she needed him most.

Agnes’ eyes flashed with hurt and resentment as she spoke again. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not going to stay here and watch you keep failing. I’ve lost everything because of my family, and the last thing I need is more shame. Being with you means more judgment, more whispers behind my back. My family already sees me as a joke, and if I stay with you, they’ll see you as my final mistake.”

Connor’s chest tightened. “I’m not a mistake,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re not,” Agnes said, her voice softening for a brief moment. But the edge returned quickly. “But staying with you would be. And I’m done making mistakes. You had your chance, Connor. We both did. But now… now it’s over.”

She took a deep breath, her gaze hardening again. “I need to go. I need to save what little I have left of my dignity, and that means walking away.”

Connor struggled to rise, desperate to make her stay. He could feel the warmth spreading through his legs, the faintest sensation returning. His secret rehabilitation was working, but too slowly. He just needed more time—one more day, like he had asked.

“Agnes, please…” he started, but she shook her head.

“No, Connor. I’m done begging for things that won’t happen. You’ve always been a dreamer, thinking things would get better, but I’m done dreaming. I have to be realistic now. You’ll be nothing more than a failure.”

She turned toward the door, her back to him, and Connor’s heart sank. He watched her go, every step feeling like another nail in the coffin of their relationship. His arms trembled as he tried to pull himself up again, his legs still weak, but showing signs of life.

Just as Agnes reached the door, it flew open. Her mother stormed in, her eyes immediately locking onto Connor’s shadow, still struggling on the ground.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded. “Connor, how could you let this happen? After everything Agnes has done for you, this is how you repay her?”

Connor didn’t respond. He felt something shift inside him, a surge of strength he hadn’t felt in years. His legs twitched, then moved, then pushed. Slowly, painfully, he began to rise.

But Agnes had already walked out, leaving him alone with her mother’s accusing gaze from where she stood at the entrance of the kitchen.

He felt the warmth spreading through his previously paralyzed legs, the sensation growing stronger with each passing second. His secret rehabilitation was finally taking effect, the treatment he had kept hidden from everyone showing tangible results. He could feel the energy coursing through his muscles, bringing life back to parts of his body that had long been dormant.

Agnes’ mother, Mrs. Whitaker, stood in the doorway, her mouth wide open as she saw Connor’s shadow rise into a tall, powerful figure.

Connor, the disabled man was standing on his feet. Mrs Whitaker froze...