Chapter 1
Lilith Vale had always imagined her death. She'd wondered how her last days would taste, how the air would feel in her lungs, how long her body would fight before giving in. She pictured blood, screaming, the rattle of breath.
But she never pictured this.
She was the most feared serial killer in history—an urban legend with a name that sent police chiefs into cold sweats. She broke records, left slaughterhouses where homes once stood, spilled more blood than anyone could count. A shadow. A ghost.
The only people who ever knew her secret were rotting six feet underground.
And yet, the world's most infamous killer died in the dumbest way possible.
One bullet.
Clean. Precise.
Right between the eyes.
No last stand. No fight. Just silence.
The rain fell hard, hammering the cracked pavement, drumming against rusted street signs, weaving through her hair. The wind howled low, like a predator humming to itself.
Lilith stared at the body lying on the ground—her body. Pale skin slack with death, a clean hole through her skull. Blood spilled freely, diluted into the gutter where it mixed with rainwater, swirling like ribbons of crimson ink.
It was almost…beautiful. The kind of beauty that demanded silence, the way art in a gallery held you hostage.
She had always wondered, while she pressed knives into throats and watched the life drain from wide eyes, what it felt like in those final seconds. She had wanted to shake her victims awake, demand answers: Does it hurt? What do you see? What's it like?
Now she had her answer.
It wasn't pain.
It was…strange.
Her killer blurred in her vision. A figure in a dark coat, rain sliding off the fabric, the hem whipping in the storm. His features melted into the downpour, faceless, nameless.
Then came the voices. They split the air like shattered glass—sharp, panicked, too human.
"What are you doing? How can you play with a gun like that?" one voice shouted, cracking with hysteria. A boy. Young. Eighteen at most.
"You just killed someone!" another cried, shrill with disbelief.
Lilith almost laughed. Her lips twitched. Had she really been killed by children? High schoolers with trembling hands and no idea what the hell they were doing?
The first boy stumbled closer, shoes splashing through shallow puddles. His uniform clung to his skinny frame, soaked through, his face pale beneath plastered hair. He dropped to his knees beside her corpse. His hands shook so badly she thought they might rattle off his wrists as he pressed trembling fingers against her throat.
"…You killed her," he whispered, his voice thin and brittle as cracked glass. "She's dead."
The boy in the coat collapsed beside him, his chest rising and falling too fast, each breath a shallow gasp. "I…I…what should I do?"
Lilith smirked. Embarrassing. The great Lilith Vale, murderer of hundreds, reduced to a headline: killed by kids.
"Let's run," the uniformed boy hissed, snatching his friend's arm. His words were frantic, bubbling like steam. "They won't find us. Take the gun—just run!"
Their footsteps slapped against the pavement until the storm swallowed the sound.
Lilith's eyes followed them, a sneer carving into her lips. What happened to responsibility? To facing what you'd done? Maybe the cops wouldn't catch them. But she would.
Except…how could she, when she was already dead?
The world stilled.
The wind strangled into silence. The rain froze in the air, drops suspended mid-fall like scattered glass beads. The thunder choked back into the sky. The silence pressed in tight, suffocating.
And then she felt it—something behind her. Not a presence, but a weight. A gaze that pierced her back and sank claws into her soul. She turned, and her breath hitched.
Two crimson eyes burned in the darkness.
The man who emerged was all wrong. His slick black hair clung to his face as though he'd just crawled out of a river. His skin was pale, with the grayish sheen of a corpse left too long in the cold. Even standing still, he radiated danger.
"You see me, right?" Lilith asked, her voice sharper than her own confusion.
The man didn't answer. Didn't even blink. He just stared, dissecting her with those impossible eyes.
The seconds stretched, twisting, until his mouth split into a smile. Perfect teeth gleamed white in the dark, but the shape was wrong. Predatory.
"I should be asking you that…Lilith Vale." His voice was silk stretched over a blade, smooth and sharp at once.
Her eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck are you?"
He chuckled, boots crunching softly against the wet pavement as he circled her, slow, deliberate. A predator playing with prey.
"After all the blood you've spilled, all the lives you've taken…have you ever wondered where you'd go after death?"
"To hell," Lilith said flatly. Her voice didn't waver, though her chest tightened.
His crimson eyes glittered, amusement curling at the edges. "Do you truly believe hell is still an option for someone like you?"
The words slid under her skin like hooks. Her jaw clenched, but for the first time in years, her breath faltered.
He drank in her unease, lips curving wider. "No. There's no hell for you. Hell is for God's children—those who sin but are still worthy of forgiveness." His tone sharpened, crueler. "But you, Lilith…you played God. And that is unforgivable."
Something inside her chest cracked. She lowered her gaze, and the sight chilled her more than his words: the rain, once washing her blood into the gutter, was frozen midstream, droplets suspended like rubies in glass.
"In five…maybe six minutes," he said with casual cruelty, "you'll disappear."
Lilith's fists tightened, nails biting her palms. "Why are you telling me this?" Her voice came out hoarse, ragged.
"Everyone like you is told. You're not special."
Her teeth ground together, rage and fear tangling.
Then his voice shifted—softer, deadlier. "Except…you are. Because I'm the one telling you."
Her glare sharpened. "What do you mean?"
He leaned close enough that she could smell him—iron, damp earth, the sharpness of ozone before lightning. His smile carved deeper.
"I have an offer."
Her chest tightened. "What kind of offer?"
"Play, and win—you live again. Lose, and you vanish. Simple, isn't it?"
Her laugh was dry, humorless. "You're lying. Life doesn't just…come back."
"Look at your hands," he murmured.
She did. Her fingers were dissolving, flaking into gray dust that drifted into the still air. Panic thundered through her, hot and jagged, the kind she hadn't felt since her first kill.
"I can do it," she whispered, trembling despite herself.
His eyes burned, delighted. "Then close your eyes and say it: I give you permission to my soul."
Lilith's stomach twisted, bile clawing at her throat. But the dust was spreading faster now, eating into her wrists, devouring her piece by piece. Her lips curled in disgust. She shut her eyes.
"I give you permission to my soul."
The man's laughter shattered the silence, so twisted it vibrated through her bones.
"Good luck, Lilith Vale. You'll need it."
Those were the last words she heard before the darkness dragged her under.
Fuck. She had just made the worst deal of her life.