Author's note: GUYS, this story isn't your typical novel where the MC just gains power and constantly levels up (there are so many stories like that here, so I decided to do something different). I like it slow burn. Thanks!
You can skip this chapter if you aren't into backstories, but it does have some pretty important details for the future. Up to y'all! Enjoy the read.
Inside a skeletal, abandoned building, a frail, elderly man hung from the ceiling of the third floor. His wrists were bound, his body sagging under the relentless pull of gravity. A gag silenced his screams, and his face was a mosaic of purple bruises—a testament to a long, exhausting struggle.
Standing before him was a young man with eyes like a darkened abyss, devoid of any flicker of mercy.
"Uhm..." The old man let out a weak, muffled groan, his eyes full of tears—a final plea for a life already forfeit.
The abductor didn't listen. In a blur of motion that defied human limits, he plunged his bare hand into the man's chest, ripping the heart clean from its cavity. The man possessed the left hand of a devil.
With cold precision, he placed the organ—still fluttering with the last rhythmic pulses of life—into a small briefcase. He glanced back at the hanging corpse one last time. A fleeting shadow of pity crossed his features, only to be swallowed by a familiar, hollow apathy.
He watched as the holographic display of the dead man's identity above its head began to flicker and dissolve into nothingness.
Target profile:
Name: Marcus Frederic.
Age: 67 years old.
Occupation: Retired Police.
Status: Married, with eight children.
Transgressions: Aggravated Sexual Assault, Multiple Counts of First-Degree Murder, Extortion and Racketeering.
Briefcase in hand, the devil's left hand man walked away into the shadows, leaving the dead to hang in the silence. Above his head, unseen by any living eye, a ghostly countdown flickered and shifted in the air: 54… 53.
Soul Collector:
Name: Kenzii Macque Monteriel.
Age: 27 years old.
Occupation: Artist/ Hellbound Justiciar.
Status: Single.
Transgressions: Soul mortgaged to the Devil.
'I am a killer. I have become a master of death, yet I am a slave to a life I cannot escape.'
…
A tranquil morning light bled through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the luxury hotel suite. Fifty-four stories below, the city breathed with life; ants in the shape of people scurried across the pavement, greeting the newborn day with smiles. But Kenzii, perched high above in his glass cage, was a world away from them.
Kenzii stared into the horizon with hollow, lightless eyes. He was exhausted—not the kind of tired sleep could fix, but a soul-deep weariness. His mind was a battlefield of problems he knew how to solve but lacked the permission to change.
The expansive mahogany table before him was a graveyard of paper. Blueprints and dossiers were strewn about like fallen leaves, many of them stamped with a chilling, crimsonseal: "ACCOMPLISHED". This was the rhythm of his life—a suffocating loop of studying targets, drafting plans, executing the work, and sleeping, only to wake and do it all again.
When did it all go wrong? He couldn't even remember the version of himself that didn't have blood under his fingernails. He only knew one thing for certain: his bloodline was a curse. His ancestors had signed a check, and now, he was the currency.
*Buzz. Buzz.*
The vibration of his phone cut through the silence. He didn't need to check the screen; the unregistered number called every three days at the exact same time. He picked it up, his gaze never leaving the horizon.
"Hm?" he muttered, his voice a dry rasp.
"We're expecting the result this afternoon," the voice on the other end commanded. Before Kenzii could exhale, the line went dead.
He remained frozen for a moment until a flash of movement caught his eye. A small zebra finch bird with a broken wing had landed on the ledge outside the glass. Kenzii watched it, mesmerized. How could something so fragile reach the 54th floor?
Is that what it's like to be free? he thought, a ghost of a smile touching his lips before dying out. To reach the impossible just because you have wings?
He turned back to the desk and picked up the profile sitting in the center of the chaos and compared it to the system window—a flickering, blood-red hologram conjured by the Devil's power. The information were identical; a perfect, haunting match.
Target Profile:
Name: Enrico Mendez.
Age: 56 years old.
Occupation: Businessman / Politician.
Status: Married with three children.
Transgressions: Plunder and Embezzlement of Public Funds, Narcotics Conspiracy & Obstruction of Justice, Multiple Counts of First-Degree Murder, Desecration of Human Remains, Domestic Violence & Spousal Battery, Aggravated Incestuous Assault.
Kenzii studied the photo on his desk. The man was portly, sporting a thick mustache and a sharp, arrogant nose. He looked vibrant, as if he had a long life ahead of him—but Kenzii knew he wouldn't last much longer.
Kenzii looked at the reflection in the glass—his own profile, flicker like a death sentence:
Soul Collector:
Name: Kenzii Macque Monteriel.
Age: 27 years old.
Occupation: Artist/ Hellbound Justiciar.
Status: Single.
Transgressions: Soul mortgaged to the Devil.
Remaining Debt: 53/1068.
...
The Monteriel name had been a titan of industry since 1872. For over a century, their wealth grew like a weed until the year 2000, when a sudden, violent collapse tore the empire apart. The family scrambled to save what they could, but only one-fourth of the company survived the wreckage.
The rot, however, started much earlier with Abel and Maria Monteriel in 1971. They were mere farmers, slaves to the land and the whims of the powerful. They endured humiliation and poverty, their only solace is their loving marriage.
Then came the tragedy. Maria was abducted by the guards of a powerful merchant conglomerate. They treated her like cattle—abused, beaten, and repeatedly violated. When they finally threw her back to Abel, she was a broken shell, clinging to life and carrying the child of her tormentors.
Hatred replaced the blood in Abel's veins. Driven to the edge of sanity, he dug up a forbidden family relic: a book of black curses. He performed an ancient ritual and summoned a demon to strike a bargain.
It was a contract that would haunt the Monteriel bloodline forever.
The Devils Contract:
Benefits: Unlimited wealth and power.
Cost: The life of every firstborn child of the Monteriel line.
Penalty Clause: If the cost is not met, the heir must sacrifice 1,068 wicked souls.
Duration: 10 Years.
Failure: Immortality within a prison of eternal despair.
Completion: Rebirth.
Kenzii stared at the remaining numbers on his list—53 lives. In the final half-year, he will either be reborn or live forever as the living proof of payment for the debt of dead man's fury.