Alexander Black Veydris.
That was the true name of the world’s most notorious assassin.
But no one knew it.
To the underworld, to governments, to corporations who whispered his name in fear—he was only Mr.
Black.
Simple, precise, and unforgettable.
The number of lives he claimed was impossible to confirm.
Estimates ranged between three hundred and five hundred, but no one could ever be sure.
Mr.
Black left behind no loose ends, no traces, no evidence.
If he accepted the job, you died.
That was the only certainty.
Some of his kills were so clean they were written off as suicides.
Others so elaborate they were believed to have been the work of a twenty-man strike team.
But the truth was far more chilling—it was always him, and him alone.
Yet Alex was not just an assassin.
That was merely the shadow he wore.
In the light, he was Alex Veydris, billionaire philanthropist and genius investor.
One of the earliest backers of the companies that shaped the modern world.
A believer in cryptocurrency before anyone else.
A man who turned blood money into legitimate empires.
By the time he reached his peak, he no longer needed to kill.
He had wealth beyond imagination.
But the craft never left him.
It became a hobby, a private pastime.
Terrorists.
Drug lords.
Corrupt politicians.
He didn’t kill them for justice.
He didn’t kill them for anyone’s sake but his own.
He simply disliked them—and so, they died.
Alex Veydris lived a life fit for legend, the kind of life people would make movies about.
Yet his end was not a blaze of glory, not the bullet-riddled death one might expect.
He died quietly, at the age of eighty-seven, in his own bed.
No family, no wife, no one by his side.
Perhaps that was his only regret.
As planned, his vast fortune and assets were scattered across countless charities.
And when the world finally discovered the leather-bound ledger hidden in his private study—page after page of every kill he had committed—the truth was revealed.
The legend of Mr.
Black ended only after his death.
…
A white, endless space surrounded Alex.
No walls.
No sky.
Just brilliance.
He checked himself—no wrinkles, no ache in the joints.
His body felt tuned and lethal again, the way it had at his peak.
“Hm,” he muttered, turning slowly.
“I’d expected hell to be less bright.”
“You are not in hell, mortal,” a voice answered from above.
Alex lifted his head.
A humanoid silhouette hovered there, veiled in smoke, divinity smoldering beneath the haze.
And it wasn’t alone.
Eight beings of light encircled him, placing him dead center in their ring.
“Are we certain he’s the right one?” another voice asked, cool and doubtful.
“He doesn’t look as sharp as you claim.”
“It does not matter how he looks,” a woman said, calm as steel.
“Only whether he’s ready for the Job.”
“Oh, he looks stunning,” a third voice purred—male, amused, and far too pleased with himself.
“Criminals always carry a certain allure… sexy.”
Alex’s lip curled.
“What is this circus?
I thought God was one, not eight bickering fools.” His eyes cut from figure to figure.
“Why am I here and not in hell?
And spare me the speech.
Whatever this ‘job’ is you can keep it.
I’m done.
I’d rather sleep forever.
Or pay for my sins.
Either way, I’m already… fulfilled.”
“Oh?” A low, sin-slick voice came from his left—intelligent, predatory, entertained.
“Fulfilled?
That’s a claim.
Do you believe it?”
“I did everything I wanted,” Alex said flatly.
“I became rich enough to live nine lives and killed everyone who stood in my way.
What’s left?”
“I like your kind,” the sinister one chuckled.
“Hedonists who claw to the peak and call it happiness.
I’m the same.
But you misunderstand yourself.
You think you reached fulfillment?
No.
You never will.” The voice warmed, delighted.
“The moment you heard the word ‘job,’ your soul flared.
Excitement.
Maybe harder this time.
More interesting.
More dangerous.
You felt it, under your skin.
You want more, don’t you?”
Annoyance tightened Alex’s jaw—because the bastard was right.
The thrill had never died.
He’d just grown too old to chase it.
And if these “gods” could wind back the clock…
“Alex Black Veydris” the first voice the one above spoke again, firm and formal.
“We want you to perform a job for us.
One of us of the Nine committed an atrocious crime and fled to the lower worlds.
We do not know how.
We cannot descend; yet he did.
It is a Crime that demands punishment.
We require someone to deliver it.”
Alex considered the ring of light and the missing place in it.
“There were other candidates,” the leader continued, “but none with a record as perfect as yours.”
“You want me to kill a god,” Alex said.
“Yes.
One of us,” the leader confirmed.
“Do not let the word frighten you.
In the lower realm he inhabits, he will be the strongest entity—but not a true, god as we are.
Your task is to go there, become that realm’s strongest, and assassinate him.
We are not heartless.
We will grant you a gift.”
Heat lanced his skin.
Alex hissed, glancing down as both hands burned for an instant, and crimson patterns unfurled across the backs of his hands like living ink.
“You are granted the Seal of a Master,” the leader declared.
“With it, you may summon Servants—heroic spirits of ages past.
There are rules, and limits, but they are powerful.
Through them you will raise your strength, gather an army, and hunt the rogue god.”
Alex studied the sigils, the designs pulsing once like a heartbeat.
“Is that all?
You’re not going to tell me who he is?
A name, a face, what to expect when I find him?”
“No,” the leader said.
“We do not know.
In the lower realms he can wear many forms, take many names, and his powers will vary.
You will have to rely on your… instinct.”
He exhaled slowly.
Not the first time the terms were insane.
Not the first time they were workable.
“Then let’s talk payment,” Alex said.
“Payment?” the leader repeated, affronted.
“Yes, payment.
You don’t expect me to end a god for free.”
“Is being alive again not enough?” the leader asked.
“No,” Alex said, unblinking.
“A god’s life doesn’t equal mine.”
Laughter rippled from the cunning one.
“I adore him.
Payment, then?
You get to keep it.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed.
“Keep what?”
“The world,” the sinister god crooned.
“The world to which you’ll go.
Kill the rogue, and it’s yours.
You become that world’s god”
A trap, surely.
A god offering a crown always hid the knife behind it.
But even traps had price tags and this one fit the work.
Alex lifted his gaze to the leader.
“Fine.”
He flexed his hands; the crimson seals glowed in answer.
“Let’s begin,” he said.
“The assassination of a god.”