CHAPTER ONE: BLOOD AND ASHES
The rain fell hard—like the sky was trying to wash away the sins of the city. But nothing could cleanse this place. Not the blood, not the smoke, and definitely not the man who ruled it all.
Slade Luthor didn't walk into a room. He entered like a prophecy.
From the top of the Obsidian Spire, a tower that loomed over the city like a dagger through the clouds, Slade stared out into the storm. The city lights flickered below, struggling to hold their ground under the weight of darkness.
Behind him, the room was silent. No one spoke when Slade was near—not unless they were spoken to. His presence was oppressive, not by accident, but by design. The air shifted when he moved. Even the shadows bent around him, unsure whether to run or kneel.
His suit was tailored from Italian black wool, sharp as a blade. His hands—gloved in soft leather—hid the scars from wars no court ever recorded. A faint line ran from his temple to his cheek, a reminder of a night fifteen years ago when he was still learning the difference between pain and power.
Slade Luthor had learned.
Now, he taught.
Across the room, three lieutenants stood near the glass bar, stiff-backed, avoiding eye contact. They were killers—hard men, seasoned in crime and cruelty. But even they lowered their voices when Slade entered. Respect born of fear. Fear born of truth.
He didn't shout to command a room.
He didn't need to.
"Where's Rico?" Slade asked, voice low, smooth—but somehow colder than the storm outside.
"He's—he's on his way, sir," one of the lieutenants said, swallowing hard.
Slade said nothing. The silence that followed made the man visibly flinch. That was the thing about Slade: he never needed to raise his voice to be heard. His silence was the threat.
Moments later, the elevator opened. Rico stepped in, shoulders squared, but his eyes flickered with tension.
"We have a situation," he said, placing a photo down on the black marble table.
Slade stepped forward. One glance. A heartbeat. His hand clenched around the photo. The soft crumpling sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.
She was there.
The necklace.
The very same ornate silver pendant his mother used to wear—now hanging from the neck of a stranger. A girl.
"A nobody," Rico said quickly, reading the storm gathering in Slade's eyes. "Twilight. Works at a bar. No ties. Grew up in an orphanage. Probably picked it up from a pawn shop."
Slade didn't respond right away. He turned the photo over, slowly. Deliberate.
"You ever believe in fate, Rico?"
Rico paused. "No, sir."
"Good," Slade muttered. "Because fate doesn't exist. People lie. People kill. And people pay. Someone gave her that necklace. Someone connected to them."
The word "them" hung in the air like poison. Everyone in the room knew who he meant. The people who killed his family. The ones he'd been hunting for almost two decades. No one dared say the name. Not after what happened to the last man who did.
Slade turned to Rico.
"Bring her in."
---
East End – 11:37 PM
Twilight shivered as she left the bar, pulling her hood tighter. The night air clawed at her skin, but she was used to discomfort. Life hadn't gifted her many luxuries.
The street was dimly lit. One streetlight buzzed overhead, flickering like it was unsure if it wanted to stay alive. Her footsteps echoed on the wet pavement, her worn shoes sloshing through puddles.
She didn't notice the black car until she passed it.
Or maybe she did, but her instinct told her not to look.
Still, her fingers tightened around the silver locket at her chest. She had worn it since she was a child, even though no one could tell her where it came from. All she knew was that it was hers. A single memory she couldn't explain.
She didn't know that tonight, that locket would mark her for death.
Or worse—for Slade.
---
Back at the Spire
Slade descended to the lower level. Men snapped to attention. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the guards, built like tanks, stepped aside as he passed.
"Boss," one said, trying to hand him a file.
Slade didn't break stride.
"Leave it."
"Y-Yes, sir."
The man exhaled only once Slade disappeared down the hall.
---
People didn't fear Slade Luthor because he was cruel.
They feared him because he was controlled.
Because they never knew what was behind those eyes.
Because he smiled only before the worst happened.
---
Twilight had no idea who she was about to meet. No clue that her life was about to be swallowed whole by a man forged from grief and vengeance. She didn't know the rules of his world—or that she was walking straight into its heart.
But she would learn.
Soon.
Very soon.