for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money."
— Matthew 6:24
Part I – The Pen and the Doubt
Rebecca Hart wrote furiously in her black notebook, sitting in a café near the church. Smoke from her coffee rose like spirals of thought.
"Pastor Samuel Book. Man of faith, charismatic leader, defender of the poor… but is he more than that?"
"His words speak of love, but something dark lingers beneath them. Something beyond redemption. As if he were speaking from a personal hell."
She had attended three services already. She had listened to him speak of forgiveness, mercy, hope. But there was always a pause before certain topics. A fleeting glint in his eyes. An invisible wound that refused to heal.
She decided to talk to some of the congregation after service. To hear what they said about him.
"It's like he's lived many lives," said an elderly woman. "He has peace… but also pain."
"No one knows much about his past," added a young man. "Only that he appeared years ago, and since then this church has flourished."
Rebecca took notes.
"Who are you really, Pastor Book?"
Determined to dig deeper, she went to the newspaper office and reviewed old editions. She found no record of a pastor named Samuel Book until a few years ago. Before that, there was no public trace of him.
That was strange.
"If someone disappears for that long and then reappears as a religious leader, there should be traces," she murmured to herself. "But this man… it's like he was born only five years ago."
Something didn't add up.
She decided to visit someone who might know more: Reverend Thomas Gray, an elder who had worked in several local churches over the decades.
Part II – Final Confession
It was 3:00 a.m.
This time, the chosen location was an abandoned slaughterhouse. The echo of footsteps reverberated between rust-stained walls and dried blood. A weak light hung from the ceiling, swinging like a pendulum of death.
A man was tied to a metal table. He trembled. His face was bruised.
"Do you know why you're here?" Samuel asked, without emotion.
"Please… don't kill me," the man begged. "I didn't kill anyone…"
"It doesn't matter," Samuel replied. "You helped. You stayed silent. That makes you complicit."
The man looked up, searching for mercy in the face hidden beneath the hood.
"Who are you?"
"I am the last minister you will see before facing your Creator," Samuel said. "Now, my son, listen well: confess Jesus Christ as your Savior… and die in peace."
"I do! Jesus is my Lord!"
Samuel closed his eyes for a moment. His hand trembled. He fired.
The body fell lifeless. The light flickered.
Samuel picked up his Bible, crossed himself, and whispered:
"May God have mercy on us… even when we cannot show it ourselves."
He gathered his things and left the slaughterhouse. Outside, the fresh air brought a little calm. He got into his car, started the engine, and drove home.
On the way, he remembered a conversation he'd had with a child days earlier, after Sunday service.
"Pastor," the boy had asked, "do you believe everyone can be forgiven?"
Samuel had smiled, but his answer was sincere:
"Yes, son. Everyone can be forgiven. But not everyone deserves to live long enough to receive it."
Part III – The Shadow Behind the Law
The next day, Lucas Kane reviewed police reports at his desk. Another victim had been found. Same signature: open Bible, marked verse, and the body in a position of prayer.
"This isn't the work of just any lunatic," he said aloud. "It's ritualistic. Religious. Organized."
A voice behind him interrupted.
"You chasing the preacher killer?"
Lucas turned. It was his precinct partner, an older type named Detective Harper.
"You've heard of him too?"
Harper nodded.
"Rumors have been floating around for months. A guy dressed all in black. With a Bible. Always at 3 a.m. Calls his victims 'son' before killing them."
"And no one's gotten a good look at him?"
"No one. Just rumors. Some say he's a rogue priest. Others, that he's someone with unfinished business with the mob. But the worst part is… he seems to have a code."
Lucas frowned.
"A code?"
"Yeah. He gives them one last chance first. Makes them confess. Like a priest… but with a gun."
Lucas felt a chill.
"If that's true… then we're dealing with someone who believes he's doing the right thing."
Harper sat across from him.
"Listen, Lucas. I've been in this game a long time. And I know one thing: men like that don't stop. Eventually, someone close to them finds out the truth… and that's when everything comes crashing down."
Lucas stared at him.
"Then I need to find that truth before it does."
Part IV – The Fallen King
In a dark mansion north of the city, Lorenzo Marquez received reports from his men. One of his contacts within the police had given him recent intel.
"Another victim," the man said. "Same Bible again. Same signature."
Lorenzo, seated in his leather chair, clenched his fists.
"Damn ghost," he muttered. "Who the hell is he?"
"We don't know who he is," another answered. "But he's cleaning out our territory. He's killed three of our men in three weeks."
"Don't you have a single damn clue?"
"Nothing. No cameras. No witnesses. No fingerprints. Just a Bible and a bullet to the head."
Lorenzo slowly stood. He walked to the window.
"This isn't coincidence. This is war. And whoever he is, he knows too much about us."
He turned to one of his men.
"I want you to find anyone who survived him. Anyone who saw him. I need to know who he is… before he comes for me."