Sahil_Mishra_5530

Justice wears many faces. But when the mask is torn away—what remains?

In the rain-slicked alleys of Liverpool, a brutal serial killer known only as the Grim Reaper leaves behind cryptic messages and a trail of bodies. The city is drowning in fear, and the line between law and chaos is fading fast.

Enter Alexander Bluestone—a detective unlike any other. Cold, calculating, and unapologetically Machiavellian, he is a man who believes in control over compassion, precision over morality. Tasked with tracking the Reaper, Alexander begins a relentless hunt that spirals into a deeper conspiracy of corruption, psychological warfare, and betrayal.

As alliances shift and blood is spilled, Alexander is joined by the deadly assassin Roselia Dukeforth, the sharp-witted Madison Oakwell, and the fiery Darmian Shakesforth. But even as they uncover the truth, the darkness inside Alexander threatens to consume him. Because in a game where every move is fatal… sometimes the devil wears a detective’s badge.


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A psychological crime thriller packed with deadly wit, moral dilemmas, high-stakes mind games, and a protagonist who may be more terrifying than the killer he hunts.

The Devil Of Justice

The streets of London were unusually quiet that morning. But inside the London Central Bank, chaos was already brewing.

Alexander Bluestone and his crew—Rose, Madison, and Darmian—arrived at the bank as part of a routine security check. Ever since Grim's open challenge, Alexander knew the city was a battlefield, and he wasn't about to be caught off guard.

But this time, he was already too late.

By the time they entered, the robbery was in full swing.

The doors slammed shut behind them, locks clicking into place. Dozens of civilians were already on the floor, trembling, hands over their heads. The air smelled of fear, sweat, and gunpowder.

At the center of it all stood Ms. Hell.

She wasn't just any criminal—she was one of Grim Reaper's closest subordinates. Tall, elegant, and exuding an aura of pure danger, she cracked her knuckles and smiled.

"Oh? And here I thought I'd have to wait longer for you."

Before anyone could react, she moved.

A blur of motion—Madison barely raised her gun before a devastating kick sent it flying from her hands. Rose's attempt at a counterattack was shut down instantly as Hell twisted her arm and slammed her into a pillar.

Darmian lunged—but Hell ducked under his punch, elbowed him in the ribs, and flipped him onto his back with effortless grace.

In less than twenty seconds, Alexander's crew was on the floor, battered and bruised.

And yet—Alexander simply watched.

Ms. Hell didn't stop. She grabbed a teenage boy, pressing a gun to his temple.

Across from her, a security guard—a man in his mid-40s, shaking but determined—stood with his own gun raised, pointing directly at Hell.

"Put the gun down," the guard ordered, voice shaking but firm.

"You should be more worried about your son, don't you think?"

The boy whimpered. The father's grip tightened.

The sound of his laughter echoed through the bank, cutting through the tension.

Casually, he grabbed a chair, dragged it across the floor, and sat down.

He pulled out his Glock, spinning it in his fingers.

"Go on then," he said, smirking. "Preach your little ideology."

Ms. Hell's lips curled into a cold smile.

"Grim isn't just a man, Alexander. He's an inevitability. A force that exposes the weak and wipes out the unworthy. This world—your so-called justice—is nothing but a fabrication to keep the strong in chains. True order? True power? It belongs to those who are willing to take it."

Alexander listened, unimpressed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"And yet, for all your grand speeches, here you are—holding a gun to a boy's head."

"A simple test." She nodded toward the security guard.

"You have two choices, Bluestone. Shoot the guard, and I let everyone else leave. Or let him live, and I execute the boy in front of you. Sacrifice one for many."

The security guard collapsed. A single bullet to the chest.

The entire bank fell into stunned silence.

Ms. Hell was caught off-guard for the first time. "You… you actually did it?"

A second shot—straight to her forehead.

Alexander exhaled, standing up and adjusting his coat.

"Your first mistake?" He muttered, stepping over her body. "Thinking I needed more than a second to decide."

CHAPTER 38: HELL