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

Birmingham's shadows ran deep, but Alexander ran deeper.

For days, he and his crew searched every street, every alley, every crime syndicate. They crushed leads, interrogated criminals, and followed every trail—

Yet nothing led them to the mastermind.

Frustrated but calm, Alexander led Mark, Rose, Darmian, and Madison to a small, quiet bakery.

The bakery's owner, Harthen Smith, was an old man, seemingly harmless—his wrinkled hands kneaded dough, his warm smile welcomed customers.

"Pastries for everyone?" Harthen asked kindly, serving them.

He shoved his plate aside, lunged forward, and slammed Harthen to the ground.

The old man's eyes widened in terror as Alexander's cold barrel pressed against his forehead.

"Spit out the truth," Alexander whispered, his sapphire blue eyes locked onto him.

Harthen trembled. "P-Please… I'll talk! I'll say everything! I even know who the real Grim Reaper is—"

Harthen Smith was dead before he could finish his sentence.

Alexander slowly stood up, dusting off his suit.

Mark, Rose, Darmian, and Madison stared at him in shock.

"What the hell, Alexander?! He was about to talk!" Mark growled.

"It was easy to figure out," Alexander continued. "Every crime scene had one thing in common—the victims had eaten a cake that was poisoned. And that specific flavor?"

"Oh, and the funniest part?" He picked up his untouched pastry, tossing it onto the table.

"Harthen gave all of you different pastries… except for me. The same poisoned flavor was only given to me."

Madison's breath hitched. "So he was going to kill you?"

"Send police forces to Cambridge University."

Alexander's voice was calm—deadly.

"Because there's going to be a bomb blast there."

CHAPTER 45: MASTER OF BIRMINGHAM