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

London's skyline shimmered with golden lights.

A lavish party was held in a towering skyscraper to honor the relentless efforts of Alexander Bluestone and his crew.

Rose, dressed in the same breathtaking golden dress, stood near the bar, sipping her drink.

"You really do enjoy stealing my breath away, don't you?"

A voice, smooth and teasing, whispered into her ear.

Rose shivered as Alexander leaned in closer, his sapphire blue eyes gleaming.

"If you keep looking that stunning, Rose," he murmured, tracing a finger lightly along her wrist, "I might just commit a crime tonight—because keeping you all to myself should be illegal."

Her cheeks burned crimson as he smirked, leaving her flustered.

The man was dangerous—but he was hers.

Alexander stood at the edge of the rooftop, gazing down at the glowing city below.

The night breeze swept through his dark locks, his expression unreadable.

He didn't even need to turn around.

"Or should I say—Mark Alberton?"

The moment the name left his lips, the truth was unveiled.

Mark Alberton—the man he had fought beside—was the Grim Reaper all along.

Both men raised their guns—but neither fired.

"How did you figure it out?" Mark asked, his voice dangerously calm.

2. In the museum, you shot my left palm. Then, a week later, during our training session, you strangely aimed at the left palm of every dummy.

3. The 'Catch me if you can' message on the news—it sounded just like something you'd say.

4. You played the role of an ally too well. Hiding in plain sight was your greatest trick.

5. The final proof? In Birmingham, just before the old man died, he blinked in Morse code—'Mr. Grim, I hope you kill this bastard. The bomb in Cambridge University has been plotted.'

A slow, amused clap echoed in the night.

THE FINAL EXCHANGE OF PHILOSOPHIES

Mark smirked, lowering his gun slightly.

"You and I, Bluestone, we're not so different."

"Oh, but we are, Mark. You claim to bring justice through fear, through destruction. But justice isn't chaos—it's balance."

"Balance? Justice is just another word for control. The world is already broken, Alexander. The strong survive, the weak perish. All I'm doing is accelerating the process."

"You're wrong. Strength isn't about domination. True strength is knowing when to kill and when to spare. You, Mark, kill to prove a point. I kill only when necessary."

"And yet, you kill. Doesn't that make us the same?"

"No. It makes us opposites. I don't kill for pleasure. I don't kill for ideology. I kill to end chaos, not to create it."

A bullet tore through Alexander's chest.

Mark simply stood there, watching him disappear into the night.

Behind him—Rose stood frozen in horror.

All she had witnessed was the gunshot.

And the Grim Reaper disappeared into the shadows.

CHAPTER 48: FALL OF BLUESTONE