The Ruthless

At a colossal metal factory, where the relentless clanging of machinery thundered, I stood at the helm of an empire my father once controlled. Aesmael De Luca's legacy was formidable. He had two sons: Harold, a lawyer who basked in the riches of the corrupt, and me — Harris, the true inheritor of his sinister ambitions.

As I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the third sub-level, the descent was slow and deliberate — a journey into the very core of my operations beneath the factory. This subterranean world was where my real empire thrived: an assassin organization, home to fifty elite killers. They rarely saw one another — a calculated move on my part. Their mutual distrust was a weapon. The less they trusted, the more venomous they became.

The elevator halted at the third underground floor. Three doors awaited.

I chose the one in the middle... and entered.

Inside, new recruits were undergoing rigorous training — their transformation into cold-blooded killers well underway. This was the crucible where the country's deadliest assassins were forged. It was also where the bodies of our enemies were incinerated, their existence erased in flames.

For thirty years, I had run this shadowy empire alone — driven by greed, power, and influence.

But a decade ago...
I met her.

She appeared before me, drenched in blood, having slain two men. Her white dress was stained crimson, her golden eyes fierce and unyielding, and her brown hair shimmered like sunlit gold. She was an angel fallen from grace — a child who had broken free from her parents' abusive grip.

Those two men, captivated by her beauty, met their end at her hands — a stark reminder of her refusal to ever be a mere object again.

Harris entered his office and lit a tobacco, the smoke curling around him as he reminisced.

That young goddess was only twelve when I found her.

She demanded nothing from me — only my willingness to kill the people who had shattered her soul.

"Kill the monsters who raised me... and I will become the demon you need," she had said, her eyes piercing into mine.

The raw conviction in her voice stunned me — reminiscent of my own twisted journey, when I had poisoned my father to hasten his demise. Her words reignited the fire of my ambition... the intoxicating allure of power and strength.

I took her under my wing. Gave her food. Shelter.

Even in sleep, she was vigilant, her senses razor-sharp. She knew when I watched her through the CCTV in her room. Her awareness was uncanny, her instincts feral.

Her parents were depraved drug addicts — minds twisted by substance, completely unhinged.

The very next day, I accompanied her home... and executed her parents while she watched.

They died cursing her. No apologies. No pleas. Just venom and decay.
Her face remained stoic. But I sensed it... the inner satisfaction.

And yet, she turned her gaze as their bodies fell.
Still soft.
Still human.
A young wolf... still learning the ferocity of the hunt.

But my perception changed the moment she placed a dried Oleander flower on the porch.

She snapped her fingers — a spark ignited from the black metal ring she wore — and set the flower ablaze.

As the fire spread, consuming the house and everything it represented, I realized how clever she was.

The flower... though dry... was laced with gasoline.

The yellow flames, steady and swift, mirrored the intensity in her eyes.

From that day forward...
I called her Oleander.

In the years that followed, her name became synonymous with death.

She surpassed every assassin I had ever trained — accomplishing in six months what took others two years.

By thirteen, she was executing four to five hits a month — her prowess sharpening with each mission.

But fame... fame brought its own perils.

Clients sought her exclusively — willing to pay exorbitant sums for her lethal touch.
My other assassins grumbled.
The organization's income tripled...
But so did my envy.

She had become the face of my empire.
She eclipsed me.

And slowly...
The girl I once cherished like a daughter became the rival I feared the most.

She had taken everything:
My fame.
My influence.
The power I spent decades cultivating.

The empire I had bled for... now bore her mark.

The regret inside me festered.
And soon... it mutated into hatred.

A raging, seething, merciless hatred.

The fear of her inevitable betrayal loomed over me like a storm cloud.

I needed to act.

Swiftly.

Silently.

Before she sensed it...

I had to eliminate her.
Before she usurped my throne.
Before she tore the crown from my hands.
Before I stood helpless...

...watching my realm yield effortlessly to her will.