Page 1 of Celestial Combat

PART 1

Chapter 1

27 years old

Moscow, Russia

THERE ARE THREE CHARACTERISTICS THAT make a good assassin.

Some would argue there are in fact several, ranging from exceptional physical endurance to countable mental illnesses such as psychosis and multiple personality disorder. However, none of those doctors are contractors themselves, so everything said comes purely out of their own imagination or trending psychology textbooks.

But as someone who’d taken more lives than I could count – one-hundred-and-forty-seven to be exact – I’d come to form my own list of essential skills. Then, realized it all came down to three.

Precision.

20 years old

Taipei, Taiwan

The rooftop offered the perfect vantage point. The city sprawled beneath me, its neon lights casting a glow over the restless streets. Vendors called out, selling sizzling skewers of meat and fried noodles. Motorbikes sped through traffic, their engines a constant hum beneath the buzz of conversation.

My target emerged from a club entrance below, adjusting his jacket as he stepped onto the sidewalk. I exhaled slowly, steadying my aim. He paused, checking his watch –the perfect opening.

One shot.

The silencer muffled the sound, the bullet slicing through the humid night air and his hat. He crumpled instantly, his body blending into the chaos. A few pedestrians gasped, confused by the sudden collapse.

By the time they noticed the bullet in his skull, I was long gone, slipping into the shadows.

Patience.

24 years old

Amazon Rainforest

The jungle was a suffocating mass of heat and humidity. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves. I had been here for three days, motionless, concealed among the foliage, watching. Waiting.

The target was cautious. He changed his routine, never ate from the same plate twice, never drank from the same glass. He trusted no one.

But even the paranoid had to breathe.

On the fourth day, he reached for a towel after washing his face. His fingers pressed into the fabric, and the invisible powder I had laced into the cloth found its way into his skin. He coughed once, twice, then staggered, confusion flickering across his face before his body seized. A neurotoxin, undetectable. The perfect kill.

I watched him struggle before going still. Then, I disappeared into the jungle.

Detachment.

27 years old

Moscow, Russia

Snow fell lightly, dusting the city in silence. The alley behind the restaurant was empty, save for the target stepping out for a smoke. His breath curled in the cold air as he lit his cigarette, completely unaware of my presence.

I moved swiftly, efficiently. A quick step forward, a blade sliding between his ribs before he even registered the attack. His eyes widened in shock, his cigarette dropping into the snow. I held him up as his strength faded, lowering him gently to the ground.

No words. No hesitation. No struggle.

By the time his body stilled, I had already melted into the city, another ghost in the night.

---