Page 2 of Celestial Combat

I could’ve pretended to not be what I was. I could’ve looked myself in the mirror and lied. After all, no one would’ve known but me.

During the twenty-seven years I’d been alive, I’d come to terms with who I really was.

Not a contractor for hire.

Not a professional.

But a killer.

It existed at the core of my being.

It ran through my very veins.

It spread and choked until I was nothing but an animal lacking free will – the sole reason I’d even become what I was.

The profession had served me for thirteen years.

But just like with anything else, I needed a change.

Chapter 2

Present

31 years old

Midtown, New York City

THE AIR INSIDE PYTHON SMELLED of sweat, leather, and expensive cologne. A perfectly calibrated balance – grit masked by luxury. The gym catered to the elite, a playground for those who could afford personal trainers and custom-built training programs but still craved the illusion of rawness. Polished black marble lined the floors, heavy bags hung from industrial beams, and the hum of sparring filled the space like background music to a high-stakes game.

I walked through the gym at an easy pace, nodding at the staff who offered polite hellos.

“Morning, boss.”

I returned their greetings with the sharp nod of my chin. My presence here wasn’t special. I owned this place, but more importantly, I built it to be what it was. A temple of discipline, precision, and controlled violence.

Near the private rings, a Singaporean billionaire was throwing sloppy punches at his trainer. His footwork was ajoke. I stopped beside him, adjusting his stance with a firm press to his shoulder.

“Pivot here.” My voice was calm, but firm.

The man stilled, then nodded. He mimicked my adjustment, throwing the punch again. This time, it landed with better form. I watched for another second before moving on, his gratitude trailing behind me.

At the restaurant inside Python, a long table of business owners sat sipping espressos and reviewing stock numbers. Men who ran the city in ways politicians never could. I saluted them with a casual nod, receiving the same in return. Respect, and an illusion of friendship.

But the moment I stepped into my front office, the easy smile I’d worn disappeared.

A soldier stood waiting. “Someone is here to see you–”

“Tell them it’s gonna have to wait.”

The soldier hesitated. “It’s Tony.”

I sighed through my nose. Tony was the exception, and we both knew it. The man brought me money – had, in the past, brought me a lot of it.

I jerked my chin toward the hidden elevator. “Let’s go.”

The ride down was silent, aside from the machinery hum.

“He’s not alone.”

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