The Titan War God Returns

Wrong Target

Hades turned into the quiet, well-guarded street where Vince’s birthday party took place. Expensive cars lined the road, each carrying the city’s elite. Behind dark shades, Hades observed them through his mirrors, his face unreadable.

He pulled his car to the curb and stepped out with a calm stride. His tailored suit blended him with the wealthy crowd. On the surface, he looked like one of them—another guest here to drink fine wine and exchange hollow greetings.

The guards at the entrance didn’t hesitate to block his path. One extended a hand. “Invitation, please.”

Hades dipped two fingers into the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a crisp card. The men inspected it briefly, saw nothing amiss, and moved aside. None of them knew the real owner of that card was unconscious in the trunk of Hades’ car.

With slow, measured steps, he entered the building. No part of his movement betrayed what he truly was—an executioner hidden in plain sight.

The elevator carried him upward. He pressed the button for the top floor, knowing that was where the celebration took place. When the doors opened, sound spilled into the hallway. Lively music hummed softly, the kind of restrained tunes the wealthy liked, paired with chatter and the clinking of glasses.

Hades walked in. The party was exactly what he expected—polished floors, a glittering chandelier, trays of miniature food no one truly ate, and wine that cost more than most people’s monthly wages.

He accepted a glass from a passing server, barely sipping it. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Vince. But the host was nowhere in sight.

His gaze settled on a woman seated alone near the balcony, scrolling through her phone with a glass of wine balanced in her other hand. Nesse. Hades recognized her at once, though he didn’t reveal it. Instead, he shifted his face into something friendlier and walked over.

“Hi,” Hades greeted, his tone casual. “Can you tell me where Vince is?”

Without looking up, Nesse replied, “I don’t know. Ask one of his slaves.”

Hades blinked. “Slaves?”

“Servants. Whatever you want to call them.” She waved him off.

He nodded politely and left her to her phone. Moving past the crowd, he stopped one of the servers—a thin young man balancing a tray like it had grown from his hand.

“Vince,” Hades asked quietly. “Where is he?

The server pointed down the hallway. “Last room on the left.”

Hades gave him a short nod and walked away. The music faded with each step until only faint murmurs reached him. When he neared the room, a man’s voice carried through the door, loud and careless, arguing with someone on the phone.

Hades rapped his knuckles lightly against the door. No response. He knocked again.

“Who is it?” Vince’s muffled voice called.

“It’s me,” Hades said calmly.

“Jonah?” the man asked. “About damn time. Come in!”

Hades opened the door. Vince was by the window, pacing and cursing at whoever was on the other end of his call. A glass table sat nearby, dusted with three neat lines of cocaine and a rolled-up bill beside them.

Hades shut the door quietly, his hands resting across his waist. He waited, patient and silent.

Vince finally hung up, muttering under his breath as he turned. He froze when he saw Hades standing there—a tall, broad man in shades, not Jonah.

“What the hell—who are you?”

Hades tilted his head slightly. His voice was cold, steady. “I’m the grim reaper. I came to take your soul. Say your last prayer.”

Vince’s face twisted in surprise before breaking into an uneasy grin. Then laughter bubbled out of him as he crossed the room toward the liquor cabinet. “That’s funny. Really. You had me going for a second.”

Hades opened his suit jacket enough to reveal the black grip of a gun tucked into his waistband.

The laughter stopped. Vince’s hands rose slowly. Fear replaced his smugness. “Wait—don’t. Don’t do this. Whatever you’re being paid, I can double it. Triple it.”

Hades didn’t move. He simply watched.

Vince’s voice quickened, begging now, promising money, power, anything. Hades was about to speak when a faint sound reached his ear—footsteps approaching the door. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling Vince to stay silent.

The footsteps stopped right outside. The door handle rattled.

“Vince?” a woman’s voice called. “Open the door.”

Hades’ eyes narrowed. He pressed his weight against the door, holding it shut, and gave Vince a stare sharp enough to slice him in half.

Vince swallowed hard. “I—I’ll be out soon, Mother,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

“The guests are waiting for you,” she reminded.

“I know. I’ll be there in a minute,” he replied quickly.

A pause followed, then the fading click of stilettos moving away.

Hades straightened once more. The room fell silent again, heavy with dread.

Slowly, Hades advanced. Vince backed toward the wall, stammering pleas. His options were gone. The window behind him only led to a long fall.

Hades’ voice cut through his begging, low and direct. “Who sent you word about me? Was it… Nesse?”

The question froze Vince where he stood.

"I am the grim reaper!"

Hades stopped mid-step. For a brief moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then Hades resumed, his shoes striking the floor with deliberate calm as he closed in.

Vince’s chest tightened. Nesse had been the shadow haunting him for years. She never knew how deep his hatred ran. Their companies had stood as rivals for as long as he could remember—hers rising higher, his collapsing under pressure. His father, the one man Vince wanted to please, had never let him forget it.

“You’re nothing compared to her,” the old man had said again and again, spitting the words like venom.

Nesse’s company grew at a pace no one expected, while his father’s empire slid into decline. Rumors of a merger had swirled in every boardroom, and Vince knew what it meant—Nesse would be given the seat at the top, while he would be cast aside. That thought ate him alive. He swore he would see her destroyed before that day came.

He tried. Every plot, every attempt to cut her down had failed. And somewhere in the dark, Iron had made sure it stayed that way.

Now, facing the barrel of death, Vince’s bravado shattered.

“Please don’t kill me!” he cried, stumbling backward until he lost balance and fell. His expensive suit crumpled against the floor as he scrambled, crawling on his elbows. “Is it money you want? I’ll pay you triple—whatever she gave you, I’ll give more!”

Hades lowered his hand to his waist and drew the pistol free. His movements were unhurried, practiced. With a swift click, he fixed the silencer to its barrel. Then he slid the magazine out, plucked a single bullet, and held it close to Vince’s terrified face.

The faint silver gleam caught Vince’s eye. He froze.

“You thought I didn’t know what you are?” Hades said, a grin cutting across his face, sharp and merciless.

Vince’s head shook violently. “W-what? What are you talking about?”

Hades said nothing. He slipped the bullet back into the magazine, locked it in place, and leveled the gun.

The shot rang out, muffled but final.

The bullet tore into Vince’s forehead before he could form another word. His body jerked once, then slumped flat. Blood spread beneath him, eyes wide and empty, mouth frozen in a silent gasp. A thin trail of smoke drifted from the wound.

Hades looked down, lips tightening. “Shit.”

He hadn’t expected this. Iron had ordered him to eliminate Vince under the belief he was more than human—one of the Valhalla hiding in plain sight. Those beings bled gold, and only weapons forged from silver could end them.

But the blood spilling beneath Vince was not gold. It was red. Human.

Hades crouched, wiped the gun clean with a cloth, and pressed it into Vince’s limp hand. The body was stiffening already. Straightening, Hades adjusted his tie and walked out. 

No one noticed him leave the room. 

The party below carried on.