𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙇'𝙎 𝘼𝘿𝙑𝙊𝘾𝘼𝙏𝙀 • 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙫𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ONE

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CHAPTER ONE:

The Phantom Angel

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"BEING SELFISH KEEPS YOU ALIVE."

My father did well to drill that mantra into my head, ensuring that I'd never forget it. When I was fourteen years old, he tattooed onto me an image which served as a reminder of his advice.

The image was of what he said angels looked like. He claimed he had looked death in the eye, and that she was surrounded by angels. A relatively humanoid head, though the eyes were dark and lifeless. A curtain of black hair sat on its head, casting a shadow on its face, and a gold halo floated on top. It was a small tattoo on my left arm, and one I'd typically hide underneath a thick sleeve.

Following his mantra protected me, but also left me with very few friends. I had convinced myself I didn't need much company, though, as I dedicated almost all of my time to my work.

Weaponry.

My life revolved around weapons. If I wasn't dreaming of them, I was designing one, or building one, or selling one. I knew the intricacies of the slugthrower, the minute details of the blaster, and every millimeter of the missile.

My father was in the business, and introduced me to it from a young age. Once I had gained fluency in the basics of selling grenade launchers, I grew bored. Why sell sub-par weapons when I could make my own?

By the time I turned twenty-five, I had a reputation that even my father couldn't deny his pride at. Of course, he died before he could tell me that.

His death was inconvenient for business, to say the least.

"The Angel of Death, in my very own home," Taro Seppenzi announced with a wide grin, his arms outstretched while he walked towards me as though he was about to pull me in for a hug. Thankfully, he didn't, dropping his arms once he came closer to me. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Taro's assistant had informed me that he was in the middle of an important meeting when I arrived, so I knew that there was anger bubbling beneath the friendly surface. However, as his biggest rival in the industry, I was treated with respect by Taro. A virtuoso in weaponry wasn't someone he wanted as an enemy, understandably.

"Pleasurable isn't how I'd describe the nature of this impromptu drop-in," I explained, trying my best to sound regretful.

His smile faltered and his left eye twitched. "You've never been one to beat around the bush. I trust you are here... amicably?"

"You also know I'm not one for small talk," I added, before letting out a sigh. "And relax, Taro. There are no Pyrowaves aimed at your windows; I come here in peace."

He took a seat on the white, plush lounger, and silently asked me to do the same as he patted the space beside him. Not wanting to make the situation any more tense than it had to be, I sat. "So, why are you here?" He asked me, lowering his voice so as to ensure it didn't quiver as it typically would in my presence.

"Your deal with Breha," I began, smoothing down my black tunic. "I understand congratulations are in order; it's your biggest payday yet."

Shock flashed over his features; he wasn't expecting for me to know about that. Although the Queen of Alderaan had previously employed me to supply an arsenal for her military, I had since learned that Taro Seppenzi replaced me.