First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess

Viola was in a black dress that hugged her and then let go, the fabric tipped with purple like bruised velvet to match the slant of her hair. She sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, little piles of shiny metal and glass around her like a predator's trophies. Chains, pins, tiny mirrors with bevels she liked to catch light in. Her hands moved methodically, threading, twisting, bending. She liked the small, precise violence of making something pretty that could cut.

Her device buzzed on the coffee table. She didn't bother looking; it was Ethan. He didn't bother with hello.

"Why isn't Xavier dead yet?" His voice was a raw edge. "How long is this gonna take, Viola? I don't want excuses, I want results. I—" The rest was cadence and impatience, the way people sound when they're used to things happening on command.

She smiled without showing teeth. "I'm already on Earth," she said. "I tracked him. I'm watching him."

"You say that and he's still breathing. There's a viral video, his fight at the club… it was a perfect opportunity to kill him. You know what that does, it—" He spat the words; they were a lit fuse.

Viola cut him off, amused. "That viral video? Yeah. That was me." She could hear the breath catch through the line. "I filmed it. I uploaded it. Turned his fans against him. Shifted the angle. People love a narrative that ends with a fall."

There was a beat, long enough for Ethan to shove something heavy down his throat. "You filmed it?" His voice went thin. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I don't just kill my targets," she said, leaning back so the light snagged the purple highlights in her hair. "I hunt them. I like the chase. The panic. The small, intelligent mistakes they make when they think the world is still on their side. I don't rush. I stalk. I make sure they bleed in public and private. That's how they break properly."

Ethan barked. "I don't want any of that. Just—just kill him. Fast. I don't want this theatre."

Viola laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. It was the sound of someone who'd watched men like Ethan learn the wrong lesson too often. "You don't get to order me around," she said. "I have my methods. The deadline's seven days. Plenty of time to make a proper hunt."

"You're wasting time," he said. "We don't have time to—"

"Wasting time?" She let the words hang. "If Xavier dies suddenly, all the blame will land where I want it to. His enemies become the obvious suspects. He goes out like a martyr — dangerous, untouchable in memory. People will write songs about him. They'll lionize him. You think you want him dead, Ethan, but what you're asking for is the easiest thing." She paused for ‌ the effect. "If he's murdered cleanly, he dies once. But he will become a legend and live forever."

Silence on the other end. Then, like a man seeing a puzzle piece slot into place, Ethan's tone shifted. The anger drained out and left something enlightened. "You can make him the public enemy?" It wasn't disbelief; it was relief warping into opportunity.

"I'll do it my way," Viola said. "You'll get Xavier. But not like you think. He'll be gone, yes. But people will remember him. They'll remember him loud. They'll remember him messy. That's the beauty of it. The blood will be someone else's stain."

Ethan's laugh was short, bitter, then resigned. "Fine. Do what you want. I give you full—full freedom. I'll wait for the remaining days."

She let him have that little victory, like letting prey think it had escaped. When the call ended she wiped a splotch of glue off her thumb, set it aside on the tray of ornaments, and looked out over the city that buzzed and blinked below.

The bell went off and Viola slid her tools aside before getting up. She unlocked the door and found Xavier standing there in a black suit that was stitched with lines of gold and white, almost regal but still with that smug air only he carried. He didn't waste time with greetings.

"You ready?" he asked, eyes flicking over her dress before he added, "Car's gonna be here any moment."

"I'm ready," Viola said, smoothing the front of her outfit. Then she glanced at him, voice a little lower. "By the way—the club fight clip, that wasn't Ethan's work either."

Xavier tilted his head, not surprised. "Yeah. I figured." A smirk tugged at him as he adjusted his cufflinks. "Pretty damn lame though. Not Blackwood standard."

Before Viola could reply, Lyra appeared from the hallway. She wore black like them, but it was nothing like their clean-cut outfits. Hers was a leather mix, tight in places, loose in others, with slits down the sides that let her move freely. A silver chain belt hugged her waist, and the way the collar dipped showed just enough to make it bold without trying too hard. It suited her—wild, sleek, and untamed like the wolf she was.

She tugged at the side of it with a frown. "I don't like this. I wanna change."

Xavier looked at her with that half-amused patience. "Endure it. Tonight's not about what we like. Think of it as a hunt in disguise. Besides, there'll be food at the auction. Unique food. The kind you can't get anywhere else."

That caught her for a second. She sighed, crossing her arms. "Fine. I'll endure."

Just then, Xavier's phone buzzed. He checked it and slid it back in his pocket. "Car's here."

The three of them headed down together. Waiting for them outside was a car that looked less like transport and more like a moving suite. Polished black, tall windows smoked out so no one could see inside. The doors opened into leather seats deep enough to drown in, a bar tucked into the side panel, every detail whispering luxury. It was built for comfort, built for privacy, built for the kind of people who didn't like being seen.

They slipped inside, the doors closing with a hush, sealing them off from the noise of the city.