God of Contracts: Strongest Businessman

The relentless rain pounded the cobblestone streets, its relentless drumming accompanied by the howling of the cold, biting wind. Amidst the dimly lit alleys, a middle-aged man strained to run as fast as his overweight frame allowed, despite the obvious signs of exhaustion and the prominent bulge of his belly.

Behind him, three ominous figures, cloaked in darkness, pursued him with unwavering determination. Their hushed voices cut through the rain-soaked air, each word sharpened with urgency.

"We can't lose him," hissed one of the pursuers, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Remember, we're not to let him slip away," urged another, eyes fixed on their fleeing target.

The man, gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest, couldn't help but question his life choices. "Why? Why me?" he muttered between labored breaths. "I don't deserve this."

A sudden burst of searing heat seared across his back, throwing him to the cold, wet ground. He struggled to rise, but his body betrayed him; exhaustion and the relentless downpour made every movement a futile endeavor.

The trio of pursuers finally closed the gap, looming over him like impending doom. One of them spoke coldly, "Running is pointless. You're a dead man walking."

Hearing these chilling words, the wounded man's face contorted with disbelief. His voice quivered as he pleaded, "Why is he doing this? We were friends! I've always been there for him!" Tears welled up in his eyes as he cried out, "Why? Why?"

But the three assailants remained unmoved. "We don't know, and we don't care," one of them replied callously. "We're just doing our job."

As the lead pursuer began to chant a spell, preparing to end the man's life, an unexpected twist of fate intervened. The injured man watched in astonishment as his pursuers collapsed, their lifeless bodies hitting the rain-slicked ground with a thud.

Confusion overwhelmed him, and he stammered, "Who?"

A voice from the shadows cut through the darkness. "Oh, it's only me."

Turning towards the source of the voice, he strained to make out the tall silhouette in the corner. The features were obscured, but a sense of recognition dawned upon him. It was not their first encounter.

"How are you doing these days?" the silhouette asked, a note of amusement in its voice.

Dior, who had been on the verge of despair moments ago, found himself flustered by the unexpected question. He replied hastily, "I'm just having a bad week."

The silhouette smiled knowingly. "Is that so?" It added, "I shouldn't have believed the rumors about you and your family's death order then"

Dior's mind raced back to the horrifying sight of his family's lifeless bodies in their own home. His parents and his little brother, gone. Tears welled up once more, and this time, he couldn't hold them back. They flowed freely down his cheeks as he grieved for his loved ones.

Before he could be consumed by sorrow, the silhouette offered, "I can help you."

But Dior had already made up his mind.

"Just end it. I don't care," Dior whispered, his voice filled with resignation. In that moment, he had come to a stark realization that without his family's presence and the status they represented, his existence would be utterly devoid of purpose.

"Are you willing to allow your brother's murderer and the puppeteer behind it all to escape without consequences?" The enigmatic figure deftly manipulated Dior's emotions, striking a chord of anger deep within him, and the effect was undeniable.

"What are you suggesting?" Dior asked, his anger now fueling a newfound determination. He might have lost the will to live, but the thought of avenging his dear brother resonated deeply within him even if it meant risking everything he had left.

"You decide, I execute," the enigmatic figure replied in a dispassionate tone.

Hearing this, Dior was elated, knowing that if the enigmatic figure had handled the three skilled assassins with such ease, dealing with the traitor would be a walk in the park.

No, this would only be a shallow response to the depth of his rage. Dior yearned for more, a burning desire to exact vengeance that consumed him. He couldn't entrust the task to anyone else; it was a matter of personal justice. With unwavering determination, he pledged to eradicate each relative of that bastard, most of them being complicits in the betrayal, subjecting them to a symphony of suffering before bestowing the traitor with the fate they so rightfully earned.

Yet, his fiery resolve tempered as he recalled that the enigmatic figure before him bore no halo of virtue. Realizing this, he steeled himself and inquired, "What do you want?"

"Nothing much," the silhouette replied cryptically before dropping a chilling bombshell. "Just your soul."

Dior's heart faltered, torn between the relentless thirst for revenge and the desperation that had brought him to this fateful crossroads. He could vividly imagine the excruciating torment he might unleash upon his brother's murderer. After a moment's pause, he finally conceded, "It's a deal."

The silhouette grinned sinisterly and snapped his fingers. In an instant, a contract materialized in Dior's mind, sealing their unholy pact.

⬩⬥⬧ Desire Contract ⬧⬥⬩

◿ Desireling ◺

⌜Name | Dior Lorensi ⌟

⌜Species | Human ⌟

⌜Existence Level | Lowest ⌟

⌜Soul Quality | Mediocre⌟

◿ Terms ◺

⌜Requires support in seeking vengeance against his once-trusted friend.⌟

⌜Desires to take on the role of the executioner. ⌟

◿ Time Limit ◺

⌜None ⌟

◿ Enforcer ◺

⌜####### ####### ⌟

◿ Ongoing Contract ◺

⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧⬧

"Pleased to do business with you," the silhouette purred, then continued, "You can go back home. It's already cleaned. Stay home and wait for my call."

And with that, the silhouette vanished into the shadows, leaving Dior to grapple with the consequences of his fateful decision.

Not far from the clandestine rendezvous,

A young boy stealthily entered his hotel room through the open window, a contented smile playing on his lips. The arduous mission was drawing to a close, and a wave of relief washed over him. Shedding his coat, he stretched out on the plush bed.

With a tranquil sigh, he contemplated how much he had changed. The rigors of such missions no longer unsettled him. As he closed his eyes, he spoke softly,

"Iris, what's on my schedule for tomorrow?"

A disembodied voice resonated within his mind, "You have a business meeting with the esteemed Larkspur family in the morning."

Acknowledging the response with a nod, he added, "Very well. Wake me up a few hours before the meeting." With that, he succumbed to a well-earned slumber.