The private jet's cabin smelled like expensive leather and poor life choices—a scent Henry was intimately familiar with.
President Eduardo Vasquez, the corrupt, diamond-hoarding, coup-happy leader of a small but very flammable country, was too busy scrolling through offshore bank accounts to notice his new steward pocketing the solid-gold umbrella from the coat rack.
This'll fetch a nice price. Henry grinned. Or at least buy me a decent bottle of whiskey.
"Señor Presidente," he said, pouring poisoned wine into the man's glass with a flourish, "your finest vintage."
Vasquez grunted, gulping it down without a second thought.
Henry resisted the urge to pat him on the back. Good little dictator.
The neurotoxin would've killed him painlessly in an hour—classy, professional, boring—but Henry had never been good at following plans.
So when Vasquez's fingers started twitching, Henry leaned in and whispered, "Hey. You ever wonder why your last three bodyguards mysteriously quit?"
Vasquez blinked up at him, pupils dilating.
Henry pulled his pistol.
BANG.
The president's head snapped back, his face frozen in surprise. His steak, now wearing a lovely new crimson glaze, was officially the most expensive thing in the cabin.
Oops.
Alarms shrieked. The cockpit door burst open—two bodyguards, guns drawn.
Henry shot them both before they could yell "¡Alto!"
The pilot was screaming into the radio. Henry put a bullet through the control panel.
"No refunds," he said, then snatched the emergency parachute bag from the overhead compartment.
He kicked open the exit hatch. Wind roared in, howling like a pissed-off god.
Henry saluted the dead. "Thanks for the ride."
Then he jumped.
Freefall was exhilarating. The ground spun below, a patchwork of fields and poor life decisions. He yanked the parachute cord—
FWUMP.
Money exploded into the sky.
Thousands of bills—crisp, untraceable euros—fluttered around him like confetti.
Henry stared.
"…This is why I hate corrupt politicians."
He sighed, then grabbed the gold umbrella from his belt. Might as well try.
He flicked it open—
SNAP.
The damn thing broke instantly, leaving him clutching a useless, gilded stick.
Henry blinked. "Wow. Even the umbrella's a scam."
Then—FWOOMP—a swirling, rainbow portal opened beneath him.
Henry had half a second to think "Well, this is new" before he was unceremoniously sucked into another world.
The last thing he heard? The distant BOOM of Vasquez's jet exploding.
At least the client got his money's worth.
____
Okay, this was the prologue done. I had written it just to show a bit how Henry is in real life. Usually he is not in santa-claus mode, that was more like thing he does for some cathartic relief. After all, nothing beats making a corpo rat squirm in fear, or so a certain silverhand thinks.
Next 2-3 chapters would be for some world-building, because I hate the trope of god giving wishes as if a ROB has nothing to better to do than fullfill the wishes of some cosmically insignificant speck of life. Those kind of books feels as if you are day dreaming and just want your wishes fulfilled and you do so by bringing in a deus ex machina.
Even waking up with a system types of novels are better.
I like to have everything for believable reason (not to be confused with grounded, because nothing beyond this is going to be on grounded, even Henry is in air you see
100 powerstones for bonus chapter, that the usual deal with readers so we will go with that for now.
And as I like reading comments of readers, the more the comments are, the better the situation for this book is going to be. I would either increase the word count per chapter or just give random bonus chapters if I see people talking.