Chapter 1
Glogoplanto Palasanto wasn’t a man you crossed. He wasn’t a typical weed dealer—he was something far more terrifying. His name struck fear into anyone who dared speak it aloud, and his reputation was carved into the deepest, darkest corners of the underworld. He was a beast cloaked in the facade of a dealer, but his true nature was monstrous.
Glogoplanto didn’t just sell weed—he owned it. He controlled every inch of the market, from the drug itself to the people who came crawling to him. His weed was legendary, an intoxicating mix of power and euphoria, but there was a price. Not just in money, but in the price of disrespect. The smallest mistake, the slightest insult, could cost you your life. And Glogoplanto’s anger was as notorious as his product.
His apartment was a hellscape—dimly lit, with strange smells lingering in the air, a place where shadows seemed to move with purpose. The walls were lined with remnants of his past “customers,” those who had been too foolish to think they could cheat him or, worse, test his patience.
One night, a man named Vince came looking for Glogoplanto. Vince was new to the city, cocky, and eager to get into the trade, thinking that buying from the infamous dealer would set him on the fast track to power. Little did he know, Glogoplanto was far more than just a ruthless businessman.
Vince entered Glogoplanto’s domain, his heart pounding in his chest. He had the cash, but he didn’t expect what happened next.
“You come to buy, or you come to waste my time?” Glogoplanto’s voice was smooth like velvet, but with an edge that sent chills down Vince’s spine.
Vince, trying to act tough, shrugged. “I got the cash, man. Just want the good stuff. Heard you're the best.”
Glogoplanto’s lips twitched, almost as if amused by Vince’s arrogance. “The best... yes. But the best comes with a price,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.
Vince, eager to get the deal done, laid the money on the table. But as he did, he accidentally knocked over a small vial of what seemed like a strange powder. It hit the floor with a soft clink. It was a tiny mistake, but to Glogoplanto, it was unforgivable.
His hand shot out, grabbing Vince by the throat. The grip was tight, unyielding. Glogoplanto’s eyes burned with a rage so deep, it seemed like it could swallow the world whole. “You think you can just come in here and disrespect me?”
Vince’s attempts to pry Glogoplanto’s hand from his neck were futile. His vision began to blur, and the world around him spun into chaos. Panic filled his chest as he realized just how serious Glogoplanto was. But it was too late.
Glogoplanto’s rage was unrestrained. With a ferocity that stunned Vince, he dragged him deeper into the apartment, where the walls were covered in grim symbols and dark stains. Here, the true terror of Glogoplanto revealed itself.
He didn’t just kill—he tortured. His methods were brutal, far beyond anything one could imagine. The pain was a dance, a slow, drawn-out punishment. Every second felt like an eternity as Glogoplanto’s twisted version of justice played out. The sound of screams echoed through the apartment, but no one ever heard them. No one ever saw what happened to those who displeased him.
Vince had no time to beg for mercy—Glogoplanto had none to offer.
When it was over, when Glogoplanto had unleashed all the fury that had been festering within him, there was nothing left of Vince but a broken, unrecognizable shell.
Glogoplanto wiped his hands clean, taking a deep breath, as if the release of that anger had been a cleansing ritual. He didn’t need to make an example of people—his reputation alone was enough. But sometimes, it was the small offenses that called for the biggest responses.
Word spread fast, as it always did. The underworld became quieter, more fearful. People learned quickly that Glogoplanto Palasanto wasn’t just a dealer. He was a force of nature—unstoppable, untouchable, and terrifying.
