Dirga narrowed his eyes.
The elevator doors parted like a curtain revealing a stage — a velvet hallway lined in obsidian and crimson light. But what stood in the center was no stage act.
The girl spoke first, her voice soft and musical — almost sweet.
She twirled once, knives in both hands catching the red light like twin crescent moons. Her gothic dress swayed like a bell as she landed in a perfect curtsy, her dark eyes gleaming with something far too old for her age.
Raven-black hair braided into tight cords. Porcelain skin without a blemish. Red-shadowed eyes that stared without blinking. Her smile never reached her eyes.
She looked like a doll built for murder.
Beside her stood a boy. Smaller. Paler.
A black tactical vest clung to his thin frame, the blood-stained shirt beneath still buttoned like a school uniform. In his hands, he held a chain — and at the end of it, a wickedly curved scythe that clinked gently against the marble floor like a countdown.
The silence between them stretched.
Dirga didn’t move. But his pulse ticked just a little faster.
These weren’t normal children.
"What are you kids doing here?" he asked, voice flat.
Silja’s grin widened. "We were given orders. Father said you’re dangerous. So we’re here to kill you."
She lifted one blade, pointing it toward him.
"Wait," Dirga said, stepping forward. "You’re just children. You don’t need to do this."
"Oh, but we do," Silja said with a giggle. "Lucian says family sticks together. Blood makes you stronger."
She gave a mock-solemn bow.
"Let me introduce us properly. I am Silja Marruk, the elder. And this is my baby brother, Kairo. Forgive him — he doesn’t speak much."
Dirga’s eyes narrowed.
He could feel it now. Their presence. Their kill-count.
Not one. Not two. Not ten.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
He clenched his fists.
Raised in blood. Forged by Lucian’s cruelty. Their innocence long dead.
"You’ve killed before, haven’t you?" he said.
Silja smiled with teeth. "Oh yes. And we’ve fought someone like you before. Another one with magic. He cried a lot when we cut out his eyes."
A chill swept through the corridor.
Another Patron. Another devil.
He stepped back, his stance shifting slightly.
"You don’t have to follow his orders," he said quietly. "You’re not monsters."
Silja tilted her head.
"No. We’re not. We’re children."
Then her eyes turned cold.
"You’re the monster."
And Silja was already in motion.
A blur of lace, steel, and fury. Her raven braids cut the air like whips as she sprang toward Dirga — knives glinting like teeth, her small frame twisted with deadly intent.
Dirga’s telekinesis lashed out, trying to freeze her mid-air, but—
Something snapped above.
Kairo’s chain scythe came spinning down from the ceiling — a silent, silver viper aimed for Dirga’s skull.
He twisted just in time, the blade kissing air beside his cheek. A strand of his hair floated down, severed. One inch slower, and he’d be dead.
Too tight. Too fast. Too many directions.
His heart thundered like a war drum.
Silja twisted midair, flipping over his head. As she landed, a flash of steel darted from her thigh — a hidden throwing knife launched straight for his heart.
His hand shot out, caught it with telekinesis midair, and threw it aside — embedding it in the wall behind him with a crack of splintering concrete.
His voice echoed like a warning bell.
But they were already moving again.
Kairo’s chain hissed around his leg like a serpent, locking tight around his ankle.
Instead, his aura flared — the gravity reversed.
Then Kairo was pulled like a cannonball toward him.
Dirga’s feet dug into the marble floor as he twisted his entire torso, muscles coiling like iron cables, and drove a punch straight into Kairo’s face.
Kairo’s body flew backward like a ragdoll launched from a trebuchet — crashing into the hallway wall so hard it cracked the concrete. Blood sprayed like paint.
Silja’s scream was feral.
And now, her playfulness was gone.
Her smile twisted into something primal — her face pale with fury, her red-ringed eyes flaring like demonic coals. The air around her vibrated as she launched herself forward.
Dirga stepped back, but she was faster — faster than she had any right to be.
Her knives slashed in a wild flurry, twin silver flashes dancing like fangs. Dirga blocked with his arms, dodged left — but a cut still scored his bicep.
And she was trying to kill him.
He shifted gravity again — pulled her off balance mid-swing — and caught her wrist just as she tried to stab him in the throat. His other hand glowed with telekinesis, wrenching her second blade from her fingers.
A clean punch to her stomach.
She folded like paper, crashing beside her brother.
Panting. Still conscious. Glaring at him with hatred only a tortured child could possess.
Dirga stood over them, breathing heavy — not from the exertion, but from what he’d just done.
Fighting adults was one thing.
Fighting kids raised to be weapons?
That left a scar deeper than his fists.
The chain lifted from the floor, guided by his will — floating like a serpent made of steel.
It coiled around both siblings, binding them chest to chest, hands to ankles, eyes still burning.
He could feel their rage.
Their broken loyalty.
"You’re not monsters. Not yet."
His voice was quiet now. Cold. But sad.
"But don’t make me do this again."
Silja spit blood at his boots.
Kairo just stared at the ceiling, dazed.
His boots echoed against the floor as he moved toward the upper door — toward the throne room of Lucian Marruk.
Behind him, the hallway stank of blood and burned steel.
The children of violence had failed.
And the devil’s heir was still walking.