"So," Sasa asked, tilting his head, "you want to go back first?"
Dirga nodded, his voice quiet but firm. "Yeah. Just for a bit."
He needed to see her. Naya.
No matter how far he’d come, or how deep into Hell he’d fallen, there was still a tether that pulled at his chest. He wasn’t ready to let it fray.
He took the shimmering marble from Sasa’s hand, felt the faint thrum of Zarion pulsing inside it like a heart.
ZARION surged. The world folded inward—colors inverted, sound warped, and reality blinked like a shutter—and Dirga was gone.
The room fell silent again.
Sasa remained slouched on the velvet couch, one leg draped lazily over the other, a Devil Gold coin spinning effortlessly between his fingers.
The soft clink of metal filled the silence. Light from the chandelier caught the coin’s edge, throwing quicksilver flashes across his salt-white hair and the sharp, boyish lines of his face.
The door creaked open.
And Asura stepped inside.
Broad-shouldered and composed, his skin carried the hue of dried blood—deep, earthy crimson.
His ember-like eyes scanned the room with the calm of someone who had seen a thousand battlefields... and burned most of them to the ground.
A black tribal tattoo coiled from the base of his neck down into his chest, the pattern ancient and unreadable, yet radiating purpose like a sealed curse.
But most terrifying of all... was the third eye.
Centered on his forehead like the final word in a dead language.
Yet the room seemed to breathe differently around it. The air tightened. Shadows stretched a little longer.
Even the gold coin in Sasa’s hand slowed slightly, as if obeying something older than gravity.
Asura wore robes—tattered, flowing, worn like armor by an ancient warrior-monk.
Each fold told stories: of ruined temples, bleeding skies, and gods silenced mid-prayer. Power clung to him like scent.
"I expected you," Asura said. His voice was quiet but sharp—like steel whispering against stone.
Sasa gestured to the empty chair across from him with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Yeah, yeah. Come in. Take a seat. Let’s talk."
Asura crossed the room and sat without hesitation. The air shifted.
His presence didn’t just fill the room.
It pressed against the walls.
Sasa stopped spinning the coin. Let it fall into his palm with a soft clap of metal on flesh.
His grin didn’t vanish—but it thinned. Sharpened.
The kind of smile gamblers wear when the stakes are finally real.
And just like that, the game began.
A devil’s game—played not with cards, but with power, prophecy, and trust sharp enough to break realms.
Dirga stepped through the portal.
And returned to Earth.
The cold artificial air of the penthouse greeted him like a long-lost memory. Familiar. Sterile. Safe.
Lilith looked up from the lounge, dressed in sleek black officewear, a tablet hovering beside her like a loyal assistant.
She waved. "Hello, boss."
Dirga exhaled, a small grin breaking through the weight on his chest. "Ah... Thanks for watching the place."
"It’s fine, boss," Lilith said smoothly. "Jane came by, though."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah? Was she angry?"
Lilith made a claw gesture, miming a roar. "Mildly lioness. But no property damage."
Dirga chuckled. "Good to know."
He didn’t waste more time. Moments mattered now.
He turned, entered the lift, and descended into the parking lot.
His motorcycle waited—black, lean, and silent. Within seconds, he was on the road, cutting through the night.
The hospital hadn’t changed.
White walls. Cold hallways. Bleached lights that buzzed overhead like they were just as tired as the people walking beneath them.
Dirga walked past nurses and visitors, his aura restrained, his presence barely a whisper in the crowd.
Just another face. Another figure in the backdrop of a world that didn’t know it was crumbling.
He found her room easily.
Still there. Still asleep.
The same stillness hung over her, like she was suspended between seconds—caught in the breath of a moment that refused to end.
But Dirga could feel it now. Stronger than ever.
The Hellflower was blooming. Slowly. Insidiously. Every visit, it pressed closer to the surface, like something beneath the skin whispering to be let out.
Watched her chest rise and fall.
Listened to the slow, strained rhythm of the machines beside her.
"I’ll get there," he whispered. "Just a little longer."
And the tournament would earn him one.
The clock was ticking.
The flower was blooming.
And the world was about to bleed.
He crushed the stone.
Once again, Zarion surged through the air—tendrils of invisible force wrapping around his body like living threads. Warm. Heavy. Infinite.
And then he vanished.
When he reappeared, it wasn’t what he expected.
From what Sasa had said, Dirga assumed he’d arrive in some bizarre, warped palace—maybe a floating island surrounded by demons or a rotating tower of illusions. Something devil-like.
Instead... he landed in a courtyard.
Paved. Gated. Surprisingly tasteful. f|ree(w)ebn\o.vel.com
The building before him looked like a modern villa fused with classical elements—dark wood beams, smooth marble floors, and golden lights glowing behind trimmed hedges.
It was luxurious... but not ostentatious. Ordinary. Fancy. Almost boring.
Dirga frowned. "This is Sasa’s place?"
As he looked around, a voice chirped up from below.
"Welcome, Mr. Dirgantara!"
Dirga glanced down and saw a creature no taller than his waist—small, winged, glowing faintly with soft blue light.
A pixie, dressed in a miniature butler’s uniform, complete with tiny coattails and a bowtie.
"I am Wish, the appointed steward of this estate," the pixie said proudly, bowing with a flourish. "Mr. Sasa informed me of your arrival. Please follow me."
Dirga blinked, then gave a small nod—and returned the bow, unsure why but feeling like he should.
"Mr. Sasa regrets he can’t greet you personally. Something... urgent came up," Wish said, fluttering ahead.
They walked through the polished halls. The place smelled of aged wood and cool incense—sharp but calming.
Walls were lined with strange paintings, most abstract, some disturbingly lifelike.
Eventually, they reached a room.
Wish opened the door with a wave of his hand. "This will be your quarters during your stay."
Dirga stepped inside.
The room was... elegant. Smooth stone walls, velvet curtains, a bed large enough for five people, and a soft glow coming from embedded Zarion runes in the ceiling.
There was even a crystal decanter of water on a tray beside the bed.
Fancy. Comfortable. But still—ordinary.
"I’ll leave you to rest, Mr. Dirga," Wish said, floating up to place a small silver bell on the table. "If you need anything—anything at all—just ring this. I’ll appear immediately."
Dirga gave a small nod. "Thanks."
Wish bowed again and zipped out of the room, leaving Dirga alone in the quiet.
He stood for a moment, taking it all in.