Just like the first time he granted Mr. Domiscus Vantasio a sliver of vitality, Dirga felt the recoil immediately—his body weakening, soul drained, motivation thinning out like smoke in the wind. His skin turned pale, his breathing shallow. The echo of death lingered in his chest like a cold whisper.
He slapped his own face.
"Come on," he muttered. "Remember why you started this. Naya. Jane. Remember who you're doing this for."
Dragging his heavy body into the elevator, Dirga rode it down to the lobby. Lilith was waiting as always, perched like a queen of temptation with her crimson lips and half-lidded eyes.
"Mr. Dirgantara," she purred, voice like silk laced with poison. "Leaving so soon? You didn't even say goodbye."
He didn't answer. His footsteps didn't falter. He just walked past her, too tired to play games or respond with sarcasm. She spoke again—something flirty, probably—but he didn't listen. Instead, he flicked a few bills to the valet and gestured to his car.
"Drive me home," he said. "I can't afford to sleep behind the wheel."
He didn't even bother taking off his shoes. As soon as he got into his apartment, he collapsed face-first onto the bed and passed out.
When he woke up, it was already 1:00 PM. Twelve hours had passed. Still tired. Still aching. He checked his phone—messages from Jane, sweet pictures of her and Naya, with texts asking if he was okay. Then another message—this one from Domiscus Vantasio.
"Where's the location for tonight's ritual?"
Dirga stared at the screen for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he typed back the address.
Night fell. The location Dirga had chosen was a derelict, abandoned building on the outskirts of the city—one that had become infamous over the years for rumors of hauntings, suicides, and ghost sightings. Perfect.
Tonight, he didn't drive the AE86. He took his motorbike. Something about the cold wind helped him stay alert.
As he arrived near the rotting structure, he noticed multiple expensive cars parked nearby, including a stretch limousine. Flashy. Typical.
He parked his bike and stepped off just as Lilith emerged from the limo, dressed in a slinky black dress that looked more suited to a gala than a ritual.
"Mr. Dirgantara," she greeted again, eyes glinting. "My devil returns. Mr. Domiscus is already waiting."
Dirga didn't smile. He followed her to the limo, where Domiscus sat like a resurrected king. The change was dramatic—he looked younger, stronger, more vibrant. Two women clung to his arms, fawning over him.
"Ah, my dark savior arrives!" Domiscus exclaimed with a grin. "Shall we begin tonight's path to immortality?"
"After we finalize the contract," Dirga replied, calm and cold. "You didn't forget our deal, did you?"
Domiscus laughed and clapped his hands. A man appeared at the side window with a leather folder.
"Here it is. Take a look, add your demands. You earned it."
"I'll just sign," Dirga said, taking the folder and scrawling his name without hesitation. "If you're putting your life in my hands, I should at least trust you."
Domiscus chuckled, delighted. "That's the spirit!"
"You got everything I asked for?"
Domiscus clapped again. Another suitcase was brought out and opened for Dirga's inspection. Inside were three items:
One million dollars—all in one-dollar bills.A red string soaked in blood.Graveyard incense.
Dirga nodded. The money wasn't about greed. It was symbolism. A reminder of how hard he had to struggle to survive… and how easy the rich had it. The kind of reminder that fueled his rage. The kind of rage that killed gods.
"Remember," Dirga said, "No one else enters the building. And keep the noise down. The devil doesn't like competition."
"Yes, yes," Domiscus said eagerly.
They exited the car, with Domiscus giving both his women a kiss on the cheek. Lilith followed them uninvited, her heels clicking against the cracked cement.
"I want to see it," she said with a smirk.
Dirga raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. "Fine."
The three of them entered the building. The second floor loomed above, shrouded in cobwebs and rotting wood.
"Where are we doing this?" Lilith asked.
"Main room. Second floor."
She tilted her head. "Why there?"
Dirga's eyes glinted as he walked up the creaking stairs. "You don't know? A woman burned herself there. Another hung herself. Some say she still whispers to visitors."
Lilith and Domiscus shared a glance.
"Why there?" she asked again, more hesitant.
"Because we're stealing from the devil," Dirga said, deadpan. "We need to be close to his domain."
The room was dust-filled and cold. Dirga got to work, stretching the red string across the walls and floor in a web-like formation. Domiscus undressed again and stood in the center of the web while incense smoke coiled around them.
Lilith stood in the corner, arms folded, but strangely silent now.
"We will begin," Dirga said, voice low.
He opened the suitcase and pulled out a dagger—thin, sharp, and cruel.
He threw the money into the air. As the bills floated and fell, he began chanting in the twisted tongue from the card. The bills burst into flame mid-air, dancing like cursed butterflies.
The strings began to vibrate.
Dirga moved in close and slashed Domiscus's cheek, hand, and thigh—shallow but precise.
"Don't move," he said darkly.
Then, with his free hand, he whispered the command:
"0.05 Vitality transfer to Domiscus Vantasio."
He pressed his hand to the older man's forehead.
Domiscus's wounds began to close instantly. His body convulsed—then pulsed with energy. His hair darkened. Wrinkles vanished. He looked at his hands like a child opening a gift.
"HAHAHAHA! Thank you, Dirga! Thank you!!"
Dirga stumbled back. His vision blurred. His legs buckled.
He collapsed on the floor, pale and drenched in sweat.
"Please… take care of me, Mr. Domiscus Vantasio," he whispered before losing consciousness.