Dirga woke up to a sterile white ceiling and the steady beeping of a heart monitor. A sharp ache pounded through his skull. His limbs felt like lead, and his chest rose with shallow, deliberate breaths.
Where…?
He blinked, slowly taking in the hospital room. His body was sore, his spirit heavy. A quick glance at his wristwatch revealed the time: 2:00 PM.
"Damn..." he muttered.
He had slept for nearly 14 hours.
He could feel it. The fatigue that went beyond mere physical exhaustion — this was something deeper, heavier. A spiritual hollowness that clawed at his insides. His soul usage had reached 0.08. Not even a tenth of his essence was gone, and yet... it felt like something vital was already slipping away.
He sat up and scanned the room. No flowers, no notes, no TV. Just silence. Then the door creaked open, and Lilith stepped in.
"Are you okay?" she asked. Her voice was soft, but there was a rare flicker of concern in her eyes.
"Barely," Dirga replied. His voice was hoarse. "But forget about that. Tell Mr. Domiscus Vantasio to prepare for the final ritual. Tonight."
Lilith's eyes widened. "So soon? You just—"
"Before midnight," Dirga interrupted. "That's the deadline."
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I'll call him now."
As she stepped outside, he could hear her voice speaking quickly into her phone. Moments later, she returned.
"Mr. Vantasio said he's ready. But where will it be?"
Dirga leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. "A graveyard. A very specific one. Abandoned, secluded, far from curious eyes. And no one else is allowed. No bodyguards, no girls. Just the two of us."
Lilith paused, confused. "Just the two of you?"
He nodded. "This final ritual is sacred. Any interference could ruin it."
She relayed the message through her phone. "He agrees," she said. "Also, he asked me to give you this." Lilith stepped forward and handed him a thick envelope. "The thirty percent contract. He said this is his way of thanking you for your effort."
Dirga took it without a word and flipped through the pages. The numbers were staggering. With a quick signature at the end, he secured his future.
"Finally…" he whispered. "After tonight, I won't just be lottery-rich. I'll be truly rich."
He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let himself drift. "Wake me up at six."
Lilith nodded and quietly left the room.
…
"Mr. Dirgantara, it's time," Lilith's voice called through the door.
Dirga sat up slowly. His body ached less than before, but he still looked deathly pale. He shuffled over to the wardrobe and picked a clean black shirt and coat.
After a quick shower, he stared at his reflection. The man in the mirror looked older, thinner, and more hollow than he remembered. But his eyes — they burned with grim purpose.
As he stepped out of the hospital room, Lilith handed him a coat.
"You can head downstairs," she said. "The limousine is waiting."
Dirga gave a tired nod and walked slowly to the front entrance.
As he stepped into the limousine, the scent of expensive cologne, alcohol, and lingering perfume assaulted his senses. Mr. Domiscus Vantasio was already inside, reclined comfortably, a satisfied grin spread across his face.
The man looked younger than ever. His skin glowed, and his smile beamed with self-assured pleasure.
"Ah, my savior," Vantasio chuckled, swirling a glass of wine. "Ready for the final step?"
Dirga gave a nod. "Did you bring what I asked for?"
Vantasio pulled a small vial from his coat pocket. Inside was a deep red ink — blood. "Virgin's blood, just as you requested. Had to pull a few strings for this one."
Dirga took the vial, holding it up against the passing streetlights. The fluid shimmered darkly.
"Good," he murmured.
The ride took nearly an hour, heading into the outskirts of the city. The graveyard was a forgotten piece of land — rusted gates, overgrown grass, and a stench of decay clinging to the wind. The perfect place for a devil's game to end.
The limousine stopped just outside the crumbling entrance.
Dirga stepped out first and turned to the driver. "Leave us. Come back in two hours. If we don't call you by then... don't come back at all."
The driver, uneasy, simply nodded and drove off.
Vantasio emerged from the car, clearly amused. "So... this is where I become immortal?"
Dirga smirked. "Yes. Tonight, you'll see the devil himself."
As before, Vantasio stripped down, laying himself in the center of the pentagram Dirga carved into the cracked soil. With chalk mixed from ash and blood, Dirga completed the circle, placing candles at the tips of each point. He muttered chants under his breath, the foreign words laced with venom and power.
Vantasio laughed as he lay exposed. "You know, the last ritual was incredible. I felt twenty years younger. This time, I want to feel like a god."
"You will," Dirga said softly, reaching into his coat.
Vantasio didn't even flinch when Dirga straddled his chest and pulled out the same ceremonial dagger.
"More blood?" Vantasio asked with a grin.
Dirga nodded and began chanting again. His voice trembled slightly, but his grip was steady.
In a sudden, swift motion, he drew the dagger across Vantasio's throat.
The sound was a sharp, wet gasp — then gurgling.
Blood sprayed in a wide arc, staining the pentagram, soaking Dirga's hands, dripping into the earth.
Vantasio's eyes widened in panic. He looked up at Dirga, expecting the healing to come... but nothing happened.
He tried to speak, to scream, but his voice was gone — a wet hiss lost in the blood pooling in his throat.
His hands twitched. Then slowed. Then stopped.
And finally... he was still.
Dirga remained over him, chest heaving. The air was heavy with iron and smoke. He looked up — and then it happened.
Vantasio's soul began to rise from his body — writhing, screaming, translucent and desperate.
Dirga held out the ritual card.
The soul screamed — a sound not heard by ears, but deep in the bones. It twisted and flailed as it was pulled into the glowing card, vanishing in a flash of unnatural light.
Then the world around Dirga shifted.
The graveyard vanished.
In an instant, he was back in the pitch-black room — that endless void filled with whispering winds and darkness.
And there, sitting cross-legged on the black floor, was Sasa.
The rabbit-headed creature grinned wider than before, eyes glinting with wicked amusement.
"Helloooo, Dirga," Sasa purred, his voice a thousand tones at once.
Dirga stayed silent, blood still on his hands.
"Congratulations," Sasa said, clapping his oversized hands mockingly. "You've finally taken a life. Truly taken it. How does it feel?"
Dirga didn't answer.
Sasa leaned forward. "You've lied. You've sacrificed. You've sold pieces of your soul. But now… now you've crossed the final line. There's no going back, little gambler."
"I know," Dirga said quietly.
"Was it worth it?" Sasa asked, tilting his head. "All that blood... for power? For money?"
Dirga met Sasa's eyes. "This world doesn't reward kindness. Only wolves get fed."
Sasa's grin widened. "Then welcome, Dirga. You're no longer prey."
The room darkened. The whispers grew louder. And somewhere in the void, the sound of dice rolling echoed once more.