Dirga's strategy was simple in concept—draw out Domiscus Vantasio's greed and dangle immortality just within reach. He had three days before the final deadline, and he planned to spend every moment sharpening his trap. He would lure the old devil in with dark rituals and false hope. And when Vantasio finally believed he had achieved godhood… that's when Dirga would strike.
But killing one of the most powerful men in the country wasn't the hard part. Surviving afterward was.
By 9:00 PM, Dirga stood amidst the chaos of his apartment. Books were stacked haphazardly, pages ripped and scrawled with runes. The air was thick with the pungent smell of herbs and burnt incense. Blood smeared the floor—rat, bird, and something that might've been a possum. His hair was a mess. His shirt, torn and stained. The living room looked less like a residence and more like the lair of a mad alchemist.
"I think I'm ready," Dirga muttered to himself, eyes hollow but steady.
He didn't bother to shower. Didn't even use cologne. The herbal stench clung to his skin like a second layer. He wanted the smell to follow him, to make the ritual feel more immersive… more real.
He grabbed his jacket and stepped outside.
Tonight, he took the AE86 Trueno again, same as in the morning. But this time, the mood was different. He felt like a dark knight heading to the dragon's den—not to rescue anyone, but to slay the beast and wear its crown.
When he arrived at the hotel, the lobby was dimly lit, eerie even under the chandeliers. As he stepped inside, Lilith was already waiting at the reception, her crimson lips curled into that usual teasing smile.
"Hello again, Mr. Dirgantara," she purred. "Why didn't you call me? I could've helped… with your preparations."
Any other man might have melted at her voice.
Dirga raised an eyebrow. "Better try harder."
Lilith's lips twitched into a pout—genuine, perhaps for the first time. "Then Mr. Dirgantara," she said sulkily, "this time you're going up alone. Direct orders from Mr. Domiscus Vantasio."
"Goodbye then," Dirga said with a mock wave as he walked past.
…
This was his second visit to the mansion, but the grandeur still struck him. Every corner screamed wealth. Gold chandeliers, marble floors, velvet curtains. It was less a house and more a temple built to worship greed.
And greed would be Vantasio's downfall.
"Ah, Mr. Dirgantara. You're here." Domiscus Vantasio stood waiting in the ritual chamber, smiling with a mix of excitement and barely restrained terror. "Do you have everything?"
Dirga inspected the materials laid out on the obsidian table:
One vial of virgin blood.Black chicken blood.Graveyard soil incense.
"You remember," Dirga said, "the virgin blood needs to come from ten people with the same blood type. And they must still be alive."
"Of course," Vantasio replied quickly. "I've done exactly as you said."
"Good. Then let's begin. Please remove your clothing and lie down."
Vantasio hesitated for only a second before stripping. His aging body lay tense on the stone slab as Dirga began drawing runes on his skin with the black chicken blood. The symbols were intricate, unstable—exactly as Dirga had practiced all day. Drawing them on a real body, though, was harder than on paper. His hand trembled, but he pushed through.
Next, he used the virgin blood to draw a massive pentagram on the floor. The smell was nauseating—putrid and metallic. Dirga gritted his teeth. He couldn't afford to flinch.
"Are you ready, Mr. Vantasio?" Dirga asked, standing above him. From this angle, he had a perfect view of the old man's trembling chest and wide, expectant eyes.
"I… I am," Vantasio replied. "Will it hurt?"
Dirga smirked. "Only if you resist."
He began to chant. The words came from a dozen online sources—scraps of arcane texts, Satanic forums, and occult manuals—but Dirga fused them with the strange energy of the card. He had experimented earlier and learned the card didn't just grant him vision. He could awaken parts of others, even manipulate small objects with weak telekinetic pulses.
Tonight, he planned to do both.
As the chant deepened, Dirga used the card's power to flicker the candles—open and close drawers, move ritual items ever so slightly. Vantasio began to squirm.
"What… what is this?" he cried.
"Don't move!" Dirga snapped. "You'll die if we stop now."
He intensified his voice and gestures, chanting faster. With a whisper, he activated a command:
"0.02 Vitality… give to Domiscus Vantasio."
His fingers touched the old man's forehead. Energy sparked. Vantasio's body jolted like he'd been struck by lightning. For a brief moment, color returned to his cheeks. His eyes widened with delight.
"I feel it… I feel it!" he shouted, laughing. "This… this is it! More! Give me more!"
Dirga stepped back and let the ritual end naturally.
"It worked," he said calmly. "For now. But we must continue tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?" Vantasio blinked. "Isn't that too soon?"
"No," Dirga said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "We must be quick. The devil knows what we're doing. He's coming for us."
"What?! Why?" Vantasio's face paled.
"Because this immortality… we're stealing it from him."
The look of panic on the old man's face was delicious. His arrogance had twisted into fear. His obsession had overtaken his reason.
"We have to finish it," Dirga continued. "Before he catches us. Once you're immortal, he can't touch you."
"O-okay. Okay…" Vantasio nodded rapidly. "What do I need to bring?"
Dirga handed him another folded note.
"For the second ritual, we won't meet here," Dirga said.
Vantasio frowned. "Why not?"
"Just trust me," Dirga whispered, and gave him a wink.
There was a long pause. Then, with trembling hands, Domiscus Vantasio took the note and nodded. Greed had him by the throat now—there was no escape. No doubt. Only desperation.
Dirga walked out of the mansion, his heart beating calmly, his mind already ten steps ahead.
The first act was complete. The devil had been lured into the circle.
Now, all that was left was to kill him—and face whatever came next.