The stillness after combat was a weight in the air.
Dirga sat cross-legged, his breath slow and heavy. The aftershock of the fight still hummed in his bones, but deeper inside — beneath the sweat, the fatigue, and the pressure — something stronger had begun to form.
Sasa hovered midair, watching him with an amused grin.
"Still alive?" he asked lazily.
Dirga opened one eye. "Barely. Let me meditate first."
Sasa raised a brow. "You and that meditation. Don’t tell me you’re gonna start eating my realm again."
Dirga didn’t reply — just closed his eyes and sank into himself.
"Ah hell... he’s really doing it again."
He folded his arms, muttering under his breath. "This kid’s gonna bankrupt me. Who meditates by draining dimensional essence? Freakin’ monster..."
But he didn’t stop him.
Dirga was his patron now.
And the investment was worth it.
In the dark between breath and thought, Dirga slipped back into the depths of his soul. The black hole at his center pulsed — not as violently as before, but enough to feed gently on the energy of the realm around him.
It was no longer hunger.
A silent, endless pull.
The realm around him dimmed just slightly — as if sighing — and then stabilized.
Dirga opened his eyes. His breath was calmer now. His skin glowed faintly under the dim starlight of the pocket dimension.
Sasa floated above him, arms behind his head.
"Hey. You done eating me?" he called out.
Dirga gave a faint smile. "This time, I didn’t collapse anything."
"Thank the devils. I was half-ready to throw you out before you sucked this place into a second black hole."
Dirga stretched, his limbs cracking with relief. "Don’t worry. Think of it as... reinvestment. It was your idea to call me a gambit, remember?"
Sasa rolled his eyes. "Right, right. Little parasite."
He floated down and checked an ethereal watch made of spinning clock hands and red mist.
"Anyway, in the real world, it’s 6 PM. You were out for about an hour."
Dirga stood up fully. His coat shimmered faintly — absorbing traces of the realm’s energy like dust falling from a dream.
"Then we’re on schedule," he said calmly.
Sasa tilted his head.
"Back already? You sure?"
Dirga’s voice was cold, steady.
"There’s still business to finish. Time to pay Lucian Marruk a visit."
A grin curled across Sasa’s lips.
With a flick of his finger, the realm twisted. Space folded in like a trick of light and shadows swallowed Dirga whole.
The apartment was dim, faint lamplight casting long shadows across the polished floor. The scent of ozone and old incense still lingered from his earlier meditation — now mixed with something... warmer.
Sweat. Skin. Humanity.
He stripped off his shirt, feeling dried blood, grime, and the residual burn of realm-bending cling to his skin like phantom pressure. His body was fine, but his soul? Still humming — like a blade too recently unsheathed.
Behind him, Sasa floated above the couch like a bored spirit, legs crossed, eyes glued to an anime on screen.
"You go do your hero thing," he said, waving a hand. "Just make sure you break something expensive."
Dirga didn’t respond.
He stepped into the bathroom, the light buzzing faintly overhead.
The moment water hit his body, it was like pouring rain on scorched earth. He closed his eyes, letting it soak into his pores — washing away blood, black hole residue, and the phantom echoes of a realm that didn’t obey time.
He didn’t know how long he stood there.
Eventually, the heat ran out.
He dried off, pulled on a plain black hoodie and joggers, then checked his phone.
A single red dot on a map.
Lucian Marruk — Obsidian Vein.
Dirga narrowed his eyes. His thumb hovered over the screen. He flicked it away.
"I’m heading out," he said, his voice low.
"Yeah yeah," Sasa mumbled from behind. "Go vaporize someone. I’ll be here, watching magical girls blow up planets."
The elevator ride down felt like a descent into something ancient — steel box, mirrors, soft music trying to mask the tension under Dirga’s skin. When the doors opened into the penthouse garage, a few staff looked up.
They bowed, slightly. No one said a word.
Dirga moved like a man carrying storms beneath his skin.
He climbed onto his black motorbike. Sleek. Silent. The engine purred like a predator under his touch.
As he rolled out into the night, the city unfolded before him — neon lights bleeding across wet pavement, sirens howling in the distance like wolves in mourning.
The further he went, the more the city rotted.
Streetlights flickered. Windows were barred. Faces blurred into shadows. The signs began to whisper in red: adult, smoke, blood, luck.
This was the Red District.
Where law didn’t just bend — it knelt.
Where vice ruled like a king.
Women leaned against walls with empty eyes and painted lips. Men stumbled with chemicals in their veins. In alleyways, figures whispered to things not quite human.
A cathedral of darkness. Glass like mirrors. Stone like onyx. Music thundered from within, deep and low — like heartbeat and hunger. The front pulsed with life. VIP lines. Smoke. Laughter that didn’t sound human anymore.
Dirga parked his bike near the edge.
Even before he stepped off, he felt it.
Watching. Measuring. Counting bones and breath.
He walked five steps.
They came from the shadows like dogs loosed from their cages — figures from the dark, wrapping around him with gleaming knives and rusted machetes.
"Well, well," one of them grinned. "Look who showed up. Mr. CEO himself."
Dirga didn’t stop walking.
"You know who I am," he said. Calm. Quiet.
The words didn’t echo — they weighed down the air.
A few of the thugs flinched. His presence was like stepping into pressure — a gravitational pull felt in the marrow.
The air didn’t just grow heavy — it bent. Like gravity itself leaned toward him.
But the one at the center laughed.
A bald man with scars running down his neck. Tattoos coiled across his scalp like living snakes. His machete glinted under neon light.
"Boss said don’t kill you," he said with a smirk. "Didn’t say anything about carving a few souvenirs."
The others laughed. Cold steel scraped from leather sheaths. Knuckles cracked. Chains rattled.
The street behind him shimmered with haze and sweat.
The red light of Obsidian Vein reflected off his pupils
Twin event horizons staring down the abyss.
The air grew heavier.
His hoodie fluttered, windless.
"Then let’s begin," he whispered.
And the Vein itself seemed to hold its breath.