The wind howled through the graveyard.
Dirga sat cross-legged on the cold earth, the pale corpse of Domiscus Vantasio lying nearby in the ritual circle. His coat flared slightly in the breeze, shadows curling at his fingertips like living tendrils. He took a slow breath, grounding himself in the moment
Focus.
He closed his eyes, slipping into meditation. The sound of the wind faded. Silence enveloped him. In the dark of his mind, he reached for the presence — the soul he'd seen floating in his inner space.
And there it was.
A red-glowing orb, pulsing like a flame trapped in glass.
Dirga focused, pulling at it with thought alone.
And then—
It appeared.
In his open palm hovered a glowing, writhing mass of energy — Domiscus Vantasio's soul. It twisted and flickered, fragile and powerful at once. He could feel its shape, its weight… even its unnatural warmth. It trembled against his skin like it knew what he could do.
He could crush it.
He could keep it.
He could command it.
Instead, Dirga held it over the corpse.
"Let's see if this works…" he muttered.
Slowly, deliberately, he pressed the soul down toward the cold flesh.
The moment it touched the body, the corpse jerked violently.
The blood that had once burst from Vantasio's slashed throat shivered, then flowed in reverse — sliding back inside, defying gravity, defying death. Skin stitched itself closed in seamless lines. The pale, dead complexion softened into a warm human tone. A heartbeat began — faint at first, then stronger. Then steady.
Dirga took a single step back, hands still raised.
Mr. Domiscus Vantasio gasped.
Alive.
"Wha—WHAT?!"
Vantasio sat bolt upright, eyes wide, breath ragged, limbs twitching like a man just ripped from a grave.
"You killed me! What the hell is this?!"
Dirga raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Easy, Mr. Vantasio. That was part of the ritual. A necessary stage of transformation."
His voice was smooth. Confident. Commanding.
Inside, he was gambling everything.
He could feel it — the soul tether. Thin, invisible, but undeniably present. Like fishing line stretched between them, running from Vantasio's heart straight into Dirga's palm. It wasn't full control. Not yet. But influence? Oh yes. It was enough to suggest. Enough to shape.
Vantasio panted, one hand over his chest. "I… I feel…"
His fingers flexed. His gaze sharpened.
"Stronger. Alive. Like fire is running in my veins."
He laughed, high-pitched and manic.
"Hahaha! I must be the first man in history to die and come back better!"
Dirga said nothing — but inside, he could feel it.
Vantasio's thoughts weren't entirely his own.
His decisions were nudged. His memories guided. Dirga didn't need chains — just whispers in the dark.
"You've outdone yourself, Dirga," Vantasio said, glowing with delight. "You're worth every damn coin. No—more than that. I'm going to reward you."
He reached into his coat, pulling out a sleek black phone.
"Lilith. Come here. Bring the contract."
Dirga could just barely make out her voice through the speaker.
"How many percent?"
"Eighty."
A sharp pause.
Then Lilith's voice rose in alarm. "Eighty?! That's too much. Do you even trust this guy?"
"Shut up and do it."
Vantasio's tone brooked no argument.
The call ended.
Dirga remained perfectly still, concealing the satisfied smile curling beneath the surface.
It was working.
As Vantasio rambled about his "journey" — how he remembered falling into Hell, witnessing lakes of fire, hearing the wails of countless souls, and then being dragged back by something unseen — Dirga merely nodded, letting the illusion grow.
He didn't correct him.
Didn't need to.
The lies were writing themselves.
Minutes later, Lilith arrived.
Her heels tapped across the cracked stone, her silhouette sharp against the flickering light. Her eyes locked onto Dirga's. Suspicious. Cold.
She handed over a sealed black folder.
Vantasio opened it, glanced through the text...
And threw the contract to the ground with a sharp snap.
"What the hell is this?!" he barked. "There's no clause, no equity splits — just hand it over. Make it a full transfer!"
Lilith's shoulders tensed. Her heels clicked as she stepped forward, voice rising.
"We need contingencies. If you die again and this guy is a fraud—"
"Do it."
Vantasio's voice was final. Steel-hard.
Lilith slowly turned toward Dirga.
Their eyes met again.
Dirga smiled — soft, disarming… and predatory.
A few days ago, she had tried to seduce him.
Now she stood on the wrong side of the leash.
She held her tongue. Then turned and left.
Vantasio turned back to Dirga, offering a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Sorry about that."
"It's perfectly fine, Mr. Vantasio," Dirga said with polite reverence. "These are big decisions."
Soon after, Lilith returned, her face unreadable, and handed over the new contract.
Vantasio scanned it quickly, nodded, then passed it to Dirga.
Dirga didn't even read it.
He signed it in one smooth stroke.
And with that — Dirgantara became one of the most powerful men in the country.
"Good," Vantasio said, a strange glimmer in his eye. "I'm retiring. You'll take care of my empire."
Like a king handing down a throne to a trusted son.
"Of course, Mr. Vantasio."
Inside, Dirga smiled coldly.
The brainwashing worked.
The tether pulsed softly. Vantasio didn't realize his thoughts were no longer his own. His ideas? Crafted. Directed.
Dirga didn't need to pull strings.
He only needed to be near them.
He turned and bowed once more.
"Then I'll take my leave."
Vantasio patted him on the back.
"Be at the office tomorrow. I'll announce everything myself."
"Of course."
Dirga glanced at Lilith.
"Goodnight, Lilith."
He smirked.
Her lips were tight. Eyes like cold daggers.
"Have a nice evening… Mr. Dirgantara," she said through clenched teeth.
The tension between them sparked like static.
She knew something was off.
But she couldn't prove it.
Not yet.
Dirga walked into the night, the city beyond glowing like a field of dying embers.
The corpse walked.
The contract was sealed.
The throne was his.
The Devil's Gambit had truly begun.