Buzz.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
One message.
"Meet me on the rooftop." — Jane
Dirga exhaled.
Of course.
He gave Naya one last glance.
Then turned and walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.
It didn't take long for Dirga to reach the rooftop.
The city sprawled beneath him — steel and ash under a pale sky, with the scent of rust and distant smoke in the air.
Jane was already there.
Same sharp pixie cut. Black clothes. Leather jacket. Torn jeans.
Tattoos curled around her arms like coiled serpents. She leaned on the edge of the railing, two drinks in hand — and the same defiant fire in her eyes.
She turned when she saw him.
"Come here. This one's yours."
Her voice wasn't gentle — it never was. But there was warmth beneath the bark.
Dirga walked over and took the cup from her outstretched hand.
He sipped it.
Black coffee. No sugar. No cream. Exactly how he liked it.
He gave her a small nod.
"Thanks."
Jane took a swig of her own, then looked sideways at him.
"So? You promised me an explanation."
Dirga sat beside her on the rooftop ledge.
He exhaled slowly.
"Well… since I'm alive, that means it worked."
Jane's gaze hardened.
"Start talking, Dirga."
So he did.
He told her everything.
About Sasa.
About the card.
About the Devil's Game, the karma system, the resurrection of Domiscus Vantasio.
About Naya's sickness — the Hell Flower, and the slow arrival of damnation.
About the soul pact.
And about the three days he had left to wrap this gambit before the game turned lethal.
Jane listened in silence, her face shifting like masks in a storm — surprise, disgust, confusion, awe, sorrow. Her fingers gripped the cup tighter with every word.
And when he finally stopped… she exhaled, sharp and shaky.
"So let me get this straight…"
Her voice cracked.
"You're telling me Naya's infected with something straight outta Hell, and the only way to save her was to sign your soul over to some devil with a rabbit skull for a head?"
Dirga nodded slowly.
"And you've killed someone. And resurrected them. And now you're... what? A warlock? A pawn? And you've got three days to finish this?"
Dirga's eyes didn't waver.
"That's about right."
Jane rubbed her face, then muttered under her breath.
"Damn. What the actual fuck is happening to our world?"
She stared into the skyline for a moment, then looked at him again. Her tone shifted.
"So… is there anything I can do?"
Dirga shook his head.
"No. Just keep protecting Naya. That's all I need from you. I'll handle the rest."
Jane narrowed her eyes.
"Let me meet the devil, at least. Maybe he'd like me better than you."
Dirga's face darkened instantly.
"Jane."
His voice dropped — cold and serious.
"Stop. This isn't a game. You don't know what you're asking for."
"I'm just saying—"
"Don't."
He cut her off, eyes sharp.
He looked at her — really looked at her — and in that moment, she saw it:
Not the tired, sarcastic friend she knew.
But a man who'd already sold pieces of his soul to survive.
"Please, Jane."
His voice cracked, just slightly.
"Don't follow me into this."
There was a long silence.
Then Jane leaned back with a sigh.
"Fine, hero. I get it."
She gave him a tired smirk. "Just… don't die, okay?"
Dirga managed a faint smile.
"No promises."
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded envelope.
"Here. Give this to the gang. Payment for the watch on Naya."
Jane frowned. "We said it was free."
"I know your crew needs money. Just take it. Call it insurance."
She took the envelope and rolled her eyes. "I'll message you the amount. Don't cry when you see it."
"Fair enough."
Dirga stood and stretched his arms, the wind tugging at his coat once more.
Jane looked up.
"Where you going now?"
Dirga's eyes narrowed.
"To the tower."
He turned away.
"Time to wrap this up."
…
Dirga stood once again at the base of the towering skyscraper — the seat of a corporate empire he now held in the palm of his hand.
He called it The Tower.
Not just because of its height…
But because of what lived inside it.
Dragons.
Powerful men with sharper claws than lawyers and hotter breath than the media. People who thought themselves untouchable — until today.
Just as he stepped into the polished marble lobby, the glass doors hissed open, and Domiscus Vantasio strolled out.
"Dirga! You're here."
Dirga smiled.
Of course he was here.
He could feel Vantasio now — his moods, his urges, even the wild party he threw last night to "celebrate immortality." Drugs, women, wine… it was all a blur in the man's mind, and Dirga had felt it all like echoes in a distant room.
Because Dirga was the master now.
"Mr. Vantasio. It's been so long."
He paused. "Well... not that long."
Vantasio let out a booming laugh.
Behind him, Lilith appeared.
Sharp. Silent. Eyes full of questions.
"Come. I'll introduce you to the shareholders," Vantasio said, wrapping an arm around Dirga's shoulder. "They're meeting on the 31st floor. Good timing."
"Of course," Dirga replied.
But his eyes flicked briefly to Lilith.
She was watching everything.
And she didn't look pleased.
The elevator ride was short but heavy with tension.
By the time the doors opened, Vantasio strode out confidently — no knocking, no hesitation — straight into a glass-walled boardroom filled with suits and power-hungry smiles. The room quieted instantly.
That was his authority.
That was his tower.
At least, it used to be.
Most of the people in the room were mid- to high-level stakeholders — men and women who had clawed their way into the company across decades. And all of them had assumed that when Vantasio finally retired, they'd get a piece of the kingdom.
They were wrong.
"Let's pause for a moment," Vantasio said, raising a hand. "I'd like to introduce you all to my heir."
He gestured to Dirga, who hadn't even bothered with formal attire — simple black shirt, no tie, no polished shoes. A statement in itself.
"This is Dirgantara. From today onward, he will run the empire."