"Hahaha! What a magnificent show, Dirga!"
Sasa’s voice echoed through the void like a drumbeat wrapped in silk. "The planning. The sacrifice. The way you used your soul, your karma points—ahh!"
He clapped his oversized, pale hands with giddy delight, as if he’d just watched his favorite stand-up codian deliver a joke so vile and perfect, it made the devil weep.
"This Sasa is impressed."
His toothy rabbit grin widened—impossibly so.
Dirga didn’t answer.
He stood there, silent, his chest heaving. Sweat poured freely down his face, tracing a jagged path from the scar above his left eyebrow. His breathing was ragged, like he’d just sprinted through Hell itself.
Sasa tilted his head. "So... what cos next, little gambler?"
Dirga didn’t reply. Not yet. His body trembled—not with fear, but with the aftermath of too much power, too much blood, and too many lies all collapsing at once.
"Hmm... slowly, slowly," Sasa said, almost tender. "Let’s get to your reward first."
He clapped once.
The darkness shifted like a great lung exhaling. And then—flas.
Five floating flas appeared in the air before Dirga. Ethereal, elegant, and terrible. They flickered and danced like fire possessed. One burned a deep crimson red. The other four glowed with a pale white light, faint whispers swirling inside them like trapped mories.
Sasa gestured to them with theatrical flair.
"Do you know what these are, Dirga?" he asked, leaning forward.
Dirga, still panting, raised his head slightly. "...The karma?"
Sasa bead. "Nice. You really are clever. I like that."
Another clap. Louder this ti. Applause fit for a king.
"This red one is from Domiscus Vantasio—the cost of his greed. And the other four? Your rewards. Two from the devil slot. Two from my personal loss in our little gas."
He didn’t sound bitter today. Not like the first ti Dirga beat him. No, today Sasa sounded genuinely pleased. Like a teacher watching a student surpass expectations in a particularly cruel subject.
"With these, you now have seven karma points," he continued. "Of course, that counts your soul too."
Dirga’s eyes narrowed. "That’s... good."
"Very good," Sasa echoed. "Now—sit."
He clapped again.
From the ink-like shadows below, two chairs and a small table rose—smooth and dark, like obsidian carved from pure night. Tendrils of shadow twisted around them as if reluctant to let go.
Dirga took a seat slowly. The mont his body touched the chair, the flas moved.
One by one, the five souls sank into his chest—passing through flesh like mist. No pain. Only a rush of warmth and... clarity.
He gasped.
It felt like sothing had snapped back into place inside him. Like he was no longer hollow. No longer broken.
And then—
His eyes glazed over for a mont.
The card in his pocket pulsed.
New information surged into his mind. Nas. Numbers. Systems. Possibilities. He clutched the edge of the shadow table, letting the flood pass through him like a revelation.
Na: Dirgantara
Age: 21
Karma Points: 7 ( 1 soul of Domiscus, 6 karma point)
Grade: F–
Skill: –
Item: –
Dirga’s voice cracked as he leaned forward, eyes desperate.
"Can I cure Naya with this?"
The five karma flas had just entered his chest. He could still feel their power buzzing beneath his skin.
Sasa tilted his head, ears twitching slowly.
"Hmm... nope."
The answer ca casually — like a child sulking over spilled milk.
Dirga froze. "What?"
"You said karma points could buy anything," he snarled, slamming his hand on the table. "I’ve done everything! Lied, killed, bled—seven points! I gave you lives, I gave you my soul—what the hell is this?!"
Sasa’s crimson eyes darkened. The cheer slipped from his face like lting wax.
"Of course you can cure her," he said, voice suddenly cold. "But you don’t have enough."
No smirk. No teasing. Just brutal honesty.
Dirga’s knuckles turned white against the shadow-forged table. "One karma point is a human soul. I have seven. How many do I need?"
Sasa didn’t blink.
"More."
Then, he smiled again—but not with joy.
With intention.
"Or..." he whispered, stepping closer. "Beco my patron. Sign a soul pact with ."
Silence.
The void around them held its breath.
Sasa t Dirga’s eyes. No tricks. No mischief.
"Before you rage, before you say no... let explain."
Dirga’s chest rose and fell. He didn’t move.
Sasa stood slowly, his red tuxedo folding around him like flowing blood.
"I’ll tell you what no other devil will. I’ll tell you what this world has hidden from itself."
He began to pace, hands behind his back.
"You want to know about Naya’s illness?"
His tone turned solemn. "It’s not from this world. Not from your God. It’s called the Hell Flower."
Dirga’s breath caught.
Sasa continued, stepping close enough for Dirga to sll the faint scent of sulfur and incense on his skin.
"This world," Sasa said, voice low, "is dying."
"Your gods have already judged it. The climate burns. The seas rise. The poor starve while the rich feast. Humans kill each other for sport. Compassion is mocked. Empathy is weakness. You know it. You live in it. This world is rotting from the inside out."
He knelt to Dirga’s level, like a preacher before a broken disciple.
"And so... the gates of Hell are coming."
Dirga stared at him, trembling. "No..."
"Yes."
Sasa’s voice was quiet. Absolute.
"But Hell can’t just barge in. No, no. Even demons need a door. That’s what the Hell Flower is."
He waved his hand, and in the air above them blood a ghostly image — a pale, ghostlike flower pulsing over a curled, unconscious body.
Naya.
**"The chosen are planted. While they sleep, the flower buds within their soul. And when it blooms... they awaken. But they are no longer themselves. They beco Apostles of Hell — harbingers. Their mission is singular: open the portal. Let Hell in."
Dirga’s head spun. It was too much. Too big.
He shoved back from the table, stumbling to his feet.
"I don’t believe you," he hissed. "This is one of your gas. Another lie to lure in!"
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