"Where the hell am I?!"
Great. Back here again.
I blinked, but the scene didn't change — same damn throne room, same suffocating pressure in the air. Except this time, the golden bastard on the throne had upgraded. He had a mouth now. Lucky me.
And of course, he used it to smirk at me — not a friendly one, mind you. No, this was the kind of smile you'd see on a wolf that just learned how to use a fork.
He lounged lazily, chin resting on his right palm like this was some divine tea party. His glowing eyes pinned me in place. Again.
"You've accomplished what even your predecessors failed to, Steven. I applaud you." He said it like a condescending teacher handing out a pity star. "But it's not enough. Hone your skills. And don't trust anyone... except for the two who occupied those chairs."
I turned — there were only two chairs behind me.
Empty, but unmistakable.
Yeah. Asren and Syllia. Perfect. The dream team from hell.
My gut twisted. Not from surprise. From the fact that he knew.
He always knows.
I didn't even have time to process it before he shifted tones — softer now. Still terrible, but... different. Almost like he was handing me a piece of himself.
"Take this," he said, and his voice — it dipped, lower, weightier, as if every word threatened to crack the air. "This is the Eye of Ra. One of my first gifts... before I even understood what I was. It carries part of my sight. My judgment. My burden. You'll see the world as I once did, if—ifyou're strong enough to bear it."
That... actually sounded almost kind. Almost.
Which is why I should've known something awful was coming.
In a blink, he wasn't on the throne anymore. He was right in front of me.
And then he gouged out my goddamn eye.
No warning. No ceremony. Just blinding agony.
I screamed — I didn't even know I could scream like that. It came from some abyss I didn't know I had.
"AHHHHHHH—WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
He didn't answer.
Of course he didn't.
He just shoved something into the socket — something hot, alien, ancient. A writhing, humming thing that pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own. Like it was judging me already.
"This was my first creation," he said, still hovering above me. "Designation #001. I can't tell you how it works — it's older than logic. It'll grow with you. Judge you. And if you're lucky... it might even accept you. But don't worry — it'll look like a normal eye when you're not using it."
Oh, good. Wouldn't want to stand out.
He drifted back to his throne, smug as a king on vacation. And with that freshly-carved mouth of his, he gave me another of those uncanny smiles.
"You don't have time. You'll need to act quickly."
A pause.
"I'll let you go... for now."
Suddenly, I was fading — like the world was draining out of me drop by drop.
Then snap.
Darkness. Then light. Then... carpet.
My face was pressed against the cold floor of my office.
"Ah..."
I groaned, propping myself up, hand on my head — or, well, touching it dramatically, let's be honest. Okay, yeah, I was milking it a little.
Still, the moment hit me.
Right. Nuclear-tier spell. I'd just pulled off a magical feat this world probably hasn't seen since dragons had opinions.
"He's probably thrilled," I muttered, dragging myself to my feet. "I mean, c'mon. You're talking to a scientist here."
I chuckled — short, smug, then sobered immediately.
Because I remembered what he actually said.
That warning.
My smile dropped like a stone in water. I turned toward the office window.
Dead silence.
It was night, sure — but this wasn't normal night silence. Cities are supposed to hum, buzz, breathe. Even after dark. Especially this one. But now?
Nothing. Like the city was holding its breath.
Maybe because of the vampire.
Maybe because of the Inquisition's newest flavor of witch hunt.
Maybe both.
Either way — not good.
I stepped out quietly. Both of them were asleep. Or pretending to be. Hard to tell with vampires.
Didn't matter.
I shook them awake — no room for hesitation. Whatever was coming didn't seem like the type to wait politely.
We regrouped in the cramped living room. All three of us huddled on the couch like a midnight emergency meeting in a poorly-written sitcom.
"I know it's the middle of the night," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "But we need to take precautions. Urgent ones."
I couldn't exactly say 'some golden celestial abomination just shoved an artifact in my face-socket and told me to prepare for cosmic judgment.'
Not exactly coffee table conversation.
Arsen looked sharp, all crimson eyes and stoic elegance — a damn vampire poster boy. You know, the kind who drinks blood out of a crystal chalice and probably judges your posture.
He spoke, voice calm but serious."Sir Viktor, let's continue in the morning. It's better if we rest now."
Oh, great. Mister Noble Routine.
"Look, Arsen," I said, already annoyed. "If I had the luxury to 'dilly-dally' — trust me, I would be right there with you sipping tea. But we made an Oath Contract, remember? You and Syllia both."
I pointed between them.
"And that means — surprise bonus — you can erase your presence as a vampire and pass for human. Just like Syllia."
His eyes widened slightly — not much, but enough.
Syllia, still half-asleep, let out a yawn big enough to make a bear blush.
Arsen blinked once, then nodded slowly, clearly impressed.
"Such a gift... This will be invaluable moving forward."
He said it like he'd just been handed a royal decree.
I leaned back on the couch, exhaustion finally crashing over me like a wave. Still... even in that moment, part of me knew:
Something bigger was on its way.
Suddenly, the lights — powered by Essentia — began to flicker.
On.Off.On again.Then… nothing.
Pitch black.
Just the soft hum of magical residue still crackling in the walls, like the room itself was holding its breath.
I didn't move.
"Don't do anything," I whispered, my voice low and sharp. "We are just three relatives living under the same roof. If one of us says one thing and the other says another—if we start talking like we're reading from different damn scripts—they'll know something's up."
I shot them both a look.
"No weird words. No special tones. No dramatic pauses. Just… normal people doing normal things."
They nodded, tense.
I swear, I've seen this crap before. Lights flicker, creepy ambiance, weirdly timed knock, then BAM — some tall, ominous figure in ceremonial robes kicks down the door like we owe him rent. It's a third-rate horror flick cliché… except I'm living in it.
A knock.
Soft. Deliberate.
At the door.
Syllia moved to rise. "I'll get it—"
"Nope." I cut her off instantly, waving her back down. "Thanks, but I'll handle the potential death trap."
The knocking continued, steady and unbothered.
I crept toward the door, every nerve on edge, every breath shallow.
"Who's there?" I called out.
Silence.
My eyebrow twitched. "Seriously? You knock and then go mute? That's social terrorism."
I started to back away when—
BANG.
The door exploded inward.
Wood cracked, the hinges screamed in agony, and the frame gave way like it had been waiting all night to collapse.
They stormed in — masked figures, faceless beneath metal and spell-inked leather. Cold eyes. Silent movement. Just like before.
Then came him.
He stepped into the room like he'd been summoned by the mood lighting.
Tall — six and a half feet at least. Dark-skinned, a long beard flowing like ink in water. His robes shimmered black with a white crescent moon etched dead center. The cloak hung over both shoulders like a mantle of judgment, while the white tunic beneath looked ceremonial — or militaristic. Maybe both.
He radiated authority like it was a weapon.
"We are acting on orders. Suspicion of harboring a fugitive. Under decree of the Inquisition, we are authorized to conduct a full sweep of this residence."
Of course.
The one night I try to sleep.
Then the rest of them — about six masked figures — stepped in behind him, lining up like this was a military inspection.
"Search the house for anything remotely heretical. Spread out."
The captain didn't wait for confirmation. He barged into the office like he owned the place.
I wasn't scared, per se... except for the minor detail that I, Viktor the Dumbass, had recently summoned a demon in that very room.
Holy shit.
If they find that summoning residue, my entire isekai life is over before it even gets started.
Two more masked inquisitors headed toward the bedroom.
"You three — stand still," the captain barked. "A scan and blood verification will be conducted. Any resistance will be interpreted as defiance."
Arsen and Syllia flinched slightly, their brows twitching with tension. Hope, at this point, was the only miracle currency we had.
"Captain, the books are clear. Nothing forbidden."One of the men emerged from the office with a handful of tomes.
Oh great. That just makes me more suspicious. Where the hell is the summoning book, Viktor? You better not have left it on your dumb-ass summoning altar.
"Bedroom is clean as well."A woman stepped out, scanning the room coldly. Take another look, you Inquisition bastards — you won't find anything but dust and depression.
Then the captain grabbed my wrist — hard — yanking me forward like I owed him gold.
"None of you are permitted to speak."
Immediately, my mouth locked up. I couldn't even think about talking. Arsen and Syllia were probably hit with the same curse.
"Mai," he called out. "Bring me the Saint's Slate."
The woman stepped forward, holding what looked like a divine artifact — a polished slab etched with glowing silver runes, softly pulsing like a heartbeat.
Without warning, the captain cut a shallow line across my forearm. Just enough for a drop of blood to fall.
He placed it onto the slate.
"Verify."
The runes flared green.
Green... human. Not demonic. Not cursed. Still, not appreciated.
He shoved me aside and grabbed Syllia by the wrist.
She jerked slightly, resisting on instinct. Her eyes said let go of me, but clearly, she couldn't say it. And I couldn't blame her — if anyone here had something to hide, it was her. A demon bound by contract, standing in front of the Inquisition.
The moment he cut into her skin, a sharp pain seared through my right eye. It was like a surge of energy that made my vision flicker, and my head throbbed for a brief moment. I fought to steady myself, but the discomfort was sharp, like my eye knew something about her.
The captain dropped the blood onto the slate.
"Verify."
Green.
I staggered, a wave of dizziness rushing over me as my eye burned. But Syllia remained calm. She handled it with the grace of a queen, her face giving away nothing, though I could see the silent curses she sent the captain's way.
Then came Arsen.
I could feel the tension ramp up in the air. The captain stared at him for a long moment, like he was sizing him up.
The moment the captain cut into Arsen's arm, the pain hit me again — sharper this time. My right eye twitched violently as a searing pain shot through my skull. It was the same sensation I'd felt earlier, that strange, otherworldly ache that only seemed to happen when the Inquisition tested our blood.
I had to blink rapidly to keep my focus.
And then the blood hit the slate.
Green.
The slate glowed green.
I couldn't hold back anymore. My knees buckled under the weight of the pain, and I almost collapsed to the floor. It felt like my eye was alive, reacting to them. I had no idea how or why, but I knew one thing for sure: this gift — or curse — I'd gotten from that golden bastard wasn't just about power. It was aware.
I sighed in internal relief, steadying myself. The pain subsided, but the damage was done.
The captain let go of Arsen's hand, but Arsen didn't take it lightly. He wiped his arm as though he'd just touched dirt.
"You're cleared of heresy," the captain said coldly. "But not suspicion. You'll be monitored. Closely.
Any abnormal activity, inside or outside this property — you're obligated to report it. Understood?"
No one responded.
Because we couldn't.
But oh, if looks could speak.
Once the last of the masked figures had left the compartment, a heavy silence settled in. The lights flickered twice — once, twice — before returning to their usual steady hum. It was like the entire room had been holding its breath, and now, with the departure of the Inquisition, it was allowed to exhale. But even then, the air felt thick with tension, as if something lingered in the shadows, just out of reach. Our voices returned, but I could still feel the weight of the silence pressing down on me.
That moment — that unbearable moment — when they were in the room, when their eyes scanned us, when I couldn't speak, couldn't move, felt like the longest stretch of my existence. I had been aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every agonizing second. My mind had raced through worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last. I could still hear the pounding in my ears.
But that wasn't the end. No, this was only the beginning. Our operation had just become infinitely more complicated. With the Inquisition lurking so close, and those unpredictable variables now in play, we were walking a razor's edge. Any wrong move could unravel everything. We needed a plan — one that covered every angle, every possible risk.
I could feel Arsen's gaze on me, and when I turned, he dropped to his knees in front of me, his expression so heavy it almost looked like it could crush him.
"Sir Viktor," he began, his voice shaking, "I'm once again indebted to you. I… I don't know how to make it up to you."
His words hung in the air like a weight, pressing down on my chest. There was an intensity in his tone, a rawness that made me pause. It was more than gratitude — it was pain, regret, and something deeper I couldn't quite place. His eyes, dark and haunted, bore into mine as if pleading for something I couldn't give him.
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You owe me nothing," I said quietly, trying to steady my own voice. "It's my responsibility — a choice I made for myself, out of common courtesy."
Syllia, who had been watching silently, moved toward me. I hadn't expected it, but before I could react, she wrapped her arms around me in a tight, almost desperate hug. Her body trembled against mine, and I could feel the sincerity of her gratitude.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered, her voice muffled against my chest. "We've only known each other for a day, and yet… I'm so thankful for your hospitality. For your kindness."
I stood frozen, caught off guard. I had done nothing. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing deserving of their words. In their eyes, though, I was their savior. I had saved them — and that terrified me more than anything.
What have I done?
A deep, heavy sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes. Nothing worse than responsibility. The weight of it all settled on my shoulders, heavy and unyielding. And yet, despite everything, a part of me couldn't walk away from this. I had already made my choice. I'd chosen to help them, to help this city — not because it was my plan, but because they were now a part of my life. A part of my fate.
And with that came the terrifying possibility that I might end up becoming the world's most wanted criminal.
But that was a risk I was willing to take.