August 17
The room was quiet.
A dim light illuminated the planning table where Michael stood with folded arms.
Across from him stood Manasvi, adjusting her outfit calmly as if nothing unusual was about to happen.
Michael sighed.
"Manasvi… are you sure about this?"
Before he could continue—
Slash.
Her blade lightly cut across his sleeve, stopping him mid-sentence.
"I said I'm sure," she replied calmly.
"Stop worrying."
Michael rubbed his temple.
"You're going to execute Flaemero."
He leaned against the wall.
"One of the 99 Saints of the Forest Organization."
His voice became serious.
"They worship an angel under an Unknown God."
"A being that holds authority over curses and several other powers we still don't understand."
Michael continued explaining.
"Anyone who follows their culture eventually transforms."
"They slowly lose their sanity."
"They become heartless."
"And in the end…"
"They turn into something closer to a demon than a human."
"Their spirits become corrupted."
He looked at Manasvi.
"And you're going in as the mistress of Flaemero."
Michael shook his head.
"I don't even have the words to explain how dangerous this is."
Manasvi suddenly smiled.
She stepped closer to him.
Very close.
So close that only a few centimeters separated them.
Her voice turned playful.
"…Why?"
"Do you want me to become your mistress instead?"
Michael stared at her blankly.
"Stop with this nonsense."
Manasvi puffed her cheeks in annoyance.
"Fine."
"You're no fun at all, Michael."
She turned away dramatically.
Then after a moment…
She spoke again, this time hesitantly.
"…Do I look good?"
Michael looked at her with a completely deadpan expression.
"Yeah. You look good."
"Now go."
A vein popped on Manasvi's forehead.
"Yeah, yeah…"
She muttered a few curses under her breath.
Just as she was about to leave—
Michael grabbed her wrist.
"Wait."
He handed her a folded piece of paper.
"Read this first."
"This information came from the mistress of Flaemero you kidnapped earlier."
Manasvi unfolded the paper.
Inside was a detailed list of Flaemero's abilities.
Report: Powers of Flaemero
Physical Strength:
Approximately 100,000 times stronger than Manasvi in her current sealed state.
(However, if she unseals her power, she would surpass him easily.)
Curse Mastery:
Possesses vast knowledge of curse-based spells capable of destroying mental stability and driving opponents into madness.
Regeneration:
Extremely high regeneration ability.
Divination Resistance:
Traditional foresight or prophecy abilities do not work on him.
Phantom Physiology:
His body is a fusion of spirit and flesh, allowing him to shift into a true phantom state.
Access to the Spirit Realm:
He can enter the realm of spirits freely.
Cosmic Travel:
By using the spirit realm, he can travel vast distances across the cosmos within seconds.
Soul Condition:
His soul cannot die normally.
In exchange for access to the spirit realm, he sacrificed his chains of spirits.
Environmental Weaponization:
Can transform nearby inanimate objects into weapons and fire them at extreme speeds.
Danger Sense:
Possesses extremely high spiritual awareness, allowing him to sense danger.
Manasvi finished reading.
She folded the paper slowly.
"Hmmm."
"He's strong."
Michael nodded.
"Yes."
Then he added something awkwardly.
"There's… one more thing."
Manasvi raised an eyebrow.
Michael looked away slightly.
"He's extremely… addicted to women."
"Specifically sex."
He glanced back at her.
"If he makes a move…"
"You'll need to control your anger."
The room went silent.
Manasvi stared at him.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
A smile appeared on her face.
"Oh."
"So that's the plan."
Her eyes glowed faintly.
"Good thing I'm very good at acting."
Michael sighed again.
Because he wasn't worried about Manasvi losing the fight.
He was worried about what would happen to Flaemero if she lost her patience.
After few days
Beverly Hills — Inside a Mansion
The night air was warm over the hills of Los Angeles.
Inside one of the most luxurious mansions in Beverly Hills, lights shimmered through enormous crystal chandeliers.
In the master bedroom, a woman stood before a large mirror.
She wore a flowing yellow evening gown.
Around her neck was a high-end diamond necklace from Bulgari—one of the most expensive jewelry houses in the world.
But the woman wearing it…
Was not who she appeared to be.
It was Manasvi, disguised perfectly as Asuko Yamamoto.
Two Days Earlier
A dark room.
A terrified woman struggled for breath.
Manasvi's hand tightened around her throat.
"Shhh…"
Manasvi whispered calmly.
"Don't make a sound."
She leaned closer.
"There's a chance I might let you live if you cooperate."
Her eyes studied the woman carefully.
"And honestly…"
"You're pretty weak for the mistress of Flaemero."
The woman—Asuko Yamamoto—struggled helplessly.
Her movements weakened.
Her vision faded.
And soon…
She lost consciousness.
Present Time
Back in the mansion bedroom.
Manasvi stood before the mirror, adjusting the necklace.
She tried fastening it behind her neck.
But the clasp wouldn't lock.
She smiled sweetly.
"Honey…"
"Could you help me with my diamond necklace? I can't fix it."
Behind her stood Flaemero.
He wore an extremely formal white-tie ensemble:
Black evening tailcoat with silk facings
White wing-collar shirt
White pique vest
White bow tie
Black patent leather shoes
On his wrist was a luxury watch from A. Lange & Söhne.
He smiled.
"Of course, sweetie."
He stepped closer and gently fixed the clasp around her neck.
But as he finished—
His hand slowly slid downward.
Toward her chest.
Manasvi reacted instantly.
She leaned forward slightly, stopping his movement while keeping her tone playful.
"Honey…"
"After the ball."
She smiled softly.
"I don't want to ruin my makeup."
Flaemero chuckled and withdrew his hand.
"Fair enough."
The Ballroom
The mansion's ballroom glittered with wealth and power.
Politicians.
Billionaires.
Mafia bosses.
Corporate tycoons.
Nearly every powerful figure in the city had been invited.
Music played softly as couples danced beneath golden chandeliers.
Many guests approached Manasvi—believing she was Asuko.
Some invited her to dance.
Others discussed philosophy, politics, or global news.
Polite conversations.
Fake smiles.
Typical high-society behavior.
But then—
Something caught her attention.
At the far side of the ballroom stood someone unusual.
A young man.
Or perhaps a boy.
He looked no older than nineteen.
He wore a suit of midnight blue.
Under the candlelight, the fabric appeared darker than black.
Almost like pure darkness itself.
His name was William Harrington.
At that exact moment—
He turned his head.
Their eyes met.
Then he grinned.
His teeth were sharp.
Not normal teeth.
They resembled the fangs of a saber-toothed predator.
And suddenly—
Manasvi felt something she almost never experienced.
Pressure.
His presence overwhelmed the room.
Her mind froze.
She couldn't think.
She couldn't breathe.
It felt like staring directly into an endless abyss.
And the worst part…
Was the terrifying realization that the abyss…
Was staring back at her.