Chains Beneath the Skin
His fingers eased downward. The air settled as he let go.
"I don’t look down on you," he said evenly. "I’m simply trying to understand you."
Footsteps dragged through splintered planks, then silence swallowed the space between him and the collapsed figure. Grit spun in golden light, air thick, walls still.
"You’ve been shackled. Not physically. Internally."
Confusion sparked in Eon’s dark stare. Up and down went his breath, thick with struggle - pride clashing against hurt. Power held the south part of Fantom City, nothing else needed. Spells never helped. Tricks played no role. Fists did it. Bones sealed it.
A hush fell as Victor bent lower, gaze locked. Not laughter lit his gold-flecked eyes - just a quiet wonder, sharp and still.
"Tell ," he murmured. "Who cursed you?"
A silence followed. The room waited.
Yet he didn’t reply right away. Victor shifted his gaze upward, then spoke more quietly
"Hey you. You’re the Ox King, Eon... correct?"
His jaw clenched shut. Anger hadn’t faded, sha stung worse than the marks rising beneath his flesh. Yet the heavy weight of Victor’s power - dark, endless - pulled him back to what was real.
Outmatched from the start, he stood little chance.
Teeth clenched tight, he waited a breath before speaking.
"Yes."
A single nod from Victor, slow, like an answer aid at a thought no one else heard.
"If you are willing to beco my loyal subordinate," he said smoothly, "I will help you remove that curse of yours."
"Curse?" Eon repeated, brows furrowing. Confusion overtook anger. "What are you talking about?"
Victor observed the reaction carefully. There was no deception in the man’s face. No flicker of recognition.
He doesn’t know, Victor realized.
So he rephrased it.
"I will help you gain a higher mana capacity."
That hit.
Eon’s breath caught.
Ever since he had woken up in the western district three years ago—mories erased, past erased—he had been mocked. Laughed at. Called defective. Even the lowest-ranked mage could conjure a spark. He couldn’t summon a breeze.
His fists had beco his only pride.
"Can you really do that?" he asked, the aggression from earlier dissolving. The giant man who had roared like a beast now sounded almost... small.
Victor’s lips curved faintly.
"Hmph. Why would I lie?" His tone sharpened just enough. "I don’t really need you. I can find many others who could replace you."
The words were cold.
Deliberate.
Eon’s pride warred with desperation for a heartbeat.
Then he dropped to one knee.
The impact echoed across the hall.
"If you’re really able to do what you say..." His voice was steady, but his fists trembled slightly against the floor. "I, Eon—the Ox King—will beco your most loyal subordinate."
Lane’s dark eyes narrowed slightly as she watched. Videl folded her arms, silent, her sapphire gaze flicking between Victor and Eon.
Victor regarded the kneeling man for a long mont.
"Very good," he said at last. "As long as you don’t betray , I will do as I said."
For a fleeting second, sothing passed through his golden eyes—a mory from another world. A battlefield. A kneeling warrior. A promise made... and broken.
His fingers curled slightly.
Not this ti.
He stood and shifted his attention to the remaining two.
"So," he said lightly, gaze moving between Brinda and Gian, "how about you two?"
The lantern flas flickered as if reacting to the weight of the question.
"Unlike Eon, I have nothing tangible to give you," Victor continued. "Only the promise that glory and power will be yours if you follow ."
His tone turned almost conversational.
"Of course, you can choose not to follow . I won’t kill you. But you will need to leave Fantom City."
Silence.
Brinda had already decided the mont she saw Eon stopped with a finger.
Her long purple hair cascaded over her shoulders as she stepped forward gracefully. Even now, despite the cold sweat at her back, she moved like a queen in her own territory.
"I will forever be your slave, my master," she said with a coquettish smile, violet eyes shimring.
There it was—the charm that had ensnared nobles, rchants, knights.
She let her voice soften, let it curl around him.
Victor looked at her.
Blankly.
No hunger. No fluster. No irritation.
Nothing.
For the first ti in years, her beauty had struck against stone.
Brinda’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
He didn’t react...?
Lane watched the exchange and felt sothing warm and sharp coil in her chest. Not jealousy.
Amusent.
That’s what you get for trying, she thought, her expression remaining perfectly composed. Victor doesn’t care for beauty without substance.
Then another thought surfaced uninvited.
...If only Clara were the sa.
Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Victor turned his gaze to Gian.
The assassin stood relaxed—but his black eyes were calculating.
"How about you?" Victor asked. "Will you join ?"
Gian didn’t answer imdiately.
Instead, he said quietly, "Just tell one thing before I decide."
Victor’s brows lifted slightly.
"What is it?"
Gian’s voice was steady, but there was weight behind it.
"What do you plan to do by ruling over Fantom City’s underworld?"
A fair question.
A dangerous one.
Victor’s lips slowly curved upward.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Hungrily.
"Oh, that?" he said, almost amused. "My plan is pretty straightforward."
He took a step forward, boots crunching against shattered wood.
"Fantom City’s underworld is but the first step."
The air seed to tighten around him.
"My true plan... is to rule over the entire underworld of the Skyfall Kingdom."
The declaration was not loud.
It didn’t need to be.
It landed like thunder.
Eon’s eyes widened.
Brinda’s pulse quickened—not from fear alone, but from the sheer scale of ambition.
Gian stared at him.
This wasn’t a boy drunk on power.
This was soone who had already asured the horizon—and found it too small.
"You’re serious," Gian muttered.
Victor’s golden eyes glead.
"I never joke about conquest."
A faint smile tugged at his lips again, softer this ti—but far more dangerous.
"And when I’m done with Skyfall..." he added quietly, almost to himself, "we’ll see how wide this world truly is."
The lantern flas flickered violently, shadows bending around him like kneeling subjects.
And in that crumbling hall of the western district—
A new ruler was born.
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