"What's this hurry, eh? Look at you." Donovan's tone was almost playful, but there was something dark lurking beneath it. "You're only at the Eighth Layer of Qi Refinement Stage. It's way too early for you to be clutching a Legendary Foundation Establishment Pill like it's your lifeline. The ascension would be premature—might even fuck up your meridians if you're not careful."
He leaned in slightly, his smile never wavering. "So how about this, sweetheart? I'll make you a deal—trade me that useless little trinket, and I'll give you two Spirit Restore Pills in return. Two for one. Now that's what I call a fair fuckin' trade, wouldn't you say?"
His voice was smooth, almost coaxing—but Emma wasn't fooled. She could feel the weight behind his words, the unspoken threat lurking just beneath the surface.
Emma's face paled, but she forced her voice to remain steady. "Esteemed Senior Brother Valdez," she said, her tone polite but firm, "I may not need this pill now, but Senior Brother Luther does."
The name was a shield, a desperate attempt to remind Donovan that she wasn't alone—that there were consequences for crossing her.
But Donovan's reaction wasn't fear. It was disgust.
"Luther?" he repeated, his lips curling into a sneer. "That loser? That weakling who clings to women like a fucking parasite just to stay alive? You think a Legendary level Foundation Establishment Pill should be wasted on trash like him?" He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Rodney Luther? More like Rubbish Loser, if you ask me."
His grin returned, sharper now. "Tell you what—since you're so hung up on this 'fairness' thing, I'll sweeten the deal. Two Spirit Restore Pills not enough for you? Fine. This kind senior brother will throw in another hundred D-grade Spirit $tones. How's that for generosity?"
Emma's fingers tightened around the pill in her hand. "And if I refuse?" she asked quietly, her body tensing as she felt Donovan's aura coil around her like a serpent, heavy and suffocating.
She knew what he was capable of. His Bone-Eroding Fist Art could shatter her bones before she even had time to scream.
Donovan's smile vanished.
The warmth in his eyes died, replaced by something cold and predatory.
"Listen, Dawson," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "Those two Spirit Restore Pills and a hundred Spirit Stones? They can buy my Legendary Foundation Establishment Pill from you hand."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Or they can buy your life."
A beat of silence. Then, softer, almost amused:
"So. What's it gonna be, Junior Sister?"
Emma's delicate fingers trembled violently around the still-warm Foundation Establishment Pill hidden in her sleeve. Her beautiful eyes burned with barely-contained fury, the fire in them contrasting sharply with her usual composed demeanor. Every muscle in her body tensed as she fought against the crushing weight of unwilling submission.
With a sudden, violent motion, she hurled the precious pill into the dense underbrush behind her. "Take it!" she spat, her voice cracking with raw emotion.
Before Donovan could even react, she activated her Windstrider Footwork Art, her form blurring as she vanished into the forest shadows - leaving behind both the promised Spirit Restore Pills and spirit stones.
"Well I'll be damned," Donovan chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with amused malice. With a casual flick of his wrist, a tendril of spiritual energy snaked out, plucking the discarded pill from the air like a frog's tongue catching a fly.
He rolled the radiant ruby-hued elixir between his fingers, watching how the sunlight played across its sapphire-veined surface. "Clever little fox," he murmured, his lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. The pill disappeared into his storage pouch with a satisfied pat.
Last night's tender negotiations had been nothing but theater. In Donovan's world, every promise was provisional, every agreement malleable. When he'd "generously" offered to split the pills with Emma, he'd already been counting her share as his own.
The Mister First Dominator's philosophy was simple: what was hers was his, and what was his was... well, still his. Using her name to secure an extra pill share had been child's play—like taking lolipop from a particularly naive baby.
A feral grin split Donovan's face as he reflected on Lordi's miraculous alchemy skills. "Gods' balls, who would've thought that quiet young man could whip up Legendary level pills like they were fucking candy?"
The thrill of unexpected windfall sent delicious shivers down his spine. This changed everything. With this level of alchemy prowess under his influence, the Dominator Squad's power would skyrocket.
Donovan's chest swelled with genuine pride. "My brothers and sisters will feast on these like emperors," he thought, already envisioning the awe on their faces. For all his ruthless cunning, the captain of Dominator Squad held a sort of loyalty and care to his squad crew—the kind that would happily stab a stranger in the back to put extra resources in his family member's pockets.
——
Finding a secluded grove, Donovan popped three Spirit Restore Pills, the medicinal energy flooding his meridians quickly with familiar warmth. As he settled into meditation, his mind turned to the Sword Aura shards they'd received from the evil Sword of Red Run.
"Fuck that demon sword," he mused, cracking his neck. "As if I'd trust my life to some cursed artifact—or that cunning Krogh Hanz, real or fake. The only true protection in this world was the strength you could call your own.
Though the Sword of Red Run had bestowed upon them both a sliver of its lethal sword aura shards, neither man harbored even the faintest illusion of trust in the evil sword. It was a thing of malice, its very essence steeped in madness, whispering promises laced with murderous intent. To rely on its power was to dance on the edge of a knife, one misstep away from being consumed by its ravenous will.
And as for Krogh Hanz, whether he was the true master of the blood-drenched sword or merely a phantom spun from Ju-on's venomous illusions? That mattered little. Trust was a brittle currency here, one that neither of them dared to spend. In this haunted estate of malice ghosts and killer wraiths, faith was the quickest path to death.
——
The golden sovereign of the day dipped below the horizon, its dying light bleeding into the Twin Peak Hill, while the pale sentinel of night ascended, draping the mountain estate in a shroud of spectral luminance. Shadows stretched like grasping fingers, and the air thickened with the quiet dread of things unseen.
Donovan and Lordi stood at the gatehouse, their figures sharp against the brooding silhouette of the structure—two dark strokes against a canvas of gathering gloom. The night pressed down, heavy and watchful, as if the very earth held its breath.