They had shared a high-class meal, and a few hours later they were already back at the hotel where they were staying. Marcus dropped onto the couch and turned on the television; Viktor and Lars sat at the dining table, the city glittering beyond the glass.
"We already know the boy is there," said Viktor, holding the coffee cup between his hands. "We just have to wait until tomorrow. The man is throwing a party at night."
Lars watched the steam rise from Viktor's cup and exhaled slowly.
"And how are we supposed to get into that party?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the distant lights of the Burj Khalifa.
Viktor rummaged in his pants pocket as if about to reveal a winning card. "There's always a way," he said, pulling out a few purple tickets. "I have our passes to the party."
"Incredible," Marcus replied from the couch. "Then we just wait for tomorrow."
"Waiting isn't enough," Viktor shot back, locking eyes with Lars. "We need to make a plan and know each other's strengths. You already know I use my shadow to infiltrate."
"And will that help us if things get complicated?" Lars asked.
Viktor shrugged and took a sip of coffee. "Ideally, we won't have to use offensive powers," he said seriously. "If I have to use them to attack, I'll suffer the consequences that come with it."
Lars leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching him intently. "I want you to explain that clearly," he said. "What exactly happens when we use our powers to kill?"
Viktor set the cup down on its saucer and leaned back, crossing his arms. His voice grew heavier, as if he were uttering something forbidden.
"According to what we've learned within the organization," he began, "when a member of Dominion kills someone using their power, the victim's soul falls into the Abyss—the plane where the demons reside. As soon as that soul arrives, the demon who granted the power senses it. He knows his gift has been used. And then he demands his payment for every use."
Silence fell over the room like a slab of stone. Outside, the city remained awake and indifferent, but the question lingered in the air: what price was each of them willing to pay for using what had been given to them?
Marcus, who had been listening to the entire conversation, rose from the couch and approached them. He touched Lars's shoulder. "Knowing this, you should understand that we only use our powers to kill when there's no other choice."
Viktor continued after him. "That's also why Sigmund started implementing martial arts and weapon training—so we'd rely less on our powers when facing kill-or-be-killed situations. It wasn't always like that. Back then, the members' lifespans in the organization were much shorter."
After listening to both of them, Lars said, "Klein told me I should only use my powers in moments of real urgency. If I use them all the time, the mental or physical degeneration could be lethal."
Marcus looked at both of them. "Exactly. What we still don't know," he said thoughtfully, "is how the consequences work with powers like Klein's or William's. They don't kill anyone, yet they're still deteriorating."
Viktor lowered his gaze, spinning the cup between his fingers.
"The only thing that makes sense," he finally said, "is that even if they don't kill anyone, those kinds of powers directly affect the user's soul. Klein invades the minds of others, and William sees things no human should see. When those limits are crossed, the demon doesn't demand blood… he demands balance."
Lars looked up, intrigued.
"Balance?"
"Yes," Viktor continued quietly. "Every foreign thought Klein hears, every vision William receives, draws them closer to the demons' realm. It's as if their minds stay open to that place for too long—and something from there ends up staying with them. That's why Klein can't sleep anymore… and William, well, sooner or later, he'll start seeing things that don't belong to this world."
Marcus, still standing by the table, nodded slowly. "The way we see it," he said seriously, "those powers don't damage the body—they damage the mind. The more you look inside others… the more you let them look inside you."
Viktor held his gaze, setting the cup on the table. "It's like the soul slowly fracturing. Demons don't always need to punish those who kill. Sometimes, it's enough that you use their gift too often."Lars stared at the coffee left in his cup. The reflection of the lamp twisted across the dark surface. His voice came out as a murmur.
"So every use has a price."
"Exactly," Viktor replied. "The question is whether you're willing to pay it."
For a moment, silence filled the room again. Marcus changed the TV channel, though he didn't seem to be watching it. The tension was thicker than the desert air roaring beyond the windows.Lars lifted his gaze. There was something in his expression—a mix of stubbornness and shadow—that the other two recognized immediately.
"I'm willing to pay it," he said calmly, almost coldly. "Whatever the price. If it gives me enough power to destroy the Meyerns, I don't care what the demon asks of me."
Marcus looked at him for a long moment, wanting to respond but deciding not to. He only sighed, aware he couldn't reason with a man who had already lost too much.
Viktor, however, smiled with a darker edge. "Be careful what you wish for, Lars. Power tends to grant what we ask for… just not in the way we expect."
Lars met his gaze without flinching. "I don't care how it happens, as long as it ends with them."There was something in his tone that didn't sound like a threat—it sounded like a promise.
Viktor took another sip of coffee, saying nothing this time. Marcus turned off the television. Silence settled again among the three, but it wasn't the same as before. Something else was present, as if Lars's words had stirred a distant echo, an interest awakening somewhere deep in the abyss.
Evening fell over Dubai like a golden curtain. The hotel windows reflected the dying sun, and the desert air turned copper, making the horizon look aflame. Viktor had spread out digital blueprints of the Burj Khalifa across the table—security layouts, service access points, evacuation routes—all obtained through Dominion's internal network.
Marcus, seated opposite him, carefully cleaned a compact firearm he had brought in a false-bottom case. He moved his hands with the ease of someone who had done it countless times, speaking without looking up.
"This mission shouldn't get complicated if we stick to the plan. Viktor goes in first, scouts the area from the shadows, and reports the guards' movements. Lars and I will wait in the lobby on the one hundred eighth floor until he gives the signal."
Lars watched silently from the window. The lights in nearby skyscrapers began to flicker on, turning the city into a sea of neon and reflections.
"And if the boy is being watched during the party?" he asked without turning.
"He will be," Viktor replied. "But that also works in our favor. The bodyguards will be focused on the host, not the boy. With the number of guests there'll be, we can move around without drawing too much attention."
Marcus set the weapon down on the table and glanced at him sideways. "Assuming your shadows don't run into a spotlight."
Viktor smirked. "It would have to be a blessed spotlight to notice them."
Lars turned slightly, studying their faces. "Even so, we'll need a safe exit. Getting in won't be enough."
Marcus nodded. "I've got that covered. A contact in the local police owes me a favor. If things go south, they'll create a distraction near the Burj Khalifa. A little chaos… just enough to get us out without suspicion."
Viktor raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you had friends in the Dubai police."
Marcus barely smiled. "They're not friends. Just professionals with good memories."
The conversation faded beneath the hum of the air conditioner. Lars kept staring out the window; the reflection of sunset made him look like a silhouette carved in glass. His mind, though, was far from that room.
He was thinking about the Meyerns mafia—about faces, names, fire. Hatred burned in his veins, but it was also a compass that kept him standing. Every step he took, every choice he made within Dominion, was just a means to reach them.
That night, he barely slept. The clock showed three a.m. when he rose and turned on the desk lamp. The cards were still there, locked in a metal box. He laid them out on the table and let the faint glow of the light fall over them.
He stared for a long time, until one of them began to blacken at the edges. Black flames rose again, dancing without heat, devouring the paper without leaving ash. Lars watched in silence, a mixture of fascination and fear.
He could feel the power responding to his emotions. The more he desired it, the stronger the energy became around him. And even knowing that every use brought him closer to a price he didn't yet understand, he didn't pull his hand away.
"I'll do whatever it takes," he murmured. "Even if the demon takes my soul."
Dawn found him sitting by the window, eyes red and body tense. The sun climbed behind the buildings, a disk of fire and glass.
When Marcus knocked on his door at nine, Lars was already dressed, his gaze fixed on the city.
"Time to get ready," Marcus said from the doorway. "It's going to be a long day."
"I know." Lars stood, grabbed his jacket, and walked toward the door. "Tonight, we finish this."
Marcus watched him silently, noticing something different. It wasn't exhaustion—it was resolve. A determination that bordered on madness.
"Just remember," he said as they headed down for breakfast, "don't let your thirst for revenge decide for you."
Lars didn't answer. Outside, the sun already beat down on the streets, and the day advanced toward the night that would decide their fate.