Kira headed down the stairs first, leaving Johan smiling quietly to himself. She paused, fingers hovering over the railing. It looked grimy enough to leave black smudges on her palms, so she opted for the wall instead, placing one hand carefully against it as she cautiously stepped down.
“…Servants?”
My thoughts froze for a moment. Callister had said it so casually, like it was nothing.
“Well then, shall we get going?” he said, already moving on.
“Hold on... are you saying you’re my servant?” The question sounded ridiculous even as I said it.
“Does she really have wings? Did you ever see them?”
“Are you kidding?” Kira shot him a look that questioned his sanity. She leaned back against the grimy wall, rolling the cigarette between her fingers. “It’s just bullshit crazies say when they’ve lost touch with reality.”
This arm Callister gave me... he once said we were connected. That he could feel what it felt. He wasn’t wrong. I tested it by tracing shapes on my palm, and he recognized them instantly.
Where is all this screaming coming from?
Johan held his breath, eyes closing as he focused. A distant voice echoed through the walls—muffled, distorted, but definitely pissed off. He couldn’t catch the words, just the anger buzzing faintly through the house.
What fresh hell is this?
No seriously, what in the name of sanity is happening?
A voice. From the crack. Had... had it just spoken?
The sheer absurdity of it short-circuited any normal reaction. Fear? Disgust? They simply weren’t there, overridden by a profound sense of the unreal.
For a wild, heart-skipping second, the impulse seized him: lunge, jam the thermos to her lips, force the contents down her throat.
Then, just as quickly, the thought vanished.
The idea of “rotting together as ghost soulmates” didn’t land as romantic. It hit Seojun like a physical blow, a chilling confession that stole the feeling from his tongue. His mind seized, every synapse screaming the same frantic message: Pretend you didn’t hear that. Pretend this isn’t happening.
Good thing Tartar Sauce wasn’t here right now. If he was, he’d be watching the entire psychological meltdown happening behind my stiff expression.
“I understand.” Athanas’s arms fell away from me, the warmth of his embrace vanishing. The light in his eyes dimmed… yeah, no doubt about it, he looked disappointed.
“He chooses to forget?”
But external mental interference should be impossible.
Even with the Saint’s relentless probing, he couldn’t find a single crack in Fabio’s mental defenses.
It must be coming from within... or maybe another Watched One is causing this.