The author narrates.
Vikram remained silent, leaning against that deteriorating wall as if he could absorb strength from the cracks. The place no longer seemed as solid as before. The air had thickened, not from smoke or heat, but from thought: the idea Bi had left floating, like a sweet poison, was gnawing at him from within.
The judgment.
The punishment.
The curse that was proposed as a deal.
Vikram looked down at the mark running down his forearm. The black lines no longer seemed like ink. They throbbed. As if they knew he hadn't yet chosen. As if they were waiting.
In a deep voice, laced with discomfort, he murmured:
Vikram: Those things...
Bi took a step closer, his cloak brushing the floor. The ultraviolet light outlined his features like those of a living statue.
Bi: "Hey," he interrupted without aggression, raising a hand like someone gently correcting him. They're Executioners.
Vikram: "That's shit," Vikram repeated, gritting his teeth as if the words were scraping his tongue. "They're not men, as such... Are they? Because they're from the underworld."
Bi tilted his face, letting his dark hair slide down his cheek.
Bi: "Indeed. They're Executioners. They look male, but they're not the same. They have no soul. They have no time. Only desire... and judgment."
Vikram made a sound that wasn't a laugh or a sigh. It was an uncomfortable mix.
Vikram: "Hmm..."
His eyes fixed on a corner of the floor, as if hoping to find an exit there that Bi hadn't mentioned. But nothing. Only dust, cold, and destiny.
It wasn't just the idea of the act, of sex with creatures, that he couldn't fully process. It was what it symbolized.
Who would he be after that?
Could he look at his followers again with that same daring smile?
What if they didn't know... but he did?
The desire he had always displayed as a trophy now presented itself to him as a cross. And he didn't feel ready to bear it.
Vikram: "Sometimes fame... there's no way out," he muttered in a dry, barely audible voice.
And without thinking, he punched the wall hard.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
His hand opened slightly, a small cut at the edge of his knuckles, but not even the pain made him react.
He didn't complain.
He didn't move.
All he thought about was the request.
Bi didn't react. She didn't come closer. She wasn't horrified.
She just looked at him.
And in her eyes shone something that wasn't judgment... but waiting.
As if she knew that humans first fight with themselves before accepting.
She approached calmly and stretched her right hand toward him.
Not violently. Not urgently.
She just held it there, suspended in the air between them.
Bi: "So... what do you say, sweetheart?" she asked softly, but with a force that seemed to come from the ground, from the sky, from everything.
Vikram swallowed.
The mark shone for a second.
And the world held its breath.
It stared at Bi's outstretched hand as if it were the last line dividing its reality from the abyss.
It wasn't a threat. Nor a caress.
It was... destiny.
An open palm, waiting for him to sign their pact with skin and silence.
The mark on his forearm burned without burning, as if he knew the decision was about to be made.
His breathing slowed. Not from calmness... but from restraint.
Vikram looked up.
Bi watched him without blinking.
And she was still smiling, as if she were witnessing something beautiful: the birth of a condemned man.
Vikram: "You... aren't going to hurt me, are you?" he whispered, with the broken voice of someone who's already tired of fighting.
Bi tilted her face.
Her gaze seemed older than the room.
Bi: "No, sweetheart. The damage... will come from you. And from what they will make you feel."
Vikram closed his eyes for a second.
In his head, the live comments mingled with his own voice, fragmented images, desire and repulsion, fame and fear, his skateboard on the ground, the likes still alive, the warmth of the brand, the echo of Bi calling him cute.
And then... he reached out.
He took it with trembling fingers.
Bi squeezed gently.
Her touch was cold, like holy water falling on a hot stone.
A dry sound was heard.
Not in the room... but on the phone.
The screen flickered. The broadcast paused for two seconds.
And then it came back with a new title, unwritten by anyone.
"PHASE ONE INITIATED: EXPOSURE."
Bi let go of his hand.
Her smile had changed.
It was no longer sweet.
It was ceremonial.
Bi: From now on, your every hidden desire will be looked at by another... And your every judgment will be shared by millions.
Vikram took a step back.
His chest pounded as if he had another heart beneath the original.
Vikram: "What does that mean...?" he murmured, swallowing.
Bi turned, walking into the shadow of the hallway.
Her cape seemed to lengthen as if the place were slowly devouring her.
Bi: It means there is no secret anymore. And the first one... is already waiting for you.
Vikram adjusted the strap of his helmet with trembling fingers.
His cell phone, wedged right on top, was pointed at the world like a digital third eye.
He wouldn't transmit it for fun this time. This time, it was so he wouldn't get lost.
He took his backpack and put it on with suppressed anger.
The skateboard creaked as soon as he lifted it, as if he knew it wouldn't roll smoothly again.
He turned to Bi.
She was waiting for him, her face calm, hands clasped in front of her, like someone holding a response that's already been said too many times.
Bi: The cell phone in your...—he pointed with almost theatrical delicacy toward his head—that cell phone will give you the location you need to go to.
Vikram: So how...? You hacked my phone?—he raised an eyebrow.
Bi shook his head slowly, like someone explaining a game to a child who doesn't yet know the rules.
Bi: Technically, I cast a spell on it,—she replied in a sweet, but not entirely reassuring, voice.—It's to know if you've completed your mission. I'll give you the locations you need to go to. But don't worry, I won't see anything on your phone. What's private remains yours.
A small spark of confidence flitted across Vikram's gaze.
It was a false calm… but enough.
Perhaps Bi wasn't so invasive.
Or perhaps she'd already done what she had to do since he arrived.
Vikram: Those...—he stopped, frowning. "The... Executioners," he muttered with suppressed disgust, averting his gaze as if saying it was like ingesting something rotten, "are waiting for me… aren't they?"
Bi smiled like someone watching fear bloom.
Bi: Correct.
Vikram clicked his tongue.
Vikram: And you'll give me all the locations?
Bi: That's right,' he nodded.
The young man looked toward a window.
There was no landscape.
There was no mist.
There was nothing.
Vikram: But I can't get out of here, he said dully. The darkness out there is... there's nothing. Literally.
Bi took a step, his cloak moving as if inviting him to the edge.
Bi: Don't worry about it. The darkness expanded across the entire area... only to cover hell and blossom a universe for you. You can leave whenever you want, as long as you do what we already agreed to.
Vikram stared at her.
His jaw tightened.
His cheeks were etched by the pressure of his teeth.
Disgust. Rage. A surrender that cannot be disguised.
But in the end, he lowered his gaze.
There was no other way.
And hell already bore his name.
Vikram: Okay…
___________________________________
How nice, he accepted. (^^).
Well, he has no choice, right?
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I'll post the next chapter today, since I have it. I'll bring you two chapters in one day. As long as I finish them :^
Chao chao ! See you later! Bye!
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