Upgrade

"Oh shit...! Oh...! Oh...!" Leo mimicked her desperate moans, filling the small space between them with the sound.

"As I teased her," Leo continued, licking his lips without realizing it, "her huge, watermelon-sized, soft and shiny breasts pressed into my mouth like a hungry baby clinging to its mother. My teeth gently scraped and ground against her dark, hardened nipple, almost like a grinding machine crushing corn, rough but desperate for more."

He leaned back, exhaling deeply. "I could feel the strength in her breathing fade, her head wobbling side to side, unable to hold steady anymore." Then he paused for a while. "…But there was something which I don't understand. It haunts me in a way I can't explain. There was something, almost like an eye pulsating at the dark corners."

Oliver's face twisted sharply, his entire body tightening up as if he was about to launch forward like a fighter jet preparing for takeoff. His gaze locked fiercely onto the vast, open space behind Leo, unblinking and sharp. His legs started trembling slightly, the muscles twitching with tension, while his blood surged hot through his veins, boiling with the sudden rush of adrenaline, ready to drive him into action at any moment.

"I will be right back..." Oliver said, giving Leo a firm tap on the shoulder before moving away in haste toward the fire. His steps were sharp but controlled, gliding through the crowd like a ghost slipping between layers of cloth. He weaved between figures with the urgency of a man chasing something only he could see.

He kept turning, profusely, looking back. The feeling of being watched lingered in his mind like a fog that wouldn't lift. At every turn, he caught a flicker of light behind the trees—there, then gone—as if something was hiding just beyond his reach, unwilling to be fully seen.

Before reaching the road that led to the building where the man had been taken, confusion gripped him.

Why does it feel like everyone's crowding this path…? he thought, jaw clenched tight with frustration. He pressed forward, brushing past bodies that felt less like people and more like fog given weight—present, dense, and eerily unaware of him.

Suddenly, his pace slowed.

There were eyes—glowing eyes—tucked deep within the fire's halo. Not reflections. No. These burned with their own terrible light. Their radiance licked across his face—not warming, but branding. Each blink smeared phantom eyes across his vision.

And then… the counting began.

One set… then two… then four.

Each blink multiplied them.

His breath caught.

He tried to look away, but his body no longer obeyed. His legs, once quick and sure, now moved with a marionette's clumsiness—each step guided not by will, but by the pull of those eyes.

His mind fractured: one part still searching—for someone, something, a destination the ring might be directing him to; another stuck in a loop—counting, always counting the eyes.

He was near the fire now.

Children dashed past him. Laughter rang out in odd, ill-timed bursts. A woman nearby hummed off-key.

It all felt wrong. Too distant. Like someone else's memory bleeding into his own.

"Why this sudden joy?" he whispered, frozen in place. "Just after the clash of two powerful men… the ground, the trees, even people—destroyed. And they're cheering? Why?"

He stood motionless—but not completely. His hands swung gently by his sides as if he were still walking. Yet his body remained rooted. As though something had separated movement from flesh.

Then—contact.

One hand brushed something. Wood? No—something that felt like wood but had the texture of skin. At the same time, a splash struck his arm—warm, fragrant.

A well-dressed woman turned sharply. She smelled of crushed herbs and honeywine. Her soft veil fluttered, revealing legs that shouldn't be—or rather, a leg that wasn't.

Oliver caught the tray she nearly dropped. His fingers curled around a crescent-shaped handle—cool metal, etched with symbols that twisted beneath his touch.

Yama's mark.

And beneath it—his own.

The star from his dreams.

Heat surged into his head.

Then her voice, sharp and delicate, pierced him.

"Watch where you're going…!"

It wasn't loud, but it struck like thunder veiled in silk, echoing not in his ears but in his bones—through his teeth. Painful. Intimate. Unnatural.

He staggered back.

And then—another voice. This one wasn't hers. It came from inside his head.

Soft. Familiar. Intimate in a way that made his eyes sting.

"Please forgive him… he is a stranger."

The sting faded. Warmth washed in.

He bowed his head. His eyes lowered.

Then he saw it.

Her leg wasn't hidden. It was rooted—merged with the shadow beneath her like a tree threading into soil. Her veil shifted again in the wind. But her shadow writhed—too many limbs twisting and clawing like a centipede in silent agony.

A shiver tore through him.

"Let me help you with that…" the soft voice whispered again, this time right against his cheek.

He looked up.

The world had gone silent.

Not quiet—silent. Like everything was holding its breath.

A cup—wooden, light—fell from the tray.

His hand moved on instinct, catching it mid-air.

But not before a splash of wine arced through the air, striking his lips.

The taste—earthy, metallic, sweet like blood soaked in sugar—coated his tongue.

A jolt raced down his spine.

The ring on his finger pulsed.

Then—burned.

Roots exploded from it, burrowing into his skin like tiny, ravenous worms.

His star-mark split open.

And from within—a slit. An eye. It blinked.

Every sound vanished.

Every voice stilled.

And in the breath between moments, a voice—neither soft nor loud, but ancient and mechanical, like a god breathing through glass—spoke:

"Congratulations... Your upgrade will begin soon."