CHAPTER 233: CHAPTER 233

So when he wandered into this mess, the Myriad Operation as the humans called it, his eyes locked on one fighter in particular. A Hero, battered and bleeding out on the ground. Nasty gash across his head, stomach torn open like something massive had clawed through—classic Rogue handiwork. But the guy was still kicking, barely.

Drakar crouched down, tilting his head. "Hey, human."

The man cracked his eyes open, locking onto him with a glare that cut through the pain. "De-Demon... What the hell are you doing here?"

Drakar arched a brow. Sharp instincts—this one had sniffed out his aura right away. He concealed his aura to avoid the others detecting him. "Need a hand?"

The Hero looked away, grunting as he pushed himself up, using his sword like a crutch. Blood soaked his armor, but he wouldn’t stay down. "I know your kind. Won’t make a deal with the likes of you. Get lost."

Drakar nodded toward the battlefield, where screams echoed and more Rogues poured in. "You sure about that? Looks like your side’s getting hammered. And you’re in rough shape—no offense."

The man ground his teeth, gripping the hilt tighter. "Like I said, don’t need your pity. Backup’s on the way."

Drakar tsked, shaking his head. "Backup, huh? What if they show up after you’re all cold and buried? Come on—deal with me. Save your skin."

"What do you want?" the Hero rasped, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing big," Drakar said, leaning in with a grin. "Just your body—"

"No deal then," the man cut him off sharp, coughing wetly.

Drakar almost laughed. If the other demons caught wind he’d been shot down on his first real contract offer, they’d roast him for centuries. "Hear me out. I want to share your body—not take it over completely. Your mind stays but we’ll both be in there, two souls in one shell. Deal?"

The man hesitated, his eyes darting to the battlefield where his team’s screams pierced the air—cries of agony, pleas for help that echoed like thunder. His comrades were dropping fast, bodies crumpling under the Rogues’ onslaught, and the weight of it broke him. Gritting his teeth, he met Drakar’s gaze with a mix of defiance and desperation. "Deal."

With a sly grin, Drakar sealed the pact, chanting the ancient words of Rakshesha’s curse under his breath. Dark energy swirled around them, coiling like smoke, and in an instant, a faint mark etched itself onto the man’s skin—hidden right over his heart. As the ritual completed, Drakar felt the shift, his essence merging into the human’s body. The world tilted, and when he opened his eyes, he was seeing through new ones.

The wounds that had ravaged the body began to knit together, the gashes closing with an unnatural speed. Pain shot through him—real, sharp, human pain that made him gasp. It was exhilarating, a reminder of mortality he’d long forgotten. He flexed his fingers, testing the form, feeling the heartbeat that wasn’t his own.

"Hey, what’s your name?" Drakar asked aloud, his voice echoing in his mind as much as in the air.

Raphael. Raphael Forbes, came the faint reply, a whisper from the depths of their shared consciousness.

"Well, Raphael," Drakar said, a wicked smile curling his lips as he snatched up the sword from the ground, "sit back and watch how I turn this mess in your favor." With that, he charged into the fray, the blade singing through the air. Rogues fell one by one—heads severed, bodies cleaved—his movements a blur of precision and power. Even those who sensed his demonic aura and turned to fight didn’t stand a chance; he cut them down with ease, the chaos reigniting that old thrill in his veins. For the first time in ages, he felt alive again.

After the massacre, the weight of it all hit Drakar like a sledgehammer. His new body—Raphael’s body—wasn’t ready for the strain. Exhaustion crashed over him, a deep, bone-grinding fatigue that came from sharing a mortal form for the first time. He collapsed right there on the blood-soaked ground, slipping into a coma before he could even celebrate the victory. In that hazy, dreamlike state, he and Raphael shared the space, their minds intertwined like threads in a web.

They talked about everything and nothing—random bits of Raphael’s life spilling out like a floodgate. Stories of his family, his training as a Hero, the girl he liked back at the academy. Drakar listened, fascinated by the mundane details that made up a human existence. It was all so foreign, so vivid compared to the endless void of the Underworld. "This sister of yours... she sounds like she’d fight for you no matter what," Drakar mused. Raphael’s mental voice chuckled softly. Yeah, Angela’s always been that way. Fierce as hell.

When Drakar finally stirred back to consciousness, the world was a blur of chaos. Doctors and nurses swarmed around him, voices overlapping in panic as they checked vitals and barked orders. "He’s stable—barely. Get the scans!" one shouted. He blinked, trying to piece it together, and that’s when he spotted the visitors: a girl with fierce eyes that had to be Angela, Raphael’s sister, and another one—a stranger with an air of mystery about her. Remillia, Raphael whispered in his mind, filling in the gaps.

Drakar let Raphael take the wheel, retreating to the background to observe. It was safer that way, letting the human handle the chit-chat while he adjusted. But then, out of nowhere, Remillia said something that made him perk up. "What if we got married?" she joked, her tone light but laced with something deeper.

Married? Drakar prodded Raphael mentally, curiosity bubbling up. What’s that about?

Raphael’s inner voice explained patiently. Well, marriage is when two people love each other—

Wait, what? Love? Drakar cut in, the word hitting him like a thunderbolt.

Yeah, Raphael continued, it’s when they love each other so much, they decide to bind their lives together. For better or worse, until death parts them.

In that moment, something shifted inside Drakar—a spark, a flicker of something he’d never felt before. It wasn’t the thrill of destruction or the cold satisfaction of chaos. It was warmer, more human, and it left him reeling, wondering if this shared life could change everything. Love... the one emotion he’d always envied from afar, now stirring in his soul.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I blinked my eyes open, staring straight into those familiar blue ones—Raphael’s eyes, but with a depth that felt off, layered with something not entirely his. The black smoke had dissipated, the forest around us back in sharp focus, the Void Space bubble still humming faintly. We were in the present again, the flashback to the Myriad Operation lingering like a bad dream. "Raph... I-I want to talk to Raphael," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He paused, that eerie smile fading a bit. "Promise not to kill me?"

I glared up at him, my hands still balled into fists. "I’ll... try."

He studied me for a long moment, then slowly eased off, releasing my arms and stepping back. I felt the shift inside him, like a door opening—Raphael taking the reins. His expression softened, the shadows in his eyes retreating. "Remillia... I’m sorry for keeping it from you."

I pushed myself up, brushing off the dirt, my mind racing. "So all along, you were just pretending to have amnesia?"

He nodded, looking genuinely torn. "It was the only way for us to coexist! If we kept switching and our attitudes flipped all the time, Angela and the others would’ve caught on. They’d be confused, suspicious—maybe even freaked out. So I played it off as amnesia, to cover the gaps, make it seem like I was just... recovering."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking my head. That damn author—they must’ve seen this coming, written it to force my hand. What if I killed him? Would I have lived with the guilt of murdering Raphael without knowing the full story, or the regret of snuffing out whatever piece of him was still fighting?

"Please believe me, Remillia," he said, his voice cracking just a little. "I just wanted to live—to make the most of this. But if you still want to end it, then... please, just let me say goodbye to my family one more time. Let me bond with them, even if it’s the last thing I do."

"Wait! What do you mean kill you?! Have you forgotten that I saved your life?!" Drakar’s voice cut in suddenly, the tone shifting mid-sentence, like a switch had flipped in Raphael’s body. It was disorienting, watching him go from one personality to another—Raphael’s earnest plea one moment, Drakar’s sharp edge the next. It was like dealing with someone who had a severe case of split personality, bouncing between calm and chaos.

Raphael wrestled back control, his expression hardening as he addressed the demon within. "And because of that, I’m forever indebted to you, but we both know the truth. Sooner or later, once the mark fully awakens, your dark magic will take over, the others will be hunting for us."

"But I can conceal my demonic energy so don’t decide just for yourself!" Drakar insisted, fighting to take control.