Chapter 33: Dungeon
Lombard Street
8 P.M.
Gas lamps flickered to life as night crept through the maze-like alleys of Lombard Street. The narrow passageways twisted like serpents between aging buildings, their wooden frames leaning inward as if clinging to one another for support. Shanties with crooked roofs and broken shutters crowded the thoroughfare. Soot-blackened walls whispered of forgotten grandeur.
Clotheslines sagged between windows, burdened by damp garments that danced in the breeze. Thin wisps of chimney smoke curled into the heavy smog above, tinting the night sky a sickly gray. Stray dogs rummaged through scattered refuse, their ribs jutting out beneath patchy fur.
In the distance, the relentless clang of factory machinery echoed across the slums — a dull, metallic heartbeat pulsing through the bones of the city. It was a sound woven into daily life, a harsh reminder of survival.
Yet even here, amid decay and despair, there was something defiant in the way life clung to the shadows. The people of Lombard Street endured — not by choice, but by will.
A century ago, this very street had been a haven for nobility, its polished stones walked by silk-clad elites and merchants of influence. But when the empire's industrial age dawned and smoke-belching factories rose nearby, Lombard's fortune withered. Poisonous fumes filled the air, claiming lives and spreading illness. One by one, its residents fled, seeking cleaner skies.
Then came the famine.
The empire starved. Food prices soared. Within a decade, a third of the population found themselves jobless and destitute. Some perished. Others returned to ancestral villages. Many clung to the skeletons of forgotten buildings, turning abandoned manors and halls into makeshift homes.
Thus, the proud Lombard Street was reduced to a slum — a graveyard of wealth buried under soot and sorrow.
At the far end of this slum stood a two-storied mansion. Once owned by Baron Alexander, it had long since passed into the hands of the Millers. Unlike the shanties around it, this mansion remained upright, its bones preserved by constant upkeep. Now, it buzzed with activity. People came and went, carrying wooden crates and bulging woolen bags.
Torches lit the perimeter. Armed guards stood watch beyond its iron gate. The building didn't feel like a home — it felt like a fortress.
"This place looks like a goddamn hive of criminals," muttered a young woman as she reined in her carriage. She jumped down and threw open the carriage door.
A middle-aged woman stepped out, her grip tight around the hilt of a sword. Her eyes blazed.
"If they've hurt my boy," she growled, "I'll set this whole damn place on fire."
Meanwhile…
In a small, windowless room beneath the mansion, a boy stirred.
Raven slowly opened his eyes. A faint orange glow flickered on damp stone walls — two oil lamps cast long shadows, stretching into corners like reaching fingers. The ceiling above dripped steadily, water striking stone with quiet rhythm.
He tried to move — but ropes bit into his wrists and ankles. His mouth was gagged. Panic flared.
"Mmmph!"
Where… am I?
His blurred vision fell on a familiar form a few feet away — a lean boy with black hair, bound just like him.
Dante.
The name hit him like ice. The last thing he remembered was Scott… the guards… fists…
No. No, no, no…
Dante wasn't moving.
Is he…?
Raven's heart pounded. Guilt surged through him like bile.
This is my fault.
He closed his eyes and reached inward.
Zera? Zera, are you there?
[ ... ]
[Haa. I'm here, lad. But I can't help you right now. You're on your own.]
Why? Why do you sound disappointed?
[Because you acted without thinking. You let your anger control you. Charging at Scott without knowing his strength… That was reckless.]
What was I supposed to do? He was hurting Dante!
[Where was that care before? You watched him suffer alone for months. You told yourself you were too weak to help — so you didn't. You avoided him. Focused on your studies. You weren't his friend, not really.]
Her words stabbed deeper than any blade.
Because she was right.
He had watched Dante get bullied again and again. Had looked away. Had pretended not to see. And when he finally acted — it was too late.
I should've helped him. I should've…
Tears welled in his eyes. But there was no time for regret.
I have to get out of here.
Footsteps echoed down the stone stairwell.
Raven froze.
Three figures emerged from the gloom. At the front: a boy with blonde hair and red eyes. Behind him, a smirking young man and a grey-haired brute — the same ones who'd ambushed them earlier.
Raven's stomach turned.
"Still glaring, are you?" the blonde youth sneered. "Feisty little pup."
The older man chuckled and crouched beside him. "Pups like you need training."
Scott stepped forward, holding a small glass vial filled with bluish powder. His grin widened as he knelt.
"Do you know what this is, Raven?" he asked, removing the gag.
Raven spat out blood. "You're making a big mistake, Scott."
Scott's hand lashed out — a casual slap.
Pain exploded across Raven's cheek. The room tilted. Warm blood trickled from his nose. His vision swam.
"Shall I untie him, Young Master?" the blonde man asked.
"Yes. Make him kneel. I want him begging at my feet all night."
A low growl escaped Raven's throat. Rage. Humiliation. Fear. His eyes burned.
Scott burst out laughing. "Oh? The angry pup is about to cry?"
He popped the cork on the vial.
"You know what this is?" he asked again. "Miraclo. A magical drug. One sniff and even the poorest trash can touch heaven."
He pinched some powder and shoved it into Raven's nostrils.
"Breathe it in."
Raven tried to hold his breath, but his lungs screamed. He gasped — and the powder flooded his senses.
Zera—!
[I can't stop this. I'm not some overpowered system. I'm just a spirit. You're not in mortal danger yet — so endure. Help is coming.]
Another dose. Scott forced more powder into his nose.
Pleasure. Euphoria. Confusion.
His senses sharpened and blurred at once. He saw two Scotts. Then four guards. The room pulsed and twisted.
Am I hallucinating?
Then something shifted inside him.
A darkness slithered beneath his skin. A pressure in his skull. His eyes — once a soft bluish hue — darkened. Turned pitch black.
Zera! What's happening?
No response.
Then… his body moved.
Staggering, swaying — but rising.
I'm not doing this. Someone — something — is controlling me…
His thoughts began to fade.
And in the silence, another voice whispered from his lips.
"Ugh… Where am I?"
[ …!!! ]