Jason walked the narrow corridor of the blimp, his footsteps deliberate, his hands tucked in the pockets of his long coat. His face was unreadable, but his eyes — hidden behind tinted sunglasses even at night — betrayed a spark of calculation.
He moved like a man on a mission, his lips pressed into a thin line. His shoulders did not slump with fatigue as others' did. If anything, he looked more alive now than during the duels.
He stopped outside a door marked by a simple brass number: Room 13.
The Duelist Exterminator's room.
Jason tilted his head slightly, listening. A faint hum of machinery — the blimp's ever-present pulse — was all he heard. No voices. No footsteps. Perfect.
His fingers brushed against the inside of his coat, feeling the cold metal of the small, custom-made device he carried: the isekai machine. Sleek, black, and no larger than a book, it radiated a faint chill whenever he touched it. To Jason, it was more than technology. It was finality.
He opened the door with slow precision, slipping into the darkness within. The lights were dim, casting long shadows across the room.
The Duelist Exterminator lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling in shallow, irregular motions. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, catching what little light there was. His hands twitched faintly, as though even in unconsciousness he was still clutching invisible cards.
Jason approached the bed, his face as calm as if he were clocking into work. He opened a black case on the side table — the isekai machine. Its wires curled like veins, its polished interface glowing faintly in the dim light.
His lips twitched into the faintest smirk.
"I don't want to risk you coming back , brother," he muttered, his tone flat but laced with finality.
As he spoke, his gaze drifted back to the Exterminator's face. Jason's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly as a thought surfaced — one he had been turning over in his mind ever since the duel.
This is what it costs.
The Wicked God cards were not like ordinary monsters. They didn't just drain life points — they took something far more fundamental.
They take pieces of you, Jason thought coldly. Not all at once. Just enough that you don't notice… until it's too late.
His eyes narrowed behind his lenses. He had done the calculations himself, quietly, obsessively. Based on what he had observed, based on the Exterminator's physical deterioration and sudden collapse, Jason had come to a grim conclusion.
Twice, he thought. At most.
Jason's hands moved with cold precision as he connected the machine's nodes to the Exterminator's temples. Every wire clicked into place like shackles, every adjustment made with surgeon-like care. His brow furrowed slightly, his concentration intense, though a faint shadow crossed his expression — a trace of worry he couldn't quite suppress.
The machine whirred, its strange hum filling the room. Faint sparks danced across its interface, casting brief flashes of light over Jason's sharp features. His eyes narrowed behind his lenses, jaw tightening as the Exterminator's body convulsed violently.
Jason straightened slowly after positioning the machine, his eyes drifting instinctively toward the nightstand beside the bed. If there was one thing that had to be accounted for, it was the card.
The Wicked God card.
His gaze sharpened. The surface of the table was bare — no deck, no case, no hidden sleeve tucked beneath the edge. Jason's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He moved closer, fingers brushing aside a medical chart, then lifted the thin mattress with a single hand. Nothing.
The faint hum of the blimp filled the silence as Jason searched with growing focus. He checked the Exterminator's coat, draped over a nearby chair, then the drawers beneath the bed. His movements were efficient but no longer casual. A crease formed between his brows.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
The Wicked God card was not something a duelist simply misplaced. It clung to its owner like a curse. Jason had expected to feel it — a pressure in the air, a wrongness. But the room was empty of it.
He straightened, lips pressing into a thin line as realization settled in. His head tilted slightly, as if replaying events in his mind: the duel's abrupt end, the lockdown, the way security had swarmed the platform almost instantly.
Kaiba.
Jason let out a slow breath through his nose, a humorless smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth.
"So you took it," he said quietly, more impressed than angry.
It made sense. Kaiba would never allow an artifact of such power like that to vanish into the shadows. Kaiba would have seized it the moment the Exterminator collapsed.
Jason inhaled sharply through his nose, his pulse rising. A tremor ran through his hand before he forced it still.
What if he comes back?
The thought slid unbidden through his mind, gnawing at his otherwise unshakable calm. He clenched his teeth. He couldn't risk it. He had seen too many instances where death was not final — where power, relics, or enemies with knowledge beyond comprehension had twisted the rules of mortality.
A moment later, the Exterminator's mouth slackened. His eyes, once filled with venom, stared blankly into nothing. The machine's hum wound down, its task completed.
Jason exhaled slowly through his nose, but there was no relief in the sound. Instead, his expression was grim, the tension in his jaw refusing to loosen.
"Your soul… sent beyond recovery into another reality. No one will bring you back from the dead to bother me."
He lingered over the words, as if repeating them made them more true. His gaze flicked toward the door, paranoia gnawing at him — the image of someone dragging his brother's corpse back to life, twisting him into a weapon to use against Jason himself. The thought made his stomach tighten, his lips pressing into a thin line.
The faintest shadow of a smile curled at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. His expression hardened quickly again, snapping into place like a mask — cold, unreadable, controlled.
For a moment, he looked back at the machine, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. His head tilted slightly, a curious gleam flickering beneath the darkened glass of his lenses.
"What happens when something like him with no duel energy gets sent to another reality without duel energy?" he whispered.
His brow furrowed, lines creasing deeper. Would the Exterminator find himself powerless in his new reality? Would he wither, fade away, or adapt into something monstrous? Jason's lips curved into a small, unsettling smile at the thought.
Jason turned away from the corpse and toward the small washroom adjacent to the quarters. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror — pale skin under harsh light, glasses perched neatly on his nose. For a moment, there was the faintest flicker of hesitation in his gaze.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a knife. Its blade gleamed cold and sharp, its edge pristine. He placed it under the faucet, running the water until the steel shimmered clean. His face remained stoic, lips pressed in a tight line, though the faint twitch of a muscle at the corner of his mouth betrayed the gravity of what he was about to do.
Droplets slid from the blade into the basin, tiny echoes in the silence. Jason's eyes followed them with detached calm.
He rolled up his sleeve and laid the knife down with clinical care. His fingers drummed once against the porcelain — the only outward sign of nerves — before going still.
Jason returned to the table, laying out a series of instruments with the meticulous order of a surgeon preparing for a procedure. The tools gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light, each piece waiting like an accomplice to his madness. His hands were steady, his breathing controlled, but when he removed his glasses, the tension in his features became visible.
His eyes — sharp but weary — revealed the weight of what he had chosen. The mirror caught him in full, showing not just a man, but a figure on the edge of abandoning humanity itself.
Without hesitation, he pressed the knife to his face. A sharp intake of breath hissed through his teeth as the blade cut deep. His eyelids squeezed shut, brow furrowing so tightly that lines carved across his forehead. His jaw clenched until the veins in his neck swelled visibly.
Blood welled, crimson against the pale of his skin. His expression twisted — not with panic, but with fierce, determined agony. His breath came harsh and ragged, yet his hand didn't falter. Every slice was deliberate, every movement fueled by cold intent.
When the grisly work was done, Jason stood hunched over the basin, chest heaving, one eye socket empty and raw. The mirror reflected a man who had willingly torn away part of himself, leaving behind something less human, more relentless.
His lips curved into a faint, bitter smile.
"Perfection requires sacrifice."
From a case on the floor, Jason retrieved two objects. Both gleamed with cold, metallic precision — cybernetic eye implants designed to integrate with his nervous system. He lifted them reverently, his face illuminated by their faint, bluish glow.
Jason's lips parted slightly, his expression shifting from grim determination to something dangerously close to wonder.
"Artificial nerve mapping… synchronization with optic responses… this is beyond theory. This is history."
Excitement trembled in his voice as he leaned over the basin, slipping a rolled towel between his teeth. His jaw clamped down on it, muffling the low growls of pain that escaped as he began connecting the nerves to the first implant.
His hands moved with steady, meticulous precision, even as his body shook from the strain. Sweat trickled down his temple, his brow knitted so tightly it seemed carved in stone. His reflection showed agony and elation at once — the face of a man tearing himself apart while marveling at his own science.
When the first implant clicked into place, the faint hum of circuitry pulsed across his temple. Jason exhaled, a long hiss through clenched teeth around the towel. The new eye flickered with light, its artificial veins glowing faintly beneath his skin. His lips curled upward, almost proud.
Without hesitation, he implanted the second. His fingers trembled as he forced the connection, biting down so hard on the towel that his jaw ached. Sparks of pain shot through his skull as nerves fused to steel. His hands gripped the basin edges, knuckles whitening, his expression twisted into a grimace of both torment and exhilaration.
Finally, both eyes lit in tandem. Jason pulled the towel free, spitting it aside, his chest heaving. He stared into the mirror with wide, glowing eyes. His reflection was unrecognizable, both sockets burning with cold, synthetic light.
For a brief, dangerous moment, he smiled — truly smiled.
"Perfect sight… artificial eternity."
But then, his expression faltered. The glow of triumph dimmed as realization cut through his exhilaration. His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. He whispered to himself, voice sharp, almost scolding.
"No… I had another plan. I only needed one."
The proud smile vanished, replaced by cold calculation. Without hesitation, Jason reached up and pressed his fingers to the edge of the right implant. His lips thinned into a harsh line as he pried it loose.
Pain surged. His body convulsed as the nerves screamed in protest. His teeth ground together, lips pulled back in a grimace, blood running fresh down his cheek. He wrenched the implant free with a wet snap, leaving himself half-blind and reeling.
The world went dark. For a moment, he stood in blindness, blood dripping from his raw socket. His expression hardened through the agony, lips curling into a faint snarl of defiance.
He fumbled through his bag, fingers searching feverishly until they brushed against something. His hand tightened around it, pulling it close to his chest. His breathing slowed, his expression softening just slightly, as though he were handling something sacred.
Jason leaned into the mirror, his face pale, lips trembling from blood loss and strain. His hands moved with reverence as he lifted the object toward his empty socket.
The air seemed to thicken. His entire body went rigid as the object slid into place. His veins stood out along his neck and arms, his lips parting in a silent gasp. For an instant, awe flickered across his features.
Then, with a shuddering breath, he steadied himself. His expression hardened again, resolve replacing awe.
Jason reached for his old glasses, the lenses cracked from the strain of the operation. He placed them down, almost ceremoniously, on the counter. His face tightened as though in farewell, then smoothed into neutrality.
From his case, he pulled out a new pair — sunglasses with lenses so dark they concealed everything beneath. He slid them onto his face, the transformation complete.
Jason adjusted his coat, buttoning it neatly, his movements sharp and deliberate. His posture was straighter now, his head held higher. The faintest shadow of a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth — not joy, but a grim, quiet satisfaction.
He opened the door and stepped into the corridor once more. The blimp's lights reflected faintly off his sunglasses, obscuring the truth beneath. His face betrayed nothing, though his stride carried an aura of danger that hadn't been there before.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
If you'd like to support my work, consider donating to my Patreon!
By becoming a patron, you can gain access to up to 10 chapters ahead of public releases. My Patreon is patreon.com/SecondVoidlord