Chapter 157: The Puppeteer's Whim
The location was unremarkable, a modest apartment in a nondescript sector of a sprawling city. It held no luxury, no signs of great wealth or power—just a simple living space with a combined living-dining area, a single bedroom with a standard-issue bed, a basic bathroom, and a small kitchen. It was the perfect place to be invisible.
A knock echoed from the door.
Inside, Rivan was lounging on the sofa, watching a flickering news feed on the wall-mounted screen. A half-eaten bag of popcorn rested in his lap. He didn't get up. With a casual flick of his mind, the door's lock disengaged and it swung open silently.
Ken Xiao and Shi Xiao entered, their movements synchronized and subdued. They approached him and, as was their ingrained habit, dropped to one knee, bowing their heads low.
"Behold our loyalty, Master!" they intoned in unison.
Rivan didn't even look at them, his eyes still on the screen. He was long past the point of finding their groveling amusing; it was just tedious. He sighed internally. How many times do I have to tell them to cut it out?
Instead of acknowledging their display, he used his telekinesis to float two unopened bags of popcorn from the kitchen counter towards them. "Want some?" he asked, his tone utterly bored.
The two brothers fumbled to catch the unexpected offerings. They stared at the popcorn bags in their hands, then at each other, utterly confused by the mundane gesture. After a moment of silent consultation, Ken looked up, his voice filled with undeserved reverence. "Your kindness is truly out of this world, Master!"
This finally pulled a reaction from Rivan. He paused the news feed and turned to look at them, one eyebrow arched in sheer disbelief. "I gave you popcorn. Just popcorn. Why are you acting like I just handed you the keys to a planetary treasury?" He shook his head, dismissing their dramatics. "Whatever. Did you find what I asked for? The location or contact info for that girl and her boyfriend?"
Ken, seizing the opportunity to deliver good news, brightened. "Yes, Master! That is precisely why we are here!"
He quickly activated his comm device and established a connection.
Alora City - An Anonymous Apartment
The room was bathed in the dim, artificial glow of the city lights filtering through half-closed blinds, painting everything in stripes of pale gold and deep shadow. The air was close and warm, carrying the faint, mingled scents of cheap perfume and warm skin. It was a small, unremarkable space, typical of the city's transient population—a place for temporary lives and fleeting pleasures.
The silence of the night was broken not by the distant hum of traffic, but by sounds far more intimate. Ragged, synchronized breathing formed a desperate rhythm, punctuated by the soft, persistent creak of the bedframe protesting under a steady, frantic tempo. The sheets were tangled, a testament to the passion that had unfolded there.
A young woman was the picture of abandon, her silhouette a study of motion against the dim light. She moved with a primal, grinding energy astride her partner, her fingers digging into his shoulders for purchase. Her head was tilted back, a curtain of hair swaying with her movements, her lips parted in a silent gasp as she chased her release, utterly consumed by the physicality of the moment.
Her partner, a man with a handsome, sharp-featured face now slack with pleasure, gripped her hips, his own breathing a harsh counterpoint to hers. The world had shrunk to this room, this bed, this single, shared objective.
It was then that the sharp, electronic chirp of a comm device shattered the fragile bubble of their intimacy. Tring tring tring!
The sound was like a splash of cold water. The woman's rhythm faltered, her body freezing for a split second. A flash of pure, unadulterated annoyance twisted her features, so recently etched with ecstasy. With a frustrated, guttural sound that was half-groan, half-snarl, she reluctantly leaned to the side, her body still connected and subtly undulating from the interrupted momentum.
Her fingers fumbled across the cluttered bedside table, knocking over an empty glass before closing around the vibrating device. She brought it to her ear, her voice emerging as a breathless, irritated pant, still thick with the raw edge of unfinished passion.
"Hello?" she snapped, the word sharp and impatient. "Who is this?"
On the other end of the line, Rivan's voice was smooth, laced with a knowing amusement that felt deeply intrusive. "Don't recognize me, do you? Well, give it a try," he taunted, then immediately dismissed the idea. "Actually, never mind. How could you? We've never met."
The woman, her body still thrumming with interrupted adrenaline, bit back a sharp retort. "Why are you calling? Get to the point." Behind her, her boyfriend had now completely stilled, his own arousal forgotten, his attention fully captured by the one-sided conversation.
"Consider me someone who cares for your well-being," Rivan purred, the words dripping with false sincerity. "Or, more accurately, an enemy of... what do you call him? 'Rejected Winter'? Ah, yes. Abhishek."
The names were a detonation in the quiet room. The woman flinched as if struck. Her boyfriend's eyes widened in sheer panic, all color draining from his face. The last vestiges of their intimate atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a chilling dread.
"H-hello? Wh-who are you?" the boyfriend stammered into the phone, his voice trembling. "We d-don't know any Abhishek!"
Rivan's laughter was soft, a sound like dry leaves scraping against stone. "Oh, how long are you going to keep up this little act? Or should I just narrate your entire story for you?"
The woman's bravado shattered. "Alright, alright!" she interjected, her voice tight with fear. "What do you want?"
Rivan's tone shifted, becoming conspiratorial. "Actually, I'm just calling to inform you that 'Rejected Winter'—Abhishek—has gotten dangerously close to finding you. I don't mean he's in Elora City, but he's have some hint of you being there. Perhaps we should meet."
"How can we meet? And how can we be sure you're not working for Abhishek? This could be a trap!" she fired back, her mind racing through paranoid possibilities.
"Look," Rivan said, his voice taking on a note of reasonable, chilling logic. "We share the same enemy. That's all that matters right now. You know as well as I do that you can't handle him alone anymore. And frankly, neither can I. It's in our mutual interest to join forces."
He let the proposition hang in the air before delivering the final push. "So, I'm setting up a meeting."
"Proof," the woman demanded, a last ditch effort to regain control. "Give us some proof of who you are."
"As you wish," Rivan replied smoothly.
A moment later, a notification chimed on the woman's comm device. She pulled it away from her ear and stared at the screen. A detailed profile had appeared. It showed a man named Neel Awasthi, complete with a government-verified ID number, a modest employment history at a mid-level tech firm, and a clean public record. It was a flawless, deep-cover identity, meticulously crafted and instantly authenticated by the city's network—a testament to the vast, unseen influence Rivan could wield with a mere thought.
"Check it," Rivan's voice came back, crisp and confident. "And it would be better for everyone if we discussed the rest... offline."
The line went dead. The woman and her boyfriend were left in the sudden silence, the ghost of their passion replaced by the cold, hard reality of a threat from their past and an alliance with a terrifyingly powerful stranger.
To be continued…