OLD-WORLD EXTRA-Chapter 392: Dangerous Game

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In a dimly lit room, where the only bright light came from a flickering hologram displaying the training room, sat Emir.

He watched the live feed through the holoscreen, his eyes focused intently on the pitiful girl.

Ragnar and Silent, sitting on either side of him, did the same, but they found it hard to watch Quinn's breakdown.

Only Emir maintained a stoic face, his body still as he listened to her sobs echo through the speakers.

There was a mixture of contentment and cruelty in his gaze.

The others didn't notice it. Ragnar was too busy munching on popcorn, while Silent, holding a soda in one hand, appeared deep in thought.

His usually calm front was slightly disturbed by the raw emotion on display.

"Come on, just read it."

Ragnar muttered under his breath, clearly anxious to see how she would react to the letter Emir had sent her.

Ping!

As if on cue, Quinn's terminal chimed again, reminding her that a message had reached her.

She didn't notice it at first, but after a few seconds, the bright screen finally grabbed her attention.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, letting out a short breath before finally opening the message.

"Okay..."

Emir leaned forward slightly, his anticipation almost palpable.

{Dear Quinn,

You've done nothing wrong, child; it's the world that has betrayed you. But don't worry, just do your best. No matter the result, I'll still be here for you.

Your friend,

Mr.Sponsor.}

As she finished reading the letter, her expression changed.

The sniffles stopped, replaced by a look of confusion that quickly turned to something else— a smile.

It was a small, hesitant smile, but a smile nonetheless.

That smile cemented Emir's plan.

He had succeeded.

He had made her dependent on the sponsor-on him. Her self-admitted main enemy.

His lips couldn't help but curl into a smirk.

"She bought it..."

Ragnar unconsciously spoke, shaking his head in disbelief.

"She's actually smiling."

Silent too, appeared intrigued.

"You've truly managed to make her see you as an ally. Her only ally. It's... remarkable."

Emir nodded, a sense of satisfaction washing over him.

There was no doubt that Quinn was now a puppet in his play, manipulated to see him as her only support.

Even amidst her doubts, she never expected that her sponsor would be him, the one she claimed as an enemy... It seemed to be a near-impossible thought.

"She's fully dependent on me now."

He said quietly, more to himself than to his companions.

"She'll do anything to keep that sense of security."

Silent observed Emir closely, understanding the depth of his manipulation.

"But what's your next move? You've got her where you want her, but what's the endgame?"

Emir's eyes gleamed with a cold, calculated light.

"The endgame is her complete submission into my disciple. She'll do whatever I ask without question. And through her, I'll explore what my path used to be. The Aetheric Duelist. But that's not all; I'll control more than just her actions-I'll influence those around her. The Elite. Elijah alone is not enough. Her decisions, her loyalties-they'll all serve my purpose." Ragnar chuckled, shaking his head in amazement.

"Are you sure about this? It's a dangerous game you're playing."

Emir didn't respond.

He once said those exact words about the Order and their plot to control Earth through the Academy. Now someone else had said the same about him.

That irony wasn't lost on him, but he didn't care.

'All for survival.'

His eyes were fixed on the screen, watching as Quinn began to gather herself, the terminal still clutched in her hand.

He could see the determination in her eyes now, a stark contrast to the despair that had overwhelmed her seconds before.

She was resolved to push forward, motivated by the false sense of support and understanding he had provided.

And as she left the training grounds, he knew that his plan was only just beginning.

The path he had chosen was clear, and Quinn was now firmly ensnared in his web.

All he had to do was continue walking that path, expanding his web, and defining his specialization as the Ethereal Threader.

To do so, he figured that it was time to accept his reward.

Emir leaned back, closed his eyes, and sat in a lotus position, allowing himself to fully absorb the moment.

Ragnar and Silent noticed that something was about to happen, so they gave him space, and when they did...

Thump!

A sensation of utter bliss enveloped him as if he were riding a high that elevated him beyond

the physical world.

His entire being seemed to hum with power.

He could feel his Core strengthening with every breath, its Aether pulsing more robustly than

ever before.

Ripples of Aether were sent through his body with each heartbeat, invigorating him.

His mind, too, felt the surge.

Thoughts became clearer, more focused, and his senses were heightened.

Ideas flowed effortlessly, each one sharper and more precise than the last.

In his mind's eye, he could almost see the strands of his many plans weaving together, forming a complex web that only he could navigate.

Unbeknownst to Emir, this surge extended even deeper, touching his very soul.

The Puppeteer Embodiment within him resonated with this success, drawing his soul closer

to its true form.

His entire being-body, mind, and soul-began to align with the status of his embodiment,

making him feel more complete, while also fixing the cracks that cluttered his psyche.

He had also felt his physical form become more resilient, as if every cell within him had been revitalized and strengthened to new heights.

The blissful high didn't stop there, and waves of power continued to course through him.

It reached a point where he obtained the feeling of absolute control, of being the master of

his fate and the fates of everyone around him.

A feeling that he had never felt before-not even close.

It was intoxicating.

With every passing second, more of this power-this unknown spark of energy-poured into

him, filling his soul and, in turn, his body to the brim.

And then suddenly... it all stopped.

The peak was reached.

In that moment, Emir was not just a pawn in the games of gods, of players-he was the one

pulling the strings, a being amongst them...

The Puppeteer.

But as that sensation slowly ebbed, that moment where he felt simply unbeatable had gone...

Poof, just like that.

He was no longer a God.

The high left him when everything was at its Apex, so the drop...

'Ugh...'

It was massive-unfathomably so.

He felt a pain he had never experienced before-a deep, hollow ache gnawing at his core. The

omnipotent feeling had left behind an insatiable craving.

Emir adorned the shoes of a junkie, one that stared at an empty needle, the last one in his

stash, too broke to buy another, desperate for a hit of that intoxicating high.

"Haaaaaaah..."

The craving was overwhelming, almost consuming him, but he could control himself, taking

off their shoes.

But it wasn't easy-no, not at all.

He took deep breaths, forcing himself to stay grounded, to remember who he was.

The hunger for power was there, gnawing at him, but he knew it was a means to an end.

Yet the ache deepened, not caring for what he knew, making him feel as if a part of his very essence had been ripped away.

Truly... the comparison to a junkie wasn't far off.

He imagined those addicted souls, their bodies trembling, minds in turmoil, consumed by a

need that overrode all reason.

Emir felt that same desperation, that same all-consuming need for the high of control, the

rush of absolute power.

It was as if his entire being was screaming for that sensation again, willing to do anything to

reclaim it.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, the sharp pain an anchor in the chaos of his

mind.

Anyone else with the same rank as him would've already succumbed to this addiction, losing themselves; there was no doubt about that.

But Emir was different.

He, whether he liked it or not, had been trained since birth for moments like this, building a mental fortitude that could withstand the strongest of temptations.

Each measured breath he took was one step away from the abyss.

He reminded himself of the bigger picture, of the ultimate goal that lay ahead.

Their survival... dominating survival.

Closing his eyes, he visualized the steps of his plan, his second anchor, and the faces of those

he would manipulate, exploit, undermine, extort, rob, kill, and the outcomes he desired.

The clarity of his vision helped push back the gnawing need, replacing it with a cold focus.

Slowly, the overwhelming craving began to recede.

Emir's breaths evened out, his heart rate slowing as he regained control.

The hunger was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but he had it in check like he did the

corruption.

He was not a slave to his desires; he was their master.

From the day he was born, he had a plan, a purpose, and nothing would stand in his way.

His path was clearer than ever now, and as Silent had once said...

All he had to do was walk.