Dante was rapidly approaching the limits of his patience, and patience was already a scarce resource these days.

  The System Interface floated before him, its luminous script writhing like molten gold, shifting in that distinctly smug way that suggested it had absolutely no intention of making his life easier. He had grown accustomed to this insufferable thing manifesting at the worst possible times—battlefields, high-stakes negotiations, the rare moments when he actually managed to sleep—but this?

  This was bullshit.

  [DEBT NOTICE]

  Current Pact Balance: -???,??? Units

  Projected Growth Rate: Accelerating

  Status: Critical

  Dante squinted at the display, suspicion gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. “Okay. Question. Why the hell are there question marks where the numbers should be?”

  The System, in its infinite, bureaucratic malevolence, did not respond. It never did. It simply hovered in silent judgment, exuding an aura of cold detachment, like a god watching an ant struggle in the palm of its hand.

  Dante let out a slow, controlled exhale, rubbing his temples as the reality of his situation sank in.

  The numbers—if they could even be called that anymore—weren’t just shifting. They were evaporating, dissolving into meaningless symbols, as if the System itself could no longer quantify the sheer scale of what he owed. That was new. That was terrifying. Dante had spent enough time around debtors to know that when the System stopped showing you numbers, it meant the numbers had stopped mattering. When your debt became an abstraction, so did the rules governing it.

  His fingers twitched with the urge to check his contract, to drag the cursed thing out and read between the lines like a condemned man scouring a death sentence for a misplaced comma. But that was a fool’s hope. He had read the fine print a hundred times before, searching for hidden clauses, unnoticed loopholes, anything that could unshackle him from this slow, grinding execution. And every time, he had come away with the same sinking conclusion: the System didn’t make mistakes. The contract was absolute, airtight, and utterly without mercy.

  Which meant something else was at work here. Something outside the normal boundaries of his Pact. Some external force was accelerating his collapse, nudging him toward the abyss with unseen hands. A third party? A hidden mechanic? Or was this just what happened when your debt crossed a threshold no mortal was ever meant to reach?

  His debt was growing. Worse, it was growing faster. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He hadn’t even used his pact since the last fight, hadn’t drawn on its power, hadn’t tapped into the Abyss in any way. So why the hell was his balance spiraling further into oblivion?

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  And then, like a blade slipping between his ribs, the realization struck.

  The contract wasn’t just taking from him.

  It was multiplying.

  It wasn’t a simple equation of exchange—it was an exponential nightmare. Interest upon interest, stacking infinitely, metastasizing like a cancer that fed upon his very existence.

  Like a curse that refused to stop compounding.

  He swore under his breath. If he didn’t figure this out—and soon—he wasn’t just going to owe an unfathomable, life-destroying amount.

  He was going to owe something he couldn’t pay.

  And he already knew what happened to those who defaulted.

  (He had seen the aftermath before. That husk of a man in the Undermarket—drained, hollow, more specter than flesh. Whatever they had taken from him, it hadn’t just been numbers on a ledger. It had been something deeper. More fundamental.)

  Dante had told himself, back then, that he would never let it get that far. That he was smarter, faster, better at playing the game. That he would never end up like the husk in the Undermarket, slumped against the alley wall, staring at nothing with eyes that no longer belonged to him. But debts had a way of grinding down even the sharpest minds, turning confidence into desperation, and desperation into inevitability. The System didn’t need to chase you; it simply waited. Sooner or later, you tripped. Sooner or later, you fell.

  That was the real horror of it. The moment you signed, you weren’t just borrowing—you were offering. And when the time came to collect, it wasn’t about credits or units or anything so mundane. The Pact would take what it was owed, in whatever form was most convenient. Your strength. Your sanity. Your future. Your self. Dante had seen men lose their names, their memories, their ability to dream. He had seen them stumble through the city like puppets with their strings half-cut, their bodies still breathing but the essence of them gone.

  And the worst part? The worst part was that it never even looked like violence. There was no screaming, no struggle. Just a slow, steady unraveling, like thread being pulled from an old tapestry, piece by piece, until nothing remained but an empty frame. Dante swallowed hard, shoving the thought down before it could take root. He wasn’t there yet. He still had time. He still had moves to make. He just had to figure out what the hell they were.

  Dante forced himself to take a slow breath, to think. Panic wouldn’t help him. He needed a plan.

  Step one: Identify the cause. Something had changed—he was sure of it. Was it the Celestial Legate? The encounter had left a mark, something beyond the physical. Or was it the lingering stain of the Abyssal power he had dared to wield? Had he unwittingly triggered a new clause in his contract, some hidden escalation written in the fine print?

  Step two: Find a loophole. There had to be one. There always was. Every contract had a weakness, an oversight, a flaw buried beneath the layers of legalese and supernatural bindings. Because at this rate, survival wasn’t just about paying back the debt.

  It was about ensuring he lived long enough to even attempt it.

  The Interface flickered again.

  [WARNING]

  Enforcer Collection Window: Approaching

  Time Remaining: 72 Hours

  Dante’s stomach turned to ice.

  Seventy-two hours.

  That was how long he had before the Enforcers came knocking.

  And for the first time in his life, he seriously considered the very real possibility that he might be completely, irreversibly screwed.