Dobroslav entered the apartment and locked the door behind him.
"Pajojo, where are you?" he called. Pajojo—the old nickname from school days, when they skipped classes to play games or swing szablas in the park.
Silence.
He checked every room. No sign of his old friend—that fat, unkempt slob who never cared about looks but could cut clean with a blade.
Then it clicked.
"Again?"
He pushed open the bathroom door.
Pajoslav lay sprawled on the tiles, pants around ankles, fancy Sony Xperia clutched in limp fingers. Long, pointed ears poked through messy hair. Still deep in transformation sleep.
Dobroslav sighed. "I know you love spending hours in the toilet with your phone, but now? Really?"
He nudged the body with his boot. No reaction.
"I'm eating all your chocolate from your secret stash if you don't wake up," he threatened.
A weak mumble. "What…? My chocolate?"
Dobroslav grinned. "Awake now?"
Pajoslav stood, pulling up his pants.
Dobroslav stared. "When did you lose all that weight?"
Pajoslav wasn't slim, but the old gut was gone—solid now, heavy but strong.
"What are you talk—" He froze. "What the hell? When?"
Dobroslav sighed. "Go look in the mirror."
Thud.
Pajoslav stumbled back out. "What the fuck?! My ears… like an elf?"
Dobroslav pulled off his hoodie. Long, pointed ears gleamed.
"Yeah. Like an elf."
"Oh shit. You too?" Pajoslav's eyes widened.
Dobroslav explained everything—the rift, goblins, soldiers, awakening—but kept Bhalzar secret.
He knew Pajoslav too well, but ancestors had to be kept a secret to everyone.
"Sit cross-legged in the living room."
"What is this shit you're doing?" Pajoslav cut in.
"Pajojo, shut up and listen. Just follow."
Dobroslav demonstrated slow hand seals.
"Now repeat after me. Focus on your right palm. Imagine power gathering."
"No fucking way it'll work," Pajoslav snorted.
Dobroslav glared. "You lost half your fat, grew elf ears, and passed out shitting on the toilet. And you doubt this?"
Pajoslav grumbled but obeyed.
"King of the fourth ring,
one who opens the way,
who sees the unraveling,
open the gates of hell."
Black-red hellfire bloomed across Pajoslav's palm—warm, hungry, alive.
Dobroslav smiled darkly, menacing and cruel.
"Wow… what's this?" Pajoslav whispered, eyes wide.
"A way to the future," Dobroslav said coldly. "Hide it always. Anyone sees—we burn them."
Pajoslav's face twisted into the same sinister grin, sharp and hungry.
They locked eyes, understanding perfect.
"…but what does it do?" Pajoslav added, tilting his flaming hand like testing a new toy.
Dobroslav facepalmed hard.
"It's hellfire. You summon it silently—just picture the chant in your mind, feel the power gather. No need to speak the whole thing aloud.
In practice: weaken an enemy first. Grab their face or neck. Then say out loud 'Infernal Battle Law.' Their life and Qi rip into you. They wither. You grow stronger."
Pajoslav's grin returned, hungrier.