The residence provided to Darren and Marianne was large and immaculate in a way that made it feel more like a display than a home. Its exterior had been sleek and angular, built with smooth surfaces and wide glass panels that reflected the pale evening light. Inside, the design followed the same philosophy—clean lines, open spaces, and an abundance of polished materials Darren had rarely encountered in his life.

  Everything felt carefully arranged, as though someone had taken great care to ensure that every piece of furniture belonged exactly where it was.

  Orwell Rubin and the World Government had apparently decided that if Darren and Marianne were going to remain on Earth for any length of time, they would do so comfortably.

  Comfort, however, was a strange concept when placed in such an unfamiliar setting.

  The living area alone was larger than many of the halls Darren had seen in noble residences back in Nozar, yet it felt strangely quiet despite its size. Couches lined the walls, their cushions thick and inviting. Glass tables rested atop smooth flooring that reflected the overhead lights, and several large windows overlooked the quiet cityscape beyond.

  Darren had examined most of it with mild curiosity when they first arrived, though his attention had not lingered long on any particular detail. The furniture looked pleasant enough, but it all felt unnecessarily soft. He had briefly tested one of the chairs earlier, only to find himself sinking into it more than he would have liked.

  Now he sat on the floor instead.

  The cold, hard surface beneath him was far more familiar to him. Darren leaned forward slightly with his legs crossed, resting his forearms loosely against his knees as he faced Marianne.

  Across from him, she occupied one of the couches with considerably more ease. Marianne sat cross-legged upon the cushions as though the seat had been designed specifically for her comfort.

  Between them stood a low table.

  Laying atop it, placed carefully in the center as if it were a sacred object rather than a weapon, was the Holy Blade of Thunder, the very same one that had once belonged to Humanity's Strongest Jaegar.

  Darren glanced at it briefly before focusing on the task at hand.

  “Hit me.” He said aloud, to no one in particular. At least that was what it seemed like to any onlooker.

  Moments later, translucent screens flickered into existence before his eyes. They appeared silently within his line of sight, the familiar interface of his System unfolding in layers of glowing information. Lines of text scrolled across the display as the notification he had been waiting for finally presented itself.

  “Here are your Rewards for completing [ Bubble Pop Electric ] ! You have performed exceptionally well and fulfilled the Mission Objectives to completion. Congratulations! You have leveled up!"

  // Name: Darren Ittriki

  // Threat Level: ERROR

  // General Level: 975 (+3!)

  Darren watched as the information continued to populate across his vision. His Status Screen expanded fully into view with rows of numbers and attributes that had become increasingly familiar to him over time.

  // MP (Mana Points): 10657 → 10657 / 5500 (+750)

  // EXP (Experience Points): 0 / 240000

  His Pool of Mana expanded again, the numerical value climbing higher as the System finalized the rewards. Knowing that the amount of EXP he would need to advance to the next level was a challenge that he was more than willing to take on.

  He glanced towards a section he usually disregarded.

  // Skills

  // [ The Divinity of Dissection ] (Click to see more!)

  // [ The Internal Arts - Amplification of the Physical Vessel ] (Click to see more!)

  // [ Understanding of the Mystic Arts - Genius ] (Click to see more!)

  // [ Champion of Hades - Pathway of Authority ] (Click to see more!)

  // [ Master Swordsman ] (Click to see more!)

  Darren took it all in.

  A quiet sense of satisfaction stirred within him.

  Watching those numbers rise carried a strangely rewarding feeling, one that was difficult to deny no matter how many times it happened. The progression was clear, each increase providing tangible proof of improvement.

  It reminded him again, in many ways, of a game.

  Darren’s expression changed slightly as he studied the glowing interface before him. If the System worked this way for everyone on Earth—if it rewarded them with visible progress, tangible power, and constant acknowledgment—then perhaps it was not so difficult to understand why so many people had accepted its presence.

  Even when that same System had been responsible for the Invasions that plagued their world.

  There were many different forms of control.

  It could even be subtle in ways that no one noticed, until chains had been wrapped to tightly to be undone.

  His father had understood that better than most.

  King Daerion Ittriki of Nozar had ruled long enough to prove that authority did not always need to be imposed with cruelty. Sometimes the most effective control came from giving people something they wanted. If the System truly operated in such a way, then the people of Earth might not have resisted it as strongly as they should have.

  Because it gave them rewards.

  Because it made them stronger.

  Because it made them feel like they were winning.

  Darren's arrival had changed that for some strange reason.

  He thought of that boy Sinclair then. He had no doubt that it would not be the last time he crossed paths with the so-called 'streamer'.

  His train of thought led him to the next thing to worry about:

  The newest Mission that Merlyn had issued out for him.

  Completing it would not be simple.

  To fulfill at least one of those Objectives, both he and Marianne would need to participate in the next Invasion of Earth. That meant more conflict, more uncertainty and far more danger than Darren wanted to deal with.

  Danger that his own System had deemed neccessary.

  Without him even realizing it, his gaze drifted away from the glowing screens of his Status and toward Marianne.

  One of her hands rested lightly against her stomach while her head leaned back against the cushion behind her. Her eyes were closed now, her breathing slow and measured as if she were trying to steal what rest she could. The bag of potions she had taken from the marksman earlier sat beside her, slumped against the armrest of the couch. She had gone through half of the bottles there, unsurprising considering the cost that came with manipulating the written language of magic itself.

  Darren studied her quietly.

  Whatever came next—whatever Missions Merlyn would assign him—there was one thing he had already decided.

  He had to protect her.

  The responsibility had settled over him long ago, and it had only grown heavier with time. Whether the System demanded that they fight in another Invasion or face dangers that neither of them could predict, Marianne was under his protection now.

  His attention remained on her long enough that the glowing panels of his System went ignored. The interface lingered for a moment, waiting for him to refocus on it, but when he did not, the System continued forward on its own.

  Another notification appeared.

  // Install Update Version 2.0 of the System?

  // [ Yes ] OR [ No ]

  “With the amount of new Data that I have collected, your System is due for an Update to adjust to this new planet we have found ourselves in! Would you like to proceed with this installation?” Merlyn’s voice accompanied the message, and there was a noticeable hint of excitement in the usually composed tone of the artificial assistant.

  Darren blinked once at the words.

  An update.

  The idea immediately stirred a small sense of curiosity within him. If Merlyn had gathered enough information to improve the System itself, then whatever changes were coming might be significant. But before he could properly consider it, a small movement from Marianne caught his eye.

  She flinched.

  It was subtle, barely noticeable unless someone was watching closely. Her hand moved from her stomach down to her arm, her fingers pressing against it as if trying to soothe something beneath the surface.

  Darren’s attention sharpened instantly.

  For just a brief moment, he saw it.

  A faint golden sheen flickered where her fingers made contact, the light rippling outward in delicate waves across her skin. It was almost like sunlight reflecting off water before disappearing just as quickly.

  But he had seen it as clear as day.

  “Darren?”

  Merlyn’s voice sounded again, prompting him for an answer regarding the update.

  “Proceed with the Update,” Darren replied absent-mindedly.

  Even as he spoke, a new screen appeared in his vision showing the installation’s progress. A thin bar began to fill slowly as the System started integrating whatever changes Merlyn had prepared.

  But he had already stopped paying attention to it.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Darren pushed himself up from the floor in a smooth motion and crossed the short distance between them. Marianne noticed him approaching and opened her eyes just as he stopped beside the couch.

  “Your arm,” he said.

  Marianne straightened slightly, her expression tightening for the briefest moment before she forced it back into something casual.

  “Yes,” she replied evenly. “What about it?”

  She attempted to move her arm away from him, brushing it off as though nothing had happened.

  But Darren had already seen too much.

  The ripple of golden light had not been a trick of the eye. He knew exactly what those runes of hers were capable of, and he knew they were rarely used for something so simple.

  His gaze remained fixed on her arm.

  “Remove the runes from your arm, Witch,” he said calmly. “Let me see what you are trying to hide.”

  His tone left little room for argument. Yet there was no hostility behind the command, only a quiet concern that softened the edges of his words.

  For a moment Marianne hesitated.

  Her eyes lingered on his face, searching for something there. Perhaps she was thinking of refusing to comply with him. But whatever she saw in Darren’s expression made her reconsider.

  With a quiet sigh, she relented.

  “Fine.”

  Marianne lifted her hand slowly and placed her fingers against the arm where the golden light had appeared earlier.

  At once, the runes responded.

  Thin lines of glowing gold emerged across her skin, forming intricate symbols that had been invisible moments before. The markings pulsed faintly, their light steady and controlled as they traced patterns along her arm.

  Then they began to peel away.

  The runes lifted from her skin like delicate strands of light being pulled loose from their anchor points. One by one, the glowing markings unraveled, dissolving into faint particles before fading completely into the air. Darren watched in silence as the concealment disappeared. And with the last of the golden runes gone, the truth they had been hiding was finally revealed.

  Marianne was strong. That was something that Darren had never held the slightest doubt. He had seen enough of her abilities to know that the outcome of her fight with the marksman had never truly been in question. He had believed whole-heartedly that she would have emerged victorious in the end.

  But strength did not mean invincibility.

  Just like him, Marianne had her limits.

  Now that the golden runes had peeled away from her skin, the truth they had been hiding was fully visible.

  Along her arm stretched a long, shallow wound.

  It was not particularly deep, but it ran across a considerable length of her forearm, the skin split open where one of the marksman’s projectiles must have grazed her during the fight. The edges of the injury were already beginning to close, a faint golden shimmer still lingering around it where her runes had been working to accelerate the healing.

  Slowly.

  Too slowly, in Darren’s opinion.

  The wound was not life-threatening, but it was clear she had been unable to avoid at least one of those shots completely because a glancing hit had been enough to leave its mark.

  Marianne shifted slightly where she sat as Darren studied the injury, her lips parting as though she wanted to explain something. Perhaps she intended to downplay it, assure him that it was nothing worth worrying about.

  But the words never came.

  And just like the moment they had shared earlier—before the sudden arrival of the undead immortal as the Ferry of the Dead had traveled through the cosmos—Darren remained silent.

  He simply let out a quiet sigh.

  Then he lowered himself to the floor in front of her.

  The movement was calm and deliberate, his focus already shifting from observation to action. Marianne watched him with mild confusion as he reached toward a small pile of folded clothing resting nearby.

  Their outfits were still dirty from everything they had endured. Dust, grime, and faint stains from battle still clung to the fabric they wore. Thankfully, the World Government had already anticipated such a problem and provided them with fresh clothes upon their arrival at the residence.

  Darren grabbed one of the new shirts without hesitation.

  It was clearly designed in the style common to this world—soft fabric, simple stitching, and a cut very different from the garments he had grown used to wearing. But the design hardly mattered for what he intended.

  With a sharp pull, he tore a long strip from the shirt.

  The sound of ripping cloth echoed softly through the quiet room.

  Marianne blinked in surprise, but Darren paid little attention to her reaction as he leaned forward and carefully wrapped the strip of fabric around her injured arm.

  He did not rush.

  The cloth wound gently across the length of the scratch, covering the injury and securing it firmly without placing unnecessary pressure on the wound itself.

  For a moment Marianne remained completely still.

  Then her shoulders relaxed, the tension there melting away almost instantly as she realized what he was doing.

  “…Thank you,” she whispered softly, her voice carrying a quiet sincerity that lingered in the air between them.

  Darren said nothing in response.

  He simply continued adjusting the makeshift bandage.

  At one point Marianne shifted slightly, a small flinch escaping her as the fabric brushed too closely against the tender edge of the wound. Darren noticed immediately and loosened his grip, adjusting the wrap to accommodate her reaction.

  Only once the bandage sat comfortably around her arm did he finally lean back slightly.

  “Are you feeling alright?” he asked.

  Marianne looked down at the bandage wrapped neatly around her arm.

  Then she looked back at him.

  Her smile widened gently as she shook her head.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m feeling just fine.”

  The answer was simple. For Darren, it was enough.

  He nodded once, accepting her words without pressing further.

  There had been many strange twists of fate that had led them to this point. Circumstances beyond either of their control had forced their paths together, tying their futures in ways neither of them had originally expected.

  Darren knew exactly why he had chosen to protect her.

  The promise of seeing his family again depended on it and that goal remained unchanged.

  Yet somewhere along the way, his motivation had grown into something more than simple necessity.

  As he sat there before her, Darren could not help but see a resemblance that stirred something deep within him. Marianne reminded him of someone. Not in appearance, nor in mannerisms exactly—but in something harder to describe.

  The Wicked Witch of Humanity reminded him of his daughter.

  The thought of Andrea alone brought a quiet warmth to his chest, accompanied by a longing that had never truly faded. It never would. Not until he saw her once again. His little girl was waiting for him somewhere beyond all of this chaos, beyond the Missions and the Systems and the endless battles.

  He would see her and his wife again.

  That promise remained the guiding force behind everything he did and maybe that was why he felt the urge to protect Marianne so fiercely.

  As long as Darren stood by her side, and until he brought her to the God of War, neither the Wicked Witch nor the life growing within her would face the dangers of this reality alone.

  The quiet calm that had settled between them did not last.

  Moments like that rarely did.

  Marianne’s expression slowly shifted, the softness fading from her features as something else surfaced in its place. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a far more serious look as her thoughts led her to a darker place.

  Darren noticed it immediately.

  He had just finished adjusting the bandage around her arm when he saw her gaze lower slightly, her brows knitting together as if something troubling had resurfaced in her mind.

  “That boy, Sinclair,” she said quietly, her tone had lost the lightness it carried moments earlier. “He’s right.”

  Darren straightened slightly where he sat on the floor, the change in her tone drawing his full attention.

  “This System is evil, Darren.” The words hung heavily in the air between them.

  For a brief moment Darren said nothing, studying her face carefully as he tried to understand what had brought this sudden revalation. She knew more than she was letting on.

  “Earth’s System,” he replied after a moment. “You know of it?”

  Marianne nodded slowly.

  “Its name…is Loki.”

  The name alone seemed to unnerve her.

  “And it doesn’t have humanity’s best interest in mind,” she continued, her voice growing tighter as she spoke. “Loki could not care less about what happens to this world or its inhabitants.”

  Darren watched her carefully.

  There was a tension in her posture that had returned. Her shoulders were slightly rigid, her hands tightening against the couch cushion as if she were holding back something far larger than the words she was speaking. Unwanted memories had risen to the surface of her mind. Whatever those memories entailed, it was causing emotions to rise within her faster than she intended.

  “Then what does it care about?” Darren asked.

  If the System governing Earth truly had no concern for the people living under it, then there had to be something else driving its actions.

  Why give this planet powers to fight back against the monsters that invaded it?

  Marianne hesitated.

  Her gaze lowered again, uncertainty flickering across her face.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t know what it wants. I don’t know what it plans to do with this world.”

  Her voice trembled slightly as the words came out.

  “I don’t know why it’s doing this to these people.”

  The frustration in her tone rose above it all now, the emotions she had been trying to contain finally spilling out.

  “But I do know that it’s my fault, Darren. After everything we have seen, it’s the only possible explanation that—”

  “Relax.” His voice cut gently through her spiraling thoughts.

  Marianne blinked, the sentence dying on her lips as Darren interrupted her before she could continue.

  “Just relax,” he repeated.

  He reached forward and took her hand, giving it a small, steady squeeze. The contact was firm and reassuring, calming her before Marianne could push herself further into whatever confession she wished to speak.

  Darren wanted answers.

  Of course he did.

  The truth behind Earth’s System Loki, what it really wanted with Earth, the reason for the Invasions—all of it mattered now that he had committed to finding Ramiel and helping the World Government.

  But not like this.

  Not if it meant forcing Marianne to break whatever oaths she had sworn upon the River Styx.

  Words spoken in the heat of emotion could easily cross lines that should never be crossed. And right now, Marianne was dangerously close to doing exactly that. With the way her emotions were surging, she might reveal something she had never intended to say.

  So Darren stopped her before that could happen.

  “The past is the past,” he told her then. “What you might have done or didn’t do is irrelevant now.”

  His eyes did not leave hers.

  “What that System wants is unimportant to me.”

  That much was the honest truth.

  Darren had never cared much about the motivations of distant powers. Gods, kings, Systems—it made little difference to him what schemes they were weaving behind the scenes.

  “What matters,” he continued, “is that you, me, and that child you are carrying, all make it to the God of War safe and sound.”

  His grip on her hand tightened slightly.

  “You hear me?”

  For a moment Marianne said nothing.

  Her breathing was uneven, the emotions still lingering in her chest as she struggled to regain control of herself.

  Then she took a slow, shaky breath.

  “…Yeah.” She nodded once, gathering herself again and pulling herself back from the edge of spiraling out of control.

  For a brief moment the room fell silent again.

  But before either of them could say anything else—

  Merlyn spoke.

  This time, however, it did not speak from within Darren's mind.

  The voice echoed within the room itself, allowing Marianne to hear his System's voice. A faint glow spread outward from the crystal embedded in Darren’s chest, the light pulsing softly as his System activated in a way it rarely did.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt this moment,” Merlyn said aloud.

  There was a strange hesitation in the System’s voice, almost as though it had been listening longer than it intended to admit.

  “…but I did overhear your conversation.”

  The crystal flashed again.

  “And I think I might just be able to help.”