Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
249 – Vlad’s Offer

Today was the Great Mythical Assembly—a gathering of the world’s most powerful and influential beings. Naturally, the night before had been spent in the most dignified way possible.

A cursed UNO game.

After a brutal series of betrayals, desperate alliances, and at least one instance of someone attempting to eat the deck in frustration—guess who—, the players eventually slunk back to their own quarters.

The pink heart eyes from the love potion they had (very irresponsibly) consumed on a dare disappeared on Morgan and Burn after five minutes. No harm done.

But…

Aroche, poor, unfortunate Aroche, had lost the final round of rock-paper-scissors.

Now, standing before Bella, he greeted her. "So, I guess the hearts didn’t disappear for us, huh?"

Bella, in stark contrast, was practically beaming. "How interesting!"

Last night, the Elven Queen, a woman who had lived long enough to expect the worst, sighed in relief. Meanwhile, Isaiah, the ever-curious, introvert dragon, sulked like a goose who had been denied treats.

Apparently, he had been looking forward to the effects of the potion. Because of course, nothing was more exciting to a dragon than experiencing new, potentially disastrous magic firsthand. He even muttered something about hunting down Yvolt and Tristan to figure out the brewing process himself.

Aroche gave Bella a long, knowing look. "You don’t seem worried at all."

"You too," she shot back, amused.

"Well, a dare is a dare," Aroche shrugged. "Nothing’s happened so far anyway." And really, what was the worst that could happen? He had already died once.

Bella chuckled, but unlike Isaiah, her curiosity wasn’t academic—it was a burning anticipation for chaos. And, frankly, she was a little disappointed. Where was the drama? The absurdity? The inevitable explosion of unforeseen consequences?

So far, things had been… tame.

For now.

“Oh, right, what do you think about Father’s offer last night?” Bella asked, her nun outfit notably less restrictive than those of her fellow vampires—because, unlike them, she wasn’t much of a walking pile of sunburn waiting to happen.

Aroche hummed in response, recalling Vlad’s words after the UNO game.

"My Vision specialty is called Dementia," Vlad had explained. "It’s different from erasing a memory completely. It’s more about altering and controlling it. I can cause someone to forget something very specific—speech, events, time, comprehension, focus, even language.”

Then, he had turned to Aroche with the weight of someone who had seen and done far too much. "When I was younger, I still consumed people, and my power was stronger. No—my power was evil. It resembled real Dementia, like what happens in older people. It corrupted minds and confused them. Nowadays, it just does what is necessary."

Or, more likely, he had simply chosen not to wield it the way he once did.

"If you want me to help extract certain memories—or even make them easier to bear—it wouldn’t be difficult," the old man had offered.

The memory of death. The memory of being resurrected with necromancy. And then again with pure holy energy and the soul of a saint. His time in the abyss, a disembodied head suspended in the filth of corruption. Any sane person would want to forget. Or at the very least, make it… manageable.

Vlad had offered this in front of Morgan and Burn—an old man’s sincere attempt to help.

Burn wasted no time. "Processing the memory of your time down there should help you deal with it. Say yes, Aroche."

"I agree," Morgan added with a calm smile. "Master Vlad has plenty of experience handling vampires’ psychological struggles in his church. He genuinely wants to help you, so why not try?"

Aroche had tilted his head. "Do you need to experience it with me to help me process it, Master?"

"It’s only natural," Vlad had said matter-of-factly. "Because of my specialty, the darkness seeping from your mind has already started to leak into mine without either of us consenting to it. And I can tell you, I don’t like it."

Aroche had chuckled, dry and humorless. "My apologies. But if helping me means diving into my mind yourself, I have to refuse."

The old man had already suffered discomfort just standing near him. What kind of person would Aroche be if he forced him to endure even more?

Vlad had sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder with the kind of exasperated affection only the very ancient or the very patient could manage. "Son, why are you so stubborn?"

"Is there anything I can do instead?" Morgan had offered.

"No." Aroche’s voice had been firm. "You don’t need to do anything for me."

And just like that, he had successfully shut down the entire conversation.

But as he turned, he met Burn’s sharp, blistering glare. A glare sharp enough to cut steel, burning with frustration. Burn knew Aroche. Knew that refusing help wasn’t like him.

Aroche wasn’t sure what Burn saw in his expression, but he could feel the judgment radiating off the man like an open furnace.

More than anyone had the right to ask for. He had been resurrected, for heaven’s sake. How many favors could one man take before it became excessive?

"Are you underestimating my dad?" Bella nudged Aroche’s arm, looking up at him with an almost accusatory squint.

"Huh?" Aroche blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"You think my dad can’t handle your memories? Hmph. Arrogant." She huffed dramatically and turned her face away, as if thoroughly insulted on her father’s behalf.

Aroche stared at her for a moment—speechless—before he suddenly burst into laughter.

"Heheh, why are you so adorable, Miss Bella? Are you that worried about me?" he teased, amusement clear in his tone.

"Everyone is!" Bella shot back, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, radiating pure indignation. "And don’t try to distract me by calling me cute. It won’t work."

Aroche smirked, tilting his head. "I think it does."

Bella’s eyes narrowed as her cheeks darkened, but she had no comeback. Which only made Aroche laugh harder.

"The Mythical Assembly will begin soon," Aroche reminded, arms crossed. "You don’t mind attending with pink heart eyes from the love potion alongside me, right?"

For the briefest moment, a subtle pout flickered across Bella’s face—there and gone so fast that most people would have missed it.

Unfortunately for her, Aroche wasn’t most people.

He saw it. Worse, he felt his face heat up in response. The sensation lasted only a second before vanishing, but the damage was done. He grimaced. This was so uncool of him.

For someone who was supposed to be dead, getting flustered like this was simply unacceptable.

Aroche exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the all-too-familiar sensation of corruption slithered through his skull—like an unwanted houseguest making itself comfortable. Just as he was about to shake it off, Bella let out an exaggerated groan.

“Ow… ow…” She mimicked his gesture, massaging her temples with a wince. “Ugh, what is wrong with me…?”

Aroche’s eyes snapped open. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she grumbled, brows furrowing. “Ever since I drank that love potion, I’ve had this weird, nagging fatigue in my head. And my body… feels kinda off. Like I’m here, but also… not?”

She waved a hand vaguely, as if that explained everything.

“It’s not terrible, just… odd. It almost feels like—”

She cut herself off, eyes widening as Aroche suddenly lifted his own arm and—without hesitation—pinched himself.

Which, for some reason, sent a sharp sting shooting through Bella’s own arm.

“AH—A-A-A-AH! Stop! Stop!” She yelped, flailing as she rubbed at the phantom pain. “Why?!”

Aroche narrowed his eyes at her, lowering his head until they were practically nose to nose. Two sets of pink heart eyes locked onto each other, both glowing with suspicious intensity.

“…Are we sharing our senses?” he asked, far too calm for someone who had just discovered something this ridiculous.

Bella blinked at him.

“Huh?”