NOVEL WEB Chapter 33: Crash and Burn
The wasteland's wind had quieted to an ominous whisper, like the breath of something ancient and unseen exhaling over the dead earth.
Dust clung to Vonjo's boots, powdered residue from centuries of decay.
With each step, he brought Eugene closer to the shadow of a looming, forgotten building on the edge of the cursed zone—its blackened towers piercing the gray skies like daggers.
The rusted gate, wrought with iron vines and crest motifs long since eroded, marked the final boundary before entering a place Eugene felt should remain buried.
Vonjo stopped just short of the gate, his posture nonchalant, one hand resting on his hip, the other gently scratching the frog perched contentedly on his shoulder.
Its throat expanded in rhythmic pulses, unbothered by the dread curling in Eugene's stomach.
CROOOAAKK!
The building was unmistakably the ancestral seat of House Sutterfouse, and its silence felt heavier than the air.
"Well," Vonjo said, his voice oddly chipper, laced with that same careless tone that Eugene had begun to fear, "let's go inside."
As they approached the gate, two guards in dark plated armor stepped forward, rifles slung lazily but hands drifting near the triggers. Their eyes narrowed the moment they spotted Vonjo. "Halt. This is restricted property. Identify yourselves."
Vonjo tilted his head, smile unfading. "Vonjo Sutterfouse," he said plainly, "eldest son of this forsaken house."
The guards exchanged glances, their expressions pinched and skeptical. One spoke up, voice low but stern. "Vonjo Sutterfouse is… you?" His tone made it clear he didn't believe it. "Why are you here now? What business do you have?"
Vonjo blinked slowly, seemingly amused by the interrogation. "My darling little brother Vance summoned me. I believe he wanted to see how his family was doing after casting me into the pit of memory."
Still suspicious, the guards looked to Eugene, who awkwardly avoided their gaze, hands stiff at his sides.
Vonjo leaned toward him and said in a stage whisper, "Disciple, remember—don't appear suspicious in front of the guards."
The guards stiffened instantly. "What do you mean, 'disciple'? What are you two really here for?" One of the guards stepped closer, fingers twitching on his firearm. "Speak clearly. Now."
Vonjo raised both hands, nonchalant. "Calm down, don't scream at me. We're obviously not suspicious at all."
The tension cracked like a whip.
The rifles were raised in a flash, pointed directly at their faces. Eugene took an instinctive step back, pale. "Sir! What the hell are you doing?" he hissed under his breath. "You're obviously asking to be shot!" But the panic died in his throat when he saw Vonjo smiling wider.
A beat later, one of the guards touched his earpiece, spoke in clipped tones, and after a moment of silence, nodded. "You were expected," he muttered. "Both of you. You may enter."
Vonjo strolled past them with an exaggerated bow, smirking directly into one guard's face. The guard, to his credit, didn't flinch, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed his growing irritation.
They were led through the decaying corridors toward a security checkpoint.
A labyrinth of dull lights, metallic walls lined with sensors, and a sterile air that made Eugene's lungs feel like they were drowning in bleach.
Here, their bodies were scanned—thrice.
Each time, the machine groaned like it had encountered a glitch in reality.
The frog on Vonjo's shoulder was plucked off and scanned separately. The poor creature was returned, dazed and mildly indignant.
Vonjo was asked to remove his coat. Then his boots. Then his belt. Then, oddly, his gloves.
Each item was placed in a clear box, examined, and scanned again.
One guard nearly fainted when Vonjo casually handed over a glowing shard from his pocket and remarked, "Ah, don't drop it—it screams when you do."
After nearly twenty minutes of redundant security measures, they were escorted—finally—into a lavish dining hall, its high ceilings framed with dull chandeliers, gold barely peeking out beneath layers of dust and cobweb.
A long banquet table stretched before them, empty of guests but filled with an oppressive sense of tradition and abandonment.
A slender boy in a pristine uniform approached with practiced grace, bowing low. "Sirs. May I ask how we may serve you today?"
Vonjo didn't even look at him.
He sneered, sharp and immediate. "Why is a man the first thing I see after traveling through cursed soil and familial rot? I want a girl attendant. I am not here to be greeted by men. Men are unpleasant to look at."
The boy flinched, lips parting as if to protest—but instead, he bowed again, face flushed with embarrassment. "I-I understand, sir. I shall call for someone else immediately."
"Make it quick," Vonjo said, waving him away like a fly.
Minutes later, a young woman entered, dressed modestly in a traditional uniform, eyes downcast but attentive. "H-how may I assist you?" she asked softly.
Vonjo leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Bring me your finest food. I want roasted Fire Lizard tail, boiled Goldfinch eggs, Thunderroot salad with cracked mana shells, and wine aged beyond your ancestors' birth."
The girl blinked, startled. "I… I'm not sure if—"
"My younger brother invited me," Vonjo interrupted, tone rising like a blade being drawn. "I am his half-brother. His elder. I'm owed this much."
Still, she hesitated, visibly torn. Her eyes flicked to Eugene for guidance, but the poor boy only looked more lost than ever.
The attendant bowed, murmured something about checking with the kitchens, and scurried off.
Time dragged on. She didn't return.
Instead, a broad-shouldered man in formal black approached. His steps were heavy, boots echoing across the marble floor.
A bodyguard, clearly. Face emotionless, voice clipped. "You're causing trouble, sir. I must ask you to leave."
Vonjo didn't even blink. "You must ask. That doesn't mean I must obey."
"I am not asking a second time. Leave now, or I will escort you myself."
Vonjo propped his chin on his palm and smiled lazily. "You speak like someone who has never been reversed into a frog."
The bodyguard stiffened. "That is not—"
"I came here peacefully," Vonjo said, eyes glinting like glass knives. "You don't see me turning the tables over or insulting your mother, do you?"
Eugene was nearly trembling. Sweat beaded on his brow. Low-key? This isn't low-key. This is a diplomatic catastrophe waiting to happen. Internally, he screamed. Outwardly, he stood paralyzed.
The bullet comments from the watching feed flooded in.
[DeathSpecter33]: this man came here for blood
[HollowQueenXD]: NOT THE FOOD ORDERING THEN INSULTING 💀
[RatCult22]: someone pls teach him basic diplomacy LMAO
[SaltedMango]: he's the abandoned son fr, I'd act out too
The bodyguard moved forward. "You've wasted enough of our time."
He grabbed Vonjo's wrist to restrain him. In a heartbeat, a second guard rushed over with a set of handcuffs.
"I'll call the high authority," the bodyguard snapped, glancing away as he fumbled his comm.
And in that second of distraction, the grip on Vonjo's wrist felt wrong. Too light. Too easy.
He looked up.
Vonjo was gone.
"Wha—?"
A presence behind him.
Before he could turn, a fist crashed into his back, sending him stumbling. Another strike, then another. Fast, precise, merciless.
"Stop!" the bodyguard roared, his hands lighting up with twisted, violet flame—Fallen Curse Energy—the power crackling like a snake of malice around his arms.
He swung a heavy punch laced with energy, straight at Vonjo's face.
But Vonjo didn't move.
The hit connected.
Nothing happened.
Not a single bruise. Not a single flinch. Just the soft thud of futility.
Vonjo smiled like a man who had just proven a mathematical certainty.
The room erupted into chaos. Dishes shattered, wine spilled, gasps filled the air.
[GodTierPlum]: HE ATE THE CURSE ENERGY WTF
[TrashTalkSniper]: this dining arc is WILD
[FallenFan01]: punch after punch and Vonjo ain't even blinking
Then someone screamed across the hall, voice high with panic and authority:
"I'm calling the High Authority!"