An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

"Peasants were not people; they were tools—sometimes pets, if they proved interesting. Sometimes pests, if they became too annoying."

So how do you deal with a peasant who dared to insult nobility?

Krael entertained dangerous thoughts as he mulled over the girl's words.

Even now, she didn't seem to understand that her life teetered on a knife's edge. He may have been powerless against the monsters of the Surge, but a peasant girl? Lopping off her head would require only the slightest flick of his blade. She wouldn't even know she had died.

He could even make it painless—her crimes were not so great as to resort to more... savage means.

Hmmm... what an interesting situation. Defend my pride... or keep the interesting pet?

The county estate came into view as they ascended the slope. He could see the leaves of Eiser swaying in the wind, their beauty something only a select few could truly appreciate. Like a wraith, it overshadowed everything within its domain. Like a sentinel, it loomed over all—its roots digging deep into the earth in ways no one understood.

At least it took his mind off the 'stress' of not killing a naïve little girl, one who had no understanding of her place.

Once he ensured her life was no longer in immediate danger, he'd consider his options.

The estate lacked sufficient servants. Perhaps he could put her to work. Adler didn't seem to mind her presence, so he likely wouldn't object to sharing some of the household chores. Perhaps she could tend the horses… scrub the walls… there were many tasks.

And if she truly was as unique as his instincts suggested, then perhaps there were other ways to use her.

Still, he didn't want it to seem as if he'd given her charity. The sooner she learned her place, the better.

Krael didn't even realize he had grown considerate of someone he ideally should have ignored.

-----

Meanwhile…

Within the depths of his subconscious—a vast, abyssal pit, deep and entrenched like the depths of history—a figure spoke to no one in particular, as though perfectly content with silence.

In this mindscape stood three thrones whose backs were fused into one, [leaving no room for backstabbing, I presume], forged together to create a singular, three-sided towering seat. Two presences resided in the depths of the count's mind.

The throne's current side looked ravaged—cracked, dented, broken—as if a beast had torn through it. Yet it still held, a relic of war, stained with blood and bone. Blood and skulls, countless in number, formed a platform upon which the figure rested his feet. Some skulls still had eyes, their sockets forced to gaze eternally upon the soles pressing them down. Others retained tongues, wagging like beasts in torment.

The phenomenon was mind-corrupting and mind-bending. These skulls bore no distinct racial traits, as if incomplete and twisted. Yet the figure above seemed at ease—barefoot, relishing the sensation of crushing them anew as they reformed, replenishing the platform beneath him. Their numbers defied comprehension, enough to boggle even the minds of gods.

More horrifying still, each skull was crowned. Some bore delicate, feminine circlets; others, crude and boorish. Some were divine, others devilish. Some radiated purity, others malevolence. All shared the commonality of crowns—symbols of dominion, their meaning lost and elusive.

"Do you think he noticed?" the figure on the ruined throne asked the empty space. Silence answered him, but he continued, amused rather than annoyed.

"He must be a fool not to… how do you miss something so obvious?" he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Still no reply.

"What shall we do about this, Rael?" he asked again, addressing someone unseen.

But whoever Rael was, they remained silent.

"She doesn't bow, doesn't scream... delightful. She dares to slander our pride... an interesting pet indeed. Maybe a lesson on what a crown costs, would be the perfect memory she would have of us."

The figure on the throne was none other than Sael—Krael's alternate persona. Sael the Broken Chaos. Sael the Chaotic Pride. Sael, the Madness of Freedom. A multitude of titles crowned him, each more grandiose than the last.

Here, Sael seemed an entirely different being than when he possessed the body.

He was massive, almost giant. His legs alone suggested titan's blood, his body packed with muscle—refined, toned, not overly bulky. His hair flowed like a wild mane, cascading to his feet, occupying much of the throne that resembled a star shaped into a seat of power.

His eyes were sharp, dangerous, always glinting with mischief. His mouth curled into the ever-present grin he wore whenever he seized control.

The aura around him was wild, liberating, free. It radiated the confidence of one unburdened by reality, who did as he pleased, answerable to none.

Before him stood an ornate mirror of silver mercury, reflecting not just the mindscape, but reality beyond. In it, Krael's interaction with the girl unfolded. In a rare moment of clumsiness, warmth flickered in Sael's eyes—but it vanished as quickly as it came, swallowed by the mystery they held.

The mirror's surface was never still, rippling as though it possessed thoughts of its own. It felt alive. Its edges were bound by obsidian veins, stretching like roots or cracks, pulsing with malevolent light. Each vein bore inscriptions of forgotten scripture and doctrine—words of arrogance, curses of hubris, odes to supremacy.

Floating around the mirror were shattered shards, fragments of itself hovering like a broken halo. They constantly shifted—forming wings, thrones, crowns—mirroring Sael's mental state.

And with Sael's turbulent mind, it was quite the show.

But unlike what you would expect, there was a refined beauty to it.

When enraged, the shards became jagged and violent, spiraling chaotically. When calm, they aligned into symmetrical shapes, radiating an oppressive majesty.

The mirror emitted prideful hues—silvers, golds, faint crimson glimmers. In shadow, it absorbed light, casting an unnatural dimness that made it impossible to look away.

On closer inspection, its surface was etched with ghostly images—open eyes, grasping hands, shattered crowns, impossible fractals. These shifted constantly, reflecting the madness beneath the mirror's beauty.

Crowns twisted by pride and hubris pulsed within, eerily resembling the skulls beneath Sael's feet.

These skulls stacked so high they formed an endless stairway, descending from the throne into the unseen depths of darkness below.

And all they were, were mere footstools to the one that had shown them mercy of bearing the weight of his feet.

A whisper reached Sael's ear as the ornate mirror whispered dark thoughts onto the mad persona.

'Let me show him how worthless he is. He should see how pathetic he truly is.'

The mirror's voice was not easy to describe, for it transcended mortal notions of sound; it seemed beautiful and dark, like a temptation too hard to resist, but all it got in reply from Sael was dark laughter.

The image of the Count beyond faded away, giving way to Sael's reflection.

He wore an amused smile at the mirror's antics.