An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

It spoke; this time it did not mock her. It was soft and playful as if her woes were nothing before it. Slithering like a serpent, it caressed her soul, and while it felt violating, she felt a certain serenity with it next to her...

"Don't worry, with me here... making quick work of these ants will not be so hard...All you have to do is open your heart to me... let me show you power beyond what your mortal mind could ever hope to conceive... let me show you the thrill of death, the thrill of snuffing out lives, the beauty of a life gone before its time. Let me show you your heritage, princess."

The girl did not resist as she opened her heart, her mind, her everything to the voice... to the serenity it gave her...

And then something shifted.

Everything about her felt different—whether it was her presence, her aura, or her nature. So different that the mercenaries felt they were dealing with someone else, not the little girl they had almost broken.

In her chest, a thrum—like a heartbeat not her own.A pulse, slow and heavy.

Her blood—that crystalline gray—pulsed brighter, flowing up her arm, toward her snapped bones... it mended tissue and bone, but never felt new. Her eyes had begun to dim, her power stealing more of her existence. She would have died if the blood had gone for complete renewal.

Her fingers twitched.

The dagger that had loosened became firm once more.The mercenaries paused, eyes narrowing.

"What the—?"

They saw the girl get up slowly, like a puppet on a string—wobbly and eerie.She looked like a broken doll standing with the posture of a refined master... her blade seemed to sing; it released a resonant howl that echoed in the night.

A scent of death wormed into their hearts, squeezing them in the most violating way possible...

Her right arm hung limp, shattered—but her left hand gripped the blade with strength that didn't feel like hers.

Her eyes locked onto them—glassy, cracked, but burning.

The men hesitated.Once more..." the voice urged. "Let me show you why mortals were and will always be ants, no matter how much power they believe they hold."

The air grew heavy, and the dome pulsed with strange pressure.Their breaths hitched, and when they saw what happened next, many despaired.

She stepped forward.

The men took stance, tightening their fists, ready to use them brutally. Not killing her had been a mistake, it seemed.

The girl moved like a wraith, her eyes broken—but they couldn't tell the difference; she was always like that. But then the smile that overtook her face was spine-chilling...

As the first man attacked, she moved low, the blade arcing clumsily, catching his thigh.

He yelled, stumbling.

The other came from behind—she twisted, blade flashing—but he caught her wrist, twisting it hard.

Pain erupted. She screamed, sharp and broken.

With cruelty to herself, she allowed her bones to be snapped. Her blood ignited—not flame, but light, a sick and depraved light, profane and yet divine—a paradox of madness.

Silver-gray tendrils burst from her broken wrist, wrapping around it, the dagger, and the man's hand.

His eyes widened.

Too late.

The tendrils pierced his flesh, drilling into bone. It sought the cradle of his life, the uniqueness that made him who he was. And all that searching made the pain unbearable

He screamed—a sound so primal it stopped the other man cold.

But the pain on her face was there for all to see—she had not come out unscathed.

They retreated and attacked again, working together to suppress a girl half their weight.

She moved between the blows of the two men... she seemed to swim against the currents, nicking them with her blade like she was creating an art piece... with each laceration, the pain that unfolded was unimaginable... it exploded in their bodies like bombs...

The two men howled like rabid beasts from just a few cuts. Yet the girl's efficiency only increased, and the light in her eyes grew into a towering flame...

She lunged, with skill her body didn't know how to use—a dissonance between mind and flesh—not with strength, but desperation and rage.

With every nick, she became faster and hit harder. She started delivering punches and kicks of her own, but they didn't carry the power she expected.So she returned to her blade... in place of punches, she dug deeper into their flesh... tearing chunks away as she dodged the desperate swings of beasts... they had lost themselves.

In the end, pain broke them, and all they wanted was the end of it.Blood flowed along their bodies like rivers... limbs lost in between, but they would not stop moving until they breathed their last...

Suddenly the situation changed drastically; one of them had let his guard down just for a moment as the pain blurred his thoughts, and that had cost him his life. In a flash gone was his leg, and down on his remaining knee he went.

With a guttural roar.

She drove the blade through his eye, piercing into his skull, sparing no time for consideration. It seemed she had lost her mind for a bit.

Blood erupted like a geyser, bathing her in flesh and brain matter.

His body spasmed—then collapsed.

Dead.

She fell to her knees, gasping, drenched in blood, hands shaking.

The other man stepped back, horrified.

She looked up—her eyes glowing faintly, tendrils still slithering around her fingers.

She stood again.

One more... just one more.

...

If before, the mercenaries feared brutalizing the girl, now they feared for their own lives... would they also die like puppets, all for the amusement of others?

Now, they regretted taking the job.

All they had wanted was the vast stores of food the target had... their employer had made sure they knew about it...

And in Astrea, where food was as valuable as status, this was their chance to become wealthy enough to live independently...

But now, they used their lives as entertainment—to pay for their greed.

Many had long lost hope of living through the day. Now, they only wanted to die as painlessly as possible.

If only they knew the blade was the store for all his pain... pain earned as a curse from being bonded to the young master...

He could not hold it, so he looked to his dominion to store it.

Pain that had long transcended any mortal meaning.

But the Count... had no place to store his pain... nor anyone to share it with.And maybe that is why Adler respected the young master more—despite his power.