An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

Tears—not of fear or pain—slid down her cheeks unbidden. She didn't know why, but his presence broke something inside her, and from that fracture, a sense of purpose, of dread, of power poured into her like moonlight through a crack in the night.

Though she could not see his face, she could feel the smile on his lips as the aura around him shifted into one of joy.

"Sleep, little Queen. You will need all your strength if you are to conquer your legacy."

"Let me make preparations; in the meantime, get some sleep."He didn't wait for her reply. A wave of incense flowed from the hand over her face, putting her into a sleep so deep, she would not wake for anything.

Before she fell into slumber, she swore she saw the strange winged man lower his hood slightly, just for her.

For the briefest instant, she glimpsed mauve and mercury—twisting, luminous, like the birth of a star—and in that flicker, she saw madness, beauty, and something like... sorrow.

Then it was gone.

Darkness consumed her mind, and in that darkness, she did not dream. She only slept.

As the priest rose, the sigils around her flared to life, and silver fire circled them both. Krael, watching, remained silent, as if speaking would profane the moment.

He could not wait to see how much stronger she would become...He had considered the possibility of things going wrong—but he was confident in himself... and in the entity. He doubted anything would go wrong with the person it had sent.

Ever since the priest's arrival, Krael had sensed something familiar about him—but it was fleeting and elusive. It didn't help that the priest never addressed them, having eyes only for the girl.

Krael felt offended, as though the girl was more important than him, but he would not allow himself to be petty.

"Prepare."The priest's voice echoed in his head, even though he hadn't spoken aloud, snapping Krael from his thoughts.

With that, the priest turned, robes flowing behind him like the tide of night, ready to preside over her transformation—as was his purpose, his curse, his law.

Krael and Adler did not understand what the priest meant by "prepare." They looked at each other in confusion—until mental images appeared in their minds, delivered without warning.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, but time does not allow me to ask permission or coddle your feelings and pride.I have sent you everything that needs to be done. And since this is a delicate procedure, I didn't bring any of my altar servers to assist me. You will serve as substitutes."

Even though he spoke as if he commanded them, there was a quality to his voice that disallowed resentment or resistance.

Just as Krael and his butler were trying to process what was happening, robes of violet and indigo materialized in their hands.

"Dress in these. We would not want your rags corrupting the sanctity of the ritual."

Krael: "..."Adler: "..."

They looked at the barely swept floor, covered in the pooling blood of the girl.

A vein popped on the Count's face; a stranger actually dared to call his noble attire rags.

He should have seen what the girl was found; maybe he would know true comparison

"Who—"

Just as he moved to confront the winged priest, a shudder ran down his spine. He fell silent and quickly put on the robe. He looked over to see Adler already at work, drawing arcane sigils on the chamber walls.

Krael bit his lip in anger but obediently began drawing sigils, using a strange liquid that appeared in his hands after his brief, futile tantrum.

The liquid shimmered like silver or mercury but remained vague in form and shade. It gave off no aura, but its weight burdened Krael. He found a small blade dipped into it—a ceremonial blade—and when he pulled it out, the strong stench of blood overwhelmed him. His eyes watered, the iron density so intense he thought it congealed in his nose.

But he pressed on, watching Adler work with perfect efficiency. The butler never faltered—and Krael refused to be outdone.

With each sigil he drew, it felt as though a lock within his mind loosened. His movements became faster and more precise. The runes and sigils were unlike anything he had seen before—but he did not stop.

Soon, the walls and obsidian floors were covered with glowing runes and sigils.

Then he turned and saw the priest standing still, lost in a daze.

Krael's brow twitched.

"And he claimed he was in a rush..."

Then he saw the wings, somehow folded into this small chamber, flash—and a censer appeared in the priest's hand.

But Krael felt nothing from it except a longing.

It felt separated from him by reality. When it began releasing plumes of violet mist, they lingered around the priest yet remained untouchable, existing in their own dimension. The girl and the priest seemed to shift into another fold of reality—Krael could feel them, yet not feel them.

"Butler..."The priest addressed Adler without turning to actually face him, though it would have been of no use with the hooded robe of his.

"Yes, sire."Adler responded—his first words since the entire ordeal began. Krael had almost forgotten the sound of his voice.

"Go slaughter all the 'children of corruption', the 'chained ones,'; the 'Lurkers rejects' in your dungeon above. Collect every single drop of blood they bleed. Not one drop is to be wasted."

"Debone their flesh. Collect their bones separately from their flesh. Bring all of it here—along with the hides that come off them."

"The little queen needs her strength."

"You and I will then craft a throne for her—using their bones and the essence of the Silver Star.Hopefully, it will make up for her true throne."

The winged priest spoke without ever moving his lips.

By the time his commands—which Krael felt were becoming too many—were completed, Adler had already finished the task.

Behind him floated the bones of the monsters, aberrations, abominations, the chained ones, the Lurkers progeny, or whatever name you decided with—tainted gold, obsidian, jade, and other rare minerals. In other groups floated blood and ichor, the sight of them revealing just how much corruption these creatures carried, silently breeding within their veins; one could sense the madness that had overcome them, the sorrow, the malevolence so thick it rippled through the hold of the butler as though it waited for a chance to lash out on any that dared to be alive next to it. In yet another bundle floated hides—skin, fur, shells, exoskeletons, and whatever other coverings they used to hold their flesh in.

Some did not even dress their flesh, left open to the world, and those would be some of the most disgusting species of monsters that came with the surge.

In another bundle yet was the flesh drained of its blood, leaving only enough to keep the semblance of flesh.

Krael watched them ignore him, and he had never felt so tempted to curse the butler's efficiency.

Adler never questioned orders. He completed tasks as though his life depended on it.Maybe it did.But the Count had chosen long ago to forget such finer details.

Betrayal was betrayal, and heavens know this slight won't go unpunished.