An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

Khyrios Thorne, at one point, managed to look at the woman he had been avoiding this whole time. He had chosen not to bother with her, but he felt he could no longer remain purposefully ignorant of her presence—especially when he felt the intent of the Lord coalescing onto her as his presence seemed to transform into something else entirely. Gone was the gentle and playful grandfather that he had chosen to show the children; instead, a maddened beast had been awoken from its slumber.

If he did not step in now, the consequences of her insolence might bring repercussions they could not afford, not with the children here.

But the more he looked at her, the more he could not stop the gruesome images that threatened to spill from his subconscious in wild abandon. And when beings of their power and stature had thoughts, those thoughts could manifest in reality—forced into existence by sheer will. And to fight his intent from imprinting itself onto reality, he had to reign in supreme control, and thus he seemed to forget that he had planned to step in on her behalf.

Instead, his mind seemed to be transferred back into the memories he had kept hidden.

In the short moments he had been awake during his time spent bedridden with her as the biggest contributor, all he could think about were the many ways to kill this woman—to torture her soul until the end of time. His fury towered as he thought of the years of helplessness he had endured. To be defiled, year after year, was something that even in two lifetimes, he could never have imagined happening to him.

Shame burned through him—shame that he could not control his own body during those intimate violations, that he had been led around like a doll with no will of his own.

He, who had once seen the heights of power, had been reduced to a mere toy. A breeding vessel for this wretched woman.

Maybe he would teach her the depths of his bloodlust.

Maybe he—

He wanted to watch her body scream in raw pain, to make her soul wail through endless reincarnations.

He wanted to flay her soul in the agony of all those who had died under his blade, to show her what it meant to be on the other side of his blade, the crumbling they would undergo whenever he stepped onto the battlefield, until she was nothing but a suit of skin to hold her meager spirit.

But—

"Father... we missed you so much."

When he looked into the swirling gray-gold orbs of his daughter, all his bloodlust seemed to wane, like ice in summer heat.

Bizarrely, he had never properly looked at the woman whose name he never cared to learn, more out of spite, refusing to acknowledge her as an adversary, but now that he had really looked at her, he could sense that there was something inherently wrong with her; she was just too plain, like someone one would forget the moment they stopped paying attention, and by the time it was affecting even him, with the legacy within his veins, then it meant that the woman was nothing normal.

She may have the most normal set of features—brown eyes, brown hair, and brown skin—but he knew, he felt, that there was something lurking within, and then he started to wonder just how she had managed to do what she did to him.

But...

He turned his gaze away and looked at his children; giving her any anymore power over his thoughts might make her feel that she was even more than what she should be. So he chose his children even if that might also be short; vengeance would come later on.

His thoughts grew complicated. All he wanted now was to memorize their features—to learn how they had lived all these years and to understand who they were.

He wanted to do all these things and more, now that he had come to accept them as his.

And he would rather spend what little time he had left with them than waste it on the woman who had managed to earn a place on his list of those worthy of his sin.

He wanted to cherish them, as a father should.

If only for the little time they had left.

Because he knew—

They would not live to see the light of tomorrow.

And so, he would savor every single minute that remained.

The gaze that had lingered on him this entire time filled him with no hope of their survival.

It was a gaze that held the weight of eternity—a gaze colder than any blade he had ever wielded. But not a coldness born of emotion.

It was a coldness born from the truth of existence.

His Lord was not known to possess a mind that could be understood by any living being.

He did as he pleased, with no care for others. A being of pure madness.

And ever since Kyrios had met him, he had known nothing but dread.

Yet he was in awe of it all.

Maybe he, too, was insane.

Because instead of pushing him away, the dread pulled him deeper—into the abyss of blind devotion.

And so, if his Lord were to ask for their heads on a platter, their hearts skewered, their flesh flayed, or even their tender bodies skinned, Kyrios would do it. Without hesitation.

He would rain down their blood if commanded.

And he would never bat an eye.

Never dare to resent his Lord.

The deeper his thoughts waded into treacherous waters, the more his eyes darkened—a crimson shade swallowing the fairest gold.

He was a beast, and he held no qualms about killing his own children if it meant serving his Lord.

Nothing but fate and destiny could save them now.

He would do it all.

Yet still, he prayed.

He prayed to his sisters that they would protect his children.

He did not hesitate, but that did not mean he would not feel the pain.

The torment he would endure would be monumental. And to prevent himself from ever experiencing this torment again—he swore never to sire another child.

He would rather remain childless than be forced to cut them down if his Lord deemed them unworthy.

"Sisters... I hope you are looking out for them." He prayed silently..

But—

"Herald..."

"Your thoughts are dangerous."

"You will scare the cubs."

A voice trickled into his mind like a mountain stream, washing away his bloodlust on a far greater scale than Estrel could ever hope to achieve.

"Calm your heart, Herald... I would never ask you to shed the blood of your brood. Although.... it might be entertaining... but i would never go that far..."

Peace engulfed him.

A burden he had never realized he carried was lifted.

He looked at his children again. This time, his eyes were no longer clouded by bloodlust.

At the entrance, Miranda's body shook with fervor. Her whole existence trembled with dread.

She had never felt fear like this.

She had thought the Lord was the only being she had to fear, but she had underestimated her children's father.

She had danced with the abyss—

And now, she was uncertain of her fate.

Kyrios, oblivious to her state of mind, saw only the children before him.

The firstborn children of the House.

It seemed he was the first among his siblings to sire children—though unplanned.

That did not change the fact that they were his.

Estrel had a bubbly personality, built like a ray of sunshine. She never stopped chattering about all the things she had done. And though Kyrios did not smile, his eyes glowed. More gold than crimson.

Ares, his second-born, was calmer, almost detached.

Not detached in a cold sense, but more like a flower blooming through the seasons—unchanging in its silent beauty. Whether in the deepest pits or the highest skies, it would remain the same. It would never speak—only gaze upon the world.

That was Ares.

He always wore an adorable smile that could brighten the world. But his eyes remained like a still lake.

Then there was Kres, the eldest.

More expressive in his emotions.

His frustration clung to him like a second skin, his anger simmering beneath the surface, his eyes churning with unspoken words.

Why?

Why did you wake up?

You should have remained in slumber until your body shut down.

The child might as well have been a open book to him, as he read all his thoughts as though he lived in the child's head, it seemed like the power of emotions that had carried him through his first life had never really gone away, only slumbering within.

But when Kres saw his sister's joy, his eyes flickered with something more complicated.

As for Ares...

Kres did not even bother trying to read him.

His brother had always been unreadable. As long as he was fed and given rest, he was the easiest child to manage.

But should he lack—

Kres shivered at the memory.

He never wanted to remember that day.

Kyrios could see his son's emotions, and if it weren't for his murderous intentions toward their mother, he would have laughed in delight.

The scent of Estrel's joy was sweet, like candied nectar.

Ares' scent was mild, like a summer flower—pleasant yet unremarkable.

Kres' scent was fierce, like ash—simmering, destructive, yet quiet.

He liked the scent of emotions. It always brought back memories.

But then—

Another scent, lurking in the room.

One that threatened to bring back his bloodlust.

It was sickly and disgusting, laced with the faint whisper of poison—silent, deadly, and deceptive.

Sweetness that had transcended all forms of decay.

A sweetness that sought to corrupt.

It came from her.

Her obsession.

A scent that had driven him to insanity more times than he could count.

A scent that once filled every moment of his waking hell.

If only they were not born of her womb, he could have tolerated them.

If only he knew...