Kael never thought the poison coursing through him would feel like this. It wasn't pain; it was oblivion replaced by a devastating, liquid, honey-fire. Never had he felt such consuming ecstasy.
Death should not feel this good.
But beneath the bliss clung something vile. A slick, black, oily film coated his skin, breathing faintly as if alive—a known residue from the brutal treatment he'd endured. The reek of it cut through the haze: acidic, wrong, real.
Compendium System Activated: Foreign Agent Detected. Composition: Unknown. Initiating Threat Analysis.
[Query Request: Would you like to expel the potion?]
Expel it? The thought floated through syrup. His mind knew this sweetness was poison, but his body—his very soul—ached for more. The gilded current begged to be worshipped.
Lyon stood at the bedside, a silhouette carved from disdain, arms crossed and posture loose in practiced confidence. His smile gleamed like a blade catching low light. That look—it wasn't just class hatred. It was personal, sharp, festering.
"Pathetic," Lyon said softly, as if savouring the word. "Even poisoned, you have no composure. You really are what they said—bred for need, not thought."
Kael snapped his drifting focus to settle. Compendium, suppress this emotional state. Block the euphoria, but keep the agent in my system for now.
[Query Initiated: Host is requesting Full Emotional Dampening.]
[Emotional Dampening Protocol: Partial. Cost: 0.2 CP/sec.]
The world cut back into shape. The stench, the sweat, and the dark shape of Lyon's smirk returned. Bliss cracked, leaving the raw underside of reality exposed. For one merciful breath, he saw clearly.
Then the gilded current surged again—much stronger, hungrier, and possessive. Kael bit down a sound caught between a laugh and a sob.
[Input Received: High emotional data spike recorded. CP Gain: +0.3/sec.]
Gain? The thought flashed with startling clarity. The richer the memory, the higher the energy absorbed... But the introspection was fleeting. The ecstasy returned, drowning the thought before he could trace its implications. He let a faint, dreamy smile curve his lips, feigning surrender.
"Why? Why go to this extreme?"
Lyon's sneer deepened, voice smooth as rot. "Kill you? No. Death is mercy—you don't deserve mercy. You'll live, and you'll learn your place. You parasites feed off the Kingdom's coffers and call it progress." He spat. "But at least your Aspect will serve the Kingdom, and maybe you will be able to return the favors you have enjoyed from the Kingdom." He stepped closer, lowering his tone to a whisper meant to scar. "Do you think this is some common poison? This artifact was pulled from the Army's deepest vaults, its origins unknown. Its price is incalculable, but my superiors and I were tasked with ensuring your compliance. This potion binds your soul. The ecstasy numbs it long enough for the link to take hold. Elegant, isn't it? A leash disguised as pleasure."
The word vaults caught Kael's attention; even the Army hoarded curses like treasures.
Soul-binding. The words hollowed him out. His blood felt suddenly foreign in his veins. This was not a physical threat; it was final.
Compendium, expel the foreign potion from the system. Now.
[Query Initiated: Expel Soul-Binding Agent. Cost: 1200 CP.] [Error: Insufficient CP.]
The cost hit like a hammer. His small reserve instantly vanished as the system attempted the calculation. The resulting ache was the loss of the boy who never made it out of the orphanage. Even calculation drained him. The Compendium obeyed only dominance, not pleas.
If I log my every memory, every single one, will you be able to get it done?
[Query Initiated: Calculating conversion rate of Host's full memory log.]
[Query Complete: Even with full memories logged, CP requirement will not be filled.] [Host's Max Conversion CP: 850 (Insufficient).]
The warmth fled. Cold terror took its place, cutting deep enough to feel holy. This was no poison. It was ownership. The realization—enslaved with no will of his own—was a terror that crystallized, spreading through his body and soul, a chill even the potent euphoria could not stop.
Kael's body trembled, the black sludge on his skin beginning to smoke faintly as his soul fought the unseen tether. He had no more time to think. Only the will to act—and the spark of a soul that refused to kneel.
He wanted to thrash, but his body was a dead weight, slowly, agonizingly recovering from Lilian's paralysing spell. Lilian. Where is she? Isn't she supposed to be back by now? Hope, weak and flickering, was the only thing keeping the panic at bay.
He could feel it now: the gilded current the potion had delivered was beginning to fade, which meant the binding was about to finalize.
The treacherous warmth in his chest tightened like a noose, dragging on his soul. "Calm down!" He forced his Compendium Aspect's cold, analytical nature to assert control. First, I need to know my options. The familiar blue interface snapped into his vision.
[Query Request: Can you assist me without expelling the potion from my system.]
[Query Initiated: Compendium lacks knowledge regarding soul bindings and potion structure. Attempting expulsion without data will result in a 99.8% probability of catastrophic soul fracture.]
And just like that, the calm shattered. Terror—cold, absolute—took over. The Compendium, his most valuable tool, was useless without the right data.
He slammed his will against the gilded current, not to push it out but to tear it apart.
Lyon's smile curved—thin, serpentine. "There is no fighting it. We may not know the origin of the potion, but its use is absolute. No newly Awakened can break this binding. Not even the King himself."
The meek, beaten-down orphan boy the Compendium had been suppressing stirred beneath Kael's façade. He knew what Lyon wanted to see—weakness, fear, surrender. He had to make it look real.
"Please, Lyon! Please stop this!" Kael's voice cracked, raw with manufactured panic. "I'll serve! I'll be a good boy! I'll help the Empire with all my being! Just stop this binding!" Don't stop, rat. Beg harder. Make him believe this is your last desperate gasp.
Lyon took a slow step closer, savoring the illusion of power. His eyes gleamed with that twisted triumph only torment could polish. "Yes. Now the rat comes out. For a moment, I thought your precious Aspect had made you forget what you are."
Kael wanted to laugh—he, the thing hiding inside this frail body, being called a rat by this insect. But he kept the act alive, tears trembling on command.
Lyon leaned close enough for Kael to smell the sourness of wine and victory. "No one, not even the King, can stop this potion or expel it. Perhaps… if someone advanced their rank above the King, but that is just a dream."
A flicker of cold calculation cut through Kael's fear.
[System Display: Potential solution available—CP expenditure exceeds accessible threshold.]
His pulse spiked. The number that floated before his inner sight was beyond comprehension. Astronomical.
He tried again anyway. "Can you expel the binding after it takes hold?"
[Query Initiated: Negative. Cannot assist without acquiring the data.]
The Compendium's failure was total. That left one option.
It lay coiled deep within his consciousness—an Aspect he had leashed since the day of his rebirth. The Soul Devourer. Ancient. Primal. Terrifying. Capable of swallowing this gilded tether whole. He could feel it now, stirring at the edge of thought, hungry for the binding that smelled so much like freedom. He knew no type of soul energy in the universe that Soul Devourer could not absorb.
But the fear was carved too deep.
I am tired. The thought was an ancient, aching weariness—the crushing weight of a curse that transcends death itself. He had spent epochs craving non-existence, only to be constantly condemned to wander from soul to soul. They wouldn't even grant him that release. If the binding completed, he'd be permanently shackled, risking the loss of the last fragments of himself. Release the boundaries. Let it devour the leash.
But the risk was absolute: discovery. Discovery that this vessel housed not only the Soul Devourer, but a Peak Law Fragment—knowledge that could unmake worlds. He must hide. Every time his Aspect was revealed, his enemies found him and forced a restart. This was his last attempt. He would transcend the curse, attain the knowledge to break the bindings that defy death, or truly die trying.
Lyon knew only the Compendium Aspect. He must never learn of the Soul Devourer. The Kingdom tolerated dangerous tools—but it annihilated monsters. Binding was servitude. Exposure was execution.
The Devourer's greatest fear wasn't death; it was discovery. Kael had vague, borrowed memories of ancient enemies hunting the Devourer relentlessly. The pattern was always the same: every time the Aspect was used in front of another person, his enemies found him. That exposure had led to his downfall every time.
No one must see me use this Aspect. That will show them my position.
Kael grit his teeth, the black residue on his skin smoking fiercely. He refused to give Lyon the satisfaction of witnessing his final failure. The Soul Devourer was his escape, but it was a button he couldn't press until he was utterly alone.
He remembered the first binding. As the gilded current tightened, an old memory ripped open inside him: Restrictions. Ancient, meticulously crafted chains that made his soul shudder and rage even now. The Compendium is not the weapon to fight this tether, he realized. It is the key to fixing the underlying weakness that had allowed those ancient chains to be fastened in the first place.
The Kingdom, the Army, even the King—they were background noise. The bindings are the cage.
Kael shifted his focus from the external threat to the internal mechanism of the System, locking onto the single, overwhelming goal:
I must wait for Lyon to leave the room. Then I will use the Soul Devourer to consume this.
Kael exhaled a sharp breath and stilled his body. Pleasure still bled through his veins—a soft, treacherous warmth that numbed his soul, coaxing it to yield. The potion's design was cruel in its elegance: the pleasure eased resistance, allowing the chain to bind deeper, cleaner.
Lyon watched him with a faint nod, the satisfaction of inevitability resting easy on his face. To him, the order of things had simply been restored.
Lyon's boots scraped the stone floor, slow and deliberate, circling once more to savour Kael's trembling stillness before turning toward the door.
"Rest easy, boy," he said, voice heavy with triumph. "There is peace in quiet servitude too. This way, you can finally serve the Kingdom as you were always meant to."
Kael didn't answer. His eyes were open but distant—pliant, subdued, exactly as Lyon wished to see.
The man lingered for a moment longer, studying him as though ensuring the leash had taken hold. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "You will not tell Lilian or Kellen anything about what occurred here. Nod once if you understand."
Kael gave a slow, mechanical nod.
A coup had been carried out in silence. The military had stolen the Kingdom's greatest resource—and none would ever know.
The door clicked shut. The sound was a verdict.
Kael didn't move. Not outwardly. He didn't trust motion; it broke the illusion. Only when Lyon's presence faded into the corridor did the mask crack.
The pleasure curdled to a dull ache. The warmth that once comforted now stung like molten gold beneath his skin. He drew in a single, measured breath and let it out, releasing the pretence.
Then he reached within himself—past the numbness, past the trembling echo of the potion—and unsealed the power he had kept hidden since rebirth.
The Soul Devourer unfurled.
He commanded it, not as one begging for aid but as a limb long denied use: Consume all the soul energy from the binding.
The leash responded instantly. Its structure was exquisite—an artful lattice of soul energy that shimmered with dominance. It sang to him of control, of obedience, of being remade into something useful. It wanted to claim him. To bend his will beneath another's.
To think they would bind my soul with petty tricks, Kael thought, lips curving faintly. If only they knew what true bindings looked like.
He did not plead. He did not bargain.
He let the Soul Devourer feed.
Desire uncoiled from the pit of his being—thick, fluid, alive. It moved like oil and night, like the moment before a storm breaks. And as it flowed, it shone: not the color of darkness, but of hunger so pure it gleamed. A light that devoured light. Beautiful. Terrible. Entirely him.
The chain shuddered in recognition. For one brief, desperate instant, the binding knew it was prey. It recoiled, tried to flee, but it was too late. The moment it had entered his body to claim his soul, its fate had been sealed.
He consumed it whole.
The golden radiance fractured into motes and vanished into him, leaving behind only a faint echo—residual heat and the taste of something ancient. The Devourer folded back into the hollow of his core, and Kael straightened, clear-headed, sharpened.
The leash was gone. The chain's power devoured. The golden cord stripped of its fire.
He folded the hunger away like a blade after use—still gleaming, still deadly, but hidden once more. There was triumph, yes, but not the fleeting kind born of victory. It was the satisfaction of a law rewritten within himself: You cannot bind what has already learned to devour its shackles.
Then he felt it. Something remained.
It pulsed faintly beneath his ribs, beyond the reach of the Soul Devourer's hunger. He reached toward it—and knew immediately it was not soul energy. It could not be consumed. Lyon's words resurfaced in his mind: Soul binding, assassination trigger, tracker.
He examined the residue. It pulsed like a distant heartbeat. Not hostile. Not explosive. Persistent. A beacon.
A tracker.
"Compendium," he murmured in thought, "expel the foreign magic that remains."
[Query Initiated: Expel the foreign magic that remain.] Cost — 200 CP
So, he could expel it. But should he?
"What if I keep it inside?"
[Query Initiated: The magic can be expelled any time with CP and does not have data to determine whether it's harmful for the host or not.]
Kael stilled. He could feel the Sigil now—small, clever, nested deep in his dantian. A manufactured magical anchor transmitting his location, the Military's leash disguised as a mark of obedience. The soul-binding had been consumed, yes, but this anchor remained like a keepsake to ensure their prize stayed within reach.
Removing it would light a beacon brighter than any flare. They would know.
When the time came, he would remove it too. But not now.
He kept it.
Let them keep this chain, he decided. Let them believe it means control.
He would paint himself as the puppet they desired: compliant, grateful, broken in the correct places. He would feed their arrogance, let them believe their leash still held, until they grew confident enough to bare their throats. If they thought him servile, they would feed him knowledge—knowledge they believed safe, knowledge they thought would strengthen the Empire. He would accept it all. He would study it, refine it, and feed it to the Compendium until the Empire's secrets became his own.
A more efficient conquest than open rebellion.
Finally, the spell Lilian had cast upon him faded entirely. He could move again. Slowly, deliberately, he sat up on the bed, his body trembling with residual energy.
The pain that had been his body's normal state was gone. His frame no longer sagged beneath invisible weight. He was taller now—slightly—and the hollow gauntness of his limbs had filled in. The constant hunger gnawing at him since awakening had dulled to a distant whisper.
He studied his hands. No tremor. No weakness. The body that had once betrayed him now obeyed.
He rose.
For now, he would accept their tracking—a visible chain convinces the world a thing is bound even when it is not. Chains coerce caution; caution grants freedom. He would sing when they wished, smile when they beckoned, and wear obedience like a crown.
The beacon pulsed faintly beneath his ribs. It would keep them watching. Perfect.
"Play the puppet," he whispered, voice low, steady. "Make them proud of their control. Make them blind."
The hunger stirred—not as a second voice, but as his will solidified into instinct. We will wait. We will learn. We will strike where they bleed the most: their certainty.
Outside, the world went on. Guards shifted, Lyon's steps receded down corridors paved in arrogance.
Inside, Kael crafted his mask anew. He smoothed his face into the expression of a rescued boy—grateful, compliant, docile. He even practiced the tremor in his smile for when they brought him before the Council.
He would be their prized creation, their tamed prodigy, the perfect weapon they thought belonged to them.
And when they handed him their trust, he would feed upon it too.
A shudder ripped through his soul.