Ten minutes later, Zerath sat upon the bed with his back resting lightly against the carved headboard, his expression calm and unreadable. Beside him, sprawled across the silken sheets, lay the unconscious body of Elowen. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, her face relaxed now that she was free from the crushing pressure of his killing intent. Her beauty was undeniable—like a carefully crafted statue of alabaster flesh—but Zerath's gaze upon her was clinical, detached, a man dissecting truth rather than admiring form.
From her memories, unlocked through the Soul Search, he had pieced together a vivid picture of this new life.
"So Eryon didn't merely place me somewhere…" Zerath muttered, his voice low as his golden eyes flickered with thought. "He transmigrated me—slipped my soul into the husk of a man on his deathbed."
He exhaled slowly, piecing together the fragments.
The name of this body was Kaelith, once the proud King of Ardelys, a kingdom locked in constant strife with its neighbors. Kaelith had been poisoned during a campaign against the western nation of Drevarn, struck down not by blade but by betrayal. A year of unconscious slumber followed, a living corpse waiting for the inevitable. During that time, the throne had passed to Kaelith's younger brother, who now wore the crown.
And Elowen? She was not his sister, as her cry of "Brother" had suggested, but the wife of that very brother—the new King's consort.
Zerath's gaze slid toward her, lingering for a moment on the faint stain of golden blood still glowing on her abdomen where his ritual had marked her.
"So… she came to finish what poison could not. That jug of water she carried—laced with venom. A silent end to Kaelith's long sleep." A faint chuckle escaped him. "But I woke before she could succeed."
There was no hatred in his tone, no disgust toward her betrayal, nor bitterness toward the brother who had inherited what was once his. Instead, a quiet pride stirred within him. His lips curved ever so slightly, forming the first real smile since he had awakened.
"This brother of mine… he is good," Zerath whispered. "He seized opportunity and secured power. Ruthless enough to be king." He let the smile linger a heartbeat longer before it thinned into a sigh. "…But not good enough."
He rose from the bed, his golden claws retracting as he began to pace across the lavish chamber. The red carpet muffled his steps, but his thoughts thundered all the same.
"There are more… interesting revelations," he mused, recalling the flow of memories he had siphoned from Elowen. "She doesn't remember her past life. None of them do. From what I saw, not even the faintest echo lingers. That is why she is… tolerable." His gaze sharpened. "Not a complete maniac."
Eryon's words echoed in his mind. Only those of extreme morality or immorality were sent here. Yet Elowen, while wicked, while selfish, was far from unhinged. She was cruel in ambition but not broken in spirit.
Which could only mean one thing.
"The Realm of Judgement erases their memories before sending souls here," Zerath realized aloud, his voice almost reverent with the clarity of discovery. He halted mid-stride, golden eyes gleaming. "But I bypassed it."
A slow smirk curled across his lips as the implications sank in.
"So that's how this world functions… everyone here is capable of extremes—of radiant good or despicable evil—but they live without the chains of their past. A blank slate. Balanced chaos." He chuckled, the sound echoing strangely in the high-ceilinged room. "No wonder this realm hasn't collapsed into ruin. No wonder it still breathes order. They don't know what they were."
His smile deepened, dark amusement flickering in his gaze. "It's almost like my previous world. Fragile kingdoms, corrupt kings, shining saints… the same dance of shadows and light. The only difference…" His voice dropped, almost reverent. "…is that here, one can ascend. Here, one can become God."
He snapped his fingers absentmindedly, the sharp sound breaking the silence, and walked back toward the bed.
Elowen remained unconscious, the faint lines of the divine symbol etched upon her stomach like a brand. Zerath's eyes roamed across her form without heat, only calculation. "She is beautiful," he admitted quietly. "Perhaps too beautiful to waste. Keeping her may not be a bad idea." A smirk tugged at his lips. "Yes… a fitting reward for Kaelith's revival."
But his expression hardened again, shadows falling over his face. "Before that, I must handle the remnants of myself." He exhaled, feeling the suffocating aura of his own bloodlust coiled within him like a chained beast. "This killing intent will choke every room I enter, summon fear with every breath. I must suppress it… or I'll find more corpses than allies in this world."
He raised his hand once more, golden light gathering at his palm. The warmth of Eryon's authority coursed through him, burning against the darkness of his old power. Closing his eyes, Zerath began to twist, compress, and bind the overflowing aura. His body trembled faintly as waves of killing intent lashed against the divine light like wild beasts caught in a cage.
Minutes passed. Sweat glistened faintly against his temples, though his face never betrayed strain. Finally, with one last surge of will, the suffocating aura folded inward, vanishing into silence. The air in the chamber grew calm, breathable, as though the storm had passed.
Zerath opened his eyes, golden irises gleaming with quiet triumph. "At last," he muttered, his tone steady. "Controlled."
After suppressing his bloodlust, Zerath turned his gaze back toward Elowen. She lay sprawled across the bed, the remnants of her shredded gown still clinging faintly to her, her unconscious form vulnerable beneath the glow of the golden markings he had inscribed upon her.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Time to take her as my first subject," he whispered to himself. "A fitting little revenge for the brother who betrayed me."
He approached the bed with slow, deliberate steps, each one echoing softly across the marble floor. Extending his hand, he pressed a single clawed finger against her forehead.
A crackling spark of golden energy leapt from his fingertip, searing through her consciousness like lightning.
Elowen's body jolted violently, her back arching as her eyes flew open. She gasped for air as though surfacing from drowning, her amber gaze darting around the unfamiliar brightness of the room.
Her vision steadied, and then she saw him.
Kaelith—no, Zerath in Kaelith's form—stood tall before her. His hands were crossed over his chest, his eyes calm and cold, watching her as one might observe a trembling animal.
Fear prickled through her veins. She instinctively recoiled, scrambling backward on the bed until her shoulders slammed against the carved wooden frame of the headboard.
"Ah… K-Kaelith, you…" her voice trembled, half disbelief, half dread, "…you woke up…"
She remembered the suffocating deathly aura that had pressed upon her earlier, the suffocating force that nearly broke her will. Yet now, in his presence, that terrible aura was gone. The air felt lighter, almost deceptively safe. Was it my imagination? she wondered desperately. Or… is he hiding it?
But Kaelith did not speak. He only stared at her, his gaze piercing and unblinking.
The silence stretched, unbearable. Elowen's heart pounded faster until her breath came shallow and uneven. "Why… why are you looking at me like that?" she stammered.
Then her eyes flicked downward.
Her gown—torn to tatters—lay discarded on the floor beside the bed. Following the trail of cloth, she looked back to her own half-bare body, her skin exposed save for the delicate undergarments that clung to her.
Her eyes widened in horror. Her chest constricted as if gripped by an icy hand.
Snapping her head back toward Kaelith, her voice cracked with panic. "What… what have you done to me?"
For a moment, Kaelith only breathed in deeply, his chest rising and falling in measured calm. Then he strode forward, his hand darting out with sudden force.
His fingers wrapped around her slender neck.
Elowen gasped, her feet lifting off the bed as he effortlessly hoisted her into the air. Her hands clawed at his grip, her nails digging uselessly against his skin.
"Ugh… Kaelith…" she choked out, her legs thrashing weakly as her vision blurred.
He pulled her close until their faces were inches apart, his voice a low murmur against her trembling lips. "You intended to kill me, didn't you? That jug of water you carried—laced with poison."
Her eyes widened further, panic swirling with guilt. "N-no… mis…under…standing…" she croaked, her words broken by his crushing grip.
Saliva foamed at the corner of her lips, her chest heaving helplessly as her air was cut off. Just as darkness threatened to consume her, Kaelith's hand released.
She collapsed back onto the bed, coughing violently, her body curling inward as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Her voice broke as she pleaded between ragged breaths, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… please… spare me…"
Her pitiful state might have softened another man's heart, but Kaelith's expression remained unreadable. He reached forward once more, gripping the back of her head with unrelenting force, and yanked her upright until she stood trembling before him on unsteady legs.
His golden eyes bore into hers, unblinking, merciless. And then, deliberately, he let the dam of his bloodlust crack open.
The suffocating aura rolled off him in waves, heavy and oppressive. Elowen's knees buckled beneath the sheer weight of it, her body trembling uncontrollably. Fear flooded her senses—yet beneath it, something else stirred, something hot and forbidden that she could not name.
"You know…" Kaelith's voice was low, steady, and laced with dark amusement, "…I have experience taming women like you. In my previous life, they seemed to… enjoy my killing intent."
Before she could comprehend his words, his lips pressed against hers.
Elowen's eyes widened in shock. For an instant, her entire body stiffened. But then a surge of warmth coursed through her, flowing from his lips into her very core. It spread like molten fire down her spine, igniting nerves she had never known existed.
Her face flushed crimson. Her knees weakened further, not from fear this time, but from a dizzying rush of heat. What… what is this? she thought desperately, but the words melted away under the intoxicating sensation.
The golden light of his divine authority seeped into her through the kiss, flooding her veins with an almost addictive pleasure. Her resistance wavered, and before she could stop herself, her lips parted willingly, her body leaning into him.
Her hands, which moments ago had pushed weakly against his chest, now clutched at him, pulling him closer. She kissed him back, feverishly, her breath ragged with need.
This warmth… this power… it feels too good… I want more…
Zerath chuckled inwardly, his golden wings of energy flickering faintly in the background. So… the divine authority carries this effect as well. Not only power, but allure. It draws people to me, bends them with desire.
His lips curved against hers in a cold smirk. Interesting.