Kael sat cross-legged in the shadow of his broken hut, his crippled body hidden from the moonlight. His eyes were closed, but his mind was wide awake. The memory of Soul Dominion burned in his soul, like an ember refusing to die. He had tasted blood. He had felt the rush of power return, even if only for a moment. And now, the hunger inside him whispered louder.
He could not fight openly. He was still too weak. His flesh was broken, his veins thin, his body little more than a shell. But power did not always begin with strength of fist. It began with influence, with control, with whispers that turned the hearts of men and women into weapons sharper than blades.
Tonight, he would begin.
---
The First Seed
A servant girl came to his hut carrying a tray of rice and broth. She was no more than 18, her face pale from exhaustion, her back bent from endless chores. No one looked twice at her. She was invisible in the eyes of the sect.
Perfect.
Kael opened his eyes and let his voice roll out, soft as the night wind.
"Leave the food," he said.
The girl froze. There was something in his tone — something heavy, something that pressed against her mind. She blinked, confused, then set the tray down.
Kael's soul stirred. His consciousness brushed against hers, like a shadow slipping into a room. He did not command yet. He only whispered.
You are tired.
The thought slid into her head like it was her own. Her eyes grew distant for a moment. She touched her forehead, frowning.
"Yes… tired," she muttered under her breath.
Kael's lips curved. It worked. He had planted the first seed — small, almost harmless. A whisper of truth, nothing more. But it bent her thoughts, nudged her spirit. That was how corruption began. Not with chains, but with invisible strings.
---
Testing the Thread
He leaned deeper. His crippled body trembled, but his soul pulsed strong.
You want to rest. You deserve it. Leave early tonight.
The girl shifted uneasily. She glanced toward the door, as though afraid to disobey the strict rules of the sect. But the whisper was inside her now, weaving with her exhaustion.
Her shoulders slumped. "Maybe… maybe I can."
She left the hut without another word.
Kael closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Victory. Small, but sharp. He had bent a life, even in the tiniest way. And the thrill of control was sweeter than wine.
---
Planting Deeper
The next night, another servant came — a boy this time, carrying buckets of water. His hands shook from the weight, his back wet from splashes. He muttered curses under his breath, bitter about his fate.
Kael smiled. Bitterness was fertile soil.
"Set it down," Kael said calmly.
The boy obeyed, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes met Kael's, and for a moment, the cripple looked less broken, more… vast.
Kael's soul touched him.
You hate them. The disciples who laugh at you. The elders who ignore you. They treat you like dirt.
The boy's jaw tightened. His fists clenched. "Yes," he whispered before he realized it.
Kael pressed further, a shadow coiling in the cracks of the boy's heart.
One day, they will fall. Would you watch them suffer?
The boy hesitated. His eyes darted away, fear flickering in them. But fear was only proof that the thought had landed.
"I… I don't know," he stammered.
Kael said nothing more. He let silence carry the whisper deeper, let it grow like a weed in the boy's soul.
---
The Thrill of Control
Night after night, Kael tested his whispers. Some servants he only brushed lightly, planting doubts and desires. Others he pushed harder, urging them to skip duties, to steal a little food, to speak thoughts they had buried.
Each success filled him with quiet joy. Each failure taught him how to refine his method. Sometimes the whisper had to be truth. Sometimes it had to be fear. Sometimes it had to be sweet lies.
He was not just regaining power. He was shaping it. Sharpening it.
And in the darkness of his hut, he laughed softly.
"They think I am crippled. They think I am broken," he whispered to himself. "But I am planting seeds in their hearts. Seeds that will grow into chains. One day, they will kneel, not because they must, but because they cannot resist."
---
The Shadow of Lira
One night, as he practiced, a vision stirred in his mind — the face of Lira, the saintess. Bright, untouchable, wrapped in purity. She had mocked him before the sect, humiliated him before the crowd. Her beauty was like a dagger pressed against his throat.
He remembered the sound of her laughter. The disdain in her eyes.
His hand curled into a fist.
"If I can bend servants," he murmured, "I can bend disciples. If I can bend disciples, I can bend saints."
Desire and vengeance twisted together in his chest. She would be the crown of his corruption, the sweetest proof of his return. But not yet. For now, he needed more strength. More seeds planted. More strings woven.
---
A Hidden Garden
Weeks passed. Kael remained the cripple in the eyes of the sect. The disciples still mocked him. The elders still ignored him. But in the shadows, a garden of corruption grew.
Servants began whispering doubts to one another. Some shirked their duties, claiming exhaustion. Others stole scraps of food or coin, unable to explain the sudden greed that rose in them.
None of them knew the truth. None of them saw the shadow pulling their strings.
Kael watched it all with calm satisfaction. Each servant was a seed. Each seed was a step. And step by step, he was climbing back toward the throne he had lost.
---
The Vow
One night, Kael sat alone, staring at the moon through the cracks of his hut. His crippled body ached, his limbs weak. But his soul blazed like a fire hidden under ash.
"I was the Devil God," he whispered. "And I will be again. This sect, this world — they will kneel. Not by blade, but by desire. Not by strength, but by chains of the soul."
His eyes gleamed with hunger.
"And when the saintess looks at me again, she will not laugh. She will kneel."
The night wind carried his vow into the dark.
And Kael closed his eyes, already dreaming of the empire of corruption he would build, one whisper at a time.