Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 249: Lilith [1]
Alaric lay back on the bed, sinking into the surprisingly comfortable mattress.
The essence-enhanced atmosphere of the room thrummed faintly around him, a constant low hum he could feel in his bones.
He closed his eyes and focused.
"Status."
The translucent panel materialized before his vision, glowing softly in the darkness.
[STATUS]
Name: Brandon ____(Past Life: Alaric Noir)
Race: ____
Age: _____
Bloodline: _____ (Partially Awakened)
Title: Slave, Model Servant, Prince of Blackthorn, (The Fallen King)
Essence Path: The Path of #$#&##@##
Sub-Path: Flame, Lightning, Wind, Earth, Shadow
Rank: C+
EXP: 5,000/18,500
Stats:
STR: 160 (Max)
AGI: 160 (Max)
END: 160 (Max)
WIL: 160 (Max)
CHA: 274
INT: 160 (Max)
Free Stat Points: 223
DP: 61,400
Skill Tree:
Intermediate Lightning Spells (C): Lightning Bolt, Static Shock, Spark, Jolt Step, Static
Field Intermediate Fire Spells (B): Fireball, Flame Arrow, Burst Step, Flame Sphere
Intermediate Wind Spells (D): Gale Burst, Aerial Step, Wind Shield, Wind Blade
Intermediate Earth Spells (D): Stone Wall, Earthen Spikes, Tremor
Basic Shadow Spells (D): Shadow Cloak, Umbral Bolt, Night Step
Scorchblade Arts (S):
-1st Form – Flame Blade, 2nd Form – Flame Slash, 3rd Form – Blazing Mirage
Immolation Aura (A)
Dominion's Gaze (A)
Regnant Strike (B)
Obedience Chains (A)
Gluttony (S)
Subjects (S)
Scanner
Shop: Advanced Tier Items
Captivated: 1
Subjugated Targets: 2/3
DP Exchange: Available
Fuse: (Usage: Once a day)
System Level: 4
Next Upgrade: 100,000 DP
??? (System Level 5 required)
His eyes moved down to the quest notification that had been blinking at the edge of his vision since the night of the storm. Which he hadn't checked, as he got busy with some... particular activities.
[Quest Complete: Annihilate House Valtair]
He mentally selected it.
[Quest: Annihilate House Valtair]
Status: COMPLETE
Objectives:
Destroy the reputation of Count Casten Valtair ✓
Eliminate his heirs ✓
Bonus Objective:
Make them suffer (Psychological damage inflicted) ✓
Rewards: 15,000 DP | Skill Rank Upgrade Token (x1) | Item: Veil of Forgotten Faces | Title Unlock: Architect of Ruin
Claim Rewards?
[YES] / [NO]
Alaric's lips curved into a cold smile.
He selected Yes.
[Ding!]
[Rewards Claimed]
[DP: 61,400 → 76,400]
[Item Added to Inventory: Veil of Forgotten Faces]
[Item Added to Inventory: Skill Rank Upgrade Token]
[New Title Acquired: Architect of Ruin]
Alaric sat up slightly, examining the new notifications.
[Veil of Forgotten Faces:]
A thin, translucent mask that shifts and changes to perfectly mimic any face the wearer has clearly seen.
Duration: 2 hours per use.
Cooldown: 24 hours.
Note: Does not alter voice or body structure.
Interesting. Infiltration, deception, framing others... the applications were numerous.
[Skill Rank Upgrade Token:]
Allows the user to upgrade any one skill by a rank.
His mind immediately began calculating which skill would benefit most from the upgrade.
And finally—
[Title: Architect of Ruin:]
Passive Effect: Increases effectiveness of all intimidation and psychological manipulation by 15%. Those who oppose you are more likely to second-guess themselves, experience doubt, and make errors in judgment.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
He dismissed the notifications and leaned back again, staring at the ceiling.
House Valtair was finished.
One enemy down, he thought. Many more to go.
But for now, he needed to focus on the Academy.
He closed the status window and turned onto his side, letting the essence-rich atmosphere of the room wash over him.
Tomorrow, classes would begin.
Tomorrow, the real work started.
But tonight?
Tonight, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.
The architect of ruin had claimed another victory.
And he was only just beginning.
**********
Stone walls rose into shadow, ancient and cold.
Vaulted ceilings disappeared into darkness above, too high for torchlight to reach. Stained glass windows, once depicting holy scenes, had been covered with black cloth, blocking any moonlight that might intrude.
This was no place of worship.
Not anymore.
A hooded figure moved through the corridors, boots silent on worn stone.
They navigated the maze of passages with practiced ease, down the stairs that spiraled into the depths.
At the bottom, a door waited, covered in symbols that writhed when looked at directly.
The figure pushed it open.
The room beyond was vast, circular, lit by dozens of black candles that burned with purple flame. The air was thick.
Hooded figures knelt in a semicircle, all facing the far end of the chamber.
Where a throne sat.
Carved from a single piece of obsidian, it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. And seated upon it was a figure draped in robes of deepest black, face hidden beneath a hood that cast shadows even the candlelight couldn't penetrate.
In the center of the room, a ritual circle had been drawn in what looked like dried blood. Complex geometries, sigils, channels that pulsed with faint, sickly light.
And suspended above it—
Three bodies hung from chains. Arms spread, heads lolling. Two were already still, lifeless. The third twitched weakly, consciousness fading in and out.
Muffled sounds came from the living one, a middle-aged man, stripped to his underclothes. Blood streaked his torso from shallow cuts arranged in deliberate patterns.
A gag had been stuffed in his mouth, but his eyes were wide, terrified, pleading.
The newly arrived figure stepped into the room, and those eyes locked onto them immediately.
The man thrashed against his chains, making strangled sounds. "Mmmph! MMMPH!"
The figure reached up and pulled back their hood.
Brown hair tumbled free, framing a young woman's face, pretty, unremarkable. But her eyes were cold.
She smiled sweetly, stepping closer to the suspended man.
"Are you comfortable, boss?"
The man writhed harder, the chains rattling. His muffled voice rose in pitch, desperate.
She tilted her head, her smile widening. "What's wrong? Not enjoying yourself?"
"MMMPH! GHHMMM!"
Her smile dropped instantly. Her eyes widened, not with surprise, but with something predatory. Dangerous.
"This is where you belong," she said, her voice sharp as glass. "So stay shut."
The man flinched, going still.
She stared at him a moment longer, then turned away dismissively.
She crossed the chamber to where the other hooded figures knelt, their heads bowed toward the throne. She took her place among them, sinking to her knees, pressing her forehead to the cold stone.
"I have done what you asked for," she said, her voice carrying clearly in the silence.
The figure on the throne shifted.
The movement was subtle, but the weight of it pressed down on the entire room. The candle flames guttered. The air grew heavier.
When they spoke, the voice was wrong.
Neither male nor female. Neither young nor old. It echoed as if coming from far away and right beside you simultaneously. It resonated in the bones, in the blood, in places deeper than flesh.
"Proceed."
That single word carried absolute authority.
The kneeling figures rose as one, moving with synchronized precision toward the ritual circle.
The brown-haired woman stood as well, her cold smile returning.
She walked to the circle's edge, pulling a curved knife from her belt.
The suspended man saw it. Saw her approach. His muffled screams intensified, body jerking frantically against the chains.
She ignored him, kneeling beside the circle and beginning to chant.
The other figures joined her, their voices creating a discordant harmony that made the very stones tremble.
The blood channels in the ritual circle began to glow.
Purple light spread through the sigils, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The woman stood, approaching the suspended man. He thrashed harder, eyes rolling in terror.
She reached up and gently, almost tenderly, cupped his face.
"Thank you for your service," she whispered.
Then she drove the knife into his chest.
His scream was muffled by the gag, but his body convulsed. Blood poured from the wound, dripping down into the circle below.
The ritual circle drank it.
The purple light intensified, growing brighter, hungry.
The woman withdrew the knife and stepped back, letting gravity do its work.
The man's struggles grew weaker. Weaker. Then stopped.
